#i wanted to do more but i had no inspo for this series
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
POYW Rewrite V2 - Harry Hook x reader - P16 - Epilogue
=
Uma stared blankly at the busted TV screen of her mother's restaurant, a simmering hatred running through her as she watched Maleficent’s traitor daughter hang onto the king of Auradon’s arm, flushed and smiling-her plum purple hair tied back into a loose bun with her bangs flowing out.
It had been three months already.
Three months since the coronation, three months without a word from her “Friends”, three months without an invitation, three months of watching Harry hold hands with that-new girl-smiling and laughing without a care in the world.
Three months of slowly losing hope that they would keep their promise.
Uma didn’t want to believe they abandoned her, Harry had been her closest companion since they could walk, and Gil never thought twice about following the two around-even if he did drift away sometimes, he always came back.
But…he hadn’t come back yet, and neither had Harry.
It had been three months and Uma was losing hope.
“Honestly, why you even continue to watch this trash is beyond me Uma,” Uma glared at the voice she heard, not even turning her head to look at him. “Fuck off Barbossa,” Uma snapped, but Davy Barbossa only laughed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table, grinning sharply at the TV, which was still showing King Ben and Mal-who was rumored to become the lady of the court.
“Didn’t Hook ask king beast boy to bring you and his sisters over? Wonder what happened with that plan?” Davy said ‘absentmindedly’, hiding his grin behind his hand as he tapped his nose in ‘thought’, his grin widening as he heard Uma smack down a tray of food she had been holding while lost in thought.
“mm-hmm,” Uma just hummed, not wanting to talk about it, refusing to talk about it to someone she didn’t trust in the slightest. Besides, as far as she knew-things like that took time, she had no clue how long it took Ben to get the first six vks over, for all she knew-it was three months' worth of time to get everything ready.
“Honestly, it’s been three months, I can't imagine things take this long, just to get three people off the isle.” Davy said, still watching the TV, grinning as some reporters captured Harry Hook and (y/n) walking together around school, holding hands. (y/n) flipped them off and Harry laughed, tossing his head back.
Davy turned, seeing Uma staring hard at the screen. She was jealous-she would never admit it, because why would she be? She didn’t like Harry, they were just friends, and she shouldn’t be jealous of some girl Harry was now dating. She and Harry didn’t feel that way about one another, they were just friends, just friends.
It wasn't like they had each other's back since they could remember, it wasn’t like they had been each other's closest companion since they were 2, it wasn’t like Harry had stuck by her through her toughest moments(shrimpy, her broken leg, pneumonia), it wasn’t like they had promised to never betray the other(they had).
Uma didn’t feel betrayed, not at all…not at all.
“If I were you, I would scorn them both and declare war, I’d even help if you wanted it.” Davy said, clearly having been talking for a bit but Uma hadn’t been listening-she never found his words worthwhile anyway. Not when Harry was around, not when Harry would scoff and come up with a better plan, or fire back with quick quips and a sharp grin partnered with his hook.
“Shut it,” Uma finally snapped, having enough of this repetitive talk. This was the 5th time Davy had come into her space to taunt her about her boys, and Harry’s new girl. Davy just chuckled, holding up his hands in defeat, giving another glance to the tv-seeing Uma’s eyes simmer with anger as it continued to show Harry and (y/n), still smiling, still holding hands.
“All right, all right, whenever you're ready to face the fact that they abandoned you, you know where to find me.” Uma glared at Davy as he left the chip shop and she felt a low growl at the back of her throat. She undid her apron and threw it on the table, holding her head between her hands-staring at the tv screen that seemed to finally go from Harry and his girl to Mal and Ben, who were also smiling so sickly sweet that made Uma want to punch them.
It had been three months, and if Uma had to wait any longer-they would regret it. They would regret ever abandoning her.
-end of poyw rewrite 2.0-
Welp, there it is, I feel like there should’ve been more to this-but I’ve really lost my mojo for Harry again, idk; sorry. But yeah, Uma’s mad, feeling abandoned, she wants to believe that she isn’t-but with nothing coming from her best friends, and seeing them so happy without her in Auradon-and a devil whispering in her ear-it’s hard not to fall into darkness without her lights.
permtaglist!
@queer-cosette @sephiralorange @lunanight2012
@daughter-of-the-stars11 @musicarose @rintheemolion
@random-thoughts-004 @anythingbutmar @dai-tsukki-desu
@imtryingthisout @remembered-license @thecaptainsgingersnap
@thetrueghostqueen @littlewierdalien @melonsmysteriousmonarchy
R!poyw v2 taglist!
@reallysparklychaos @tzurue @evilunicorns4minions
#harry hook descendants#disney descendants#harry hook x reader#part of your world#uma descendants#rewrite#harry hook#rewrite revise#final part#now it just goes right into shuffle playlist#i wanted to do more but i had no inspo for this series#part*#i know what i wanted to do but i was just like 'i just wanna get this done'#so i did#i got the vibes i wanted but not the whole scene#just imagine davy being an asshole and overstepping a lot until Uma snaps and becomes captain and make shim her first mate so she can#get revenge on her ex-besties#if you have questions pls do cuz i have so many thoughts about Umas anger but was unable to articulate it
73 notes
·
View notes
Text
matrophobia
#rgg#ryu ga gotoku#ryu ga gotoku 7#yakuza series#yakuza like a dragon#yakuza 7#masumi arakawa#masato arakawa#snap sketches#oh my god im going to pass out but my tag ramble is necessary. like especially this time#i was just gonna draw his Actual mom but then i wanted to get saucy with it. also i miss drawing wolves but theres a purpose i promise#ive loved wolves since i was a kid since theyre like. family-oriented and shit. of course a lonely loser ass kid gonna think thats cool#when i think of wolves i think of family- which is what you should think of with your mom right#but a lot of people know wolves are monsters so. ysee where im goin with this one#the flowers and thorns arent Just Random i Double Promise: i snagged inspo from her flower shirt#i originally had the roses be purple to highlight that buuut i didnt want any more color aside from red#did i have anymore notes..... i dont think so. thats all i had to explain :) this is mid ik i just needed it done tho im TIRED#OH HER MULTIPLE EYES its supposed to be inspired by her necklace :) the third eye has a purpose im too tired to explain rn tho#the jo alternative was more depressing since i wanted to put emphasis on his feelings of inadequacy in that#BUT i figured hey. let me have a /lil/ happiness today right. i can do that at least let me draw that at least#ignore the fact i got more bad news while drawing this and almost abandoned it as a result but we push through :)#in any case. im subjecting arakawa to more horrors tomorrow i guess sorry king youve had it good too long. i GUESS#to round this off. Obligatory Vent Portion because myyyyy GOD. i have nightmares about my mom every night#its been that way since like. february- ive always had nightmares bout her but theyve ramped up since The Event#and for the most part i just wake up tired and despondent but sometimes the nightmares just make me wake up gasping for air#like i was TRULY just fighting for my life then and itd been a while since i had a nightmare like that#and just. coupled with how trash my months been. and now that im comm free.(dm me;) ) i figured id express the soul a bit#alright NOW im done. im pretty sure. goodnight everyone come back for part ii of. whatever this was#IM ALL OUT OF TAGS NOW LMAO THATS EPIC ok bye fr
132 notes
·
View notes
Text
A HELL OF A MORNING
Stepdad!Joel Miller x f!reader || 4,2k
part 2 of A Step Into Hell || can be read alone
Summary: Joel has his favorite thing for breakfast. His stepdaughter.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, Joel’s POV, dub con but reader’s into it, big legal age gap, dark!Joel, perv!Joel, possessive!joel, f!oral, unprotected piv (wrap it up), blackmail, premature ejaculation, creampie, degradation, rough m!oral, brief choking on cock, slutshaming, praise kink, daddy kink, mention of public sex, spanking (1), cum eating, swearing. The pics are for the mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions. Joel can lift reader.
A/n: This mf wouldn’t leave my mind and after such a warm welcome of the first fic I’m happy to share more of his depravity with you. I hope you all will enjoy this new story❤️ A huge thank you to a lovely anon for this request and the inspo💕 Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Ilysm! Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
MASTERLIST || SERIES MASTERLIST
There you were. Sweet thing in her little shorts and a tight top, sitting across from Joel at the breakfast table. Beautiful and hot. Just like a week ago, and a week before that. The only difference was that this morning he knew the feel of your pussy squeezing his cock, knew the taste of your soft lips, the weight of your tits in his hands. This morning you were his.
While Joel’s wife was setting the table for the three of you, you were throwing shy glances at your stepdad from time to time. Joel fucking loved it. Loved how anxious you were about what you two had done the previous night, loved how you flinched every time he spoke, scared that he’d tell the secret to your mother.
‘Honey, got news for ya. I’m fuckin your daugher. Pass the salt?’
Fuck no! He’d never do that, never ruin this thing between him and his sexy stepdaughter. Having you on a leash like that, using your holes whenever he pleased was a gift. You belonged to him and he was going to do everything to keep owning you.
Joel felt like the luckiest man on the planet when his horny thoughts were interrupted by your mom.
“My head’s killing me. I’m going back to bed,” she complained after taking a sip of her coffee and then left the two of you alone in the kitchen.
Fuck. Yeah.
Joel bricked up in a second. His cock was already throbbing in his jeans from all the memories of the previous night that had been flashing in his mind as soon as he had woken up that morning. He’d jerked off in the shower, eyes closed, head full of images of his stepdaughter, coming on his fingers, his cock, her dildo. Thanks to you, his spank bank was full for months ahead but did he even need it when he had a real thing to corrupt and fuck?
After his wife went upstairs, his stiffness began to ache in anticipation. He got a mild kick out of it because he knew that the remedy was sitting right in front of him. Tight magic hole of his stepdaughter was within arm’s reach.
What a sight you were! Eyes downcast, chest heaving, you knew damn well what was going to happen. Maybe even wished for it. Joel had no doubts what a little slut you were. Surely you were excited about a good ol’ morning fuck just like he was. And Joel was ready to oblige, storing a thick breakfast sausage for his favourite girl.
“Ya know what I always wanted to do since you moved to mine?“
A shiver seemed to run over your whole body when his voice broke the ringing silence in the room and you saw your stepdad get up and plop into a chair next to you. You smelled good, sweet and flowery, and Joel began salivating like a hungry wolf over a bunny.
You looked up at him and shook your head.
“Wanted to eat ya out,” Joel replied and poked the wooden surface of the table with his thick finger. “Right — poke— here — poke.”
His heavy gaze fixed on you, he sneered at the way you squirmed in your seat and kept pressing your naked thighs together.
Gah! The horny slut was already soaking her lil shorts.
Joel had an hour or so before his wife would wake up and he was going to use every single second to play with his stepdaughter.
“Did you like your dickin down yesterday?”
You bit your lip, eyes fixed on your lap. Then you whispered, probably scared to be heard by your mother.
“Joel. It’s so fucked up.”
“What is, sweetie?” Joel cooed, scooting closer to you with his chair. “The part where you made recordings of your stepdad fuckin your mom? Or the part where you came hard stuffed full of my dick and your pink rubber cock? Aw, look at you squirmin, ya pussy achin?” he chuckled and pressed, ”What’s exactly fucked up? Tell me.”
“All of it.” Your voice was barely heard. Poor thing must be so confused, terrified, Joel thought. He almost felt sorry for you but the lust immediately took over and he put his bear palm on your naked thigh.
“Yeah, I reckon ya right. But what’s done is done. If hell exists we’ll be there together, babydoll. So let’s have some fun when we still can, yeah?” He roughly squeezed your thigh and you shook your head, looking elsewhere but him.
“Don’t you forget, missy, you have no other choice,” Joel reminded you with a dark smile and leaned forward, his breath fanning your cheek. Your gaze snapped up to his and your pupils dilated when his face got close.
“Ya scared we’ll get caught? I get it.” Joel’s hand slithered higher, inching closer to your covered pussy. “Don’t worry. I’m always careful. If I’m fucking you, means the coast is clear. Relax and enjoy the ride, yeah? And if by some wild chance we’re caught, come up with a lie. No offense but your mom ain’t the brightest. You’d be full of my cock on the couch and she’d think we’re just cuddlin.”
Joel took a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Fuck! why do I get so hard jus’ thinkin about it? Do I want her to watch me fuck you? What do you think?”
You scrunched your pretty nose but Joel didn’t fail to notice your squirming, your glossy eyes, your hardened nipples, tenting your top. He was happy to make you crazy for his cock and his dirty talk was working. Your body was succumbing to his horny taunting, but your mind was still fighting the inevitable.
“Stop it, please,” you begged, shaking like a little chihuahua. Your fear was making you tremble, but you were needy just as much as he was. A devilish smirk twisted Joel’s face as he continued,
“Let’s watch movies together. Every few days. We'll call it ’our bondin time’. You’ll be sittin snugly next to me on the couch. I’ll play with your pussy under a blanket, uh? You’ll try not to moan like a whore.”
“She’s not that stupid, Joel.” Your gaze got fiery, tone annoyed. Joel narrowed his eyes. Were you getting angry at him for tormenting you or at your mother for keeping you from getting railed by your stepdad on every horizontal surface in the house?
Smirking, Joel leaned back and spread his thighs wider. His cock was thumping in the confines of his jeans and he began palming it to get some relief.
He was torturing himself too, turning both of you to the max with his talk, but for sure the pay off was going to be worth it.
“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t be that ballsy,” he rubbed his scruffy cheek as he spoke, “Damn, if I could tell everyone I’m fuckin your little cunt. Dream! Using your holes in the open. You’d be cockwarming me at the first poker night I hosted.”
Joel loved when your breath hitched.
”Imagine Tommy’s face when he sees my sweet stepdaughter creamin ‘round my cock in her short skirt. I’d love to show you off, babydoll. You’re a ten.”
Your eyes clouded up, fixed on the coffee mug in front of you, and you slowly licked your lower lip. You seemed to be imagining the picture he was painting and Joel knew that you loved what you were seeing in your little cock-obsessed head.
Joel snapped his fingers and you jerked, waking up from your depraved daydreaming.
“Ya were a good girl for me yesterday but here are my rules.”
Your glossy eyes were blinking at him as you mumbled,
“Rules?”
You looked so confused like there was no thought in your pretty head whatsoever. Hell! He wanted to fuck that head.
“Yeah. My house, my rules, sweetie. First. No panties allowed. I wanna know your pussy is free to play whenever I want. And ‘s hot to know that you walk around like that.. ready for daddy to use.”
“Ohh..ok,” you looked down and he saw a little smile dance on your lips. Joel’s face got dark.
“Ya wearin any now?”
You shook your head, your head still down.
“Good girl,” Joel smirked and slapped his thigh with a palm. His chest expanded thinking you’d done it for him and then his mind short circuited.
Almost holding his breath he asked,
“Ya still leakin me?”
Your gaze darted up as you murmured, “I don’t know.”
“Check. Now.”
His tone wasn’t leaving any room for discussion so you brought your hand to your shorts. Joel couldn’t wait to see it. His hand was palming his giant hard-on which was beating hard against his thigh when he saw your hand disappear in your shorts and you moaned softly.
“Two fingers. Stretched you good yesterday. Fuck yourself a little for me. Gather everything you can.”
You locked eyes with him, gaze foggy, while your digits were working your pussy. Joel cupped your cheek and stroked your face with his calloused thumb.
“Such a good slut for daddy.”
He saw you breathing faster as your hand was picking up the pace between your legs.
“Stop! Makin you come’s my job. Pull ‘em out.”
You retrieved your fingers and you both saw them glistening in the light of the morning sun.
Joel took your hand and you gasped when he shoved your fingers into his mouth. He licked them clean, humming at the taste and smacking his lips like a fucking TV chef.
“Yeah, delicious pussy … what’s that undertone? Ah! My jizz!“
Joel’s smile was full of lust and triumph.
“Your little pussy kept some of daddy’s milk. I bet she wants me to fuck it deeper into you. But I need a better taste first. Get up.”
Joel made you stand between his spread thighs and shoot his blown eyes up at your face as his hand grabbed your pussy and he began kneading your soft mound and folds with his thick fingers. His movements were possessive, harsh, but still pleasant, judging by your expression - lips parted, eyes hazy, ready to roll back any second.
“Now the second rule. No boys in this house or anywhere else. You can fool around with your girlfriends if ya into that, I don’t give a fuck, but I don’t want any dicks around her, ya hear me? I want your pussy hungry for cock. My cock.”
Joel’s dick was unbelievably hard, trying to poke out of his jeans. ‘Fuck it! I’m in my own house. If I wanna pull the shlong out I will,” Joel thought and unzipped the fly with a carnal smile. His cock jumped out as soon as it was free and bobbed, looking engorged and ready to explode. But after tasting you, Joel craved more.
He spread his thighs wider, noticing the way you darted your eyes down to get a peek of his length.
“Miss it, babydoll? haven’t seen him all night, yeah?”
Joel pulled you closer by your hips, leaned down and pressed his nose right into your clothed mound.
You gasped and grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to steady yourself.
“What are you…?” the only thing you had time to say before a moan escaped your lips when Joel’s hot tongue licked your pussy over the thin material of your cotton shorts. They soaked in his saliva in a second and through the wet fabric he could easily feel your pulsating clit under his tongue. He was sure you felt his hot muscle there too by the way you fluttered your eyes shut and bit your lower lip.
For a few moments he kept kneading your asscheeks and licking over your shorts, soaking them and turning you on more and more.
Then your eyes snapped open and you looked at the door. Joel parted from your clothed pussy for a second to reassure you,
“Don’t worry, baby. There’s a squeaky step at the top of the stairs. I’ll know she’s comin.”
His words seemed to relax you a little and you held onto his shoulder tighter, trying to sway less under Joel’s hungry groping.
And his hunger was getting unbearable.
“Hop on the table, little slut.” Joel’s chin and mustache were glistening with his saliva. His voice was gruff and impatient. You did what he said, like a good girl, and your stepdad lifted your hips and pulled your shorts down, exposing you. In a second they were lying on the floor. The next command sounded like a growl as Joel sat closer to you in his chair.
“Feet up.”
You obediently placed your feet on the edge, hands planted behind you on the table. “Hey there, beautiful. Daddy’s ready to play.”
The sight of your cunt was driving Joel mad. Like a starving man, he buried his nose between your wet folds and took a big whiff off your drenched pussy. He’s never smelled anything hotter and groaned at the scent. You were so wet he could drink you for hours and he didn’t see any reason not to start. His hot tongue began sliding all over your cunt, gathering your slick off every crevice and fold, slurping and licking with obscene noises. Joel spread you open with his thick fingers so he wouldn’t miss a drop of your tangy nectar and his eyes were closed as he groaned against your perfect cunt.
When he opened his hazy eyes an image of you— jaw slack, chest and belly heaving, lashes fluttering- almost made him jizz all over your thighs. You looked gone, absolutely overdosed on pleasure.
Joel had to stop. The taste and the feel of your little cunt sent his cock and balls into a frenzy and he had planned to pump you full.
But when you looked at him and whispered a quiet ‘daddy, please’, his mouth as if by itself latched onto your crying pussy and he continued sucking, licking, nibbling on your folds and clit. You raked your fingers through his curls, scratched his scalp with your nails, and Joel moaned into your heat. He’s never been so horny in his life, never wanted anyone so strongly and it felt like he might have died if his balls weren’t drenched soon. His cock was leaking rivers of pre-fuck juice but Joel wanted to last, wanted to come inside you again.
“Want daddy’s tongue in your hole, baby?” Joel asked, brushing your puffy clit with his thumb and taking in the sight of you. You were longing for a release and it didn’t surprise him when you nodded eagerly.
“No, tell me. Wanna hear it.”
“Please, fuck me with your tongue, daddy,” you murmured and your blown puppy eyes and a thirsty- slut expression sent his tongue right into your flattering hole. Joel moved his head back and forth, reaching with his thick tongue as deep as it would go, lapping off your slick that was flowing out of you generously. His hands were kneading your thighs, until one snaked up to your chest and under your top. He found your soft tit and began groping and squeezing it while his tongue was thrusting into your tight hole.
Joel’s plans crushed when you started coming. Your walls began clamping on his tongue, your legs trembling, but what caused his misfire was your needy ‘daddy—daddy— ‘m coming— ahhh’. That and the sight of your face all ecstatic and sexy made him thrust his hips up, his balls drew up and his cock began spurting cum all over the place like a damn volcano. Growling and cursing through his teeth, Joel grabbed it by the base, trying to minimize the damage but all in vain. His creamy jizz landed on your thighs, your twitching clit, puffy folds, his neck, his jeans and the table. It was a fucking mess.
When Joel stopped coming, he pushed his sweaty hair back with his hand and leaned back on the chair. Panting, you placed your feet on the floor and stood up on your shaky legs in front of him. Joel’s cum was sliding down your thighs so you padded to the counter and grabbed a paper towel. You cleaned yourself up, then came back and handed some to Joel. But he kept sitting, watching you, legs spread, cock softening but still huge resting on his left thigh.
“Bad girl.”
“Hm?”
“Made me come without stickin it up your pussy.”
“I —Joel, I didn't do anything.”
“Bullshit.” He was fuming. He hadn’t busted a nut like that since he’d been a teen. Fucking embarrassing.
You needed to be punished.
“On your knees. Lick it up.”
“Joel..”
“Lick. It. Up.” His tone was cold.
He saw you swallow loudly, eyes full of fear of the steel in his voice. He didn’t pity you at that moment, his hunger for you had been temporarily satiated and everything he felt then was the desire to possess, control, bend your will to his.
The sight of you kneeling between his legs put a dark smile on his face, and when you swiped your little tongue over his hairy thigh, gathering the spilled cum, it morphed into a grin.
”Everything, babydoll,” he commanded and leaned forward to grab his mug off the table. The coffee was lukewarm but it would do, he needed to rehydrate after busting such a big load. The load you were eating off his soft cock right that moment.
”Bon appetit, little whore,” Joel gloated, sipping his drink, as you were working on cleaning him, your eyes fluttering shut from time to time. You were swallowing his jizz again and again, your tongue soft and hot, and soon Joel began enjoying not only your humiliation, but also the sensation of your gentle tongue dancing over his dick, his balls, his inner thighs.
Joel was chewing on his lower lip, eyes blown, as his cock was waking up.
You were pulling away from his hardening length but suddenly Joel‘s strong hand pushed your head down, spearing your mouth with his cock.
Joel’s fat tip hit the back of your throat and you gagged. Your nails sank into his thighs, teary eyes snapped up to his face with panic, as he was making you choke on his thick dick.
“What is it, babydoll? Ain’t used to huge shlongs, uh? ‘s ok, we’ll train ya,” he cooed, bringing the mug to his lips. He took a sip and then let you free. You coughed, wiping your chin with the back of your hand and glaring at him.
Joel put the mug back on the table and his hand, wrapped around your upper arm, pulled you up on your feet.
While you were still catching your breath, Joel manhandled you down onto his lap. You whined but didn’t fight it. The sensation of your wet pussy pressed to his crotch, your juicy naked ass on his thighs injected a new shot of arousal into his veins.
“Daddy’s back in business, sweetie. C’mon, sit on ‘im.“ Joel lifted you up slightly and then, holding his cock at the base, slid the leaking head between your soaked folds, searching for heaven.
“Bull’s eye,” he chuckled when his fat tip caught on your sloppy entrance.
“Make her eat him—bet ya pussy’s hungry — yeah—hnggg”! he grunted, feeding your cunt his dick in one go. You arched your back and softly whimpered.
“Still tight as fuck. Shit.”
You were sitting on his length fully, warm and wet, and Joel’s arms snaked around your body, caging you in, keeping you close.
“Damn, this cunt of yours… fuckin made for me… to milk my cock… to drive me crazy.”
All you could muster to reply was a moan which came out louder than Joel expected.
“Fuck,” he growled and crashed his mouth against yours, his big hand on the back of your head. You didn’t fight him, maybe it would have been hot if you’d done a little, but your submission, your desire for his cock, was feeding Joel’s ego, making him throb harder, grow faster inside you.
Kissing you, he felt your pussy thump around him, squeeze his already stiff shaft tighter with every beat of your fluttering heart.
“Ride me, ride my dick,” Joel groaned, parting from your whimpering lips, and almost choked when you began moving up and down, slowly first, helping yourself with your hands planted on his broad shoulders and then picking up the pace. His bear paws were kneading your ass, lifting you up in assistance while your walls were massaging his cock just right.
“Yeah—she’s somethin, babydoll— best pussy I had— swear—fuckin hell.”
You seemed to love bouncing on your stepdad’s dick. With sweat covering your forehead, you were glowing in the sunlight. If Joel were romantic he’d compare you to an angel. But he was a lust-driven, immoral asshole so he barked,
“Lovin it, horny slut?”
You didn’t reply, already cock dumb, too concentrated on your upcoming release. Suddenly you leaned forward and nuzzled his neck. Joel felt your tongue dance over his skin and he realized that you were licking off the cum left there.
“Good fuckin girl,” he praised you with a chuckle. “Ain’t even need to tell ya.”
Joel’s head fell back and his jaw got slack as you were kissing his jaw and neck, still riding him. When you pulled back, your lips and chin glistening, Joel dropped his head to watch your cunt swallow his shaft again and again. Your cream was gathering on the base of his cock and covering his coarse pubes.
Your movements were getting hectic, desperate, and Joel was ready to come too.
“Milk daddy again, babydoll. Make it right this time. Let me fill ‘er up.”
You pressed your body close to his with need and after moaning ’Daddy’ into the crease of his neck began shaking on his cock, squeezing it, pulsating, gripping it tight.
It sent Joel right over the edge and his dick spat a long rope of cum into your core, then another and another. He grabbed you by the waist and started moving you up and down, prolonging your orgasms, fucking his cum deeper. He wanted it inside you forever, claiming you, marking you, making you his. Joel squirted the final rope with his arms under yours, his hands pressing on your shoulders, pushing your whole body onto his cock. He emptied his balls to the last drop and you accepted his load moaning and whimpering.
Joel slouched in the chair, exhausted but satisfied, and you rested on his chest. A few moments later Joel looked at his watch and croaked, getting your attention with a light spank over your ass,
“C’mon up, sweetie. She’ll be up soon.”
Joel helped you to get up and cleaned his cum off the table with the paper towel. You weren’t helping. Standing by Joel, you looked drunk, your legs shaking. Your stepdad smirked after assessing your look and helped to put your shorts back on.
“Damn. Lookin like after a gangbang. Can you walk?”
“Yeah,” you mumbled and stumbled to the door, like a deer that recently learnt how to walk. Joel furrowed his brows. Your mom would definitely ask what had happened to you. Hopefully she wouldn’t see you sneaking up to your room.
Unfortunately, Joel’s luck ran out. He heard a squeak.
Fuck!
In three big steps Joel reached you and took you in his arms, bridal style. You gasped and wrapped your arms around his neck.
“Follow my lead,” he said under his breath and carried you out of the kitchen.
“Oh my god, what happened?!” his wife exclaimed, frozen in the middle of the stairs.
“She hit her toe, honey. Clumsy girl. Don’t worry. I’ll help her up to her bedroom.”
You were nodding, looking sad, and Joel smirked in his mind. Little slut was ready to lie.
“Is it broken?” Your mom’s voice was worried.
“No, just hurts,” you replied with a shaky voice, ”I’ll be fine.”
Joel hurriedly walked up the stairs, carrying you in his strong arms, leaving you mother behind.
”Don’t worry, honey. I’ll get her everything she needs.”
“Thank you, Joel,” he heard his wife say on her way to the kitchen. Hopefully she won’t notice the scent of sex and cum there, Joel thought.
He shut your bedroom door behind him with his foot, carried you to the bed and laid you down.
“What did I tell ya? She’ll believe anythin,” he smirked, standing by the bed, his hands on his hips.
You smiled a little and leaned against the headboard with a sigh of relief.
Joel’s gaze slid down from your tired looking face to your shorts. An idea of pushing his cum back into your soft hole with his fingers flashed in his mind. No! He needed to return to the kitchen and reassure your mother. God forbid she’d come up to check on you and notice all the cum stains on your clothes.
“We had fun, uh, beautiful?”
“Yeah,” you mumbled.
“Wasn’t talkin to you,” Joel gruffed before bending down and petting your pussy over your shorts. You scuffed and Joel barked a loud laugh.
Then he left your bedroom with a wide smile on his face and thoroughly drained balls.
Thank you for reading! Comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3
MASTERLIST || SERIES MASTERLIST || stepdad Joel drabble || more step family naughtiness
Tag list:@milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40
People who might be interested @toxicanonymity @she-could-never @kiwiharrykiwi @joelalorian @tateypots @magpiepills @pedroswife69 @megangovier @baroness @witchofthedeepwoods
#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#the last of us#dark!joel miller#stepdad!joel#joel miller smut#pedro pascal characters#tlou hbo#joel miller x f!reader#stepcest#tw daddy kink#tw stepcest#dubc0n#joel miller x female reader#joel miller the last of us#joel miller tlou#tlou au#pedro pascal fanfiction#dark!fic#the last of us fanfiction#fanfiction#a hell of a morning fic
629 notes
·
View notes
Text
Gotta Be You - Charles Leclerc (ONE)
Let's go for a new series! <3 I always love writing friends/enemies to lovers, so that's what this is, yet again lol😂❤️ For my inspiration I got to give lots of credit to @vroomvro0mferrari, because her series Vexing Vacation gave me lots of inspo for the shared vacation thingie!
masterlist | promptlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!gasly!reader ↳word count: 6,3K ↳warnings: not much yet honestly, arguing, tension maybe ↳side info: friends to enemies to lovers, semi slow burn? (not really slowburn, but it has build up until the actual lovers things unfold), the reader is Pierre's younger sister, reader is Arthur LeClerc's childhood best friend, Charles is her former crush, Charles is a jealous ass sometimes, age gap between reader and Charles (5 years, 22 and 27) ↳summary: In which you go on a shared holiday with both your and your brother's friend group, forced to be confronted with your former teenage crush Charles LeClerc yet again. The only problem is? You can't stand him nowadays, until you suddenly can.
Arthur’s apartment was as chaotic as ever, half-packed bags and discarded jackets strewn across the floor. You threw yourself onto the couch with a dramatic groan, your face buried in a pillow.
“I regret this already,” you whined, the words muffled against the soft fabric.
Arthur’s laugh carried from the doorway. “You’ve been here two minutes, and you’re already complaining? Impressive.”
Rolling onto your back, you shot him a glare. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. A whole month of dealing with your insufferable brother? I must’ve been out of my mind.”
Arthur leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like the Cheshire cat. “You’ll survive. There are enough people going to keep you distracted. Plus, you get to spend a whole month with me. What more could you possibly want?”
“Maybe a holiday without Charles,” you shot back, only half-joking.
Arthur smirked. “Come on, he’s not that bad. Okay, maybe he’s a bit… a lot.”
"Arthur... I can't think of one thing that's not annoying about your brother" You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to dig his own grave further.
The Monegasque chuckled and rolled his eyes "Nuh uh! I do remember very vividly how you were gushing about, and I quote 'astonishingly hot' my brother looked in that suit during christmas"
You huffed and coughed, throwing the pillow that was under your head towards Arthur "First of all that was 2 years ago" you said, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling “Besides, the only thing worse than Charles, is Charles knowing he’s handsome. He’s insufferable, and he’s fully aware of it. That smirk of his? Pure evil.”
Arthur snorted. “Yeah, he definitely knows. But let’s be honest, you’re not wrong. The guy could probably charm his way out of murder if he tried.”
You groaned again, flopping back onto the couch. “Can't I just stay here, and watch the house? Doesn't your fake plant need a plant sitter, to fake water it?" you joked.
Arthur plopped down beside you, his grin softening slightly. “You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you. I’ll even create a no-Charles zone if it helps.”
You laughed despite yourself, shoving his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
“An idiot you’re lucky to have,” he replied with a wink.
You smiled at him, rolling your eyes once again. He was true, you were lucky to have him, but you also weren't so lucky with who his brother was.
“But you have to admit,” Arthur continued, “you kind of love how much he gets under your skin. You wouldn’t have this much energy to complain if you didn’t care.”
Your gaze softened as you looked at him, and for a moment, your mind wandered back to where it all started. You and Arthur had been inseparable since you were kids.
The first time you met Arthur, you were eight years old, tagging along with Pierre to one of his karting races. Arthur, ten at the time, had been sitting on a crate, furiously tinkering with his kart while Charles shouted something from across the paddock. He looked up as you approached, his face smeared with grease, and grinned like he’d known you forever.
“Hi! I’m Arthur!” he announced, shoving his hand out for you to shake.
From that moment on, you were glued to his side. Arthur became your partner in crime, the one you told all your secrets to, and the brother you never asked for but somehow desperately needed.
Of course, being best friends with Arthur meant spending time around Charles, too.
You were fifteen when it happened—when you realized you had a crush on the unattainable Charles Leclerc. He was nineteen then, fully immersed in his F1 career and everything that came with it. He had this effortless charm, a confidence that made it impossible to look away.
You knew it was silly, that he’d never see you as anything more than Arthur’s kid best friend. But the crush lingered, stubborn and unrelenting.
By the time you were sixteen, you and Charles had started spending more time together, moments where the age gap didn’t feel so insurmountable. He’d joke with you, tease you about your karting attempts, and you couldn’t help but think… maybe. Maybe if you were older, it could be something.
“Maybe if you were older,” he’d said once, his voice light but his words heavy. “But you’re Pierre’s little sister, and Arthur would kill me. Besides, you’re like family.”
The words stung, but deep down, you understood. And then there was that night when you were eighteen—too many drinks, a shared laugh, and the moment you almost kissed. But it was over before it began, cut short by the sound of someone calling Charles’ name.
You never talked about it, burying the memory alongside the growing ache in your chest.
When you were eighteen, you finally let it go. You and Charles were just friends, so it seemed. You started dating other guys, convinced that the feelings you had for Charles were a thing of the past, which they seemed to be. But that was when Charles started to change.
He became distant, colder. His teasing shifted into something sharper, tinged with something you couldn’t quite understand. You started arguing more, getting annoyed by the weirdest little things. The playful insults and your arguments became the foundation of your relationship—barbed words masking unresolved tension.
Now, years later, it was all just… frustrating. You didn’t understand him, and you didn’t want to. Yet you both couldn't seem to let it each other be. Even though you were now respectively 21 and 26, you both had this childish need to keep pushing each others buttons.
The sound of the doorbell snapped you out of your thoughts. Arthur jumped up, grinning. “Showtime. Come on, let’s get this circus started.”
You followed him to the door, your heart sinking as soon as it swung open. There he was—Charles Leclerc, the devil himself, smirk firmly in place. Beside him stood Pierre and Kika, both smiling warmly.
“Great,” you muttered under your breath. “Let the torture begin.”
Pierre and Kika made their way in, following Arthur to the living room, leaving you standing there alone with Charles.
Charles’s eyes flicked to you, his smirk widening. “Miss me already?”
You rolled your eyes at the Monegasque driver, scoffing "I’d miss you more if you came with a mute button."
Before Charles had the chance to reply to your comment, Dennis Hauger appeared behind Charles, greeting both of you with a smirk. Saved by the bell
"HAUG!" you exclaimed happily, making your way over to him, embracing him.
Dennis returned the hug immediately, settling his arms around your waist "Hi there, frenchie" he chuckled back at you, using of his standard nickname for you.
You tucked your head in the crook of his neck "You just saved me from the devil, thanks" you whispered jokingly to him, low enough for Charles to not hear.
What you didn't notice tho, was the way Charles clenched his jaw at the sight in front of him, or the way he immediately made his way out of the hallway, trying to get away from the interaction in front of him. It was jealousy, pure jealousy. Something he was trying to deny with all his willpower.
⁺⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺
The house had been buzzing with activity for the past hour as everyone settled into their rooms. Most of the group had scrambled to claim their ideal space as soon as they walked in, leaving you and Kika to handle the grocery run. You didn’t mind—there wasn’t a room you particularly wanted, and you figured Arthur would sort it out for you while you were gone.
When you returned and put everything away, you made your way to the living room, where Arthur was lounging on the couch next to Dennis. You perched on the armrest beside him, your hands on your hips.
Arthur didn’t even look at you before sighing dramatically. “I’m sorry in advance,” he muttered, sounding uncharacteristically guilty.
You raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t even said anything yet, and you’re already apologizing. That’s reassuring.”
Arthur finally glanced up, a smirk creeping onto his face. “You weren’t going to ask me about your room for the month?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, catching the teasing tone in his voice. “Okay, and if I was? I already told you I don’t care which room I get. I’m not picky.”
Dennis snorted from his seat. “Oh, you’ll care soon enough.”
Confused, you glanced between them, their smirks only growing. “What are you two on about? Just tell me where the room is, and I’ll figure it out myself.”
Arthur shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Upstairs. There are two bedrooms on that floor. Yours is the one on the right.”
“Thanks,” you said, pushing off the armrest. “Honestly, boys, it can’t be that bad.”
As you walked away, you heard Arthur mutter behind you, “Sweet, innocent girl.”
The comment made you roll your eyes, but you brushed it off. Surely they were just being dramatic. When you reached the room, you stepped inside and surveyed the space. It was far from bad—it was actually quite nice. The room was spacious, with large windows that let in plenty of light. You noticed a set of balcony doors and walked over to them, opening them to find a stunning view of the beach. The balcony extended to the next room, but that wasn’t anything that bothered you.
Everything about the room seemed perfect. What were they even talking about?
Feeling satisfied, you turned your attention to the rest of the space, spotting a door near the wardrobe. It must lead to the bathroom. Curious, you opened it, stepping inside—and froze in your tracks.
There, in the middle of the bathroom, stood Charles, unpacking his toiletries into the cabinet. His back was to you, but the sight of him was enough to make your stomach drop. You quickly scanned the room and spotted another door on the opposite wall, clearly leading to his bedroom.
Oh. That’s what they meant.
“No way. This is not happening,” you huffed, throwing your hands in the air.
Charles turned at the sound of your voice, his expression shifting from surprise to irritation. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.
"About to murder either you, or the idiot that came up with the clever idea to put me in a room next to most insufferable person on mother earth" you snapped back at him.
Charles felt slightly hurt at your insult, he knew he caused this himself, but he figured that trying to get over you was easier when you hated him than when you were your way too sweet self.
Charles rolled his eyes, going back to his unpacking. "Might as well consider killing Joris then, because up until you came barging in, I thought he would be staying in that room" he said, rolling his eyes, mindlessly continuing to unpack his stuff
You crossed your arms, glaring at his nonchalant attitude. “Well, congratulations on your little upgrade. This arrangement is absolutely not happening. I’m switching rooms.”
“Good luck with that,” Charles muttered. “But if you’re planning to kill Joris, I’d like to watch.”
You ignored his sarcasm, muttering curses under your breath as you stormed out of the bathroom and downstairs into the kitchen. Your frustration was boiling over as you barged in, startling the group gathered around the table. Pierre, Kika, Arthur, Dennis, and Joris all looked up at you in varying states of confusion.
“Joris,” you snapped, pointing a finger at him. “I will kill you.”
Joris blinked, holding his hands up in defense. “What did I do?”
“Apparently you figured it was a good idea to take the last decent room, and left me with the one upstairs,” you hissed. “Which, by the way, shares a bathroom with Charles.”
Arthur burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “You just figured that out? Oh, this is gold.”
Joris’ confused expression turned sheepish. “Okay, wait. I didn’t know that if I didn’t take the upstairs room, you’d end up with it. I thought the downstairs one was just the last one left.”
“And you didn’t think about who would be upstairs with Charles?” you snapped, your tone laced with sarcasm.
Joris shrugged, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “I mean... I thought you’d appreciate the proximity to him.”
You groaned, turning to Pierre, who was clearly trying to stifle his laughter. “Pierre, switch rooms with me. Please.”
Pierre leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening. Kika and I have a nice setup downstairs, and I’m not about to share a bathroom with anyone. We need our privacy.”
“I need privacy too!” you argued, your voice rising in frustration.
“It’s different,” Pierre said, shooting you a pointed look. “Couples need privacy for... other things.”
“Ew. Stop. I don’t want to know,” you groaned, covering your ears dramatically.
You spun around to Arthur, narrowing your eyes. “You. Switch with me.”
Arthur raised his hands, laughing. “No can do. Charles would murder me. I snore too loud, and he’s all about his beauty sleep. He’d kick me out within a day.”
Your gaze shifted to Dennis, who immediately held up his hands. “Don’t even think about it. I’ve got the best room in the house—big bed, balcony, bubble bath. I’m not giving that up.”
You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. “You’re all useless.”
He leaned back smugly, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery. Then, as if to soften the blow, he added, “Well, I would’ve offered to let you stay in my room with me, but I think that would be the cause of my death.” His eyes flicked pointedly to your brother.
“Fair point,” Pierre said flatly, without missing a beat.
You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “No, that’s off-limits. But sharing a bathroom—with connecting doors—with the one guy you’ve always said was ‘off-limits’ is somehow not an issue? You’re a hypocritical ass.”
Pierre shrugged, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “First of all, sleeping in someone’s bed is completely different than sharing a bathroom,” he countered, folding his arms.
“And second,” he added with a knowing look, “the only reason I ever said that was because you had a little teenage crush on my best friend. And let’s be honest, at the time, he was way too old for you. But...” He trailed off, chuckling to himself. “I guess sticking to that would make me a bit of a hypocrite, considering I’m dating one of your friends now, and our age gap is even bigger.”
You groaned loudly, knowing you couldn’t win this side of the argument. “Whatever,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “That doesn’t change the fact that you know he’s the one person I want to avoid the most. You know I hate him,” you complained. “I can’t even stand the idea of his existence, let alone sharing a goddamn bathroom with him.”
“Relax,” Pierre said with a smirk. “It’s just a bathroom. There’s a lock on the door. You’ll survive.”
“Exactly,” came Charles’ voice from behind you. You spun around to find him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and an infuriatingly smug look on his face. “It’s not like sharing a bathroom means we’re obligated to shower together.”
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” you snapped. “It might be worth it just to drown you.”
The group erupted in laughter, and Charles rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like a child. Just knock before you go in. Problem solved.”
You glared at him, furious “Why are you even meddling, you weren't even part of this conversation, are you just lurking around waiting to butt in on conversations?” you snapped.
Charles smirked, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Not my fault you’re loud enough to hear from every other room,” he replied, his tone light but with an edge of sarcasm.
Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you shot him a glare. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here we are,” he quipped, unfazed by your fury.
You sighed loudly "See, this is what I mean, this is what y'all are burdening me with" you complained, glaring at him once more, your frustration bubbling over. “You’re the last person I’d ever want to share a bathroom with.”
Charles smirked, stepping further into the kitchen, inching closer to you, until he was close enough to whisper in your ear. “Good thing it’s not up to you, then.”
Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you shot him a glare, your voice sharp and dripping with annoyance. “Fuck you, Charles.”
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider as he tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Tempting,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “but I don’t think you could handle it.”
Pierre clapped his hands together, interrupting the argument. “Alright, enough. Give it a try for a few days. If it’s really that bad, we’ll figure something out. But I doubt it’ll be the end of the world.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if I end up committing a murder, just know it’s on all of you.”
⁺⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺
After the heated argument downstairs, you stormed up the stairs to your designated bedroom, Arthur trailing behind you with his ever-present smug smirk. His long strides brought him into the room before you could even process your frustration fully. He flopped unceremoniously onto your bed, bouncing slightly as he sprawled out, his arms behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Meanwhile, you busied yourself with unpacking your suitcase, each item you placed in the wardrobe an outlet for your simmering annoyance. The rhythmic sound of hangers sliding against the bar was oddly soothing—until you caught Arthur watching you with that infuriating grin plastered across his face.
"What?" you snapped, not even turning to face him.
Arthur’s eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, nothing. Just waiting for you to protest again"
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. Before you could even begin to voice your frustration, Arthur sat up, one hand raised in mock surrender. "Nope! Let me stop you right there. This wasn’t just on me.”
Without thinking, you grabbed a pair of joggers from your suitcase and lobbed them at him. The fabric smacked him square in the face with a satisfying thwack.
“Merde!” he exclaimed, his laughter spilling out as he dramatically tossed the joggers aside. “Violence is not the answer, you know.”
“Neither is being useless,” you shot back, crossing your arms. "Arthur, you could have at least tried something! Anything would have been better than this.”
He leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms as if settling in for a long discussion. “Trust me, I did. But there wasn’t much to work with. Your brother doesn’t want to switch because—well, come on, you know why. He’s here with his girlfriend, and honestly, he made a fair point.”
You made a disgusted face, wrinkling your nose. “Fair point or not, it still sucks for me.”
Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. “And then there’s Joris. He’s obviously got a thing for Gigi, and guess what? Gigi sleeps downstairs. Perfect excuse for him to ‘accidentally’ run into her more often.”
“Gross,” you muttered, shoving another shirt into the wardrobe.
Arthur grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. “And let’s be real: Inès and Gigi met Charles today. Can you imagine how awkward it’d be for either of them to share a bathroom with him? What if they walk in each other accidentally. That’s like… social torture. At least you’ve known him for years.”
You spun around, throwing your hands in the air. “I’M UNCOMFORTABLE TOO, ARTHUR!”
“Yeah, but that’s just you two being… you two,” he quipped, gesturing vaguely between you. “It’s a highly unlogical—”
“Illogical,” you corrected sharply.
“Whatever.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s an illogical issue between the two of you. At least you know him well enough to, I don’t know, coexist?”
You exhaled sharply, knowing he wasn’t entirely wrong but unwilling to admit it. “Fine. But Dennis? He’s my friend! He could have helped me out instead of hogging the nicest room in the house.”
Arthur snorted. “You know Dennis and Paul! I’m pretty sure they're just quietly rooting for some ‘enemies to lovers’ drama between you and Charles. Probably think it’s entertaining"
You stared at him in disbelief, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh my God. Why do you all think this is some slow-burn romance novel? I’m not in love with him anymore. That was just a stupid teenage crush!”
Arthur grinned wider, clearly delighted. “Sure, sure. But that doesn’t mean you two don’t have… something.”
“Ugh!” You grabbed a pillow and launched it at him, but he easily dodged, laughing as he slid off the bed to avoid further projectiles.
“Relax, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking,” he teased, leaning casually against the wall. “And for the record, I would have swapped with you. But Charles would kill me. You know how I snore, and—let’s be real—we’ve already lived together long enough. He’d probably prefer sharing a bathroom with you than enduring that again.”
You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I just don’t get it. He hates me just as much as I hate him. Why would he rather share with me than you?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, his knowing smirk returning. “Oh, I have my theories. But I’m staying out of it.”
“That’s not helpful,” you muttered, exasperated.
Arthur chuckled, pushing off the wall. “Look, you could always sleep on the couch. But if you do…” He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You’re letting him win.”
“Fair point,” you admitted begrudgingly.
Arthur patted your shoulder as he walked toward the door. “Good luck surviving the week. Don’t kill each other—well, at least not where anyone can see.”
Once he was gone, the silence of the room felt heavy. You sighed, glancing toward the adjoining bathroom door—the one that connected your room to Charles’.
As if on cue, the faint sound of running water reached your ears. You groaned inwardly, already dreading the inevitable awkward encounters. Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe this was all just some cosmic joke meant to test your patience.
But as you sank onto the edge of the bed, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something else—something unsettling that you didn’t want to name. Whatever it was, you shoved it aside, determined to prove that you could handle this without giving anyone the satisfaction of watching you squirm.
For now, you focused on unpacking the rest of your things, trying to ignore the quiet tension creeping in through the bathroom door.
⁺⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺
Later that day, the dinner table was alive with chatter, forks scraping plates, and glasses clinking as the group settled into an easy rhythm of conversation. The garden outside glowed under the string lights Pierre had painstakingly strung earlier, their warm light casting a soft glow over everyone seated at the table. Plates were piled high with food, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the gentle hum of evening crickets.
You sat between Dennis and Arthur, trying your best to ignore the magnetic pull of Charles, seated directly across from you. He was deep in conversation with Joris about the best overtaking strategies, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. You told yourself you weren’t paying attention, but your eyes betrayed you, flickering to him more often than you’d like.
Arthur leaned over, breaking your reverie. “You’ve barely touched your plate,” he teased, nodding toward your half-eaten dinner.
“Maybe I lost my appetite after sitting across from that,” you said pointedly, your fork gesturing vaguely in Charles’ direction.
Charles, sharp as ever, caught the jab immediately. His green eyes glinted with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, resting an arm lazily on the table. “Careful,” he drawled. “That attitude of yours might scare away any remaining appetite you have.”
Dennis snickered quietly beside you, earning a glare from you and a soft punch to his shoulder. “Don’t encourage him,” you muttered.
“Who, me?” Dennis asked innocently.
The banter escalated as the evening wore on. Drinks began to flow more freely—wine for most, a few beers for the others—and snacks were passed around as the group moved to the garden chairs scattered across the lawn. The stars above provided the perfect backdrop, but you were too caught up in the ebb and flow of conversation to appreciate them fully.
You and Charles kept up your usual sniping, each comment sharper than the last. It wasn’t long before Pierre, clearly exasperated, threw up his hands. “Enough, you two. I swear, if you keep this up, we’ll have to start taking bets on which one of you snaps first.”
“I’m not snapping,” you retorted, crossing your arms.
Charles smirked, taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “Neither am I. I’m having the time of my life.”
The group burst into laughter, easing the tension momentarily. But across the garden, Dennis leaned toward Arthur, his voice dropping low enough to stay out of earshot.
“Am I the only one seeing it?” Dennis asked, his gaze darting between you and Charles.
Arthur followed his line of sight, frowning slightly. “Seeing what?”
“Come on, Thur,” Dennis said, nudging him. “The tension. The way they bicker? That’s not just hate. That’s something else.”
Arthur hesitated, his brows furrowing. “I don’t know. With her? I can’t tell. She used to have a thing for him, sure. But now? One moment I think she’s over it, and the next…”
Dennis grinned knowingly. “She’s not over it. And Charles? He’s head over heels. Look at the way he watches her when she’s not looking. The guy’s smitten.”
Arthur laughed at him "I've had my suspicions about him for a while, but he's difficult to read"
“Just saying, the sexual tension is insane.” Dennis laughed.
Arthur groaned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re talking about my brother. Ew.”
"Hey, in all honesty. If he indeeds feels that way about her, I don't judge him.." Dennis laughed at the disgusted face that Arthur was pulling "Because, come on, you gotta admit it, she's hot"
Arthur shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Yeah, she’s hot. I'm aware of that, but I don’t see her that way. Never did, to be honest. We kissed a couple of times, but it was never like that" he said, a laugh present on his face as he thought back to the memories "I guess like once or twice during drinking games, and I remember one time when we were just young and hopeless, so we tried kissing like once, but it honestly was like… kissing my sister. Just weird.”
Dennis nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I know that, Thur. But your brother? He doesn’t seem to think it’s weird.”
Dennis was watching you and Charles with barely concealed amusement, his eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching a slow-motion car crash. He leaned a little closer to Arthur, smirking. "I mean, come on," he said under his breath. "Do they think they’re fooling anyone?"
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "They’ve been like this for ages. It’s exhausting just being around it."
Gigi, sitting nearby and clearly picking up on their hushed tones, laughed softly and joined in. “It’s mildly funny, though. They’re trying so hard to keep up this weird act of hating each other. Like, come on—it’s obvious they don’t actually hate each other.”
Dennis grinned, nodding toward Charles. “Right? The guy looks like he’s about to break his neck just to glance at her without being obvious.”
Gigi shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “What I don’t get is what caused all this. They used to be great friends. Back when she was still in love with him” she explained “they were actually kind of inseparable. So, what changed?”
Dennis tilted his head, considering her words. “Do you think she's still in love with him?”
Gigi paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Honestly? I don’t think so. I mean, she still thinks he’s hot—because, let’s face it, he is hot—but she doesn’t act the way she used to. Back then, she was constantly hopeful. And let's face it, he was her first ever proper crush, so he might have a special place, but I don't think she's still in love with him. Now it's just different"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”
“She just seems... done. Like she gave up on him a while ago.” Gigi shrugged again, her tone thoughtful. “And honestly, I don’t blame her. If Charles does feel something now, he's probably too late. She’s waited long enough. Sure, when she was younger, the age gap made sense. She was too young. But by the time she was, like, 20, she was old enough. She still had feelings for him then, and he never even did anything about it.”
Dennis tapped his chin dramatically. “That’s rough. And if he does admit something now, what do you think? Should she go for it?”
Gigi frowned, her gaze shifting toward you briefly. “I don’t know. It would feel... weird. Like, if he didn’t see her that way before, why now? It might just feel like he’s choosing her because it’s convenient.”
Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. “Can we not psychoanalyze my brother’s love life, please?”
Gigi shifted her gaze to Dennis, a sly grin spreading across her face. “What about you? You and her seem close. Maybe something’s blossoming there?”
Dennis raised an eyebrow, a surprised chuckle escaping him. “Me and her? Nah, come on.”
Gigi tilted her head, still smirking. “What? I’m just saying, you two seem to have this... vibe.”
Dennis laughed, shaking his head. “Look, she’s hot. I’d hook up with her in a heartbeat if she wanted to, but something serious? Nah. We both know it’s not like that.”
Gigi rolled her eyes, clearly amused. “You’re an idiot.” she laughed.
Arthur leaned back, groaning dramatically. “Why are we even having this conversation? Can we not dissect every potential romantic possibility?”
Gigi laughed. “Oh, come on, Arthur. Admit it. It’s entertaining.”
Arthur shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You all need help.”
Both Gigi and Dennis laughed out loud at Arthur's comment, finding it funny how Arthur reacted.
Before anyone could say more, their conversation was cut short when Charles, who had clearly overheard snippets of their hushed tones, called out from across the garden. “What’s so funny over there?”
Arthur, Dennis, and Gigi exchanged a quick look before Arthur spoke, his tone far too casual. “Oh, nothing much. Just debating which one of us would survive the longest if we had to endure one of your lectures on strategy.”
Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Sure,” he muttered, turning back to his conversation with Joris. But the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement, even as he pretended not to care.
⁺⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺
As the night wore on, the group began to disperse, some heading to bed while others lingered to enjoy the cool night air. You made your way up to your room, feeling restless. Grabbing the cigarette Inès had reluctantly given you earlier, you stepped onto the balcony, the cool breeze brushing against your skin.
The first drag burned your throat, a harsh reminder of why you’d quit. But tonight, the weight in your chest felt heavier than usual, and this seemed like the only way to breathe again.
The quiet was short-lived. The soft creak of the balcony door opening made you stiffen, and when you turned, you found Charles stepping out.
“If you’re planning to mock me for smoking, shut up,” you said, not even trying to hide your annoyance.
Charles raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t planning on anything.”
He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the view rather than you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the tension ebbing into something softer.
“Are you going to keep standing there, or are you taking a seat?” you asked, nudging a chair toward him with your foot.
He sat without a word, the quiet between you stretching but not uncomfortable.
“I thought you quit,” he said finally, his voice soft.
You took another drag, exhaling slowly. “I did.”
Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Figures.”
“But then my best friend decided it was a good idea to take me on a holiday and make me share a bathroom and connecting rooms with his brother" You smirked faintly "Don’t know if you’ve met him, but he’s got a massive ego and loves getting on his brother’s best friend’s nerves. Pathetic, really.”
Charles laughed, the sound low and warm. “Can’t say I’ve met him. But he probably has a good reason.”
The two of you shared a quiet laugh, a rare moment of peace between the insults. You held out your cigarette to him, a small gesture of truce.
Charles hesitated before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The touch was fleeting but electric, sending a jolt through him that he didn’t entirely wanted to administer. He took a drag, exhaling slowly, his eyes on the stars.
“For someone who claims to hate me this much, this seems pretty generous,” he said, handing it back.
“Maybe I’m trying to ruin your lungs so you screw up your next race,” you replied dryly, leaning back in your chair.
Charles hummed in mock agreement. “Hmm. If you say so.”
The silence lingered between you and Charles, stretching into something neither of you was used to—quiet, companionable, and strangely comfortable. You stared out at the darkened garden, the faint glow of the string lights from below casting soft shadows across the balcony. The cigarette burned low between your fingers, the occasional ember flaring as you took a slow drag.
Charles shifted slightly in his seat, his arms resting casually on the chair's arms, his eyes flicking to you when he thought you weren’t looking. The lines of his face were softened by the night, his usual sharpness replaced by a contemplative calm.
“You’ve gotten quieter,” you muttered, breaking the silence. “What? Run out of things to argue about already?”
He smirked, glancing at you. “Just pacing myself. Don’t want to exhaust all my good comebacks in one night.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Oh, please. I’ve heard them all before. You’re not that original.”
“Maybe I’m just giving you a chance to catch up,” he quipped, a faint grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
You laughed softly, shaking your head, and for a moment, it almost felt easy—like the walls you’d both carefully built were thinning, letting something more natural seep through.
The two of you lapsed back into silence, the occasional sound of the night filling the void. Charles tapped his fingers lightly against the chair, his rhythm steady, almost soothing. He tilted his head back slightly, staring up at the stars.
“What do you think they’re talking about down there?” he asked suddenly, nodding toward the garden where the others were still chatting.
You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Knowing Arthur and Dennis? Something dumb. Probably debating the best flavor of chips or some other nonsense.”
Charles chuckled softly. “Sounds about right.”
Minutes passed, the quiet stretching comfortably between you. Occasionally, your gazes met, and though neither of you spoke, there was an unspoken exchange—something in the way his eyes softened just slightly when he looked at you.
Finally, you stood, brushing ash from your hands. “I’m going to freshen up in the bathroom and go to bed.”
Charles didn’t respond immediately, his eyes following your movements. Just as you reached the doorway, he called out softly, his voice cutting through the quiet.
“You know,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “aside from all the arguments… you know I don’t actually hate you, right?”
You froze in the doorway, his words hanging in the air between you. Slowly, you turned, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You have a shit way of showing that,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.
Charles gave you a small, almost rueful smile. “I’ll work on it.”
You stared at him for a moment longer before nodding. “Goodnight, Charles.”
“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as you disappeared inside.
In the bathroom, the scent of him lingered—subtle but unmistakable. It was maddening how easily it unsettled you, making your chest tighten with an unspoken weight. You closed the door behind you, locking both his and your side with care, as if the physical barrier could somehow keep your thoughts at bay.
You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the faint steam from the earlier shower still clinging to the edges of the glass. “Get over it,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible. “You hate him. Remember?”
But the words felt hollow, even to your own ears.
The shower’s warm spray hit your skin, washing away the tension that had settled in your shoulders, but it couldn’t quite cleanse your mind. Images of his face lingered—his small, almost shy smile when he’d said he didn’t hate you, the way his fingers had brushed against yours earlier when you passed him the cigarette.
You lingered longer than usual, hoping the heat of the water would somehow dissolve the confusion swirling inside you. When you finally stepped out and dried off, you felt no closer to clarity, only exhaustion.
Back in your room, the muffled sounds of movement from the adjoining space made you pause. You could hear him faintly—the soft creak of his bed, the shuffle of fabric as he adjusted his position. It was strangely intimate, knowing he was so close, separated only by a thin wall.
Sliding into bed, you stared at the ceiling, the room’s quiet amplifying the sounds next door. Your mind drifted despite your best efforts, and with a sigh, you reached for your phone.
You: Bathroom’s free
You'd typed it quickly, hesitating for a moment before pressing send. Before you could even process your message, the reply already came.
Charles: Thanks.
You put your phone on your nightstand, plugging it in the charger, before crawling deeper beneath the covers. You tried to fall asleep, but it felt impossible. Every movement he made, every creak of his bed, echoed faintly. It made you realize once more, in what close proximity you both were, keeping you awake longer than you’d like. Eventually though, sleep claimed you, surprisingly peaceful despite everything.
next part
#f1 fanfic#formula 1#f1 imagine#smut#f1 x reader#formula 1 smut#friends to lovers#charles leclerc#arthur leclerc#cl16#fluff#enemies to lovers#semi slowburn#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x reader
686 notes
·
View notes
Text
Give me this dance
Alternate Silco x fem reader (fluff and smut!)
MDNI!!
Synopsis: In every timeline, you were a part of his life. Right there by his side to bring him outside of his comfort zone and show him some fun. Soon, what started as a mere dance turned into a night neither of you would forget.
Songs for inspo/to listen to while reading:
CW: slight season 2 spoilers! Established friendship, mutual pining, mutual feelings, unrequited feelings, reader is AFAB, reader is a bartender at the last drop, reader has hair, alternate Silco, softer/happier Silco, brief mentions of alcohol, fluff w/ smut, cursing, fïngering, 0ral (fem recieving), nïpple pläy, unprotected seggs, p0rn w/ feelings, rïding, cream 🥧, fluffy ending, proofread, potential spelling/grammar errors, slight OOC Silco, no use of y/n
AN: The way he looked so happy in this timeline, he looks so happy and even more handsome somehow it’s CRAZY!! 😭 Had this one in the works for a while now but it’s finally done! I hope you all enjoy! 🥹♥️
You smiled happily as you were finally able to find your way out from behind the bar, a momentary reprieve from the hustle and bustle, the demand of drink orders that had been steadily building all night. “Come dance with me! I love this song” you remarked to Silco, making his eyes widen with something akin to a look of fear. He was a horrible dancer, and the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself in front of you of all people. He looked to Vander for any bit of advice or help he could give, only earning a grin from the man in response, telling him he was on his own for this one. “I-I’m not very good at dancing I…” Silco tried to explain, stuttering terribly as your hand grabbed his upper arm, causing a blush to trickle across his face and his heart to race in his chest out of nervousness. He didn’t want to turn you down, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself in a bar full of people either. Or embarrass you, for that matter, with being such a terrible dance partner. “Me either, it’s okay! Promise I won’t judge” you reassured with a smile, the faint smell of liquor and mixers entangling with your perfume, creating a smell that was so comforting, so familiar. It was so you and so incredibly intoxicating. “C’mon, let’s have some fun! Dance with me” you tried to persuade him sweetly, gorgeous eyes looking up at him so excitedly, almost twinkling in the warm glow of the lanterns that hung around the bar. How could he possibly say no when you looked at him like that? “What’s the harm? Doubt anyone will even be lookin’” Vander jutted in, cleaning a glass as he spoke and took your side on this, hoping that maybe if Silco danced with you, he would finally tell you how he feels, possibly ending the constant back and forth cycle of mutual pining between you two for good. He was two to one now, leaving him no other choice but to relent. “I suppose I’ll step out of my comfort zone, just this once” he remarked cheekily, making you nearly jump for joy at his response, an elated smile stretching across your lips as you eagerly led him out on the floor to dance. Vander could only laugh as he watched you both act as if you were teenagers all over again, pushing the boundaries of friendship and testing the waters of romance.
You looked up at the taller man in front of you, hazel and green eyes gazing upon you with such light of a man so deeply in love. Your bright, contagious laughter filled the air as you danced to the music, caring not for anything but this moment. Who cared if anyone else was watching? Who what anyone else was thinking? If they were judging. The only person you cared about looking at you was the man you were dancing with. Seeing his eyes glued to you, smiling as he attempting to follow your pace and rhythm was all you needed. This had to be heaven, surely. “I’ve never seen you dance like this before” Silco commented with a cheeky grin, happy to see you so comfortable and carefree while in his presence. “I normally don’t, but for such a special occasion I decided to make an exception” you replied, making him laugh as you both continued to let the beat carry you, finding your feet moving nearly in sync all on their own.
Before you knew it, one dance had turned into quite a few, then quite a few turned into spending nearly all night out there getting caught up in song. Silco found himself enjoying the moment and the chance to be with you far more than he could have ever anticipated. Who knew stepping out of your bubble a little could be so much fun? Suddenly the music had taken on a much slower turn from the rest of the music that had been playing, even the lights had dropped a little to add to the almost romantic atmosphere. You’d never slow danced before, and you figured that you’d likely pulled Silco out of his element for long enough, so you took it as your sign to hop back behind the bar. However before you could, his voice stopped you. “Where are you going?” He asked softly, looking confused and almost hurt that you were going to leave. “Oh, I figured you were probably done dancing for the night so I…I thought I’d head back behind the bar. I didn’t want to force you to stay here dancing all night if it isn’t what you want” you explained, feeling a pang of guilt hit you in the chest as he looked upon you so sadly. Any chance he had to spend with you he would do in a heartbeat, so long as it was with you, he’d do just about anything. “I don’t feel forced. You’ve brought me out of my element yes, but I’ve enjoyed dancing with you. I’d be even happier to continue” he admitted wholeheartedly, making you perk up a little to hear he was enjoying himself, finding yourself a little surprised at the prospect. “Really?” You asked, voice hopeful as you looked to him, watching him shake his head yes, easing your every worry. “Would you give me this dance?” He asked bravely, hand extended out for you to take. You looked to it before looking back up at him with a blushy smile, heart feeling as if it would beat out of your chest from both excitement and anxiousness. “I’d be delighted to” you responded sweetly, grabbing his hand and allowing him to lead you both to a spot that allowed you enough room while also granting you a little bit of privacy compared to before. “Full disclosure, I’ve never slow danced before” you finally confessed, a little embarrassed but it only made him chuckle. “Me either, it’s okay. I won’t judge” he repeated back to you the exact same thing you’d told him when you asked him to dance, making you laugh at the witty comeback. It was only fair, you supposed. You’d brought him out of his comfort zone and showed him a great time in doing so, it was only fair to allow him to do the same for you. Besides, when would you be able to get this chance to share with him again? Better to take the opportunity, make the best of it and be able to look back on it as a memory someday than not and mourn what could have been. “Clever play, using my own words against me” you replied, making him only grin wider. “Just follow my lead” he spoke confidently, bringing your arm to loop around his neck as one of his hands rested at your hip, the other holding yours as you both stepped and swayed to the beat, keeping it simple. You couldn’t help the rouge that ran across your cheeks however that this was even happening right now. From the close proximity of your chests being pressed together, to your hands being intertwined as he looked down at you with a soft, love struck smile, all of it was so romantic. So intimate. It left you nervous, not wanting to mess up and ruin the beautiful tension that had begun to set in between you now. Yet you felt so alive, so free. It felt like one of those romantic moments you’d only ever heard of in the books you’d read. You could hardly believe it was actually real. That this was real.
You smiled up at him as you stared into his gorgeous eyes, finding your hand moving from its original place to instead come and rest along the scarred side of his cheek almost instinctively, your thumb rubbing soothing circles against the textured skin there. He was always so self conscious about his scars, especially around you. He didn’t want you to think less of him because of them, or find him less attractive because of them, often covering them with makeup to at least cover the color of the scar tissue and make it blend in with his natural skin tone better. Yet you thought that they were what made him so stunning. Paired with his piercing eyes and the confidence he carried about himself so effortlessly, even the way he dressed, everything about him was just so incredibly special. He stood out amongst the rest of the crowd. Gods he was so handsome. He was so handsome it was almost intimidating, yet you’d known him long enough to know there was no reason to be.
Your sweet gesture made his heart skip in his chest, beating harder and faster than it already had as he smiled down at you. He wondered to himself if it was loud enough for you to hear as it slammed against his sternum. You couldn’t help the way your eyes seemed to curiously flit between his and his lips occasionally, silently wondering how they would feel if they were pressed against your own. Would they be soft? They looked soft. Would they fit well against your own? You hoped to find out. It made you start to think that perhaps the slower song was chosen on purpose, strategically placed so you would dance with him to it. A plan to get you to get him out of his comfort zone, show him some fun, all while setting you both up with the perfect opportunity to speak on feelings that rested unspoken between you for far too long now. Or maybe you were just lucky enough to have fate hand you such a beautiful opportunity. Who were you to turn it down if so? “You’re quite good at this” you complimented, making him give a breathy chuckle. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for” he replied, making you hum with a sweet smile as you looped both of your arms around his neck, taking the bold step and resting your head against his chest as you continued to sway. He froze for a moment as you did, his hands finding your hips before wrapping his arms around you as it set in that you were leaned against him like this. That you felt safe enough with him to do so. It made him nearly dizzy at the thought of having you like this, to have you so close, for you to want this with him. It left him to silently thank every deity above for the opportunity as he shut his eyes and rested his chin on top of your head for a moment, allowing the both of you to sway to the rhythm and just enjoy each other’s warmth.
When the song had finally come to an end, you lifted your head up to look at him, eyes once again flickering between his gaze and his lips with that same curiosity. Only this time it was much stronger than it was before. “Thank you, for dancing with me. For…for choosing to share this moment with me” you said meekly, making him look to you as one of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin just as you’d done to him. For a moment the world was completely lost on you, it felt as if it was just the two of you here. “No matter the options, no matter the occasion I’d choose you, always” he confessed, tone so genuine, words so heartfelt that the butterflies in your stomach had returned tenfold, leaving you to bite your lip as you bit back a school-girlish giggle. If your mind wasn’t screaming at you to kiss him before, it most certainly was now. “Sil?” You inquired softly, watching as his eyes now trailed to your plush lips before returning your gaze, doing the same to you that you’d been doing to him this whole time. It nearly drove you wild, seeing the want in his eyes, the admiration. All for you. “Yes?” He asked in reply, watching a smile stretch to your lips before you spoke, looking at you expectantly. “Do us both a favor and just kiss me already, would you?” You responded in a cheeky but confident tone, making him hum in amusement at your boldness. He loved it about you, so unafraid to go for the things you wanted or that made you happy. He was honored to be that for you. “I thought you’d never ask” he answered, not wasting even a moment before his lips were on yours, finally answering all curiosities and all thoughts as he held you close. Vander gave an excited whistle and clap that left you smiling into it as you pulled him down against you a little more, showing him just how much you’d wanted this. He chuckled into it, responding by squeezing your hip as your lips melded together for a little while longer, a good handful of people cheering you both on before finally pulling apart. You smiled up at him excitedly as his hand grabbed yours, squeezing it lovingly.
“Well, as delightful as this has been, it’s about time for my shift to be over. Do you…maybe wanna get out of here?” You asked, hoping he would say yes, praying that when you went to put your apron back behind the bar and walk out, you’d be walking out with him. He tried so hard to hide his surprise and excitement at your question, but the way his brows raised a little and eyes opened a little wider didn’t go unnoticed by you, making you giggle softly as you saw it. “Are you asking me to come home with you?” He asked curiously, wanting to make sure he understood exactly what you were implying, not wishing to misread you and do something that would make you upset or assume something incorrectly. “Yes, yes I am” you replied as you looked up at him, awaiting his answer. He was dreaming, he must have been. Had you really just asked him to come home with you? “After you” he said, making you smile and giggle. “G-Great! Yeah, uhh just…let me put this behind the bar for tomorrow then we’ll head out” you replied, skittering behind the bar to quickly take off and fold your apron before tucking it away, informing Vander that you were headed home for the night. He shot you a grin and Silco a knowing glance as you walked back over to him, collecting your things before heading out the door together.
You smiled and giggled with excitement into your shared kiss as your back hit one of the walls in your home that you’d only just stepped foot in but a moment ago. You’d barely even made it in the door that was haphazardly shut with his foot, your hands running up from his chest to tangle in his neatly slicked back hair as your lips melded together in a sinful dance. His one hand rested against the wall, propping himself up with his arm and caging you in a little as the other sat at the back of your thigh, allowing your leg to rest against his hip so he could slot himself even closer to you. He’d spent long enough without you, long enough chasing circles around you, any space between you now was eliminated the moment it was noticed. You felt him slide closer to you between your legs, his other hand coming down from the wall to do the same to your other thigh, tapping it so you would hop up and wrap your legs around his hips. As you did so, he had you effectively pinned against the wall, your hips pressed against his with a moan as your tongues fought in a battle for dominance over the other. One he was delighted to let you win, allowing your tongue to explore his, the taste of whiskey, smoke and tobacco still hanging heavily from his lips. It was an addicting taste. You gasped into the kiss as he rolled his hips against yours, leaving you to pull away to rest your head against the wall as his lips trailed your neck, kissing and nipping at all your sensitive spots. He simply couldn’t get enough of you, your warmth, the feel of your soft skin against his own, the sounds of your melodic moans filling his ears, it was all such bliss. And Janna almighty was he a lucky man to be the one who gets to see you like this. His nimble fingers danced curiously beneath the bottom of your shirt, calloused hands caressing your waist. He aided you in removing your shirt, leaving you there before him in your bra and the sight alone made him throb against you, earning a quiet gasp with delight as you looked to him excitedly. Lust filled your gaze, pupils nearly encompassing the entirety of your irises as a smile still rested on your lips, waiting for his next move. His hands found their way behind you, undoing the clasps to your bra and watching as you tossed it aside without a care. “Beautiful” was all he could say as he gazed upon you, leaving you to blush and give a hum in response.
Once you’d finally made it to your bedroom, you aided in the removal of his shirt, undoing the buttons, unraveling all the stylish layers teasingly yet carefully slow while looking up at him. You notified his fingers twitched with anticipation, patiently waiting for you to finish so he could feel your skin against his once more. Once they’d finally been undone, they trailed along your floor towards the foot of your bed, allowing you to gaze upon his slender form. You smiled with all the kindness in the world as you gazed upon him, looking at him as if he were a god standing before you, offering himself to you. It all felt so unreal. Your hands rested on his chest once he’d leaned in closer, begging for the taste of your lips against his once more, helping you to lay on your back as he kissed you much softer this time. Your arms looped around his neck to hold him close, inviting him to continue. He eagerly straddled your frame, one of his hands coming down to caress the curve of your waist before reaching upwards to your chest. He paused for a moment, unsure of whether it was okay for him to touch, so you took the chance to grab his hand, placing it there for him with a playful grin into your shared kiss before looping your arms back around him, hands splayed against his lithe figure. You moaned sweetly in response as he massaged your breast in his hand, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth and tangle with your own, deepening the kiss.
Before you knew it his hand was trailing down your frame once again, fingers slipping past your naval and down towards the waistband of your pants. He broke the kiss to work at the button of your pants, leaving you panting for air as a flush set against your cheeks. You giggled as you watched him fumble with the button and zipper for a little bit, the eager shake of his hands making it prove to be a bit more difficult before he was finally able to get it undone. He looked to you for permission as his fingers hooked in the waistband, waiting for you to tell him it was okay. When your hands pushed down against his own to help them inch down your hips, he took that as his answer, pulling them, along with your panties, down and off of your legs before tossing them behind him unceremoniously, making you laugh. “Eager, are we?” You teased with a grin, making him chuckle. “I don’t think you understand just how long I’ve wanted you” he replied, sending a pleasant shudder down your spine and stoked the fire burning in your core at the thought that he’s craved you like this. That he’s fantasized about this. “Then what are you waiting for?” You asked, making him shoot you a crooked grin before sinking down and settling between your legs, laying gentle yet hot kisses to your inner thighs. “For you to scream my name for all of Zaun to hear as I please you like no one else can” he responded confidently with a much deeper tone, hands resting on your thighs and keeping them spread as he brought his lips to your throbbing clit.
Your reaction was immediate, back arching slightly from the mattress as your hands flew down to tangle in his hair. “Fuck…” you cursed quietly before moaning as his tongue licked flatly up your slit then fluttered against your aching bud. He moaned into you at your taste, opening his eye to look up at you as he sat between your legs lavishing you with attention, and gods above was he graced with a beautiful sight. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth open as moans billowed from your throat unrestrained, your chest heaving up and down with each labored breath. His every fantasy was ruined in this moment, because nothing, absolutely nothing would ever look better than you do right now. Nothing will ever hold a candle to your beauty as he pleased you. You looked fucking ethereal. Nothing could have possibly prepared him for it, for how perfect you looked, how delicious you tasted, how sexy you sounded moaning his name like a mantra for a lost god. He’d give anything to stay here, like this. All you’d ever have to do is ask.
You felt as one of his nimble fingers prodded at your entrance, easing its way in thanks to the mix between your slick and his saliva before searching for any of your sensitive spots. You gasped as he curled his finger within you, feeling him rubbing against your gummy walls as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking it. It left you dizzy, weak even, with just how good it felt. “Gods, yes! Just like that” you encouraged, one hand smoothing through his hair as you looked down at him while he worked you with his mouth, your fingers of your other hand coming up to toy with one of your sensitive nipples, adding to your pleasure. He groaned into you as he took notice of this, enjoying the sight of you playing with yourself as he brought you pleasure, listening to you moan his name like a prayer. None of Zaun would be able to mistake who had you feeling this good once he was through with you. His free hand came up to mirror your ministrations, showing your other breast some much needed attention. You gave a louder moan in surprise as he pinched it playfully between his thumb and index finger before rolling it beneath the pad of his thumb to soothe. The pain sent a bolt of pleasure straight to your clit, making him grin against you as he worked a second finger inside of you whilst skillfully tweaking your nipple.
You started to feel that all too familiar feeling of tension beginning to fester and rise in your lower belly, so close to snapping any moment now. Your hips rutted against his tongue and fingers, making him moan into your cunt as you used him for your pleasure, trying desperately to gain any bit of friction you could to propel you over the edge, and allow you to tumble into euphoria. “So close, please…” you begged through breathless pants, absolutely desperate to cum. It was when his fingers curled and rubbed against your walls once more that he found that spongy spot within you that lit your every nerve ending on fire. “Right there! Oh gods, Silco please” you let out, making him continue exactly what he was doing, hearing as your voice raised a bit higher in pitch, feeling your walls begin to tighten around his fingers. Before you could even think to warn him, your orgasm was rushing over you, consuming you whole as you screamed his name without a care for any consequence. Your back arched from the bed, eyes rolling back and your legs attempting to shut tightly as you twitched and writhed with every movement of his tongue and fingers that worked to help you down from cloud nine and draw out your pleasure for as long as possible, careful not to overstimulate you. Perhaps that could be saved for another day, should he be lucky enough.
He wiped his lips of your slick with the back of his hand before trailing them back up your body, stopping to suck gently on one of your nipples purely to see you writhe against him with need. He chuckled at your pathetic whine as your fingers came to the waistband of his pants, giving them an impatient tug. “Need me that bad, do you?” He asked with a cheeky grin down at you, the sight of you beneath him like this better than any dream he’s ever had. Seeing your hair settle around you against the sheets, the sight of you naked before him, glowing from the after effects of your orgasm that *he’d* given you. Seeing you wanting him just as much as he’d wanted you. It was unreal. “I don’t think you understand just how long I’ve wanted you” you replied cleverly, using his own words against him like he had done to you earlier, making him chuckle once more. Could you be any more perfect? “Then what are you waiting for?” He asked, making you grin deviously as you flipped him over on his back this time, straddling his hips now as your hand pressed against his chest, keeping him pressed against the mattress beneath you. His eyes looked to you with surprise at your quick and dexterous movements before waiting to hear what you had to say in response. “For you to take your pants off so all of Zaun can listen as you please me like no one else ever will” you replied with a confident grin, watching as he did exactly as you asked.
You both moaned pleasantly as he bottomed out, fully seated inside of you now, the angle allowing him to sit deeper within you as you straddled his hips. You gave yourself a moment to adjust, leaning down to kiss him once more to distract yourself from the momentary pain of the stretch. You could feel him throb inside of you with excitement, each pulse of his cock sending a pleasant tingle to your core. It was as he shifted his hips a little to get more comfortable that both of you moaned, the movement accidentally causing him to thrust into you a bit. So you started to move up and down on him at a slow pace to start, testing the waters to see if you were ready. And fuck, were you ready. He was in so deep like this that his tip nestled against your cervix each time you would sink back down onto him. It was heavenly. “Fuck…” you sighed as you started to pick up the pace a little, the sounds of his thighs meeting your ass, your shared panting and the slight creak of the bed becoming louder with your efforts, filling your room with the sinful symphony of sex. His hands slipped down your body to rest at your hips, gripping them tightly as he watched you skillfully bounce up and down on his cock, enjoying the sight of his length disappearing inside of you then peeking back out. “Janna almighty…” he let out, absolutely enraptured with the way your cunt wrapped around him so well, welcoming him so perfectly, he couldn’t help it. You were so warm, so wet, so tight around him that it left him breathless, fighting to not cum so soon. You couldn’t help but to giggle at his remark. “Feel good?” You asked between breathless pants, watching as he looked up at you, bewildered that you could possibly ask such a question. “Better than good, you feel incredible” he replied, a groan leaving him upon a particularly harsh thrust of your hips, watching you get lost in your pleasure as you rode him. You were quite the sight to behold while in the throws of your pleasure, watching your beautiful tits bounce as you moved, your head tilted back and eyes close as you’d find that perfect rhythm that drove you both wild. Every bit of you was so perfect in his eyes, he just simply couldn’t get enough. He watched as you bit your soft, kissable lips, teeth working at them and it made him crave the taste of them again, the feel of them against his own.
He sat up for a moment, bringing himself now eye level with you as you continued to ride him but now at a different angle. One that was even better. You hadn’t even thought that possible. He chased your lips, capturing them with his own as he started to thrust his hips up into you, matching your pace with precision. With each roll of his hips, not only was he hitting deeply inside, but your clit was getting new found attention, leaving you to moan into the kiss as you met his thrusts eagerly. “You’re perfect” he complimented, his lips trailing kisses down your neck to your shoulder as you felt that ever familiar coil begin to wind tight in your core again. It was as you were about to reach your peak that the words left you before you could even register that you’d said them. “I love you” you confessed, panting as you looked upon him with a blush tinting your cheeks and a hopeful, yet vulnerable look in your eyes that told him your sentiment was completely sincere. That this meant something far more to you than just a heated moment to be forgotten about or never spoken of once morning came. You loved him. He smiled so purely, so joyfully as the words graced his ears. “For so long I’ve dreamt of hearing those words from you” he replied, making you smile back as you finally realized that the feeling was mutual, no longer scared of the potential of rejection. “I love you” he reciprocated, making your heart race as you kissed him, your hands cupping his face as he held you, rutting his hips up into you with newfound fervor. “So close…” you panted once you both broke apart for air, feeling yourself sit dizzily at the edge of bliss as his lips trailed along your neck. “Cum for me, darling. Give it to me” he said, angling his hips perfectly to stroke that spot deep inside of you that had you keening. That was all it took. The tension within your core blossomed to warmth as your every nerve ending surged with fiery pleasure, your walls clenching around him as you moaned his name loudly, clinging to him for dear life whilst your orgasm consumed you. The sight of you twitching and nearly convulsing in ecstasy, mixed with the way your cunt squeezed him even tighter sent him toppling over the edge soon after, spilling himself inside of you with a deep, almost guttural groan. You gave a pleased hum at the sensation, feeling him throb within you and fill you so incredibly full as you both sat there, fighting to catch your breath and looking upon one another in awe. Enjoying the buzzing sensation of your shared afterglow, you leaned in to the press a gentle, loving kiss to his lips, further solidifying that your words genuine and that this moment had indeed meant something. When you pulled back, your hand resting gently on the scarred side of his cheek, you were graced with the most love struck look, making you smile and giggle. “What?” You asked, a cheeky grin stretched to your lips. “Nothing, just taking in the view” he said, making you hum. “Is that so?” You asked. “You’re incredible” he said, turning to kiss your palm as he held his hand against the back of yours, leaning into your soft touch, simply wishing to stay there and enjoy the intimacy of the moment together.
It was as you were both lying there in your bed peacefully, having come back from getting cleaned up, you’d even gone another round whilst in the shower, as an entertaining thought came to you. “You wanna know something funny?” You asked, propping your head up on your hand, leaning your weight on your elbow as you laid on your side, facing him. “What’s that?” He asked, eyes trailing over your frame with wonder, in awe of the fact that you truly were here before him, and that you both shared such an intimate moment together not only once, but twice. Your top half was peaking out from beneath the blanket, allowing him the view of your chest and all the marks he’d left upon your delicate skin as he waited with much anticipation for what you had to say. “If you think about it; it took us dancing with one another to stop dancing around each other. Kinda funny how that worked out, don’t you think?” you spoke with a grin, making you both laugh. “I suppose it is” he replied, making you smile and hum as you looked to him lovingly, happy to see him here with you, happy to have shared what you did with him. “I love you, Sil. Thanks again for tonight” you said sweetly, making him smile as you said it. “I love you too, and thank you” he replied as you cuddled up to him beneath the covers, his arm slung around your frame protectively as you began to drift peacefully to sleep in his arms.
Perhaps heaven wasn’t a moment in time, or an action to be taken, but rather a person, and as you sat there in his arms, he could confidently say that you were that person.
#asks#fluff#asks open#send asks#smut#arcane#arcane scenarios#arcane series#silco arcane#arcane silco#arcane smut#arcane fanfic#silco x you#silco smut#silco fanfic#silco x reader#silco#alternate universe#alternate Silco#smut with feelings#fluffy ending#mutual pining#unrequited love#unrequited feelings#friends to lovers#arcane alternate timeline#romance#Spotify
473 notes
·
View notes
Text
Unraveling Truths
This is a bonus scene for my miniseries "A Helping Hand". You can read part 1 of 3 here. I know I wrote it in August, but I got a few requests for more so here we are.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Summary: Azriel finally explains to his mate what the wingspan business is all about.
Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), written in 3rd POV (matching the rest of the series)
Word count: 2.6k
A/N: I love time zones because it’s 2am here but it’s still the 16th in the US so I’m technically not late :) This fic is just another proof that I can't write drabbles lol. Anyway, hank you @azrielsshadows42 for the inspo 🫶🏻 and thank you @azrielappreciationweek it was so much fun writing for this event 💙💙
“You still haven't told me.”
She watched him from his bed, the sight still so new that Azriel's heartbeat quickened each time he saw it.
For the past week, she had spent every night with him, usually in his room. Yet walking in to find her reading a book while she waited for him was something he was still getting used to. And something he would never take for granted.
Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, leaning closer to brush a kiss to her temple as she set the book down. “Told you what, beautiful?”
The corner of his lips curled up at the small blush that colored her cheeks, even after a week of hearing that nickname. He was never going to stop using it.
He began to take off his boots, holding his breath as she knelt behind him and unfastened the latches of his shirt. Her fingers brushed the base of his wings, and he had to muster all his self-control to keep his body from reacting.
“About wingspan,” she replied casually. “You still haven't explained it.”
He froze, sitting a bit straighter. “Why do you want to know?”
She undid the last latch, and though the shirt now hung loosely around his torso, he made no move to remove it.
“Because I want to know all about you.” She moved to sit beside him, seemingly unaware of his slight change in demeanor. “And because you said you'd explain, but you still haven't.”
Azriel swallowed thickly. He'd been happy to hold her in his arms every night, knowing she'd be the first thing he saw in the morning. His hands had never wandered too freely over her body. He wanted to take things slow with her, not only to respect the trauma she had endured, but also because she wasn't just another girl. She was his mate, and he'd be damned if he ruined things by rushing them.
But he couldn't deny he had thought about how she would feel. How she would taste. How she would look while he pleasured her.
Her question about wingspan certainly didn’t help.
And if she was bringing it up again after a week, her curiosity wasn’t likely to fade anytime soon.
“Alright,” he finally said, and she rewarded him with that beautiful smile of hers—the one that never failed to make his heart skip a beat. “Rumor has it that the span of an Illyrian’s wings reflects the size of… certain body parts.”
She frowned, a small crease appearing on her brow. He resisted the urge to smooth it away with his thumb.
“What body parts?” she asked, her gaze wandering up and down his body as if she could see the answer somewhere.
He was glad she wasn’t looking at his face when he replied, “Intimate body parts, Y/N.”
Her eyes shot up to meet his, wide with surprise and shock. A faint blush colored her cheeks as she looked down again. Straight at his crotch.
Azriel had to draw on five hundred years of composure to keep himself from shifting—and, more importantly, from hardening under her gaze. She’s just surprised, he told himself. That’s why she’s looking. Nothing more.
When she met his eyes again, her voice was quiet, as though she was too shy to ask but couldn’t help herself.
“And, uh…” She paused, clearing her throat before finishing. “Are those just rumors?”
The words slipped out before he could think. “No. It’s true.”
She studied him for a moment, and he feared he’d said too much and made her uncomfortable. But before he could apologize, she spoke again.
“Does Cassian really have the largest wingspan?”
He couldn’t stop the smirk that spread across his lips. “He likes to brag about it, but no, he doesn’t.” And though he knew he probably shouldn’t, he added, “I do.”
Her eyes widened, dropping to his crotch again. This time, his body reacted before he could stop it, and he felt himself beginning to harden in his pants. Her cheeks flushed an ever deeper shade of red.
“Hey, it's alright,” he murmured, tilting her chin up so she would look at him. “I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
To his surprise, she gave him a soft smile. “You didn't. I asked. It's just…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away for a moment before returning her focus to him.
“I just don't have much experience,” she whispered.
Azriel needed to change the topic immediately before his mind began running wild, thinking of all the things he could show her, all the sensations he could make her feel, all the possibilities. He reeled in his thoughts.
Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer. “It's alright,” he repeated, pressing another kiss to her temple. “We don't have to do anything. I don't want you to feel pressured.”
“But what if…” She hesitated, but as she bit her lip, she placed her hand on his leg, just above his knee but close enough for Azriel to be acutely aware of every small movement of her fingers. He was caught in a suspended moment, where everything hinged on her next words.
“What if I want to do something?”
His heart pounded in his chest. “You… want to?”
Despite the blush still coloring her cheeks, she held his gaze and nodded, a shy smile playing on her lips. He struggled not to kiss her right then and there and let his hands explore every inch of her body.
“Tell me what you want, beautiful,” he said instead, keeping his voice quiet and steady. “Anything you want, you can have it.”
She looked down, her gaze landing on the erection he could no longer hide. “I want to help you with that,” she murmured, her hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing gently.
Azriel sucked in a breath. Unable to stop himself, he shifted, spreading his legs slightly to bring her hand closer to where he wanted it.
“Are you sure?” he asked. He needed her, desperately, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated.
Instead of answering, she stepped off the bed. Her eyes never left his as she moved between his parted legs, her fingers reaching for his shirt. He didn't stop her as she tugged it off, revealing his tanned chest.
“I'm sure, Az,” she whispered, her finger tracing the swirling lines of his tattoos. She'd done it many times before, but now it felt more intimate, more intentional. “Let me do this for you.”
He couldn't hold back any longer. Not when she looked at him with rosy cheeks and eyes full of desire. They both wanted this, and he wasn’t going to turn her down.
Cupping her face in his hands, Azriel pulled her in for a kiss. As their lips met, the bond between them came to life, glowing bright and golden in his chest and filling him with warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of his growing arousal.
“Go on, then,” he murmured against her lips when he finally found the will to break the kiss. “You can do whatever you like.”
She smiled, and under Azriel's attentive gaze, she knelt between his legs. From where he sat, the neckline of her nightgown left little to the imagination. He swallowed, his breath catching as she began unbuttoning his pants. He lifted his hips just enough for her to slide them down his legs, along with his underwear, leaving him bare before her. Her eyes widened slightly as the took him in.
“You weren't lying about it,” she murmured, glancing up at him. “I didn't expect you to be… this big.”
His smirk turned smug. “You certainly know how to flatter a male's ego.”
She chuckled, averting her gaze for only a moment before reaching out. Her hand wrapped around his aching cock, making him gasp audibly. At the sound, a smile of delight appeared on her face, and she began to stroke him slowly, her movements gentle and exploratory.
His eyes locked with hers, and, encouraged by the connection, she grew bolder. Her grip tightened slightly, and he instinctively bucked his hips forward. Still, he held back as much as he could, letting her set the pace she was most comfortable with. But she leaned closer, her eyes searching his for permission, a silent question lingering in them.
Azriel brushed her cheek, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. “Whatever you like,” he repeated in a whisper.
She nodded, and as his hand slipped away, she leaned in, her tongue flicking out to run along his cock before her lips closed around his tip. He sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to push himself deeper into her mouth and holding his body still. The only sign of his impatience was the faint rustle of his wings behind him.
She continued to stroke him slowly, teasing him with gentle squeezes and soft touches, her tongue swirling around his head until precum leaked out. But with each of his sighs and the small, involuntary twitches of his hips, her confidence grew. She took him a few inches deeper, hesitating briefly sliding before her lips farther down his cock, stretching her jaw to fit as much of him as she could.
“Fuck…” he groaned, the word escaping his lips as she hollowed her cheeks. Her mouth was warm, wet and impossibly tight, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to thrust into her. Instead, he tangled his fingers in her hair—not to guide her, but to ground himself, needing the connection, needing to feel her any way he could.
His little outburst seemed to wash away the last traces of her shyness. She began to bob her head, still using her hand to cover what her mouth couldn’t take, her tongue swirling around him with ease. Her eyes stayed locked on his, and Cauldron boil him, Azriel could have come right then.
His mate was on her knees before him, pleasuring him in a way he had never dared to dream of. Over the last week, he'd fantasized about it once or twice, but he’d assumed she wasn’t ready to take that step and relished the simple intimacy of a gentle, teasing touch while cuddling.
But here she was, her boldness lighting a fire inside him.
“Gods, you’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, a moan spilling from his lips.
She blushed again but only moved faster, taking him deeper. His eyes rolled back, and his fingers tightened in her hair. When she whimpered softly, the sound sent a shock of pleasure through him, clouding his mind and driving him closer to the edge. He rocked his hips once, unable to hold back any longer.
“I’m… I’m close, sweetheart,” he panted. He didn’t care if he didn’t last long, didn't care that she’d been working him for only a few minutes. His release coiled tighter in his gut, his breaths coming faster, and he knew he couldn't hold it back. “You should stop if you don’t want me to come in your mouth.”
But the desire in her eyes only burned brighter, and she didn’t stop. Instead, she put even more effort into it, her free hand resting on his thigh while the other one squeezed gently at the base of his cock. When she hollowed her cheeks again, her warm mouth enveloping him so perfectly, Azriel’s control shattered.
With a groan, pleasure crashed over him, his release spilling down her throat. She swallowed every drop, the rhythmic contractions of her mouth around him drawing out his pleasure for a few more moments before he relaxed again, loosening his grip on her hair as he struggled to catch his breath.
After a moment, she pulled back, and Azriel immediately felt the absence of her warmth around him. Her hand slipped away as well, and for a beat, they simply looked at each other, twin smiles of satisfaction on their faces.
“You were wonderful,” he said eventually, helping her stand and guiding her to sit on his lap. “That was incredible.”
Her blush returned, deepening at his praise, an endearing sight he would never grow tired of. It made him want to keep complimenting her, especially after the pleasure she’d just given him.
He kissed her, savoring the softness of her lips and the familiar taste he’d come to cherish over the past week, now mixed with a hint of own release. His tongue slid into her mouth, entwining with hers while his hand drifted down to her thigh, brushing the hem of her nightgown. She didn’t pull away, but Azriel sensed the sudden tension seizing her body, despite her attempt to hide it.
He immediately withdrew his hand, silently cursing himself for assuming too much, especially after being so careful to let her dictate their pace.
Pulling back from the kiss, he searched her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should have asked.”
She shook her head, but she didn't look at him. “No, it's my fault. When I said I don't have much experience, I… I actually meant I don't have any experience.”
Azriel did his best to mask his surprise, not wanting to make her feel more self-conscious. Gently, he placed his hand on her waist, drawing slow, soothing circles over the fabric of her nightgown.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked softly.
Her eyes remained fixed downward as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers. “Because you're five centuries old,” she whispered. “You must have so much experience with these things, and I don't, and I didn't want you to be disappointed if I—”
“Hey,” he interrupted, unwilling to let her continue down that path. Tilting her chin up with a gentle finger, he waited patiently for her to meet his eyes. When she didn't, he murmured, “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”
Slowly, her gaze slid to his. Azriel offered her a soft, reassuring smile, hoping it would ease her worries.
“I don't care if you don't have any experience,” he said, his hand still caressing her side. “I'm not disappointed. All that matters to me is you and whether you're comfortable with whatever we're doing.”
She nodded, though some tension still lingered in her body. He could tell she struggled to believe him, but he wanted to make it clear that he would respect any boundary, any hesitation. She came first, and she always would. Everything else could wait.
“We can take things as slow as you want to,” he continued. “I won't rush you. You're in control, Y/N. Always. Okay?”
At last, he felt her body relax, a relieved smile appearing on her face. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
“Good.” Azriel smiled back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Will you let me get up for a moment? I'll wash up quickly, and then we can go to sleep.”
Her smile grew, a hint of playful anticipation gleaming in her eyes. “Can we cuddle?”
He chuckled. “Of course we can cuddle, beautiful.”
As she slid off his lap, he stole one last kiss before getting up and heading to the bathroom. He could feel her eyes following him, and he couldn't help but smirk.
He wanted her, but if she needed more time, he'd give it to her without question, even after what she'd just done for him. After all, her trust and comfort were more important than his need, and he knew that waiting would only make the moment she was truly ready even more special. The wait would be worth it.
Because she was worth it. She was worth everything.
General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon
Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever
#azrielappricationweek2024#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#acotar fanfic#azriel acotar#acotar#acotar x reader#a court of thorns and roses#sjm#sarah j maas#fanfiction
741 notes
·
View notes
Text
SPEED OR LOVE?
HYUNG LINE X F1 DRIVERS SERIES
*title: I’m in love an idiot
*trope: Grumpy for Sunshines
*F1 driver: Jay F1 Mercedes driver (inspo charachter: Carlos Sainz)
*synopsis: Being the daughter of the most famous engineer in the world for having won world champions like Hamilton or Vettel has advantages but a disadvantage is to hear about 24h on 24h from Jay Park. The new Mercedes star, with her gentle ways of communicating with fans and flirting with any girl in the paddock and with her look as a movie diva manages to make people do everything he says in a snap of fingers, except when he finds himself having to face the daughter of his engineer, super cynical and with a different idea than that is the real Jay during the European season of F1.
*title: Still hate me? Always..
*trope: Enemies to lovers/Social media manager
*F1 driver: Sunghoon F1 Red Bull driver (inspo charachter: Max Verstappen)
*synopsis: Sunghoon could not stand Y/n and Y/n could not stand Sunghoon. Y/n loved his work as a content creator for Red Bull because he could cheer on his favourite team and feel the adrenaline that was felt before qualifying or race and at the same time travel around the world and create fan content on various social platforms, but there was only one problem in his work and that was called Park Sunghoon "Ice prince" of the grid. Whenever Y/n tried to get some social challenge or interaction, Hoon hated it more and more because he didn’t need to have millions of followers or social interactions but just run and maybe taste for the first time the win of his first world champion in Red Bull.
*title: Kiss me, don't say no!
*trope: There's only one bed/reader is Jake's Pr
*F1 driver: Jake F1 Mclaren driver (inspo charachter: Lando Norris)
* synopsis: You thought being an F1 driver’s Pr was exhausting but you couldn’t imagine when you had to live three weekends in a row with Jake Sim, Jake represented everything that a Pr didn’t want to face in his career. Drama in his social media because Jake was born in GenZ and used social media without thinking that he was one of the most famous pilots of the moment, flirting with models or even worse fans during race weekends, duels and scenes with his teammate because the Mclaren had the unhealthy idea of putting two young promises of twenty years to command the team. Y/n would have wanted to kill him but under that cheeky face of F1 driver, Jake suffered from many insecurities and who knows thanks to his Pr things between the two could improve race after race.
*title: Romantic lover
*trope: Celebrity falss in love with fan
*F1 driver: Heeseung F1 Ferrari driver (inspo charachter: Charles Leclerc)
*synopsis: Heeseung loved the adrenaline and anxiety before having to risk everything to qualify for pole position or to win potter but those butterflies in his stomach every time he entered his fiery colored car had never heard them until a shy girl university did not win a content to spend a whole season writing the thesis on the post-pandemic boom thanks to the DTS series and various media platforms that have helped make this sport increasingly focused on young people. Y/n had always loved Heeseung from his arrival in Ferrari but would never be expected to share with him beautiful moments like his first victory at home moments as his continuous panic attacks due to an accident.
If your are interested in this story leave me your @ so that when i publish the story you will be first to trade. ♡
#enhypen fluff#enha x reader#enhypen fanfic#enhypen drabbles#enha fanfic#enha imagines#enhypen x reader#enhypen x you#jungwon x reader#jake sim x reader#jay x reader#sunghoon x reader#heeseung x reader#niki x reader#sunoo x reader#enhypen jake#enhypen sunghoon#enhypen jay#enhypen heeseung#enhypen sunoo#jungwon enhypen#jake enhypen#niki enhypen#enhypen scenarios#enhypen#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#f1 x reader#f1 drivers#carlos sainz
340 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lights, Camera, Love!
Pairing: Reader x Rhysand
Summary: Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.
Warnings: cocky Rhysand, just two snippy co-stars, ianthe, co-parent feysand, helion and amren as big hollywood peeps
Word Count: 4.7k
a/n: this is a lil series ive had tucked away with some inspo....lets see if ayll fw it enough hehehe. dedicated to @milswrites and @daycourtofficial bc their love for this pushed me to pick it up again
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
It was unprofessional, truly.
You wanted to roll your eyes, to scoff and walk off set.
But instead, you simply shifted uncomfortably in your seat, adjusting the hem of your dress as Ianthe, your overly enthusiastic interviewer, fluttered around Rhysand like a lovesick butterfly. Her giggles grated on your nerves as she leaned in a little too close, her hand lingering on his arm just a second too long.
Ianthe was known for her probing questions and flirtatious demeanor— it’s what made her such a popular source for exclusive interviews. Not only did she know the right questions to ask, but she knew exactly how to ask them in order to get what she wanted: juicy gossip, something she could feed on. It wasn’t a coincidence that her last name held such a resemblance to the word parasite. She was one.
You didn’t want to do the interview to begin with. The upcoming release of your newest season meant various events and panels that left you unsettled and anxious. You loved your job— loved your character even more. But being in the public eye alongside Rhysand was hard. Suffocating, really.
It felt like hours that you sat there with a practiced smile, waiting as she conversed with Rhysand. The studio lights were warm, and the backdrop behind you— a cover of the show's logo— made you feel a bit more comfortable. But still, the unease persisted, and you counted down the seconds until this interview was over and you could return home.
"So, Rhysand," Ianthe said, her voice silky smooth. "You've become quite the heartthrob lately. How do you handle all the attention from your adoring fans?"
Your first instinct was to laugh. Your second was to roll your eyes. The third was to vomit in your mouth. You somehow resisted the urge to do all of the above, settling for biting back the rising nausea at the shameless flirting.
Rhysand leaned back in his chair, a charming smile spreading across his face. "It's all part of the job, I suppose. Though, I must say, the fans are incredibly supportive. It's their enthusiasm that keeps us going."
Us. This time it physically burned you to not roll your eyes, even subtly. Your lips curled into a pained smile. Ianthe didn’t seem to notice the forced gesture, her gaze locked onto Rhysand as if you weren’t even in the room.
You looked down, absently playing with a ring on your index finger. The metal felt cool and familiar, and you smiled faintly at it, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It seemed to fill your lungs with a steadying breath, one that was enough to gather yourself, to steel your resolve and endure sitting beside someone who sucked up all the oxygen in the room without even trying.
It took a few more minutes before Ianthe was turning to you with an expectant smile— perfect white teeth. Veneers, most likely. The smile was strange up close and you resisted the urge to lean in and expect them further, to search for any signs of hidden pointed teeth, sharpened to resemble that of a predator.
You blinked, tilting your head and welcoming her attention with a large smile of your own. Certainly not as perfect, but a lot less unnerving, you hoped.
“Y/n,” She started, readjusting herself in her seat. “You look beautiful. It’s always nice to see you.”
You gave a small nod in acknowledgement. You’d talked to Ianthe a few times, mostly on red carpets and press events. Never longer than a minute, never past fake pleasantries and a kiss on the cheek—- from her end.
“Thanks Ianthe,” you said, smile still plastered on your cheeks like glue. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”
There was a glint in her eye that told you she didn’t believe a word you said. At least you both had that in common, perhaps you could bond on your shared love of bullshit.
“Tell me, what's it like working alongside Rhysand? He seems to have quite the presence on set."
You paused for a moment, considering your response carefully before delivering it with a smile.
“Rhysand is an experience. Even after years, he still manages to keep me on my toes.”
What your statement really translated to was: Rhysand was a cocky asshole. Everything was about him. All. The. Damn. Time.
"It's truly remarkable how he commands the attention of everyone in the room. It's as if the rest of us simply fade into the background when he's around.”
Because he’s an attention whore.
You didn’t say the last thought— as much as your body screamed at you to.
Rhysand's smile tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation dancing in his eyes before he masked it with practiced ease. "Well, thank you," he replied smoothly, "I suppose it's just the natural magnetism of a true star."
He delivered his words as a joke, as if you both shared a similar, endearing humor regarding one another. You fought to conceal a satisfied smirk, knowing that your veiled dig had hit its mark.
Ianthe continued to prattle on, her questions growing increasingly mundane as the minutes ticked by. There was a lull—a brief moment of respite where Ianthe paused to collect her thoughts.
It was Rhysand who broke the silence, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. "I must admit, I've always admired Y/n’s dedication to her craft," he said, his tone almost earnest. "It's not easy to disappear into a role the way she does."
You bristled at the backhanded compliment, knowing all too well that beneath his seemingly benign words lay a razor-sharp edge. It was a surprise to you that Ianthe didn’t pick up on it, her dull eyes and bright smile still worn on her nauseatingly beautiful face.
"Well, Rhysand," you replied, forcing a tight smile, "I suppose we all have our strengths. I can’t coast on charisma alone.”
His smirk returned in full force, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. "Ah, but isn't that what makes us such a dynamic duo, sweetheart?" he said, "The perfect balance of substance and style."
You fought to conceal a frustrated sigh, to bite back the snarl you wanted to make at the annoying nickname he’d adopted for you recently. He knew it drove you nuts, knew it made you want to call him something less sweet.
As much as you wished to continue the conversation, to match his veiled insults with ones of your own— that were sure to be far more clever, you knew that this verbal sparring match would only serve to prolong your agony. Instead, you plastered on a diplomatic smile, nodding in agreement as Ianthe launched into yet another round of inane questions.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
It felt like an eternity before you were freed from the clutches of the interview.
Ianthe stood, flashing you a smile that felt more condescending than friendly. "Thank you both for coming," she said, her eyes lingering on Rhysand. You watched as she scanned him one last time, eyes drinking him in like a fresh glass of wine.
You forced a polite nod. "Thank you, Ianthe. Always a pleasure."
She gave you a look that made you feel small, but you quickly swallowed it and turned away, heading toward the exit. As much as a nice, warm bath was calling to you, you had lunch plans with Lucien and were itching to be in the presence of someone you actually liked.
"Well, that was entertaining," Rhysand commented, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught up to you.
You glanced at him, trying to keep your irritation in check as you quickened your pace, offering a few spare smiles to the employees you passed. "If by entertaining, you mean tacky, then sure."
His smirk faded slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He raised a brow. "Tacky? I was just keeping things lively."
"Lively," you repeated with a laugh. You stopped, the movement so abrupt that Rhysand almost bumped into you. You turned to face him with a flat look. “You’re a shameless flirt."
His eyes narrowed at you— a deep blue that you swore at times was almost violet. His head cocked to the side and you shrank deeper into yourself, feeling somewhat at odds and uncomfortable in his burning gaze. The smirk tugged harder at the corner of his lips.
“Well, isn’t that the whole point?”
You scowled, opening your mouth to respond. But before any words could leave your mouth, a familiar voice filled the air. “Rhys!”
A head turn led you to catch Feyre’s eye as she walked towards you, a bright smile on her face. Her eyes lit up as her gaze landed on you and Rhys, one hand holding onto the smaller one of her son.
You watched as Nyx, quite possibly one of the prettiest kids you'd ever seen, ran up to Rhysand with a joyous laugh, opening his arms up, wide and expecting. In one swift and natural movement, Rhysand scooped him up effortlessly, his earlier annoyance instantly dissipating from his features.
“Hey, buddy,” Rhysand said, his voice softening as he kissed Nyx’s temple.
Against your better judgment, a smile tugged at your cheeks at how brightly Rhysand’s face lit up. He pulled Feyre into a quick, sweet embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.
If there was one thing you were willing to give Rhysand credit for, it was this.
His breakup with Feyre had been incredibly public. The divorce, the fallout—both of their reputations took a hit when it came out that she had initiated the divorce, later compounded by her being outed on a date with a woman from her past. Yet, despite everything, they both managed it with such grace.
Feyre was incredibly sweet. You never truly understood how Rhysand landed her in the first place, how they had been married for over five years, so deeply in love that they started a family. You thoroughly enjoyed her company, even though it wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked. She was still Rhysand’s family, after all, and you took every chance you could to avoid being around him when it wasn’t necessary.
But Feyre was a large reason you enjoyed your job. She eased the anxiety that came with joining a cast that was already so close, essentially taking a role that had belonged to her— even though your character was introduced after hers was written off.
It was clear that despite everything, Rhysand and Feyre had managed to maintain a bond, not just for their sake, but for Nyx’s. The love they still shared, the ease with which they navigated this new chapter of their lives—it was something you respected, even envied a little.
You averted your gaze, fingers running over the cool metal of your ring as you turned to leave, but Feyre called your name, her voice as kind as usual.
You paused, looking back at her. “Yeah?”
Feyre’s smile was warm. You took her in for a moment, how naturally beautiful she was— how she exuded a certain energy that you could only describe as regal. A smile fit for a queen. “How was the interview?”
You shrugged, giving a small smile. “The usual. Ianthe was...”
You pursed your lips as your voice trailed off. There were many ways you could finish off your sentence but you weren’t sure how diplomatic you could be anymore or if Feyre would be bothered by an honest review of your interviewer.
Feyre leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A bitch?”
You laughed, catching Rhysand’s glance as he looked over for a moment. His attention quickly returned to Nyx and you turned back to meet Feyre’s beautiful blue eyes. “Exactly.”
Feyre shook her head, a sympathetic look on her face. “She was always so condescending with me, too. It’s because she’s desperate to sleep with that loser.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, jokingly but lovingly casting a glance back at Rhysand. She clicked her tongue. “Poor delusions.”
Another laugh left your lips and you nodded, suppressing a grin. “Yeah,” you drawled, “She wasn’t very subtle.”
Feyre raised a brow. “I don’t think subtly is in that limited vocabulary of hers.”
Your eyes drifted to the small interview set, where Ianthe was still standing, talking to someone and sparing regular glances over at Rhysand—a predator about to make her move. It was best for you to leave now, you thought, to avoid watching the inevitable hunt.
“I should get going,” you said, turning back to Feyre. “I have plans. But, it was so nice seeing you.”
Feyre beamed, putting a hand on your arm. You briefly took in the ink that covered her forearm, the delicate, beautiful tattoos that you always wanted to admire further. “You too,” she said, “Let’s have lunch soon.”
You nodded, a genuine and pleased motion. Your conversation with Feyre was the first one today that you didn’t have to fake any polite mannerisms. “I’d love to.”
Casting one last glance at Rhysand, you watched as Feyre approached him and put a hand out to Nyx. Rhysand smiled down at her, a soft, familiar look that made your chest tighten with an emotion you didn’t care to examine.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
It was 10:00 am when you were called into the production office, a room nestled in a quiet corner of the studio lot. You were tired, having only slept a few hours the night prior, and you could feel life slowly dripping back into you with each sip of coffee. The area was relatively private, shielded from the prying eyes of paparazzi, so you opted for comfort over glamor, dressed in jeans and a simple hoodie—nice, big, and comfortable.
Helion was usually meticulous about these meetings, ensuring both you and Rhysand were well-prepared and informed ahead of time. This sudden summons felt off. You didn’t know what to expect, and that uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind as you pushed open the door to the conference room.
Rhysand was already in the room when you arrived, effortlessly lounging in a chair with the kind of put-together look that only seemed to accentuate your own disheveled state. It made you hate him even more. You didn’t attempt to hide your scowl. He glanced up as you entered, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Phew, you'd think it was a Sunday and you were hungover," he remarked casually, a small smile playing on his lips.
You shot him a pointed glare, resisting the urge to snap back and opting to take the open seat next to him, sitting back to take a sip of your coffee.
Rhysand leaned over into your space, reaching a hand to tug at the strings of your hoodie with a grin on his lips. You swatted his hand away with a deepening scowl. "Cut it out."
He chuckled lightly, settling back into his chair. "So, what do you think this is about?"
“No idea,” you sighed, crossing your arms defensively. You gave him a pointed glare. “What did you do?”
Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “And why are we automatically assuming I did something?”
“Well when are you not?” You titled your head. “Doing something, I mean.”
Rhysand caught onto the meaning of your words instantly. He narrowed his eyes at you before something crossed his features. Then, he was leaning in again, a smirk on his face as he scanned your own. “Are you feeling a bit left out? You’re always welcome to join.”
You rolled your eyes, letting out a scoff of disgust as you maneuvered yourself to lean farther away from him. “You’re shameless.”
The door clicked open, and your attention snapped over as Helion entered the room. You began to offer him a smile, but the motion died on your lips as you met his gaze.
You loved Helion— as an executive producer, and the main man regarding your public relations, you’d formed a great relationship with him. It helped that you were best friends with his son, too. But today his typically buoyant air was clouded, his expression wearing the weight of serious deliberation. It was one you could only compare to that of a disappointed father about to deliver bad news. Beside him, Amren followed like a silent storm cloud.
Amren, on the other hand, was someone you didn’t have a favorable relationship with. She was Rhysand’s personal agent and she excluded the same energy he did— something that tasted a lot like pretentiousness. Her sharp gaze swept the room, and you instinctively avoided meeting it.
If Amren was here, and Helion was wearing that stern expression, it could only mean trouble. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.
You and Rhysand shared a quick, knowing glance, a similar confusion mirrored on both your faces. You straightened yourself as Rhysand offered a disarmingly charming smile.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Helion exchanged a glance with Amren before sighing heavily. He leaned forward, slapping a piece of paper onto the table and pushing it toward both of you.
The first thing that caught your eye was the TMZ logo— something that made your stomach drop instinctively. You bit at the inside of your cheek, your eyes repeatedly running over the headline. You looked up through your lashes to meet Helion’s expecting gaze.
Rhysand's voice was incredulous as he spoke. "Did you... print these out?"
You casted a quick glance of disbelief at him. Idiot. He paid no mind.
Helion ignored the comment, taking a seat across from you as he leaned back, crossing his arms. He gave a nod towards the two copies before you. “Go ahead. Read," he instructed calmly, his expression grave. The tone alone made you shiver from its unfamiliarity.
You picked up your copy, scanning the bolded headline and the accompanying pictures.
FAILURE ON SET: HOW AN OVERBEARING CO-STAR FUED IS THREATENING THE VIEWER EXPERIENCE
Ianthe Parcite weighs in on the rumored feud between co-stars Y/N and Rhysand after exclusive interview.
As expected, the large printed image was a glamor shot of Rhysand and one of the interview set. You were nowhere to be found. Your grip on the edges of the paper tightened as you began to read the article.
In an exclusive interview with TMZ, Ianthe Parcite, known for her candid critiques, has taken a stark stance on the alleged feud between Hollywood’s famed co-stars, Y/N L/N and Rhysand Darling. Contrary to initial impressions, Ianthe now reveals that behind the scenes, tensions ran high and professionalism faltered. “I sensed an atmosphere of unease and discontent,” Ianthe remarked, reflecting on her recent encounter with the co-stars. “Y/N appeared dismissive and disengaged during our interview, which is concerning for the show’s dynamics.” Ianthe didn’t hold back in her assessment of Rhysand either, noting his apparent lack of receptiveness to her questions. “Rhysand’s demeanor was noticeably distant, almost unreceptive to any meaningful dialogue,” she disclosed. “It’s unfortunate when personal dynamics overshadow the professionalism required on set.” The revelations have sent shockwaves through the fanbase, with many expressing disappointment over the potential impact on their favorite series. As speculation swirls around the future of the show, fans are left wondering if the rift between Y/N and Rhysand will escalate and if it's worth watching a show doomed for failure.
You scoffed incredulously, pushing the paper further away from you as if its distance would minimize the anger that simmered underneath your skin. You deeply regretted holding back in the interview— regretted not tearing that pompous bitch into two.
"So she doesn't even include a picture of me and yet I'm the main one she rips into?"
You found the courage to look around the room, your gaze landing on Helion with pleading eyes. His response was a noncommittal shrug, accompanied by a slight raise of his eyebrows. It was clear he didn't have an easy answer, either.
Running your tongue along your teeth, you shifted your gaze to Rhysand. His jaw clenched as he laid the paper on the table. "It's not even a great photo of me," he remarked dryly, "I'm too pale in it."
Your mouth fell open in exasperation. "Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath.
Rhysand shot you a glare that lingered for a few tense seconds. You matched his gaze evenly before he redirected his attention to Helion and Amren. "This is ridiculous," he asserted, "Did they seriously publish this?
A moment passed. Helion sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Yes. Every tabloid is eating it up.”
You clenched your jaw, feeling every muscle in your body tense with the frustration prickling at your skin. “It wasn't our best interview, sure, but it definitely wasn't that bad," you insisted, tapping a finger down on the offending article.
Amren's gaze flickered toward Rhysand, and you followed it. Rhysand shifted uncomfortably, his expression briefly sheepish before he turned to you with a defensive edge. You narrowed your eyes, tuning to face him properly.
“Did you do something?”
Rhysand rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous.”
Your mouth fell agape and you let out a deep, angry breath through your nose. “Don’t use that word about me,” you hissed at him. You pointed emphatically at the paper. "That is ridiculous. And you look like a guilty dog. What did you do?"
"Nothing," he finally muttered, his eyes narrowing in irritation. He shifted in his seat, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves.
It was Amren's voice that cut through the tension, her tone cool and calculating. "It's what he didn't do, really," she remarked cryptically, her gaze still lingering on Rhysand.
He shot her a pointed glare and you frowned, your brows furrowing to a tight knit. A faint headache throbbed at your temples. Turning to Helion for clarification, you found him leaning forward, lips pursed in thought.
"It appears Ianthe was a bit... offended that Rhysand turned down her advances," Helion explained carefully, his words laden with implication.
Your eyes widened in surprise, disbelief coloring your features. "Seriously?" you blurted out, your head twisting to face Rhysand once more, moving with such swiftness that an ache pulled at the muscles of your neck. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Rhysand's eyes widened in response, his expression a mix of offense and confusion. "Excuse me?" he retorted, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "So you have a problem with me when I sleep with people and when I don't?"
Annoyance flared within you. "You flirted with her the entire interview," you accused, your voice raising slightly in pitch. "The one time you decide to take a vow of celibacy and it's with the one name that can tarnish my reputation?”
Rhysand scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your reputation, of course," he muttered sarcastically. "You're such a hypocrite."
"Your actions reflect on me too, Rhysand," you shot back, "Do you ever think about that?"
He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a pinched expression. "Oh, please," he countered, "If you hadn't been sulking and throwing daggers at me the entire interview, I wouldn't have had to flirt with her to salvage it. You should be thanking me."
Your jaw tightened at his words. "Thanking you? Look what happened—"
Before you could finish your retort, Helion slammed his palm down on the table with a sharp crack. You and Rhysand both jumped at the sudden interruption, turning to face him with wide eyes.
"Enough," Helion declared firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Stop bickering like children."
You and Rhysand exchanged a reluctant glance and with a sigh, you sank back into your seat, folding your arms defensively.
"It'll blow over in a week, right? No big deal," Rhysand said casually, his tone attempting to downplay the severity of the situation. You raised your eyebrows at the suggestion, but as hopeful as it sounded, part of you knew that this was a bigger deal than you both cared to admit.
Helion regarded him with a critical eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. Feeling an itch at your skin, you unfolded your arms.
"He’s right," you said hopefully, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, rumors of us not being... the best of friends isn't something new. People know this."
Rhysand offered a nod of agreement. “Exactly. It's just tabloid fodder," he said, his gaze shifting between Amren and Helion with a hint of concern.
Leaning slightly on the table, Amren shook her head slightly, her eyes– a color so light they were almost silver— glowed with intensity as they swept over Rhysand and then fixed on you. The heat of her gaze made you swallow and you found yourself tempted to apologize for things you’d never done— confess for crimes you hadn’t committed. But against your instincts, you held her gaze for another lasting moment. Amren seemed to appreciate the stare and she raised an eyebrow of approval before she spoke.
“It's more than that now," she stated firmly, her voice cutting through the air like a finely sharpened knife. "This isn't just idle gossip anymore. It's becoming off-putting. A few small rumors are funny at first, but now people don't want to watch. It's affecting our ratings."
"We can't afford to lose viewers over this," Helion added, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency you’d never heard. He was stressed— extremely so. He picked at the gold rings that adorned his hands. "The show needs a strong, united front, not two leads sniping at each other in public."
You exchanged a glance with Rhysand. Your mind raced and you settled your gaze on Helion.
You trusted him. He always had your best interests in mind, and navigating public fallout wasn’t unfamiliar territory for you. This was fine, this was manageable.
“Okay,” you said, the words directly intended for him. “What do you want me to do?”
He threw a glance at Amren.
“Well,” he started, “We need to manage the narrative. The tension between you two is too obvious. Starting with the press tour, we'll need you both to project a good connection. No more sniping or tension in public—it needs to be all smiles and cooperation."
You nodded slowly, digesting his words. Next to you, Rhysand sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "Are you saying we need to fake being friends?"
The two agents before you shared another glance. You frowned at the exchange, an unsettled feeling brewing in your gut. Helion’s face slowly shifted into one more amused— and you watched as a grin grew on his lips, something suspicious, mischievous even. His eyes gleamed.
“Not just friends," he said, his gaze shifting between you and Rhysand. He looked to Amren one last time, who gave a small nod of approval before he continued,
"We need you to fake a romance."
You choked on the air in your throat, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You blinked rapidly, gaze darting between Helion and Amren, seeking any sign that this was a joke or a misinterpretation.
They were messing with you both, surely. This was some joke to make you both apologize, some horrendously unrealistic suggestion that made the idea of you two being simply friends something straight out of paradise.
But their faces were deadly serious— set with a purposeful intent etched into their features. Helion’s grin ate at you.
Rhysand's laughter broke the tense silence, though it lacked humor as he shook his head in disbelief. His wide eyes met yours, a silent exchange of incredulity passing between you before both of you turned to Helion simultaneously. When no other words were offered to you both, the reality of the suggestion seeped in.
As if you both registered it at the same time, both you and Rhysand rose swiftly.
"Absolutely fucking not—"
"—There is no way in hell I'm—"
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
GUYS IM OBSESSED IM SORRY I CANT. reader is such a hater and i think its so funny, whatever rhys does its just *eye roll* booo he sucks
i loveee them ur honor
if youd like to be added to the LCL! taglist, lmk!! <3
permanent tag list 🫶🏻:
@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon
@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg
@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124
Rhysand tag list 🫶🏻:
@serrendiipty
#rhysand x reader#rhys x reader#rhysand fanfic#rhysand fanfiction#rhysand x y/n#rhysand x you#rhysand x reader fluff#rhys x you#rhys x y/n#rhys acotar#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar fanfic#acotar fandom#rhysand acotar#high lord rhysand
760 notes
·
View notes
Text
p is for p*ssy 🐈⬛
JJK HALLOWEEN!! getoxreader
sum it up ❥ suguru is cursed to turn into a cat by nightfall, and you are a lonely witch who takes advantage of his human parts during the day.
CONTENT: shapeshifter!geto, modernau, swan lake adaptation, fluffy, soft, praise kink, virgin!reader, unprotected, creampie, overstim, nudity unrelated to sex
word count. 8k
song inspo 💿: west savannah ft. sza
A/N:
to conclude my beloved Halloween jjk series, i am giving our bby geto the soft love story he deserves. everything about this fic is gentle from the conversations to the smut and so, it may be boring and out of some of your interest range, so i apologize. this is just something i wanted to do. ofc it’s still a little *nasty* just not rough.
The moon kisses your skin as you sink into the small pond in your front yard.
With no neighbors for miles, you're able to do so without clothes, letting your body recharge in moon water, drenching your hair and skin.
Your practices may appear silly, but that is why you live like a recluse, your only friends being the wildlife and the riverbed. No one around to judge you as you splash your bare shoulders in the cool water.
You lean back in the pond, arms balanced on the wet earth around you. You stare up at the stars. Your eyes begin to flutter closed, until you hear rustling.
Not uncommon. Of course there's wild animals all around you, and you usually welcome them. With it being dark though, you have to be a bit more cautious.
You open your eyes and turn, scoping the scenery. At first, you don’t spot anything until you hear rustling again. Your eyes follow the noise, then you see that walking along the bushes near your porch is a fuzzy, black ball. You cannot quite make out what it is until you squint and see bright purple, slitted eyes staring at you.
It's a cat.
You gasp in excitement and pull yourself out of the water. The cat scurries around the corner of your porch and you frown, but you know how you can get it to come back.
In all your bare skin, you bolt inside the house, dripping water, and begin to scour your fridge for the tuna you had very recently made.
The real reason you live so far from society is because you are not quite an ordinary human. You see, any food that you cook heals the person who eats it. You first discovered this when your brother had busted open his head as a child, and you'd made him a sandwich out of sympathy. Hours later there was not so much as a scar in the place he'd been bleeding out of.
And ever since, when your parents weren't looking, you and your brother would beat yourselves up just to test your powers. He remains the only person who knows about them.
With this ability, you figure the stray cat could use a bit of healing. You fix the tuna into a small bowl, a soft shimmer coming from the fish.
You walk back outside, still stark naked. You don't see the cat anymore but you can hear it in the bushes. You squat down and place the bowl on the grass, just under the awning of your wooden porch, and then you back away.
“Here, kitty kitty,” you coo.
Moments later, the skinny cat emerges, glancing up at you to see if you intend harm. You back away farther and soon, it dips its head and begins eating the food.
Within minutes, the patchy fur around its ears begins to fill in, the mats disappear, and the crust around its purple eyes dissolves.
You smile to yourself. You've only had to use your healing technique on yourself in the past years, so you weren’t entirely sure how powerful they still were. This confirms you’re still fully capable.
The cat would go on to disappear, but for the next couple of months, you’d search for it outside, both day and night. It only ever appeared at night, though, and only about twice a week. Sometimes less.
“Why hello, kitty,” you’d say when seeing the cat, and it would regard you with a mew, but it would never quite come close enough to touch.
A week passed, for the first time in months, and there was pure silence. No sign of the cat. You found yourself rocking on a chair on your porch, waiting, and it didn’t come for an entire seven days.
Until a full moon-bathing night.
The cat returns, completely different in appearance and nearly a brand new animal. It's belly is thick with nutrition, ears sharp and full, tail furry and active.
And to your complete surprise, the cat approaches you in the pond.
You jump with surprise, and turn around to face the cat, putting your hand out of the water. It sits down next to the water and watches you intensely.
You don't move for a moment, afraid to scare it off. But after several beats, it nudges your wet hand and you rub your palm across its back.
You jolt with the realization that you have earned its trust.
"Welcome back," you say softly, moving your hand to scritch its chin. "I wish I knew what you were. A boy or girl. So I can name you. Right now, your name is 'here, kitty kitty.'"
The cat's ears twitch as it rolls onto its side and licks its paw.
"Oh well," you shrug. "Kitty will have to do for now. Anyway," you shake your head, realizing you are trying to hold a conversation with a cat. "Where have you been, naughty cat? I was worried about you.”
The issue with you holding a conversation with the cat is that it seems to be listening. It looks up at you with a slow blink and mews.
You smile. “It’s okay. Just missed you, is all.” You take a deep breath. “It’s chilly tonight, kitty. You sure you don’t want to stay with me? I have a warm bed.” You rub your hand along its side and it begins to purr.
Perhaps that is a yes.
It leaves your hand and skips to the porch where it then sprints towards the front door, turning to face you expectantly.
You huff and then pull yourself up out of the water, your body soaked and dripping as you reach for your dry cloth and begin to wrap it around yourself as you walk towards the feline, who is staring at you.
When you make it onto your wooden porch, you smile down at the feline and pull open your storm door, stepping inside as the cat follows.
It glances around, nose twitching, taking in this new and intimidating space.
“I would have made you your own space if I’d known you were coming,” you say, continuing to talk to the cat like it would really respond.
It was much to hope for, but you hadn’t had a conversation with anyone in years.
You lead it off to your bedroom and push open the door.
"I don't mind if you sleep with me," you say kindly, but now it appears that the cat is back to not understanding you, as it goes into the bathroom and looks around - then back to the living room, before ultimately nestling in on your couch.
You sigh as you follow it around with a smile.
"Fine, make yourself at home.” You walk over to scratch the cat on its head. “If you see any mice, feel free to take care of it for me. I will see you in the morning.”
Okay, so maybe you have lost it. A lonely, weird witch who's speaking to animals that cannot understand you. But at least you have a companion now, something to help you be a little less lonely.
Maybe.
You go into your room and change into warm pajamas, then settle into bed that night with a smile on your face. You poor thing, having no idea what you'd gotten yourself into.
The sun peeks through the window the next morning, and gently pulls you out of your sleep.
The first thing on your mind is that you have to feed your new pet. Even though it looks well fed thanks to your magic, it has been a week since you'd seen it last, so you aren’t sure if it has eaten in that time.
You rub your eyes free of sleep and grab a comb in order to gently work the sleep-knots out of your hair. You emerge from your bedroom to head to the kitchen.
Halfway down the hall, you hear snoring and you freeze. Is the little cat really that loud of a sleeper?
You peer around the corner and, you don't see the feline anywhere. But then your eyes travel to the couch, where you’d seen it last.
Your eyes land on very human toes, then they slither up a very bare human calf, then over a bare muscular thigh, and up a bare human chest, until they land on a human face - surrounded by a wild pool of ebony hair.
Your shriek jerks the individual awake.
You take your comb and hold it out in defense, but you know realistically there is no violence in your body.
"Oh, shit," he shouts, scrambling to stand off of the couch and raising his hands. "I-I thought you would sleep a bit longer."
"Who the hell are you?" you shriek, your trembling hand keeping the comb up in defense.
"I'm..." he swallows and looks down, appearing to realize that he is stark naked, but makes no effort to hide himself. "You invited me in," he continues, voice accusing. "Here, kitty kitty. Remember?"
You blink in disbelief. Your eyes trail over his black hair, then his purple eyes, the slits in them now blown to full size. He's not lying. There is no denying the eyes.
"B-But how are you human?" you whisper.
He sighs sadly, dropping his hands. "I have a curse." He scratches his head and you wonder when is the last time he's taken a bath that wasn’t with his own tongue. "I apologize, as I never intended for you to find out."
You think back to your time with the cat. He’d seen you naked a couple of times, for long periods at that. And he’d secretly been a man the whole time. Even though he stood naked in front of you now, as well, you're more embarrassed than you are upset with him.
"It's okay," you say softly, lowering the comb.
He blinks at you in disbelief but his shoulders visibly relax.
"I considered telling you sooner but, I didn’t want to scare you.” He sighs and interlocks his fingers. "But I always wanted to thank you for healing me.”
You nod slowly. "It was my pleasure.” You pause for a moment. "What is your real name?”
"It is Geto," he says.
"Odd name for a cat," you say, teasing. "I'm Y/N."
Geto nods. “Lovely, well, I'm sorry for the intrusion. I'll go now." He turns to leave and your heart stops.
"What?" you blink at him. "N-No, you don't have to do that."
"Well, don't you think I'm some kind of freak?" he questions. "Aren't you upset I didn't reveal the truth sooner?"
"No, and yes," you say softly. "I wish you would have told me because…” because it is a dream come true that you’re a human, you want to say. “Because who am I to judge you?”
Geto clicks his tongue. “People judge all the time even if they have no right to.”
“I am a witch who lives by herself in the woods and talks to animals, for God’s sake,” you throw your hands up. “Clearly, I needed someone real to talk to.”
“I’m sorry,” Geto says, swiping a hand down his face.
You take a deep breath. “No, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” You lower your hands. “How long will you be human?"
"Only until dusk," Geto explains.
"And this happens, everyday, without fail?" you question, taking a step towards him, trying not to allow your eyes to wander.
"Yes," he says, raising an eyebrow, hands flying up in defense. "Forgive me, but I am naked. I don't think-"
"Do you know how long I've been without companionship, kitty?" you ask, putting your hands on your head. "I enjoyed taking care of you, feeling like I kind of had a pet, anticipating your return. I don’t want you to leave so soon.”
Geto bites his lip, "Really? I... I enjoyed coming to see you, too. Especially on nights you moonbathe."
You quirk your brow. "Is that so?" That much was obvious, as you think about the previous night when he had come and sat next to you while you were in the water.
Geto nods sheepishly, keeping his eyes averted. “So, this means I can... stay with you?"
You nod happily, "Of course. How long have you been out there like this? With no where to go?"
Geto shrugs his shoulders. "My life before getting cursed is pretty fuzzy. The days and nights have blended together.”
“And you are always naked?” you snicker.
Geto chokes a bit and uses his hands to hide that part of himself, which you’d been trying not to look at and failing miserably.
“Um, I wasn’t at first,” he admits, “but my clothes became ripped to shreds and I just accepted defeat. If I am wearing something before nightfall, by morning when I am human again, I will be in the same clothes.”
“Oh, fantastic,” you say with a smile.
Geto opens his mouth to respond, but with a snap of your finger, his body is covered in a black sweater, shorts and warm socks - as you are well aware of your cottage’s autumn chill.
"Clever witch," Geto nods in approval. "Thank you. I don't deserve this kindness."
But he does, you think. A man cursed to be something as small and vulnerable as a cat, forced to defend for himself all this time.
And to top it off, as a person he is gentle and kind. You feel your heart palpitate. You aren’t sure what that could mean.
“You’re welcome,” you say, and gesture towards the kitchen. “I was going to make breakfast. Now that you’re human, would you care for pancakes?”
"I have never had pancakes," Geto admits. "But anything you make is delicious, so I’d love to try some.”
And so, you both end up at your small wooden table - a perfect fit for just the two of you as the sun beams in through the arched windows. You've poured strawberry syrup all over Geto's stack of cakes, and he is devouring them with full cheeks and a bright smile.
"I love pancakes," he mutters out. "Your food gets better every time.”
You nod at him with a smile. "Just wait till I make dinner. I know you will be a cat again, but I think you will enjoy it.”
Geto's eyes roll in pleasure, "I already can't wait."
You know your food has physical healing abilities, but you've never known it to seep deep enough to affect your thoughts and emotions. So, this means the odd twinge in your heart whenever you look at Geto must not be from the food. You wonder if he is feeling the same effect.
"So, have you ever tried to break your curse?" you question, shoving another syrupy mouthful into your cheeks.
"No," Geto mumbles sadly. "I used to sit under the sun for many hours, and then when the sun began to go down I'd close my eyes and try to fight the change. But when I'd open my eyes again, there would always be paws looking back at me. I'm used to it now, I live my life around it.” He sighs before smiling softly at you. “And, well, my curse brought me to you, didn't it?"
You feel your face warm at his kind words. They weren’t helping the fuzziness in your ribcage.
"It did," you confirm with a smile. "Well, I was prepared to give you your own little cat room. The offer still stands, but I don’t think the room will be big enough for you in human form.” You tap your fingers nervously on the table. “So… um, you are welcome to share my bed with-with me.”
Geto gasps a bit and nearly chokes on his bite of pancake. "Hmm, I don’t mind, but are you going to wake me up every morning threatening to hit me with a comb?"
You grin, "No, especially since I think it will be nice to wake up to the warmth of another person every day."
"I think so too," Geto says softly, before attempting another bite only to realize he has cleared his plate. "My, my, little witch. You have spoiled me."
He elbows you playfully and you feel your stupid, lonely heart filling to the brim with some new emotion.
"I do think you could stand a bath before you get in my bed, though," you say with a playful smile.
"Oh, right," Geto nods, pink creeping up on his cheeks. "I will do so right after breakfast."
And he did. You had gone outside to tend to your garden while he washed, to see if your vegetables were ready to be harvested yet. They weren't.
Geto joins you in the same outfit as before but now, there are droplets of water falling off of his deep black hair. He walks under the porch awning to the side where you are waving your sparkling fingers over your crops.
"I feel much better," Geto stretches as if he were still feline and leans on the porch railing, looking down at you. "A good meal, a good shower, and a place to live all in one day."
You look up at him. "Well, after so long in the wilderness, I think you deserve it, kitty."
Geto bows his head in gratitude. "At least let me take care of your garden, to... repay you."
"Why do you need to repay me?" you question, astonished.
"Well, nothing in this life comes for free," Geto mutters somberly. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have this curse."
You shake your head, "Well, I already told you that I desire companionship. You are giving me that, so it isn’t technically free."
Geto swallows. "But what is companionship? Just my presence? Or is it engaging and fulfilling conversations and time spent together?"
"All of the above, it may be different depending on the day," you explain.
Geto ponders for a moment. "So, what is it you would like today?"
You smile at him, the sun beaming in your eyes, while Geto remains shadowed under the awning. "Your presence."
And when dusk fell, like clockwork, Geto was back on all fours; a small, vulnerable ball of fur.
You prepare a quick dinner, which Geto slurps up to the last bite, and then you are ready to go to bed - just because you know that the sooner you sleep, the sooner you can wake up to be with human Geto again.
You go into your room, preparing for bed, and he follows you this time. You step behind your closet door to change into a silk nightdress and then, you climb into bed, and Geto hops up next to you. You fluff your pillows and blankets to make a little spot for him, and he curls into it before nestling his head into your side.
Your hand mindlessly strokes his fluffy back until he's purring in his sleep, and not long after, you float away with him.
The next morning, something solid digging into your back awakes you from your peaceful dreams.
You blink open your eyes and see that it is grey outside, combined with the soft tip tap of raindrops on your roof. You smile, it's going to be a lazy day indoors.
When you attempt to roll over, you notice Geto's hand is splayed on your stomach. A moment later you realize: his entire arm is wrapped around you. But that's not exactly what's bothering you, it's whatever is digging into you from behind.
You carefully roll over in Geto's arm. When your face aligns with his, you see he's still sound asleep, messy hair covering his cheeks and forehead. His lips are parted as he snores.
The something is now digging into your stomach. You glance down and find the culprit: the large tent in his shorts. You gasp at the sight. Does Geto realize this is happening to him?
Of course you know what sex is, but being outcasted at such a young age, you'd never experienced it. You certainly don’t know how it affects boys. Over the years you'd experimented with your body, though, so you knew how to please yourself. But what would it be like with another person?
You wonder if the case is the same for Geto. There’s only one way to find out.
You shake him awake with a soft press on his shoulder.
His eyelids flutter open, and the first thing he does when he sees you is smile.
"Good morning, beautiful," he grumbles sleepily, hand flying up and off of your body to rub his gorgeous purple eyes.
You smile goofily, and feel the urge to cover your face.
"Hi," you whisper. "How did you sleep?"
Geto yawns, stretching. "I slept better than I have in years. You’re very warm and soft."
You smile harder, heat filling your cheeks. "I cannot say the same for you."
Geto raises a brow. "Am I a rough sleeper?"
"No, I just mean," you bite your lip and shyly point towards his groin.
Geto's eyes follow yours and then his face turns equally as red. "Oh, shit, I-"
"Don't apologize," you say quickly. "In fact, um, I was going to ask if... if you wanted help f-fixing it."
Geto's eyes widen in disbelief. "What do you... I mean, you want to...?”
"Yes." Your answer is quick and desperate.
"Well then," Geto scratches his head and then puts his soft palm on the side of your face. "I said I would be here to offer whatever type of companionship you desired day to day. Today, this is what you really want?"
"Mhmm," you whisper, leaning into his touch. "Do you want to?”
“Of course,” he smiles. “I mean, my body kind of already answered for me, hm?”
You giggle, “Kiss me, then.”
Geto nods politely before leaning his face in, softly planting his feathery lips on top of yours. Your eyebrows furrow at the foreign contact. It feels like sparks of electricity are zipping through your veins. Like stars forming together in a constellation. You wonder if this is what soulmates are supposed to feel like.
Geto's lips part your own and his tongue drags slowly across your bottom lip, leading the kiss, as you are clearly the lesser experienced of the two of you.
A small moan falls from your mouth and your eyes pop open in embarrassment.
"Oh, I'm sorry," you say, pulling away.
"For what?" Geto questions, rubbing your cheek slowly with his thumb.
"I didn't mean to make that noise," you whisper.
"No, it’s okay," Geto explains. "Those noises let me know what I'm doing is good, that you like it. Have you never done this before?"
You shake your head, biting your lip.
"That's okay, I'm here to guide you through it," he nods reassuringly, and then, drops his hand from your face.
He gently pushes on your shoulder and you are now laying flat on your back. He then props himself up on his elbow and slides part of his body between your legs.
"Just follow my lead, and tell me if you want me to stop at any time," he instructs, pushing a piece of your messy morning hair away from your face.
You nod trustingly, and he crashes his lips back onto yours.
This time, he's harsh and desperate. He cocks his head to the side so that your faces fit together and smacks his full lips against yours. Your hands fly up to hold him at his shoulder blades, and his body begins doing a winding motion against yours. You feel his hard length pressing into your stomach with every bit of movement.
You purr softly into his mouth and he responds with his own sultry noise, which alights a flame between your legs. You’ve read about this in books, but no amount of words compared to what it actually feels like, to have another person on top of you.
Geto's hand slides up the side of your left thigh, before stopping to hold your hip underneath the fabric of your nightdress.
His touch and kisses are so soft and pure. He is speaking to you without saying a word.
"Y/N," he mutters against your mouth before breaking away from you. "Is it okay if I take these off?"
His finger tugs the band of your panties and releases it against your skin with a soft pop.
"Yes," you breathe, digging your fingers into the material of his shirt, which earns a deep sigh from his throat.
Not a second more and he's lifting his hips up in order to rip the material down your legs. His eyes linger on them before he tosses them to the floor. You feel yourself become a bit shy, even though he's seen your naked body in full before. It's entirely different when his very human eyes are raking over your body, and his hands are hiking up the nightdress to get a better look at your bare hips and thighs.
"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen," Geto whispers, pushing your leg up and out, so that you feel the cold air hitting you at the meeting of your thighs.
You blush and slide your hands into his soft hair. “I’m sorry, I’m just shy.”
“Understandably so,” he says, planting a kiss to your jaw. “But remember, I’ve already seen everything. God, it’s so much different to actually touch you.”
You nod and gasp as his hand moves to hover over your cunt, that had been getting wetter by the second.
You can feel the presence of his hand without him even making physical contact, and you nearly buck your hips to break the gap.
“So touch me,” you hum, desperately ready to experience pleasure that wasn’t self-inflicted.
"Okay, eager angel," Geto smiles. "Ready?"
You bite your lip, "What are you going to do?”
He chuckles, "Just getting you warmed up for now, okay? You don’t have to do anything for this part.”
You nod up at him, trusting, and then in another silky breath his fingers come down on your clit - without even searching for it. Your body has no choice but to spasm against his, as his soft fingers begin to slide across your bud like a bow on a violin.
He circles the spot and you cry out instantly, lips still dangerously close to his, but not quite touching. His own lips are parted as he burns his eyes into your face, watching the different ways your pleasure manifests in your features.
"Hngh - Geto," you murmur, your fingers now curling into the roots of his hair.
"Mhmm," Geto sighs back, planting his lips on yours again, this time shoving his wet tongue into your mouth and using it to suck on yours.
You writhe against his touch, unsure how you'd survived this long without this kind of pleasure. It seems Geto had been waiting his entire life to do this, he's so good at it.
You start to roll your hips against his hand and his fingers pick up pace, circling faster, your moans getting louder.
"Pretty girl," Geto praises, after pulling his mouth away from yours. "That feel good?"
You can do nothing but nod desperately, wanting to tell him that the pace he's at right now is perfect, that you feel heat bubbling in your pelvis, but the words won't come.
His fingers are coated in your juice now, he slides them down your folds and back up to your clit, and you almost lose your mind.
Then, his fingers go back down and his long middle finger pushes into your entrance the same way you put your own before. Although, his hand is much larger, and thus his finger fills you so much better.
Your head falls back deeper into the pillows and Geto takes the opportunity to pepper sloppy kisses all over your neck and collar, holding his mouth at times just to make you squirm.
His finger pumps shamelessly in and out of you, going knuckle deep, curling into the squishy roof of your pussy. You feel your hips pulling back from him but he follows you with his wrist.
“Just relax,” he purrs. “Let me make you feel good, repay you for all you’ve done for me.”
You nod obediently and allow your wet inner muscles to relax around him, and he notices, giving you a warm “that’s it” in your ear.
“T-Thank you,” you rasp, pulling his head to your face by his hair.
Your noses touch as you share breath, his hips dry-grinding into yours as his finger harasses your cunt. His pace quickens then slows. He takes note of the way you get louder and nearly burst into tears when he pushes a second finger inside, and begins slamming both members in, his palm hitting your wet clit with each stroke.
“Oh, angel,” Geto coos, “can already tell you’re gonna gonna do so good for me. Huh? Aren’t you?”
“Y-yes,” you hiss. “I-I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Good to hear,” he rasps against your mouth before giving you a needy kiss.
He repeats his quick, deep pumping with his wrist until an unholy wave rumbles through your nerves and your body shakes against him - moaning wildly into his mouth. The rain on the roof begins to fall harder and nearly drowns out your noise.
“Ah - ah, shit,” you whimper as he fingers you through your orgasm.
“Yes, pretty girl, you got it,” he praises, catching your moans in his mouth as your thighs shake and your back twitches on and off of the mattress.
"Mmh - so wet," he adds, pulling out his fingers and tapping them together; revealing a clear, sticky string of secretion between them.
You blink in disbelief, had you done that?
What happens next nearly makes your soul shatter. Geto brings the two fingers to his lips and licks them clean, purple eyes watching you every second that he does so.
He releases his fingers from his mouth with a pop! and plants a kiss on your nose.
"Now, you're all ready," he says with a satisfactory nod. "It's been a really long time since I've done this; I'm glad that it's going to be with you."
You smile up at him, legs still twitching as your clit tries to come down from your high. “You’re so good at it,” you quiver. “‘M glad y’gonna be my first.”
“Maybe even your last,” he says, soft enough you fear that you may have imagined it.
You drop your hands from his hair and slide them down over his sweater collar and instead change the subject. "Aren’t people usually naked for this?"
Geto grins, "Yes, my bad. I'm used to already being naked."
You giggle as he parts his body from yours, only for a second, then he slides his shirt off his body and shakes his hair loose, before discarding the garment to a random corner of the room.
Your hands immediately find his bare, chiseled skin. Albeit soft, the muscles underneath are rigid, and he's covered in tiny white scars that paint a small piece of his entire portrait.
His eyes don't leave you as his hands move to pull your nightdress over your head. Now the two of you lay topless, skin to skin, the only thing separating you being his shorts.
His hand glides mindlessly down your side, resting on your hip. "Just breathtaking," he murmurs, planting a kiss to the crook between your shoulder and neck.
You shake your head. "That's all you. Whoever cursed you must have known that seeing your beauty all twenty-four hours a day would be too much for the world to handle."
Geto cracks a laugh, his eyes crinkling with genuine adoration and happiness.
He doesn’t say another word before he tugs down his shorts, and they join the growing pile of clothes on your bedroom floor. Now he’s back to laying gently between your legs, careful not to crush you with his weight.
Your eyes widen as his length pops out, smacking his abdomen before falling forward from how much it appears to weigh. You’d seen it the day before, of course, but it hadn’t been… erect. You are amazed at the sheer difference in size, and quite frankly intimidated.
“What’s wrong?” Geto wonders, lifting your chin to look at him.
“Th-that’s gonna fit inside of me?” you ask, blinking out of embarrassment.
Geto nods slightly, “Yes, believe me, angel. You can take it, it’s not as scary as it looks.”
You stretch your knees apart so they aren't digging into his sides, and you feel that hard part of him brush against your cunt.
A small gasp flies from your mouth, as your body shudders, and Geto calmly relaxes you with his soft hands massaging your sides, burying his face in your neck.
“A-Are you sure?” you ask.
"I’m gonna need you to kiss me, and focus on breathing, okay?" He speaks against the skin on your neck before planting a kiss to your jaw, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
"Okay, I can do that," you nod nervously, wrapping your arms his neck.
He sits up a bit to stare at you, faces barely inches apart. The rain still patters against the roof mercilessly in the background, occasional thunder claps landing in the distance, mirroring the thump of your heart in your ribcage.
His hand that isn't being used to hold himself up is sliding between your legs, where he grips his cock, then begins sliding it on your slick, lathering himself up.
Your back comes a bit off of the mattress, stomach sliding against his torso.
“Hngh - oh," you mumble, and Geto cuts you off with a peck.
"Don't tense up, angel," he mutters against you. "Hold on to me, don't let go."
You nod against his lips, still shuddering. He taps the surprisingly heavy head on your clit, his wetness and yours creating a smack! noise.
“Tell me you’re ready,” he requests as he takes the tip of his cock and presses it at your entrance, not applying pressure yet.
“I’m ready, Geto,” you say desperately.
As much as you are scared, you’re also ready to feel him, to please him. To be as close as two humans can possibly be.
"Deep breath," he whispers, dipping his face.
You lift your chin to grab his mouth and bite down on his bottom lip as he pushes past your gummy threshold, feeling as your walls mold to the shape of his cock and swallow him up.
You try to keep your eyes open just to see the way his own roll to the back of his head as he pushes in, but the burning at your core makes your eyes squint shut as your nails dig into his back.
“Sh-shit,” he grumbles against your bite, as his hand jerks to find something to grip on, ultimately settling for the pillow next to your head.
“G-Geto, it-” hurts, feels good, burns, is exhilarating. All of these things are entering your mind as he enters you.
He gets about halfway deep and you feel yourself clenching around him, trying to relax, but it’s hard when it’s scary and a bit painful. It’s not the first time something has been inside of you, but this feeling is raw and unique, and he’s so much bigger than anything you’d ever put in there.
He pauses for a moment and you release his mouth from your teeth so that he can prop up on his elbow, and he looks down at you in amazement.
“Doing amazing so far, beautiful,” he praises, placing his palm on your cheek and stroking away the stray tear that is falling from your eye. “How do you feel?”
You nod your head, unsure for a moment if you can speak. “G-Good. J-Just trying to adjust.”
“It’s okay, take your time,” he plants a kiss to your earlobe before whispering, “let me know when you want me to keep going.”
You keep your hands on his back, then slide them down his arms, before dropping them behind your head.
Geto glances up, then takes his own hands up the side of your body and your arms before meeting his hands with yours and linking your fingers together.
You sigh against this touch. He’s no longer hovering over you and you are chest to chest, erect nipples brushing his chest. He buries his face in your neck and awaits your command.
“Go,” you whisper softly, and he does not hesitate to grind his hips further into yours.
Now, his cock is filling you from wall to wall, entrance to cervix. Your legs are shaking on either side of him as you stretch, ecstasy consuming you and making your brain turn to mush.
Geto’s wet mouth smacks sloppy kisses all over your neck as he pulls his hips back to begin his rhythmic stroking.
You arch against him and cry out.
“Mmh, feels so good,” is all you manage to mumble in his ear, and he responds by grazing your neck with his teeth.
The rain swooshes against the window in time with your cunt’s squelches, as you drip all over Geto’s length and down onto the mattress.
“Y’so p-perfect,” Geto whines against your neck, and for several moments he pumps silently and softly into your core, driving you to a feeling you’d never thought was possible.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His hips roll with the howl of the rain, slowly but deep. Your wooden bed creaks in his wake, adding to the symphony of sex in the room.
“Faster,” you hear yourself moan in his ear, and his hips pick up momentum.
They clap against your skin softly as he works harder to slam his cock against your taut insides.
“So warm,” he mumbles, propping himself up to look down at you, and you grip onto his hands tighter. “Shouldn’t feel th-this good.”
You grunt out a pathetic cry as his new pace results in him hitting a new spot, one he continues to press into upon hearing your response to it.
“Oh, shit,” you whimper. “Oh shit, Geto, right there.”
“Right there?” he echoes in a silky tone, pinning your hands further into the pillows as he fucks harder into you, still maintaining his soft kisses along your jaw.
Now that the pain is disappearing, ecstasy consumes all of your thoughts, and it seems to come naturally to you what to do next.
You pull your legs up and wrap them around his back, linking your ankles just over his waistline, and it creates a new angle for Geto to pound you from.
“Hngh - oh,” Geto’s eyelids flutter. He’s hitting another new spot that makes you feel like your groin is going to explode. “Pretty girl, I don’t wanna finish so soon, but if you keep me like this…”
“Don’t care,” you shake your head, wanting to feel what it’s like to be filled with the aftermath of a man’s orgasm. “Wanna take it all.”
“Don’t say - mmh,” Geto cuts himself off and dips his head back into your sweaty neck. “God, I… I think I love you.”
You gasp at his sultry confession. Of course, you had been taking care of him for a while. Though you hadn’t known his human form for long, he’d known you. He was the first person you’d come across in a long time, but in all your life, absolutely the kindest. Was it really that insane to think the two of you could be… in love?
“I-I love you too,” you reply without much thought, using the leverage on your legs to grind yourself down onto him as he pumps.
Your wetness covers his groin which has the underside of your thighs soaked, nearly sticking the two of you together as his strokes become sloppier, wetter, his cock drenching your insides in precum.
You feel him squelching around inside of you, stretching your poor virgin walls to their peak, wringing immeasurable pleasure from deep in your guts.
“Hah - mm,” Geto whines, now mercilessly drilling as deep as he can go.
It hurts but you’re taking it so well, and it shows in the way Geto is mumbling praises in your ear.
Good girl, so good, so wet, mon amour, take it.
He lets out a deep groan and then, he’s grabbing your knees and unwrapping your legs from around him. In a flash, he has you flipped to your side, and he slides behind you, as if you were back in your cuddling position from this morning.
“Just needed to switch it up,” he mumbles in your ear, kissing your shoulder.
“Mm, what are you gonna do?” you question him, and he shows you when he slides his cock between your coated thighs and pulls a gasp from you.
His hand finds your hip and grips it. “Tell me if you don’t like it, we’ll go back to the other way, yeah?”
You nod, but there’s a twist in your stomach at this exciting new angle, as Geto lifts your leg up and holds the underside of your thigh in the air. You twist backwards to put your arm around his neck, and he kisses yours.
“‘Member what I said?” he reminds raspily in your ear, “just hold onto me. I’ve got you.”
“Please, just put it back already,” you whine needily, and Geto doesn’t hesitate to push himself back into your crying hole.
This new angle hits you deep in your belly. Geto’s hand flattens out over your lower stomach and presses down. Inside of your guts, Geto’s cock is jerking hungrily, needing to feel every inch of you sliding back onto him again.
Your eyes squeeze shut as your fingers entangle themselves in his hair.
He keeps his hold on your thigh, his chin on your shoulder, biting and licking and moaning into your ear.
“S-So good, angel,” he huffs out, and all you can do is whimper as he grinds his thin hips into your backside.
“Ngh - kitty,” you whine, “where’d y-you learn this?”
Geto responds by kissing your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything aloud, instead shuts you up by fastening his pace, thundering into you in competition with the lightning from the rainstorm.
His hand glides down the side of your body and takes a handful of your ass, digging his nails into it as if he is going to slip away.
“I… regrettably think I’m gonna c-cum,” Geto stammers.
Something overcomes you, and you spin around, still on his cock. His perfect lips form a shocked, ‘O’ shape, and you put your hand against his throat, softly, applying a slight amount of pressure to each side. You adjust your legs to be on either side of him.
“Cum for me,” you mutter, shocking yourself, and Geto’s response is a guttural, pathetic groan.
“Why’d you have to - hngh - nooo-“
And not a moment more passes before he’s hopelessly spilling into you, cock jerking against the top of your sticky walls, nails breaking open the skin on your hips as you round them over his cock to drag out every drop you can.
The warmth of his cum inside of you makes your body writhe, squeezing his length painfully as your own orgasm comes intensely - covering him in watery fluid.
“G-Geto, I’m-” you can’t get the word out, you are shocked but have no way of telling him due to how fucked out you currently are.
“Agh - so beautiful,” he mumbles, bringing his strokes to a conclusion. He remains inside of you for several unearthly moments, your cunt twitching around his shakey cock.
Then you use the leverage of your legs around his waist to push yourself up and down, up and down.
Geto’s eyes bulge and then roll backwards. “Oh, oh shit.”
Your hands grip onto his shoulders for more leadway.
“Does that feel good?” you question him, a little unsure why you’ve decided to do this, knowing he’s already cum inside of you.
“Y-Yes,” Geto grumbles, leaning forward to plant a sloppy, needy kiss against your mouth before he parts his lips and holds them there - so fucked and barely able to contain his moans. “D-Do y’even know what you’re doing?”
Your body is tingling with the leftover feeling of your orgasm as you slide down on Geto in this laying position, and having him still hard inside of you does feel weird but - you like it.
“No,” you answer honestly. “I-It just feels good.”
Geto nods desperately, “Don’t stop, please.”
You obey his wish by sliding faster, feeling your walls pulsate around his cock as you push both of you beyond your limits. Whoever said sex had to end with orgasms is a loser, you think.
“Geto, you filled me up so well,” you say, “s-so glad you were m-my first.”
Geto looks up and forces his eyes open. He smiles at you through gritted teeth, “I-I’m glad too, m-mon amour.”
Him stuttering like this is doing dangerous things to your cunt, causing you to gush and pool on him even more than before. Geto notices and grabs a handful of your hair.
“O-Okay,” he shudders, and begins to laugh. “Maybe - maybe we can stop now.”
“Hmm? You sure?” you tease, and he shakes his head.
“No, but don’t know if I can take it,” his smug laughter has faded back into pathetic whimpers, and your cunt hates the thought of not being able to hear these noises from him.
You sigh softly regardless, and smile at him, before halting your movements and laying there; his cock now covered in cream and cum, stagnant inside of you.
He takes the pause to catch his breath and there you stay, cock inside, arms intertwined.
He releases your hair and puts his palm on your cheek, pulling your face towards his to kiss him.
“Perfect,” he says. “I wish that I could spend all twenty-four hours as a human with you.”
You sigh softly, “I do too. But I am glad we even get to know each other in this lifetime, let alone spend the time together.”
A moment too soon, he begins to slide out of you with a smile and both of you moan at the gushy feeling. He sits up on his elbow and stares directly between your legs to watch his cum drip out of you.
Then he sits all the way up, on his knees; his hair sticking to the crown of his face by sweat.
You lay there, all kinds of fluids dripping slowly out of you still, breathing in his scent that he’d left behind on the pillow.
“Geto, did you mean what you said?” you ask suddenly, forcing yourself to sit up, your insides squishing around, a slight pain jarring up your tummy.
Geto glances down at you, eyes still dark with lust. “About what?”
“That you love me,” you question, cocking your head to the side. “We’ve only known each other a short time, I-I just…”
“I meant it,” he says softly, falling onto his bottom, before pulling you up on onto his lap, his fluids and yours dripping all over him. “I think that if you are capable of feeling such strong things so quickly, it must be real and true.”
Your eyelids flutter softly and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, running your fingers down his back.
“It’s just that I’ve never had anyone love me for me,” you say. “I literally live alone because no one else ever accepted me.”
“Well,” Geto nuzzles your neck and kisses your collarbone, “I am equally a delinquent as you are. We are one in the same, and I think you are perfect for me. You showed me kindness when you didn’t have to, so yes, I love you.”
You smile, in your happy little post-ecstasy bubble. The rain pours still, and the clouds remain grey, but as long as Geto is around, you know that will always be able to see the sun.
A/N
why…. why am i SOBBING
this is the life our little baby deserved (with gojo) goodbye!!
and that concludes JJK HALLOWEEN! let’s take a bow everyone, i couldn’t have done it without your support!!
jjkhalloween!! is gonna forever be remembered as the series that got me jump started on this platform and im gonna remember the absolute fun I had writing it for the rest of my days :’)
this community is so welcoming and sweet and i love all of you guys and your kind words and reblogs it means EVERYTHING to my poor little jjk heart even if i’m a boomer who doesn’t know how to reply!1!1!
mwah mwah, now onto new things!!! <3
~ pennjammin
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk geto#geto suguru#geto x reader#jujutsu geto#jjk suguru#getou suguru x reader#suguru geto smut
707 notes
·
View notes
Text
— SOLIDIFY
pairings: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader, percy jackson x sister!reader
summary: yourself and luke are navigating your new relationship. with the two of you being popular amongst the camp, eyes were on you always. some tended to wander to places reserved for the other.
warnings: creepy boy, protective luke & percy (yk the drill), arguments, fighting/violence, flirting, luke being a tease, cutesy patchups
a/n: this does kind of remind of a fic i already have so let’s just say i drew inspo 😋 also i’m a sucker of mean luke hehehe - kind of regretting making it into a series rather than one long fic
wordcount: 880 words
taglist: @songofthesuns @gayforyelena @taloulalila @honeydanny @7s3ven @sssi-nr @percabethtears @gr1mes-cc @2hiigh2cry @10ava01 @ahh-chickens @fangirl-swagg @anotherblackreader @midmourn @lovelyforesst @urfavpogue @lilacspider @mysteris-things @whoreyzontal @lunalixya @dangelnleif @wordsarelife
part i, part ii, part iii, part iv - finale out now!!
ii. solidify
you were luke’s, even if the guy infront of you didn’t know it. luke knew it, you knew it, and that’s all that mattered. luke definitely knew it, by the amount of times he’d kissed you all over, hands wandering—
besides the point.
but luke had composure, something he prided himself on. he was able to keep a pokerface when need be. and he really did need it. this boy was pushing his buttons, and seemingly trying to undo yours.
luke watched on for a bit, trying his hardest to keep up the smile on his face that everyone knew. thankfully, he didn’t need to step in this time. as annoying percy’s protectiveness over you waynhave been, it had its perks. such as percy being annoyed by the same things as luke.
“hey y/n, i’m feeling kind of tired. you mind walking me back to our cabin?” percy stood behind you as you turned his way, laughter from behind you caused a scowl to come over your face. “what’re you laughing at?” the boy crossed his arms, “the fact that this kid can’t walk alone.” percy’s fist was itching to connect with this guys face, but he knew you could handle it.
“this kid, is my brother. and if you have something else to say you sure as hell better be ready for someone to talk back.” you were eye to eye now, and you could see him practically shrink back into himself. “that’s what i thought.” the campers rung out in ‘oohs’ as you turned to guide percy away.
what you didnt anticipate was for him to fight back. “the hell do you think you’re doing?” his fingers clung onto your wrist, and that was more than enough for luke to punch him square in the jaw. but that wasn’t enough, with each leg over the boys waist he continued to raise his fist, over and over.
until eventually you managed to pry him off of the boy. but the damage was done, he was currently cradling his wrists and crying out, “he broke it!”
“you idiot. come on.” percy was in front of the two of you, deciding to say out of the way as you reprimanded him, “and again, i can handle myself just fine!”
“is it so wrong of me to want to protect you?” luke shouted as the two of you stopped in your tracks. “you’re my— best friend.” thankfully your back was facing percy, the smile on your face was wide. “i know, and i thank you for wanting to protect me. but i can fight my own battles luke. don’t do it again.” percy furrowed his eyebrows, “so can i.” you laughed, “no you can’t percy.”
once you’d settled percy in you walked luke to his empty cabin. luke’s smugness was irking you, “why are you so happy?” luke shrugged, “hurt him good, why wouldn’t it be happy?” you shoved him inside, your head was hurting from the whole encounter. “happy? you’re happy for hurting someone?” luke’s hands rested on either cheek, his eyes seemed darker than usual, “he hurt you, and i can’t let that happen.” you shook your head.
“seriously, what the hell was that?” you were so close to choking him, and not in a fun way. “what was what? me defending you? that guys hands were all over you, i broke them, he won’t be using them again. problem solved.” you walked him over to his bed before pushing him down. luke’s own hands were bruised, the moonlight seemed to dance over them, dried blood and shallow cuts. you inspected them with care, before grabbing a first aid kit.
“i’m not incompetent yknow? i can handle myself just fine. you undermined me out there, im a camp counsellor, i’m a leader. you made me look like i need saving!” he exhaled, whilst you wiped over his knuckles with wipes before walking away to throw the rubbish out. “i didn’t mean to, i just— i saw him. and his hands on you and i couldn’t just sit back.” you were situated between his legs, his hands came up to rest on your hips.
your hand tangled in his hair, thumb rubbing up and down as he rested his head against your stomach. “i know, i know. it’s sweet, that you want to protect me but you can’t treat me like a kid. i’m your—.” the silence between the two of you was comforting, never awkward.
“say it.” his voice was soft and sweet, almost desperate, he looked up at you and your own heart was threatening to leap out of your chest. just one look from luke was more than enough to send your head spiralling. “i’m your girlfriend, luke. and you’re my—.”
“boyfriend, your loving, loyal, extremely hot and amazing swordsmen of a boyfriend. and i’m pretty good in other areas too.” you hid your head in your hands, the heat in your cheeks was annoying you, “nah, i wanna see you.”
he managed to lift you up, despite your squeals of protest, and lay down with you on the bed, “i’ll protect you any day, anytime.” luke peppered your face with kisses as you begged him to stop, “never.”
you groaned, “god you’re cheesy luke!”
“only for you.”
#luke castellan x y/n#luke castellan x you#luke castellan fluff#luke castellan#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan x fem!reader#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson x fem!reader#percy jackson and the olympians x reader#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson fic#percy jackson x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Sleeping Beauty - Jake & Tsu'tey
Part of the Sleeping Beauty Series (all stand-alone)
inspo
Pairing: Jake Sully/Fem!Reader/Tsu'tey
Word Count: 2k+
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, minors dni, somnophilia, bi!Jake, dom!Tsu'tey, unprotected p in v (wrap it, you skxawngs), biting, swearing, surprise threesome, creative use of Na'vi words to avoid saying Y/n, oral (male receive), reader gets Eiffel-towered, reader is a bit of a masochist, creampie, Tsu'tey!lives au, Tsu'tey is olo'eyktan and Jake is just Toruk Makto.
A/n: Surpriiiiise! I feel like this one isn't as long as the last but I was almost desperate to push this out. I hope it's okay.
Also, I'm not gonna keep writing a 'Na'vi Words Used' section 🙃 Google is free, and this provides a browser that helps you quickly type in a word to find out what it means. Enjoy!
Jake knew from the very beginning that you had some sort of infatuation with Tsu'tey, but you would rather die than admit it.
After all, you were with Jake, and in Na'vi terms you were mated for life. In human terms, you were married, and it made Jake extremely happy knowing that no matter what shape or form the two of you were in, you loved him no matter what and he loved you. When he decided that he wanted to pass through the Eye of Eywa and permanently transfer his subconscious into his avatar's body, you fully supported his decision. It helped that you had an avatar of your own, so you could still be a part of his world and occasionally return to yours if need be. You've only ever wanted him to be happy, and you always loved him, in and out of that damn wheelchair.
He knew you loved him, more than anything, but he catches the way you look at the clan's olo'eyktan from time to time. He knew you would never act on it. What you felt was just interest, nothing more, because you only wanted Jake at the end of the day. But then again, Jake was also just as curious as you, and if you weren't going to do anything about it, he was going to be the one to make the first step.
"Isn't she a doll? I mean, she almost is in the literal sense. A silent, inanimate object and pliable for me to play with however I want."
Tsu'tey didn't say anything in response, too caught up in watching the way Jake's large cock pushed into your squelching heat, the sound filling the kelku. The fact your avatar's body reacted according to Jake's touch without you possessing it had the Na'vi man completely transfixed from where he crouched near your head, a barely caged primal desire swimming in his yellow eyes. Watching how your lower lips, covered in your slick, spread, and pucker to stretch and accommodate Jake's unnatural size (thank you, labcoats), Tsu'tey's tail flicks with contained interest that was definitely questioning every rational thought.
He knows he shouldn't be here... but he had been thinking about this for months and not even Eywa could persuade him to look the other way after Toruk Makto was adamant about how both you and him wanted Tsu'tey.
Jake wasn't deterred by Tsu'tey's silence, knowing that if the olo'eyktan didn't want to be here, he wouldn't have followed Jake here after being invited. The two of them had gone out hunting that day and Jake thought it would be the perfect time to bring up his little... proposition.
Focusing back on the unconscious body beneath him, Jake grabs your avatar's hips with both hands and continues to gradually thrust inside of your pussy. Your body was already so tight and naturally became aroused and slicked up by the time Jake was done stretching you with his fingers. It took every ounce of self-control for him not to fuck you like an animal to his own completion when you look this enticing. Nothing was boring about your sex life, but with Tsu'tey's intimidating gaze watching his every move as Jake pumped in and out of your tight heat, something really hot and angry began to stir deep in Sully's stomach.
He lets out a punctured grunt, a wave of adrenaline coursing through him from the excitement of it all, a grin slowly plastering over his lips, glancing back up at Tsu'tey, "She lets me do this a ton, you know. She loves it. You would have never guessed she was such a minx, huh?"
Tsu'tey's ears twitch with that same intrigue, pupils further blown wide with barely contained desire, trying to ignore the growing strain of his loincloth.
Jake's grin falters for a moment when your pussy grips him tight, a groan spilling from his lips and falling open in a silent gasp as his eyebrows pinch together in pleasure. He struggles to find his words again, huffing between sentences as everything else drains to his groin, "She said she was going to link up around this time. 'Should be waking up right... about..."
The first thing that moved was your avatar's eyebrows, scrunched closely together as your eyelashes fluttered. Tsu'tey watches as a soft flush rises up your body, reaching your face just as you open your eyes, pupils blown out of proportion as a soft, quiet whimper is pulled from your lungs. Your hands instinctively fly up to graze and scratch at Jake's tight chest and tummy when you feel that familiar sensation of an approaching orgasm.
"Oh, fuuuuck..." you moan out, tilting your head back as you close your eyes once more.
A deep, low chuckle reverberates from Jake's throat while staring down at you, slowing his thrusts until he's only grinding, the friction of his pelvis against your clit sending your growing moans to ricochet throughout the marui, "Hey, baby. Glad you could join us."
"Us?" You breathlessly question, managing to catch the choice of words. Looking around, you suddenly realize you and your husband are not alone. Craning your neck up, you find a familiar Na'vi crouching above your head, your eyes widening, "Tsu'tey?"
His eyes, so hard and intimidating like the rest of his physique, always piercing into your soul... had a lilt of something else that now pierced something deep in your abdomen and caused your warm and wet walls to flutter around Jake's cock. While Jake softly curses under his breath, biting his lip to stay quiet, Tsu'tey's eyes never leave yours even as his hand brushes over his straining loincloth to try and relieve the pressure, "Sevin..."
Any initial horror or embarrassment you might have felt at the thought of another man seeing you naked and being properly fucked started to melt and drift out of your mind the moment your eyes glanced down to the olo'eyktan's crotch. You now shamelessly watch and even feel a small ping of pride as Tsu'tey's clothed cock unexpectedly jumps under your attention.
Feeling some level of satisfaction now that you understood what was going on, you quickly replaced your shock with a smug smile as your eyes turned up to Jake, "You really wanted to spice things up that badly, huh?"
The grinding immediately halted and you whine loudly from the loss of friction. Jake smirks down at you, strong hands gripping the flesh underneath your knees, "Maybe I was just tired of watching you drool after Tsu'tey without doing anything about it."
"Like you acted any better," you found yourself snarling back in the midst of your sexual frustration.
Tsu'tey surprised even himself when he scoffed in amusement, attracting the attention of the couple in front of him. With both sets of "demon" eyes on him, the Na'vi man felt a warmth swirling deep in his gut, his own eyes slowly traveling down to the spot where yours and Jake's bodies connected, almost as if he appreciated the view.
The expression on the olo'eyktan's face was not lost to Jake, who smiled with a hidden arrogance as he slowly dragged his hips back, pulling his hard cock completely out of your squelching heat, shiny from your juices, the loss of fullness forcing a broken whimper to escape your throat. Without warning, Jake grabbed your hips and flipped your over, gently smacking your ass until you got the message and moved to lean forward on your hands and knees, gasping from the sting of his hand that would definitely leave a mark in the morning.
Jake moved to press himself up against your ass, idly twirling your tail around his veiny forearm and giving it a firm tug, "Why don't you put that mouth to work for Tsu'tey if you're just going to be a smartass, huh?"
You whine, feeling so degraded, and yet your body feels like it's on fire. Keeping yourself upright on your hands and knees, you flip your hair over to one shoulder and look up at Tsu'tey through hooded eyelashes, your face flushed and your lips shining wet from rolling your tongue over them as you watch his tight loincloth begin to dampen with precum. When you peer up at the silent warrior, your eyes lock and you can't help the way your mouth gradually falls open, poking your tongue out like a welcoming invitation that makes Tsu'tey's balls tighten.
The growl that leaves his throat softly echoes throughout the marui, and your pulsating walls clench around nothing, a flutter of arousal making its presence from such a sound. Finally, Tsu'tey unties his loincloth and both you and Jake shamelessly watch his cock spring up to attention once released from its confinements. He's not as big as Jake, but he's still long with a small barb leaking precum at the tip, which flushes an angry dark purple.
He doesn't waste any more time, not when you look so enticing. He grabs a hold of your chin, harshly, and squeezes until you're forced to hold your tongue all the way out, the dominance making your belly stir. He grips his cock with his free hand, angrily pumping himself with a few, firm strokes as his dark, gold eyes keep you frozen in your spot, your spine tensing with anticipation. Tsu'tey gently slaps his leaking tip against your tongue for a moment and you bring the appendage back in your mouth, moaning at the taste of him before you roll it back out for more.
Tsu'tey looked up and met Jake's gaze, and whatever Sully saw swimming in those same orbs made the muscles in his stomach clench. You can feel Jake twitch against your entrance and you whine while pushing back against him for more, all the while keeping your mouth wide open and panting like a bitch in heat, your warm breath fanning over Tsu'tey's length. The olo'eyktan groans lowly, eyes drifting back down to you as he lines himself up, parting your lips with his tip before gradually shoving his way into your mouth.
You choke once but then immediately relax your throat, breathing deeply through your nose to try and not gag, moaning around his cock when you taste more of him. You've barely been given time to relax and breathe before Jake finally pushes his own dick back inside your pussy, filling you up in one swift motion that makes your moans rise in pitch, the vibrations turning Tsu'tey into a growling, feral creature that forces himself to remain still... for now.
Jake faintly smirks while huffing out a small moan in response to your pussy contracting around him, "'See how her bratty mouth isn't running anymore?"
Tsu'tey's usual snarl appears as he gives Jake a warning look, "I wonder if the same conclusion will happen if I do the same to you."
You don't have to see to know that Jake's shit-eating grin is etched on his lips, leaving you moaning around Tsu'tey when your husband slides out and immediately plunges back in, a large, wet slap echoing in the air when his hips meet your ass.
"I think she'd like nothing better than to see you teach me a lesson," Jake pushes out while huffing a strained, small laugh, "She just got tighter."
Tsu'tey grunts in answer, feeling your throat constrict around his cock like a living being each time Jake pulls out and shoves his way back in.
"Ngh, yes. Very 'ekxin," Tsu'tey groans out, finally giving in and starting to move his hips back and forth, small motions at first before eventually matching Jake's rhythm.
You felt like a spitroast with both cocks thrusting in and out both ends of you, and even more so when you felt a burning warmth, pleasant and growing deep in the pit of your stomach. The way Jake's cock rubs against the lining of your inner walls is so addicting, but you're unable to savor it because you're instantly distracted by the reminder to breathe through your nose when Tsu'tey only manages to plunge further down your throat. It was the kind of edging that would make anyone insane... and you loved it.
"You're greedy, baby, ya know that?" Jake growls playfully as he bends over your back and nips at your ear, "First, you had Toruk Makto, but then you also had to go and want the olo'eyktan. Well, now you have both of us, and it looks as though you can barely handle it."
The whines you let out send shocks up Tsu'tey's cock, making him growl uncontrollably, like a cornered animal. His mind foggy with desire, he briefly forgets how he needs to be gentle and roughly grabs your kuru, pulling it back to force your head to tilt at the desired angle before thrusting deep inside your mouth. His balls slap the underside of your chin while your constricting throat makes the most obscure, spongy sounds as you take his dick.
One of your hands shoots out to tightly grab his thigh, gagging around his cock as the leaking tip hits the back of your throat, past your uvula. Your nails dig into his skin in an attempt to push him away, but that only appears to rile him up more.
He snarls down at you, pulling back his lips to display his teeth, "Take it, sevin."
Your eyes widen with tears as you choke around him, your tearful gaze only spurring Tsu'tey on. Jake bites down on your shoulder, either to muffle his moans or to remind you he was there, no one could say.
"You heard him," Sully gasps as he lathers his tongue over your new bite mark, "Take it, baby. Take it all."
He tugs your tail a little tighter, reminding you that he still has his arm tangled around it. You whine loudly around Tsu'tey, feeling him twitch inside your mouth. The Na'vi man only rides your mouth faster, growling incoherently, precum leaking down your throat, making it tickle and threaten to make you cough or choke. Sensing he was close, you flex your tongue just underneath his length, hallowing your cheeks to the point his thrusts leave the most grotesque, sucking noises to fill the air.
"Yawntu-" Tsu'tey cut himself off with a snarl, his muzzle scrunching up like an angry thanator, "Kalweyaveng-!"
He's so deep in your throat that your nose bumps his pelvis, feeling his muscles tighten in his abdomen as he starts shooting his cum down your throat with one last thrust, driving himself as deep as possible while gasping for breath. You don't even dare close your eyes no matter how good it feels, watching his face contort above you, eyes closed as his brow ridge scrunched up as if in pain, and his mouth open while panting for air, loosening his grip on your kuru. He's still emptying his load as he slowly starts to pull out, the last couple of streams of his seed splashing over your lips and cheek. You close your mouth to swallow before your lips fall open to gulp down the air as if your life depended on it, your gaze flicking back up to him with half-lidded eyes.
Tsu'tey's tail twitches behind him at the sight of your flushed and marked face. While the heat of his lust has dimmed slightly from his eyes, the way he looked at you made everything in your body instinctively tighten, forcing both you and Jake to start spiraling to your own orgasms.
Jake whines every time he pushes his cock back inside your wet heat, a ring of white cream now forming around his thickness every time he stretches your puffy ring, "Ah, ah, ah-!"
The first spurts of his seed filling your womb sends your eyes to roll back as you clamp down around his cock, forcing him to stop thrusting and just empty everything he has as deep as possible, painting your walls. You moan loudly as the warmth in the pit of your stomach bursts, flooding your body with euphoria, a high you have never been able to recreate without your husband, but this time it only felt better with both he and Tsu'tey pumping you full from both ends.
As usual, Jake's ears twitch erratically as the edge of his orgasm begins to fade, leaving him blubbering nonsense as he tries to ride it out longer, "Ohhhh, baby. That's it... oh, fuck. Clenching me so tight... god, I never want to leave this tight little thing. Took us so well. Our little doll."
Instead of replying, the overstimulation as Jake faintly moves his hips to form shallow thrusts makes you whine and reach forward to bite the inside of Tsu'tey's thigh, eliciting a deep sound in the back of his throat as his hand tightens in your hair once more, "Mawey, sevin."
Jake chuckles and slowly pulls out, groaning while watching a large amount of cum leak out of your abused slit, his tail already curling with interest, "Take her real quick so I can grab a cloth."
As if you weighed nothing, Jake takes your hips and lifts you up, passing you to Tsu'tey like the doll he claims you to be. Your face practically magnetizes to the crook of the olo'eyktan's neck, the corded muscle flexing beneath your lips as you playfully bite him stirring a small wave of amusement through you. Tsu'tey harrumphs while tightening his arms around you, his previous hesitance no longer there.
"Did I mention she bites?" Jake smirks while finding a cloth and wetting it down, moving back over to the two of you.
Tsu'tey scoffs faintly, but there wasn't any malice behind his tone, too exhausted and surprisingly relaxed to care while watching Jake dip the cloth between your legs.
As your gasp quietly at the feel, Jake dips his head down to whisper hotly in your ear, "So, tomorrow night... how do you feel about breaking your link and keeping both yourself and your avatar here so Tsu'tey and I can fuck both of your pussys?"
Taglist: @pandoraslxna @inolaphoenix @neteyamsoare @mooniequeen @avatar-lover @taronyuhunter @ikeyniofthetayrangi @neteyamssyulang @sullybrothersmate @rivatar avatar4eva @bdudette
#tsu'tey#jake sully#jake sully smut#tsu'tey smut#tsu'tey x reader#jake sully x reader#jake sully imagine#tsu'tey imagine#tsu'tey x reader x jake sully#jake sully x reader x tsu'tey#avatar 2009#avatar#avatar smut#avatar imagine#avatar 2009 smut#anla's sleeping beauties
511 notes
·
View notes
Text
That Your Man?
images are mine (except middle LK pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. Apparently all the ATE pcs are my inspo this time.
part 2 of my skz crack!horror series.
pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: mugger!Minho holds you and your bf up in an empty parking lot one night, ready to give you the old ‘your money or your life’ routine, but when your bf pushes you into the line of fire so he can run away, Minho has second thoughts.
warnings: Fear, Minho has a gun, attempted mugging (obv), asshole bf, rude Minho, scared but defeated reader, Minho's kinda soft but he ain't gonna admit it, language, satire, unrealistic robbery, unrealistic Minho, food-related insecurity, nerve/muscle/twitch-related insecurity, hurt/comfort, Minho’s a softie but also a criminal coffee.
Comment and reblogs appreciated!
word count: 4k
series info
“Shit, babe, don’t cry.” Your boyfriend pulls you off to the side, a playful laugh on his lips as he uses your scarf to wipe your face. It’s a brand new scarf—he just gave it to you for your birthday, and some of the fibers stick to your face. “It’s just a movie.” He crouches low to your face, diminishing his own height more than necessary in a way that makes you feel so small.
Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, and you do your best to pull yourself together. This is not at all how you thought this would go. Crying in front of him is one of the less enjoyable ways to spend an evening, particularly when he’s in a diminutive mood, as he is right now. You’re both standing outside the theater, huddled together in the glow of the neon sign, while people pass you by with the scent of popcorn and chocolate on their clothes.
“Sorry,” You laugh at yourself. It’s easier to deal with him laughing at you when you’re already laughing at yourself. The movie was a biopic on a musician you’ve always loved, and the final scenes had been comprised of the last footage taken of them before their death. You didn’t mean to cry through the credits, but here you are, sniffling into your new scarf.
“Aww, that’s okay, babe.” Your boyfriend coos, and gives your arm a squeeze. He’d thought the movie was ‘sensationalist crap.’ “You wanna grab food? We can get whatever takeout you want.”
That’s how you found yourself crossing the dark parking lot towards McDonalds, Jake’s debit card in hand for his half of the bill. You hadn’t really wanted crappy fast food for your birthday dinner, but while you had been considering your options, Jake had caught sight of the famous golden arches gleaming across the lot.
He couldn’t go with you to collect the food, of course. He had a work call to make and would rather sit in the heat of his car than walk through the cold as he did.
This behavior isn’t new.
You’re used to it.
You’re independent, you can handle being left to your own devices.
And his work calls are boring as hell to listen to, anyway, so why not make the most of the situation and take a walk?
It’s even starting to snow.
It’s a beautiful night for a walk.
As you turn your face to the sky to catch fresh snowflakes on the tip of your nose, you hear running footsteps behind you. “Babe!” Jake’s voice pants.
You turn to find him fighting the slick of the icy parking lot to catch up with you. He’s laughing, rolling his eyes at himself, waving his wallet at you. “I totally forgot.”
You open your arms to catch him as he comes skittering into reach, shiny black shoes nearly slipping out from under him. His long limbs flail briefly before settling against you, his weight thrown against your hip to keep himself upright.
He’s got his earpiece in, his phone clutched in one hand, the word ‘conference’ rolling across the info line. His side of the call is muted so he can speak to you.
You thread your fingers through his jacket, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, but he’s too busy digging through his wallet to receive it. Your lips glance off his chin and are left cold and unsatisfied.
This is also normal. You’ve stopped letting it sting.
“Here.” He plucks his debit card from your hand and replaces it with another. “Use my work card for my half. I can technically write this off as an expense since I’m working.” He gestures to his phone significantly and then pinches your cheek fondly. “Thanks babe. Love you.”
Derision swirls in your gut, but you fight it down. “Love you too.”
But he’s already checked out of the conversation. His eyes float somewhere above your head, listening to whomever is speaking on his call. A twinge of annoyance twists his lips.
Deciding to leave him to his work, you turn on your heel and continue your jilted jaunt to McDonalds, only to run smack into someone in the otherwise empty parking lot.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You pull yourself away from the man you’ve just plowed into, looking for his face past the blackness of his hood and face mask to gauge how much you might have just pissed him off.
Because that’s just what you need—getting chewed out by a stranger in the cold.
“Babe?” Jake’s voice wonders behind you. “You okay?”
You don’t answer.
You can’t.
Because you’ve just seen it.
Poking through the folds of the stranger’s dark jacket, the muzzle gleaming in the light of the street lamps, and pointing straight at you, is the barrel of a handgun.
You’re frozen.
The man steps closer and you see his eyes then, narrow and focused. They meet your gaze for an instant, flickering with some unreadable thought, and then settle just over your shoulder. He’s sizing up your boyfriend, still silent as the night.
“Babe, answer me, are you—holy shit.” Jake is standing next to you then, his searching gaze landing on the gun, and his hand grips your arm.
You’re mentally going through your options, working your way through potential scenarios.
Most likely, it’s your average mugging.
Probably nothing like the time you and your nephew gathered up all of his tiny plastic play kitchen mugs and pelted them at your brother, all while shouting “You’re being mugged!” Great fun for a six-year-old, probably not so much for this man.
He’ll take your phones and your wallets, maybe even your car keys, but he probably won’t shoot anybody. He just wants quick cash, maybe for drugs or rent, and he’s probably not interested in being a wanted murderer.
He looks too old to be a teenager, and he’s rock solid, calm and collected, which comforts you. He’s not a stupid kid, and he’s not totally strung out. You might just be lucky enough to rely on some rational decision making.
While you’re thinking your way through your chances of surviving, Jake is erupting into panic next to you.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. This isn’t happening. Oh my god.” His hold on your arm is like a vice, clenching around your muscle with more than enough strength to bruise. Half of you wants to pry his fingers off before they splinter the bone, the other half wants to hide behind him and pretend this isn’t happening.
“Calm down.” The stranger scolds your boyfriend coolly, but he’s cut off.
“Oh my god, please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I have an electric car, just take it.” And then Jake’s scrambling through his pockets, while the stranger’s eyes further narrow into slits.
His gaze darts to you, where you’re still frozen.
“Take it easy, Romeo,” The stranger takes a step closer, an action that completely spooks Jake.
Your boyfriend lets out a wail of terror and promptly dives behind you, his hands hurling you forward. You scream, your body colliding with solid warmth. In the next second he’s gone, bolting back across the parking lot towards his car.
You hardly notice the flash of headlights or the screech of tires as he squeals out onto the street, because your boyfriend’s actions have just launched you directly into the arms of the man who’s trying to mug you.
The stranger had caught you by reflex, his gun now jammed forcefully into your ribs, and you definitely hadn’t accounted for this scenario.
There’s a rush of grunts and tangled limbs and skidding shoes as you shove yourself away from him, your eyes wide, lungs gasping, but the stranger is staring in the direction that Jake just drove off in.
“Shit,” He mutters in disbelief, and finally turns back to you.
You’re still petrified, terrified, abandoned.
Where are you gonna go now? Hoof it to McDonalds and hope the bigger, stronger man doesn’t catch you before you get there?
Well.
Then again.
Might be your best option.
But then the stranger reaches behind himself and tucks the gun into his waistband, bringing his now empty hands back into view. In a second, he’s knocked his hood back and tugged his mask down, revealing shocks of fluffy brown hair and the highest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. He hooks a thumb back towards the street. “That your man?”
It’s enough to open the floodgates.
You burst into tears, so relieved that you’re no longer at gunpoint, terrified because you’re alone with the man who tried to mug you (did he even get the chance?), pissed and hurt because your boyfriend shoved you into the arms of a gunman, confused because the gunman is now speaking casually to you.
It’s a lot.
At your sudden explosion of emotion, the man leans back on his heels, sighing at you. This isn’t how he expected the altercation to go, but now that he’s left in the whirlwind aftermath of your nightmare boyfriend saving his own ass, all he can do is stare as you dissolve into a puddle of tears.
Through sobs, which you barely manage to hide in your scarf, you squint up at him past the falling snow. “What do you want? Are you robbing me?” You might as well ask—what is he gonna do, shoot you?
After a few seconds of pensive silence, the man steps forward with a nod. You flinch backwards, but he just lifts his empty hand, palm up. “Yeah, I am. Give me the card he just gave you.”
You blink, tears momentarily paused. “The card?”
He nods towards where your hand is still clenched around the company credit card. “Yeah I heard all that ‘pay for my half with the work card’ bullshit. I saw that lame-o pathetic kiss, too. He’s a real winner. Gimme.”
His fingers crook at you expectantly, and you’re so tense that you jump and immediately pass the card over. He tucks it into his pocket, and then cocks his head oddly at your scarf. “What is that fucking monstrosity and why are you wearing it with the tag still on it?”
He doesn’t know what to do, either. None of his victims have ever sacrificed their girlfriends to him before; admittedly at a loss, he decides to play it by ear. You haven’t called the cops yet, so he still has some time to see where this goes.
More confused than ever, your eyes fall to the bright orange and blue felt scarf, and realize that there is in fact a tag sticking out of one of the folds. Before you can take a closer look at it, the stranger’s hand snaps out and plucks the scarf off your neck. A rush of cold air chills your skin where the fabric once was.
He’s…stealing your scarf?
“Hey, wait—” You argue, and then freeze when his challenging eyes snap back up to you. “That was a birthday present, please don’t take it.”
He holds up the tag, a neon green discount marker from a local thrift store. “Who gave it to you? Because—”
You snatch the scarf back, humiliated. “My boyfriend gave it to me.” You can’t believe you just yanked something out of the hands of the man with the gun.
He gazes at you for a long moment, hands jammed in his pockets. He doesn’t know much about you, except for the fact that you handle duress better than your boyfriend does, but he did overhear the company card conversation which suggested you were expected to pay for your own dinner while your boyfriend wasn’t even willing to pay for his own, and that you were sent to collect dinner by yourself, and, now, that your birthday gift had been a horrendous piece of second hand garbage that—by the looks of your clothes—isn’t your style at all.
“Your boyfriend got you a thrifted scarf for your birthday.” He repeats blandly.
You sniffle, putting a few more feet of distance between you. “He knows I like cozy things.” There’s not much you can say to defend Jake at this point, but you can’t take any more degradation right now.
“Tell me he got you something better last year.” The stranger scoffs.
You scowl at him. “Aren’t you robbing me?”
His teeth flash in the lamplight, and he waggles Jake’s company card at you. “I already did. Shall we go get him fired?”
Voracious, incredibly stressed laughter bursts out of you. “What?”
This guy holds you up in a dark parking lot at nearly midnight, witnesses the most embarrassing display of emotional betrayal you can imagine, and is now offering to get your boyfriend fired as payback for abandoning you?
He tucks the card back in his pocket with a shrug. “Just seems to me like it’s more worth my time to give that asshole what’s coming to him than to steal the money you probably don’t have, considering he makes you pay for shit.”
There’s nothing in the world that could have prepared you for that.
Your mouth falls open. “I have money!”
“Are you offering?” His hand goes back towards the gun in his waistband, his smirk teasing, and your heart leaps into your throat. His joke falls flat when your gaze drops to the ground, chin tucking against your chest, your entire personality seeming to instantly deflate.
His heart sinks at the sight, which is not something he wants to decipher right now.
“Alright, wait.” He drops the edge of his jacket back down over the gun. “I was kidding, please don’t cry again. I’m Minho, what’s your name?”
“Why the hell would I tell you my name?” You snap. Then you shoot him a look. “Why the hell would you tell me your name?”
He shrugs again—an action he seems very fond of—and nods to the scarf still in your hands. “Throw that piece of shit away and come with me. There’s a coffee shop right over there that’s still open. You can warm up while you order another ride.”
You balk, moving backwards once again. At this point, you could fit an entire shopping cart train between you, and Minho is smiling.
“I’m not going with you!” You exclaim, clutching the scarf like a shield.
He points to the other side of the parking lot, where a coffee shop pours warm light out onto the pavement. “We would be walking. Just come with me for a cup of coffee. Alright? You said you like cozy things.”
A few seconds of tense silence pass. He blows snowflakes out of his eyelashes and blinks at you expectantly. You can’t understand what the hell is happening right now.
“Why?”
Minho sighs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You just got mugged, alright, you’re in distress. You just got stranded here with a dangerous stranger, and you look like you’re turning blue. I can’t just leave you here.”
“You had no trouble robbing me at gunpoint, why can’t you just leave me alone?”
The teasing smile falls from his face and he frowns at you. “Because I just robbed you at gunpoint and that’s not even why you’re crying. That’s a whole new level of pathetic. I can’t in good conscience leave you here.”
You burst into tears all over again.
He lifts his hands in surrender, approaching you carefully. “Alright, listen. I’d rather run up a shit ton of debt on your ex’s company credit card than keep making you cry. So can we start with a cup of coffee? Please? Once you’re in the Uber I’ll be on my way, buying TVs and chipotle gift cards until he’s out of a job. I swear.” He crosses his heart.
“He’s not my ex.” You sniffle, because he’s not. Who wouldn’t be terrified in the face of an armed robbery? You can’t totally blame Jake for his reaction, as miserable as it makes you feel. Did he even think about coming back for you? What if you had been shot after he left?
Minho shakes his head at you and watches you crumble all over again. “Come on, jagi, why are you this upset over that deadbeat nobody? You’re making me feel funny.” Pity. The nurturing monsoon swirling in his gut is pity—something he’s never felt for somebody he’s mugged before. His eyes lift to take in the movie theater behind you, and then at the scarf still clenched in your fists as you weep.
“Don’t tell me today is your birthday.”
You sob harder, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. You’re not afraid of this strange criminal anymore, rather heartbroken and disappointed that your already lame evening has taken such a miserable turn.
“Well, shit.” Minho mumbles. “Wait, shit. He was going to make you pay for your own fucking McDonalds on your birthday?”
“Why do you care so much?” You screech, reeling away when his hand touches your arm.
He throws up his hands in equal amounts of frustration, eyes widening as much as yours. “Because you look like an abandoned fucking kitten and I’d be a horrible person to just leave you here.”
“You are a horrible person.” You shout back, and then your mouth clamps shut. Your hand slaps over your lips, staring at him in utter terror as you realize that you’re firing insults at someone who could just shoot you if he decides you’re offensive enough.
But he just laughs at you. “Yeah, fair enough. So, come on—coffee?”
Without a single sane reason to support this decision, you walk across the parking lot with him and step into the comforting heat of the busy coffee shop. It’s weird, it’s definitely weird, but in the past five minutes he’s showed you more interest than Jake has in three months, and you can’t help but want to spend a few more minutes in the company of someone so attentive.
And as the light washes over his decidedly attractive face, you realize that he’s not so bad to look at, either.
After all, he robbed Jake—not you.
Minho stands at the counter, ordering your drinks, and then nudges you and points at a display case full of cake. “Eh? For your birthday?”
Your stomach rumbles with hunger, but your face flushes with heat. “Oh, no, I’m good.”
He frowns. “I’m not going to make you pay for it, not after the way that ass treated you.”
“Because it was so much worse than the way you pulled a gun on me?” You hiss, eyes flashing to the barista who miraculously doesn’t hear you.
Minho rolls his eyes. “If you were my girlfriend, I never would have pulled a gun on you, much less pushed you in front of one. It’s completely different. Get a slice of cake.”
The barista’s eyes go wide.
You wave his suggestion away. “No, really. Thanks anyway.” The cake does look incredible, though.
“I can hear your stomach growling. Would you rather go get something different? Protein?” Minho pushes, glancing around your person as though he expects you to faint right in front of him. It’s almost sweet enough to cancel out your suspicion of him as he waits for you to order a slice of birthday cake.
You step away from the register instead. “I’ll eat at home.”
Minho squints at you. “You don’t eat in public?” It’s sarcasm.
“…No.” It’s not sarcasm.
“Because…”
You’re getting antsy, the barista’s getting antsy, and the three people in line behind you are getting antsy.
Minho doesn’t care.
Why would he? He’ll just rob them all later.
“Because I have a facial spasm when I eat.” You whisper, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.
The man before you looks like he’s not surprised at all by this information. “So? That’s not uncommon.”
“But it embarrassed my boyfriend—”
“Your ex.”
“It embarrassed him so we stopped doing meal dates in public.”
He stares at you. “You’re fucking with me.”
“No, my face twitches really badly and it’s embarrassing. Just the coffee please. Please. I can’t take this anymore.” You can’t stand the fact that you’re spending so long holding up the line, so you shake your head at him and move towards a table in the corner, refusing to delay the process any longer.
Your retreat forces Minho to turn around and complete his order, paying with Jake’s company card, but a few moments later he’s approaching your table with two plates of cake. He puts one in front of you with a hard set frown. “Just eat the damn cake. Your ex is shit. It’s not like your side of the booth faces the room anyway, so you won’t feel uncomfortable.”
He sits across from you, scooting his own plate closer to himself.
“He’s not my ex.” You argue quietly. “And my side of the booth still faces you.” It shouldn’t matter, to show one of your more mortifying qualities to the guy who held you up in the parking lot, but it does. You want to put your beautiful slice of cake into a to-go box and take it home to eat it curled up in your armchair where no one can see you.
Minho doesn’t look up from his cake. “He’ll be your ex boyfriend after tonight. There’s no reason for you to be holding on to the bitch ass who throws you at the barrel of a gun on his worst day and is too ashamed of you to take you to dinner—or let you fucking kiss him—on his best. Now eat your cake before he becomes your late boyfriend.”
Blood drains from your face as you reach for your fork. “Please don’t hurt us.” The words break past your lips in a whisper, but you scoop up a bite of cake. It nearly wobbles right off your fork as your hand trembles, but you manage to keep it onboard. “I really don’t know what you want from me.”
“I want you to chill out and have some birthday cake.” Minho glances up at you right as you take a bite and lift your hand to hide your face politely. He frowns as you chew. “Put your hand down. Did I tell you to cover your face?”
Your eyebrows lower, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’re being kinda mean to me.” It’s too weird, the juxtaposition of the man who mugged you at gunpoint outside and the man who is having cake and coffee with you in celebration of your birthday.
Though, to be fair, he didn’t really get the chance to rob you before Jake freaked out, so does it really count?
He just stares at you blankly. “Would you rather I take you out back and mug you again?” Before you can start crying again, he nudges your foot under the table with his own. “You’re safe, jagi. I’m sorry I scared you out there.”
It takes a second, but you convince yourself to relax. You’re safe.
You eat your cake, you drink your coffee, you smile every time Minho calls you jagi, exactly as he intends; you force yourself stop paying attention to the twitching in your cheeks while you chew, not even knowing that he’s watching you because it’s cute, not because it’s weird. He spends ten minutes trying to convince you to break up with Jake, and by the end of the meal—the first meal you’ve had in public since you started dating Jake a year and a half ago—you’ve decided you agree with him.
No more Jake.
Minho all but cheers. No more Jake.
At the end of the night, he watches you order an Uber, and then he borrows someone else’s phone. Actually borrows it, doesn’t steal it.
“Yes, hello, police? A woman has just been mugged. The guy had a gun, and he drove off in an electric car—” And, despite your insincere protest, he gives a description of your boyfriend as the assailant before hanging up. Minho returns the phone, waits with you for your Uber, and then sends you off with a cheeky wave of Jake’s company card.
He keeps the scarf.
Let me know what you think! (And look out for Changbin next <3)
taglist:
@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa
#skz#stray kids#horror#crack!horror#fanfic#lee know#lee know x reader#lee minho#lee minho x reader#lee minho fluff#minho x reader#minho fluff
253 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lost in Translation
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female POC!Reader
Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you?
AN: So after getting requests for a Soldier Boy x POC!Reader, I’ve had a short series in development called Unravel Me. I’m a bit stalled on the outline right now, so I thought this could be a fun way to introduce their relationship and see if you guys think I should continue with the prequel, kind of like how I did with Checkerboard and the Break Me Down-verse.
This story would take place after Unravel Me, after a fair bit of character development lol. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!
Prompt: “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!”
Song Inspo: “Damage” by H.E.R.
Word Count: 3.4K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, bit of dirty talk, fingering, edging, some angst, fluff and feels. The reader is a mixed race POC (Afro Latina), with textured hair.
The apartment was quiet, but not peaceful.
You were in the kitchen washing the Mt. Everest of dishes piled in the sink, partly because someone hadn’t rinsed off his own plate of carne guisada.
Ben had asked for beef for dinner yesterday, and you’d graciously delivered with your grandmother’s recipe for the stew. It was filled with chunks of tender, fall-off-your-fork beef, garlic, onions, carrots, and more—all marinated to perfection, if you said so yourself. You even added in some little yellow potatoes, both for taste and texture.
Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to put those meaty man muscles to good use, aside from shoveling three helpings into his mouth.
A bottomless pit and a freakin’ man-child, I swear to God, you inwardly groused as you scrubbed the ceramic a bit too hard with the rough side of the sponge. No matter how many times you asked, nicely, it seemed your boyfriend couldn’t manage to pull his weight around here.
Okay, you knew his job could be demanding, but so was yours.
What the hell is this, Maid in Manhattan? Newsflash: I’ve got shit to do too!
“And I cooked!” you muttered in indignation. That reminder propelled you to scrub a bit harder. The least he could do was clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash. Or toss the laundry into the washing machine once in a while. Like you really wanted to handle his dirty boxers all the damn time.
Did he have no shame? Couldn’t he do anything for you without you having to ask him three million times?
Es que él es bruto, mija, as your Dominican grandma would say about your grandpa, often while swiping a tired hand over her long braids. Es como un animal con ropa.
Just then, you heard his heavy steps creaking on the wood floors in your bedroom. Today was his day off, so he was probably taking his sweet time rolling his ass out of bed.
Meanwhile, you were hustling to get the place at least decently clean before you got yourself together for work. The thought made you simmer as you continued to place dishes on the counter rack. Each one clacking to rest was satisfying, but it also ticked up your internal dial to a fine boil.
You heard him bang the bathroom door open and cringed internally, your teeth grinding. You’d reminded him three times already about the neighbors and the noise.
Sabes que, supe or not, I’m about to—
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Ben’s voice washed over you, deep and still a little rough with sleep as he stepped into the kitchen. His old man loafers slid against the floor with every step when he approached you from behind, and his heavy hands found a familiar resting place on the curve of your waist.
He swiped your slightly wild curls to the side and pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His voice, his touch, the brief scrape of his beard; it all caused a small shiver of delight up your spine.
“Hmm, you smell good. Good enough to eat.” And he teased you with the graze of his teeth, biting gently enough where your neck met your shoulder. You flinched with half a huff, trying not to smile.
Just like that, it took the edge off your irritation…a little. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could…
“Hey,” he said, “since you’re already up and about in here, how about some breakf—”
Your spine tightened once again.
“Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!” you snapped. You moved out of his arms to grab a hand towel to dry your hands with. They were all pruny from washing dishes.
“I’m already running late. Why? Because this place is a fucking mess, and the only one who seems to care is me!” you exclaimed. First, you gestured to the dishes now drying on the rack. “Hmm?”
You then opened up the lid to the full-to-bursting trashcan. “What do you call that, huh? You said you’d take this out last night. After I asked you twice. What, was I not speaking English? Did something get lost in translation, or are you already losing your hearing? Just let me know, ‘cause I can sure as hell crank up the volume for you!”
Ben raised a brow. You read his thoughts in his surly frown. You have some fucking audacity, talking to him like that, but it’s still early. He hasn’t even had his coffee, for Christ’s sake.
If he was more awake, no doubt he’d be barking back at you. Instead, he heaved a sigh, drew closer to you and shut the trashcan lid. At least there was one lid he knew how to close.
“All right, it’s just a little mess. No need to get fucking hysterical,” he said, trying to grasp your arm to placate you. You shrugged out of his hold and crossed your arms in anger.
“Ben, it’s not just a little mess. And what is this, 1945? I’m not hysterical!”
His lips twitched at a smirk, making you even angrier. But he’d caught enough smoke from you in the past to know he didn’t want it at 8:00 in the morning. He grasped your arms and rubbed them up and down, trying to sooth you.
“Okay, okay. It’s a little early for all this Latina temper, don’tcha think?” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your gaze snapped up at him with a glare.
Oooh, this man. He knew how to get you mad fucking tight.
Not in a good way.
Instead of exploding like Mount Fuji, you kept it all under your skin. You turned away from him and aimed to continue getting ready for work, but first, you took out a Greek yogurt from the fridge and wholly ignored him taking up space in the kitchen. You wouldn’t answer him when he called your name. In fact, you were going to give him the most frigid of cold shoulders—so cold he’d get hyperthermia through that invulnerable skin.
He waylaid your plans when he grabbed your hand, swinging you back into his arms. You gasped at the suddenness of it, looking up into his cocky, charming smile. You couldn’t stare too long at his green eyes, or the rest of his handsome, bearded face. Not when he knew exactly how to use it against you.
“Don’t think that’s gonna get you out of this,” you warned him. You set your yogurt on the kitchen counter and pushed at his chest, but it was no more effective than pushing at a mountain and expecting it to move.
His hands spanned your waist, his fingers beginning to press into your soft sides. He bowed his head, brushing his lips against your neck and the shell of your ear when he said, “Out of what, baby doll? Looks to me like we can still have a good morning.”
His voice once against trilled heat and tingles through your body, but you managed to lean back, holding the pads of your fingers to his lips.
“Hey, I’m not playing around here. If we’re gonna do this,” you pointed between him and yourself, “then let me make one thing really clear. I’m not la sirvienta around here, okay? I’m not your fucking maid. I’m your girl. Your partner. And since you live here now, I’m gonna need you to do your part.”
Ben almost rolled his eyes, but you grasped his chin. He frowned at you with furrowed brows. There was a time where he would've been inclined to grab your wrist and try to intimidate you with his temper. You saw it lying in wait behind his pursed lips and irritated stare, but you weren't afraid of him. Not anymore.
“Listen to me. I get that you haven’t lived like us commoners for most of your life, but this stuff is important,” you said. You took a deep breath, and you counted to three. You met him with a calmer gaze. “Ben, I love you.”
You let go of his chin and lowered your hand, letting it splay over his chest. He softened, ever so slightly, even though his frown remained.
“I love you,” you repeated, “but I don’t need a man-child.”
"Excuse me?" he did snap this time, his hold loosening from around your waist. "The fuck did you just say?"
You narrowed your eyes right back at him.
"You heard me," you said. "I want a man. A man who's going to be my rock when I need him. Can you do that for me, like I do for you? Are you gonna be my man, or do I need to claim you as a dependent on my taxes?"
His expression sharpened again at your thinly veiled accusation…but the longer he looked into your eyes, no longer angry, but earnest and imploring, the more he actually listened to what you were saying. His jaw worked for a moment in annoyance. You subtly softened him with your hands soothing up and down his arms, a slow back and forth over solid, warm muscle.
Eventually, he was able to curb his instinct to bark a callous reply. He nodded, expelling a breath through his nose.
“Fine,” he said.
Your brows rose. “Fine?”
“Yeah,” he said flatly.
You knew it was the closest you were going to get to an agreement, as well as an apology. You were still working on that last one, but dating this man was a work in progress, for both of you. With a sigh, you patted his arms that were slowly wrapping back around you.
“Okay, I’m really running late now,” you said.
“You should probably get a move on then,” Ben said.
Still, he didn’t release you. He stared down at you with an amused smile while you struggled against his hold. You uttered a laugh.
“Babe, I need to get to work.” You leaned over and spied the oven clock. “Oh, shit! it’s almost 8:30! If I’m not there by 9:00—”
“You sure you want to go now? Tense, body all tight,” he said, his voice deep with sensuous suggestion.
His lips neared yours, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His lips veered away to brush against your cheek. He inhaled deeply as he moved, taking in the floral scent of your soap, mixed with the army of products you styled your hair with, and the faint imprint of your perfume from the night before. He skimmed down your neck and along the shell of your ear.
“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck all that tension right out of you?” he offered. “Leave you nice and warm and satisfied, have that pretty pussy coming hard on my cock.”
You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his filthy mouth and the timbre of his voice struck a chord through your body, tinging warm arousal between your legs. Your fingers tightened on his strong arms, digging into the fabric of his loose robe. Ben took that as a wordless confirmation. He bent at the knees and grabbed you up by your plush thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck on instinct, with a small gasp.
But you recovered quickly. Taking his face into your hands, you met his lips roughly with yours in a devouring kiss. He set you down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the clean dishes rattle. His hands were just as claiming as his mouth, squeezing your hips and thighs as he spread them open to make more room for himself.
While your tongue dueled with his, you shoved the robe off his shoulders, followed by his sleep shirt pooling to the floor. His hand slid under your top as well, and almost ripped it at the hem in his haste to get it up and over your head.
“Ow, ah-ow!” You giggled when the collar got caught on your hair. Ben’s breathy chuckle reached your ears. He was gentler in how he helped get the shirt off the rest of the way. Your mane of hair fell into your face, and you huffed.
Ben did you the favor of brushing the thick curls away from your eyes, tugging several strands behind your ears, even though most of them didn’t obey him. He framed your face with his big hands, and his thumbs swept along your skin, the rich complexion shining in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window.
There was more care in his touch now, his strength tempered just for you. Fond amusement colored his features. For as much shit as you gave him, you still gave him more of yourself; more of your trust, your patience...and all the rest of it. You gave him more than anyone that had come before you, and deep inside, he doubted anyone that might come after you.
You smiled up at him, a little wryly. You leaned up and met him for a gentler kiss. Your eyes fell closed at the feeling of him, and the spicy hint of his aftershave. It was a scent that often clung to his pillows. When he was gone on a mission for days on end, you wouldn’t admit to clinging to one of them to help you sleep, and make you feel safe.
“Mmm, you smell good,” you whispered. And it was true. He smelled like mint and spicy aftershave. You plied his lips with deeper kisses, licking into his mouth with a sensuous tongue, before you stole his words. “Good enough to eat.”
He uttered a groan deep in his throat. It satisfied you, enhancing the warm flood between your legs.
Fuck it. You were calling in sick today.
You drew him back into the pull of you, winding your arms around his neck and your fingers in his hair. It was getting long again, but you liked it. You liked something to hold onto, just as much as he did. Your nails brushed against his scalp, down the back of his neck, earning a hum of pleasure from him. You wound your legs tightly around his hips and invited the press of his hard cock against your throbbing core, even through your panties and pajama pants. A faltering groan caught in his chest.
“Needier that I thought this morning,” he remarked. His warm hands drifted down to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over dark, pebbled nipples. You sighed into his mouth in response.
You heard the cocky grin in his voice, but for once, you didn’t care. You did need him. You wanted him to fuck the stress and chaos out of you.
…Well, he’d caused most of it, but still. He was gonna damn well fix it.
And he aimed to do just that, with his hands sliding farther down your body with purpose, grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and roughly sliding them down, along with your panties. Your bare ass felt cold against the tile counter, but you didn’t have too much time to think about it with Ben’s thick fingers probing between the wet, glistening folds of your pussy. He soon found what he was searching for, circling firmly over your clit.
Your hips raised off the counter as you whimpered against his lips and ground yourself against his hand. You broke from his kiss to bury your face in his neck. Ben’s free hand grasped your hip and pulled you right to the edge of the counter.
There he held you down, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers sought your entrance and slipped inside you with ease. By now, he knew what angles would have you squirming, writhing, your body arching into him, while your inner walls clenched around his hand.
“Fuck. That’s right, baby doll. I’ve gotcha,” he said roughly, continuing to fuck your pussy with his fingers. His thumb rubbed against your clit between strokes.
The coil in your lower belly began to tighten, the delicious throbbing deep inside beginning to make your thighs shake. But just as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, Ben withdrew his fingers from your sopping channel.
You struggled to catch your breath in shock. Your head raised from Ben’s shoulder to glare at him. When your mouth opened to deliver an indignant protest, he silenced you with his mouth claiming yours. Your nails bit into his shoulder in retaliation, even though you knew it wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. In fact, it only curved his lips into a smirk against yours.
You slapped him on the shoulder, immensely frustrated, but also laughing. “You’re such an assh—”
Before you could even finish cursing him, he gathered you up again and lifted you off the counter. He walked you over to the couch in the living room. He would’ve loved nothing better than to lay you out across the two-seater table in the kitchen, but he thought the shitty old wood might just give out under the strain of him fucking you. So the living room was a close second, and in this tiny-ass apartment, it was barely a few feet more to walk.
He laid you out underneath him on couch, and it groaned and squeaked under both of your weight. You squeaked too, if for a different reason. It had Ben smirking down at you. He freed himself from the confines of his pajama pants and coated his rock-hard arousal with the leftover wetness coating his hand.
“I approve of the scene change,” you said breathlessly, once again stroking his arms. Your fingers slipped over every dip and plain of muscle.
“Didn’t think you wanted to be fucked on some cold tile,” he said, even if the sentiment behind his words warmed you. You were pretty sure he didn’t used to care about that. At least, before he met you.
He grabbed your hips, lined himself up to your entrance, and his cock breached you smoothly, pushing into you until his hips fit snugly against yours.
“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your thighs squeezing around his frame.
“Feel good, sweetheart? All fuckin' filled up,” Ben teased, a bit breathless himself. You were a tight fucking fit. He slid out of you experimentally, drawing a moan from your lips. You nodded.
“Yeah, baby. So good,” you freely admitted, panting all the while.
Ben’s hot gaze drew over you as he continued moving hard and fast inside you. He took in your every bare curve, the way hot breaths and sexy moans fell from your lips with every thrust, the way your hair fanned out underneath you and hung off the side of the sofa cushion, the way your hands still explored him and touched him, demanding, but still loving.
For that, it was all the more tantalizing against his skin, warming even the darkest places he tried not to show you.
And every drag of his cock inside you stretched your inner walls in the most delicious of ways. It wasn’t just that he was able to fill you to the fucking brim. He also just knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew you, and he knew exactly how to make you come undone. Even quick and dirty on your couch, he made you feel brand new.
He was right, damn him.
The coil deep inside you snapped. Pleasure crested through you and made your inner walls squeeze him tight, fluttering and pulsing with warmth. You came hard on his cock, hard enough to milk his release shortly after for all he was worth.
His forearms fell to the cushion on either side of your head. You were basically being smothered, but for the moment you didn’t mind. You just held his sweat-slick body against yours while you both caught your breath, each of your heartbeats falling back into a steady rhythm.
He was always so damn warm. It was nice, considering how cold it was this winter, but the thought always made you a bit sad. It reminded you of the power housed in his chest, and every memory he caged there as well.
You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder. In return, his lips found the side of your head and hesitated there.
“You’re not going to work,” he said. It was more an observation than anything else.
You laughed breathlessly and shook your head. “Nope.”
He nodded. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”
You could get behind that. Your kitchen was finally clean, which meant your kitchen was closed until further notice.
“Shower first,” you stipulated.
You felt Ben’s smile grow against your dewy skin. “All right.”
You sighed, and he guided you to your feet along with him. You had a feeling “breakfast” was going to be lunch by the time you and Ben finally escaped this apartment.
AN: Lol hope you had fun with this one! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! 💚💚
Spanish Translations:
Es que él es bruto, mija. Es como un animal con ropa.
It’s that he’s stupid, my daughter. He's like an animal with clothes.
However, “bruto” can also mean brutish, crude, and/or like a beast, so it fits in more than one way. 😂
Sabes que, …
You know what, …
La sirvienta
The servant (or maid) (female)
Join Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!
Jacklesverse Bingo 2024 Masterlist
Soldier Boy Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Soldier Boy Tag List
@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow
@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78
@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms
@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28
@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings
@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy
@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad
@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky
@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles
@chevroletdean @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess @winchester-whiskey @spnbabe67
@cheynovak @megara0224 @yoongi-holland @illicithallways @perpetualabsurdity
@deansimpala @impala-dreamer @jc-winchester @k4marina @atenea585
@kayleighwinchester @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @star-yawnznn @number1whorehome
@g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @everything-is-all-clear
@suckitands33 @cookiechipdough @trashmoutth @riteofpassage77 @mxltifxnd0m
@bleuatlas @luci-in-trenchcoats @valerinapetrova @spnaquakindgdom @podiumackles
@ladykitana90
@lamentationsofalonelypotato (I believe you said you would like to be tagged in this one. If not, I'm sorry, friend. Please disregard! 💚)
#Lost in Translation#soldier boy x reader#jacklesversebingo24#soldier boy x poc!reader#soldier boy smut#soldier boy#the boys#soldier boy x you#soldier boy x female reader#soldier boy fanfiction#soldier boy/ben#poc!reader#the boys fanfiction#soldier boy imagine#the boys x reader#the boys x you#the boys amazon#the boys tv#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles x you#jackles#jensen ackles#jensen ackles fanfiction#soldier boy fluff#afro latina!reader#soldier boy fic#soldier boy angst#zepskies writes
260 notes
·
View notes
Text
Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter Two
(Previous Chapter)
Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.
Chapter Word Count: 7,500 Chapter Song Inspo: Obey - Bring Me The Horizon
Chapter Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst kinda, eventual fluff, anxiety/panic attack, vomit (nothing graphic), Rhysand being an ass, Nesta x Reader friendship, Rhysand slander lol, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), fluff, some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish Note: So is this fluff? Debatable. But there is still plenty of Az fluff in it, you just got to work for it a little more this time. You don’t need to read the first chapter to understand what’s going on here, but they are connected!
XxXx
Your 3rd year in Velaris....
It took almost three years of employment with the Inner Circle for you to personally encounter the ‘Night Triumphant’ persona. You were not impressed. The most serious you’d seen your cousin was ‘High Lord Rhysand’, the fierce leader, but even that was limited to political business outside of Velaris. More so than not, it was just Rhys, your fun loving, sarcastic friend who so happened to wield an enormous amount of power.
The male sitting at his work desk was not your ‘Rhys’. Hell this wasn’t even High Lord Rhysand. The Night Triumphant held eye contact with you, gaze calculated and stern. You studied the authority in his expression, his mouth drawn into a tight line. Staring him down right back, you waited for the facade to break and reveal the male you had come to know as family. You searched his face for the guy who would rather face Amarantha again than put you in such a precarious situation. The very situation that plagued you with consistent nightmares since you left Hewn City.
You did not find that male.
Your gaze flitted to Mor, her body draped in a leather armchair off to the side, hoping to find a trace of humor in her expression. She tried to look nonchalant, but there was a sharp edge to her that betrayed her own trepidation.
Nesta stood an arm’s length away from you, uncharacteristically quiet in the wake of your High Lord’s orders. She seemed as if she was waiting to see who would escalate things first. Rhysand had summoned the three of you to his office to brief everyone on an upcoming…obligation. He prefaced the meeting by saying that he knew it wasn’t an ideal assignment. He wasn’t asking if you wanted to do it, it was non negotiable.
In two months time, you, Nesta, and Mor would be answering a summons to Hewn City. Kier had been requesting a personal audience with you for the last year. Mor and Rhysand could no longer postpone it, as you were a Night Court Courtier afterall.
Still, you did not want to believe that Rhys would ask this of you. “You’re kidding, right? This isn’t very funny, Rhysand.”
“I know you can tell that I am not joking.” His flinty tone brook no argument.
Any hope of reasoning with the Night Triumphant withered away. He summoned you to his office well aware that you wouldn’t take kindly to being sent back. Here you’d been thinking Rhysand understood your trauma best, having been held captive and used while Under the Mountain.
It appeared that you had misjudged him.
Just as you were about to say as much, Mor spoke up for the first time since the meeting started. “Kier threatened mutiny at the last Council meeting. At first he demanded a private audience, even after I informed him of our bargain. When we still refused to send you by yourself despite his threats, he agreed on these terms. You and Nesta because you’re a team, and me because I oversee The Court of Nightmares anyway. He couldn’t argue with that logic.”
You felt like you were going to be sick. After 300 years of being nothing but a tool for your father, the idea of seeing Kier’s face again so soon had your lunch sitting heavy in your stomach. It was inevitable, he thought you were loyal to him, his spy on the inside. You had zero idea how you were going to handle a reunion with him, simply thinking about it made you short of breath.
Your nights were plagued with stress dreams about what it would be like to return to your old home. You avoided stewing on the topic during your waking hours. The inevitability of it all often sent you spiraling, you couldn’t ghost Kier forever, but you thought you had more time. There was no fucking way you were ready. “I can’t do this,” You said, “give me any other assignment, and I’ll do it. Just not this.”
“You can,” Rhysand enunciated each word, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t sure you would understand him, “and you will.”
Oh hell no. You did not uproot your entire life to be spoken to like that. “Do not speak to me like a child, Rhysand–”
“Then stop acting like one,” he scolded, like you were the one being unreasonable, “this is your duty to your court, what I pay you to do. If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here.”
Rhysand’s words hit like a blow. Your sharp intake of breath was echoed by both Nesta and Mor, but you couldn’t see them, they might as well have not been there, your world shrinking down to Rhysand as he regarded you coldly.
“So what will it be?” He addressed you, leaning forward over his desk, leering, “will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today?” He pressured.
Your hands fisted, ire rising up so fast it made your eyes sting with unshed tears. If you got kicked out of Velaris you’d undoubtedly end up back in Hewn City. And you couldn’t let that happen, not after you finally got a taste of freedom.
Rhysand may like to believe himself better than Kier, but how was this any different from how Kier treated you? Was this your destiny? Undeserving of kindness unless you proved your worth?
What about you made people forget that you were a living, breathing being? Just like everyone else in the room, you had feelings that mattered, and hopes for your future. You’d been stripped of your freewill for the first three centuries of your life. It was a wonder that you hadn’t gone mad.
Were you only allowed a taste of freedom? Was that Rhysand’s plan all along? Get you hooked on life in Velaris then dangle it in front of you like you were a simple mule, your freedom the carrot held just out of reach.
It made your blood boil.
“My apologies.” You sneered at him, gone was the meek, conditioned wallflower. You meant all the disrespect. In a dramatic flourish you bowed low to Rhysand, making sure he saw your contempt for him when he met your gaze.
You maintained direct eye contact as you hissed harsh sarcasm at him, “I am at your disposal, High Lord.”
Rhysand’s eyes flared with something dark and aggressive. Time slowed, a pulse of his power cresting over you in a suffocating wave, a preview of how oppressive he could make it if he so wished. Dread replaced your anger, the confidence you’d displayed moments ago dissipating. You struggled to not show how he had shaken you, and by some miracle, you stood your ground. Still, he could probably hear your heart pounding from where he sat.
Amidst the theatrics, your own power had not been so keen on backing down. It had coiled around you like a viper ready to strike, protective, as Rhysand’s prowling darkness prodded your boundaries.
This version of Rhysand left you stricken, unable to reconcile the egregious behavior with the male you’d had breakfast with just that morning. It felt like his power was tearing you in half, and he wasn’t even exerting himself. He looked bored.
Did you escape the clutches of one villain, only to run into the hands of another? Were you really that foolish?
Mor stepped into your field of vision, mouthing something at you. You hadn’t realized your ears were ringing until the shrill noise faded enough for you to hear her calling your name. The frantic quality of her voice snapped you out of whatever daze Rhysand’s power had cast on you.
Right. Nesta and Mor had witnessed that entire thing. You’d forgotten about their presence in the heat of the moment, your attention tunnel visioned on Rhysand. He had humiliated you in front of some of the most important people in your life. The only thing that could have made it worse was if Azriel had been there too.
Intense embarrassment flooded you, a seed of distrust taking root deep in your heart. You felt so stupid, thinking you could trust Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Mor was still trying to get your attention, but you stared right past her, looking at Rhysand like you hated him.
Hell. Maybe you did.
Mor called your name once more with urgency, moving closer to you, half turned so she hadn’t given her back to her High Lord, but solely focused on you. “It’s the best we could do without inciting a civil war.” She tried to clarify, emphasizing on the ‘we’ as she gestured between herself and Rhysand.
“You have to know we wouldn’t put you in this position if we had any other choice. I personally promised I would never leave you alone in that city again, and there is nothing our father can say or do to make me break that promise to you. We will do this together.”
Rhysand’s power had receded, but you could still feel it loitering like a watchdog. Something you’d never imagined Rhys doing to you before the meeting. He’d always spun such pretty promises about your future in Velaris, and you believed him.
And now Mor was doing the same exact thing. More pretty promises, but no proof of her intentions to follow through with them.
Mor’s shoulders visibly sagged, “If you don’t believe me, then look.” She pleaded, offering her mind up for you to read.
You physically recoiled at her suggestion. “I will do no such thing!” You spat back in disgust, “You are my sister, this is supposed to be my family. I will not taint our relationship with my powers in a moment of weakness. You may not return the same respect, but I refuse to surround myself with people I can’t trust without rummaging around their mind for their truths first.”
Unlike some males went unsaid as you fumbled to tone it down for Mor. Your problem was not with her, and she didn’t deserve your harsh words. “I can’t…I won’t….I–”
Frustrated with yourself, you took a steadying breath, emotion burning behind your eyes. Despite your best effort to keep composed, your voice quivered, “I will not be like our father.”
The room was stunned silent, Mor regarded you with sadness, lips parting to respond, but then pursing closed in a tight line.
Rhysand was the one to break the silence. His power dispersed as he leaned back in his chair, acting like he hadn’t just wound you up tight enough to fracture you into pieces.
“So you accept the assignment then?” He inquired, brushing nonexistent lint from the cuff of his dress shirt.
His lack of remorse irked you. Did he not think he could have handled the situation better? Was this how he treated everyone in the Inner Circle? The list of things you wanted clarification on kept growing, so instead you settled on, “Yes.”
“I’m glad we could come to an agreement then.” He drawled, “We will go over details and strategy another time, when we are all more composed.”
You wanted to punch him in his goddamn face.
“For now, this meeting is dismissed.”
As soon as he finished speaking you stormed out of his office, nearly colliding with Nesta in your haste to get away from Rhysand. Originally you were going to visit the library after the meeting. Nesta had suggested a book for you to read, and you wanted to read it so you had something to talk to her about. But you were too worked up to do that now, you needed to get out of there.
You didn’t care where you ended up, so long as you put as much distance between you and Rhysand as possible.
XxXx
By step 174 your blurry vision cleared a smidge, too out of breath to cry for the moment. You didn’t have anyone to help you leave The House of Wind, so you took to the 10,000 stairs with the expectation of someone eventually coming to find you. There was no way in hell you’d actually be able to reach the bottom. You began the descent down the spiraling staircase so fast It was a marvel that you didn’t trip.
Any time you slowed down Rhysand’s words would play on loop in your head. The only way to drown it out was to pick up the pace, the exertion elevating your heart rate enough for it to overpower that nasty voice in the back of your head. If you ran fast enough the only thing you could concentrate on was counting the steps you took.
239 steps down, and you had no choice but to slow down to a more reasonable pace. It was a warm day, and you were getting dizzy. The last thing you wanted to do was pass out. In a desperate attempt to keep your mind occupied as you caught your breath you focused on the breeze cooling the sweat beading up on your forehead. You listened to the slap of your bare feet on the smooth, sun-warmed stone. You thought of the color of the sandals you left behind at the very top of the stairs. You pondered on which step you’d discarded your blouse on after it began to cling to your sweaty skin.
Your guess was step 148.
You hit the first landing platform at step 250, slowing to a walk as you panted, hands propped against your hips as you counted your next few steps. Woozy, you let your eyes fall closed for a moment, but the image of Kier sitting in his throne room beckoning you forward flashed across your mind. You flinched so hard you accidentally opened your eyes looking directly into the sun.
It felt like your head had a heartbeat of its own, vision blotching from the brightness. You didn’t know how your day could get any more bleak as you rapidly blinked the disorienting dots away. Glimpses of The Court of Nightmares throne room lurking behind every blink, Kier looked more like Rhysand each time you closed your eyes.
It made your stomach lurch, and you whimpered around a dry heave.
A particularly strong gust of wind ruffled through your hair, and you can almost hear Azriel’s voice reminding you to focus on your other senses. Your mind can lie to you, but it’s much harder for all your senses to be tricked at the same time.
The sunlight, the ever-present wind, the sound of birds, the smell of fresh air. Let nature ground you.
It just wasn’t enough. You’d only paused for a few moments, but your chest began to feel too tight for your lungs, anxiety squeezing the air out of you before you could properly inhale it. Two months. Just two measly months to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Kier–to your mom, after you’d gone no contact for almost 3 years. Two months to not be petrified of somehow getting trapped down there again.
So you continued down the stairs, pushing yourself harder.
251. 252. 253. Counting them like Azriel had taught you.
It had been after your first dinner with the Inner Circle at the House of Wind. Mor was a little too tipsy to winnow home safely, so the both of you decided it best to share a guest room. You were feeling antsy, Mor having fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
The House of Wind was so different from Hewn City. Cozy and surprisingly casual in decor, but it was carved out of the side of a mountain. With the curtains drawn, in the dark quiet of the night, it almost felt like your bedroom in The Court of Nightmares.
You had thought a glass of water would do you some good, help you settle enough to get some rest. So you set out for the kitchen, taking care to walk quietly so as to not wake anyone. The hallway led to a flight of stairs, which brought you to more hallways that seemed to stretch on, and on, and on. The homey decor fell away, your balance wobbling with the sudden onset of vertigo. Closing your eyes didn’t help, dizzy and disoriented, everything felt like it was tipped on its axis. You couldn’t place where you were, where you were going, just that you were alone. Fear flooded your senses, and you swore you smelled the dank air of the streets of Hewn City like you were still there.
Azriel found you slumped against the wall on shaky legs, your pulse pounding so hard in your ears you couldn’t hear what he was saying to you. The touch of his rough hands on your bare arms was soothing enough to bring you back to yourself. You weren’t walking the streets of Hewn City. You weren’t alone. Azriel had you.
Each inhale had still felt like you were gulping in freezing cold water, your breath coming in irregular gasps. You thought you were going to die in that hallway, suffocating on fucking air.
Azriel took you to the training grounds on the rooftop of all places. You can still remember the brightness of the full moon that night as he coached you through breathing exercises. Then, coaxed you into walking laps with him around the perimeter of the huge training grounds. He counted each step aloud with you until you had calmed enough to tell him what the hell had happened.
And that was how you and the Shadowsinger bonded over Claustrophobia. An unfortunate thing to have in common, an even more unfortunate first thing to find you had in common.
In the moments after you’d come down from your panic attack you wanted to svirel up and fade away, so thoroughly embarrassed. But now, you thanked The Mother for sending Azriel to find you that night.
It was those same coping skills that led you to working out your anxiety after the meeting. 290 steps away from The House of Wind, and you were sure your legs were going to give out if you kept pushing yourself. You came to a slow stop, soles of both your feet planted on the same stair. Lulling your head back so your face was to the cloudless sky, you closed your eyes and pictured that moment with Azriel. Instead of Kier morphing into Rhysand, you saw Azriel walking laps with you around the moonlit training grounds.
You basked in the breeze against your face, your anger and fear still roiling in your stomach, but no longer all consuming. The relief was short lived, a concentrated pang of despair reared its ugly head, raw hurt so overwhelming it chased the warm memories with Azriel away. It made you so tired, so emotionally drained you felt it in the marrow of your bones. You wanted to just let go, collapse in a heap and never get up again.
Yet, by some stroke of willpower, you remained on your feet. You hadn’t warmed up before taking on the stairs, and you could already feel soreness settling into your muscles. Gingerly you sat yourself down on the steps, resting your elbows on your thighs as you rubbed your hands over your face, spreading fresh tears across the top of your cheeks.
If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here. Rhysand’s words burned the part of you that had always suspected as much. There was this nasty little voice that lived in the back of your head. It would mock you when you were too content in calling this place home.
You wondered if that voice would start to sound like Rhysand.
The thought broke your heart a little bit more. You wanted so badly to make him proud, to earn your place in the Inner Circle, prove that they hadn’t made a mistake taking you in. The worst part was that you thought you were doing good. Not that you’d believed yourself to be one of them, you were still so new, but you thought…you thought…
You don’t know what you fucking thought.
Curling into yourself, your knees tucked in close to your chest, you made yourself as small as possible. The full body trembling made your sobs shaky, your entire being wobbled from the weight of your failure, your naivety. This was what you got for wanting to do it the right way. You’d never built relationships without relying on your powers to sniff out their loyalty beforehand, never truly trusted on your own violation.
Your father always thought it was a stupid risk to take when you could know for sure. You thought it was an awfully lonely way to live, to never trust fully. Perhaps you’d been wrong.
This was what you get, you silly girl. Kier’s voice taunted from the back of your mind. Or was that Rhysand’s voice? Did the difference even matter anymore?
The telltale sound of approaching footsteps closed in on you from behind, you couldn’t tell who it was, all you could smell was the salt of your own tears. Maybe it was one of them coming to take you out of your misery, maybe Rhysand took your display in his office as a sign of disloyalty.
The killing blow never came, so you glanced up to see Nesta taking a seat next to you. The last person you expected to come looking for you if you were being honest.
She didn’t look at you right away, which you appreciated. You were humiliated enough without her seeing you wiping your own snot on your forearm. Her icy stare was focused on the view, the only indication that she had run to catch up with you, a few fly away hairs having been jostled loose from her braids.
“You were pretty hard to catch up to, you know,” She leaned back, supporting her weight on her hands against the step behind her, “for someone who doesn’t regularly train, at least.”
Her attempt at humor, which earlier in the day would have made you indignant, fell flat. Instead inciting a new wave of tears to fall past your lash line. You dropped your head lower to hide it from her, but it did little to smother the sound of your quivering breath.
She didn’t try again, and her presence grew awkward when you didn’t try either, but she stayed next to you regardless.
When it became apparent that she would stay by your side unless you sent her away, you found your words. “What if I can’t do it,” You croaked out, voice absolutely wrecked, “Face my father, return underground? What if I can’t do what’s expected of me? What if it’s too much, too soon? What if I lose everything because I’m not strong enough.” Will never be strong enough.
“Then we will figure it out,” Nesta answered without hesitation, “Together.”
You are alone. That damned voice insisted.
“But Rhysand said–”
“I know what Rhysand said.” Nesta hissed, and you startled, your bloodshot eyes meeting hers for the first time since she arrived. She looked pissed, lips pursed in a scowl as if the High Lord was right in front of her. “Rhysand is an insensitive jackass. He won’t send you away because you messed up one job.”
“How can you know that?” You whispered, already knowing that she couldn’t know for sure.
“Because I’ve pissed him off by doing far worse, and I’m still here.”
You shook your head at her reasoning, not good enough, she can’t know for sure. “You're his mate’s sister, and Cassian’s mate. He can’t exile you.”
“And you're The Morrigan’s sister, and his own cousin.” Nesta deadpanned. “You’re not going to get exiled over a visit to The Court of Nightmares.”
“How can you possibly know that?!” You shouted, one of your hands clutching the fabric of your sweat soaked chest binding as your heart ached. Frantic to believe her, but knowing that you just couldn’t.
“Because Rhysand hates me, we barely tolerate each other on good days. He once threatened to banish me to the human continent,” she rebuked, hands flying about as she grew impassioned, “He loves you. He’s just an overpowered ass on a power trip. You questioned his authority and it hurt his fragile little ego. And even if he was stupid enough to try to cast you out, the rest of the Inner Circle would never let that happen.”
Your nerves were fucking shot. Whatever remained of your bravado frayed with every hagrid breath, it was impossible to stay focused. It was like your powers were waiting for you to be distracted, taking the opportunity to thrash against your mental shields. You didn’t know if it was skill keeping your powers in check, or dumb luck.
Your headache spread across your temples, sharp pain panging behind your eyes. You were already so tired, but the tears would not stop coming. That damned voice, still whispering its poison, adding to the agony. Nesta can’t know for sure, but you could if you just gave in.
You looked Nesta over, her relaxed body language at odds with the determined fire in her eyes. She left herself wide open, she wouldn’t even know if you read her. You’d be in control, your fate wouldn’t be left up to a gamble.
Nesta tried to meet your gaze, and you squeezed your eyes shut, turning away from her. It was impossible for you to think with her piercing stare studying you. What reason did Nesta even have to care about what happened to you? She didn’t say shit while Rhysand was ripping your world apart, and yet she showed up here? To do what exactly?
There was a dull ringing in your ears as your power surged against your restraint, and maybe you screamed, maybe you didn’t. Your fingers went up into your hair, fisting at your roots as you pulled, rocking yourself back and forth because it would be so easy.
And maybe if you gave in, that stupid voice would stop.
Nesta called your name, “I wouldn’t let Rhysand kick you out of Velaris.”
The cry you let out sounded almost feral. “I don’t know that!” .
“No, you don’t,” Nesta acquiesced, “but do you trust me?”
Did you trust Nesta? The question cut you into you like the edge of a knife, your heart answering with a resounding yes.
Wow, did you want that to be true. But that sinister voice oozed like an oil slick in the back of your head. Will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today? You had trusted Rhysand too.
Even if Nesta wanted you here, did you think she would disobey her High Lord for you? You didn’t know, not for sure. Your power reared up again, and your head pounded at the onslaught. That oily voice so loud it was all you could hear. You could know.
“I-I don’t know.” You stammered, stomach churning into grotesque knots.
“Do you trust yourself?” Nesta continued her line of questioning.
That answer came to you quick, no, and it had you lurching forward, your balance lost as you scraped your knees sliding down a couple stairs. You wretched, violent heaves as your stomach emptied out on the stairs in front of you.
No. You didn’t trust yourself.
“There was a time where I didn’t trust myself either.” It was like you weren’t barfing up your guts right in front of her, Nesta spoke with such calm. “Didn’t let anyone close enough to trust, even myself, I didn’t know how.”
You wretched again, your hair getting in the way. Gentle fingers gathered the stray pieces that had fallen from your updo. You hadn’t heard her move over to you, but she was there, steadying you as you struggled through a bout of dry heaving. If you weren’t so miserable, the tenderness coming from Nesta would have shocked the hell out of you.
Her free hand rubbed soothing circles into your back as she continued her tale. “I hated myself,” Nesta confided, voice raspy with emotion, “so much that I drank myself stupid every night to escape the darkness of my own thoughts.”
Now, the random heart to heart did shock you.
Three years of trying to connect with the enigma that was Nesta Archeon. Three years of getting redirected when you asked something too deep. The most you got out of Nesta was what she liked to read, so you picked up reading just to have a reason to approach her outside of assignments. Three years of one sided heart to hearts, evaded personal questions, and turned down sleepover invitations.
And she decided that now was the proper time to trauma dump on you? While you were half dressed, ugly crying with vomit in your hair?
What a baffling female. The confusion helped you relax, so surprised you were by Nesta’s sudden urge to share. Her hand kept a slow, steady rhythm as she continued to rub gentle circles onto your back, you hadn’t realized how tensed you’d been until muscles you didn’t even know you had started going lax.
Whatever Nesta was doing, it was working. So you basked in the comfort her touch provided and listened.
“Someone taught me how to acknowledge those thoughts and let them go. To breathe, and still everything else in my mind, and let my mind think those things, but to not dwell, because that dark self loathing didn’t define me.”
The dark self loathing didn’t define you. Her words chipped at something that had been left festering for far too long. Had that been it all along, that terrible voice in the back of your head, had it been self loathing?
“Give yourself permission to feel, acknowledge it, and let it go.”
And it was so liberating, giving a name to what had been festering under your skin. Hate. Disgust. Cowardice. You cried, but not the agonized, tortured type of wails that had crippled you moments ago. This was a release, the type of ugly cry you do when something you didn’t know was broken starts to heal.
You hated yourself. And that was okay, because as you waited for that awful voice to mock you, it never did. You hated yourself, wept so hard you thought your eyes were going to fall out of your skull, but you had never felt lighter.
Nesta found your hand, gentle at first as if giving you time to pull away. Then she held onto you like the simple touch could convey what you were worth to her. “You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you.” She whispered, but the words resonated like she had shouted them at you.
The smile started as a small twitch at the corners of your mouth, but you knew Nesta saw it all the same. You searched for that dreadful voice, waited for it to speak something dreadful, but the quip never came. The smile that bloomed on your cheeks was wide with astonish.
You couldn’t believe it, after 300+ years of letting that nasty voice ruin you, there was peace. In its place was something new and bright.
Hope.
XxXx
The sound of beating wings announced the arrival of Cassian and Azriel a moment before the weight of their landing sent vibrations through the hard stone of the staircase. The two hulking Illyrian warriors made quick work of the walk up the stairs, their casual conversation trailing off once they were within earshot of you and Nesta.
“Ness!” Cassian’s voice boomed in greeting, cheery and boisterous, “I see why you asked for me to bring Azriel now. Here I thought you were acting on your ‘secret’ fantasies finally. The location left something to be desired, but I wasn’t going to be picky.”
Nesta sat shoulder to shoulder with you, so close, you felt her stiffen at Cassian’s offbeat comment. If you weren’t so drained, you’d be cross with her for summoning more witnesses, but the idea of having to walk back up all those steps upset you far more. The adrenaline high from your anxiety had long worn off, and without its numbing effect, you weren’t sure if you could even stand without your legs wobbling.
Nesta sighed, deep and long suffering, but affectionate nonetheless. “Your inability to read the room will always astound me.”
“Good thing we’re outside, there is no–” Cassian’s breath hitched, now close enough to get a good look at your downcast expression, haggard appearance, and odd attire. You were careful to keep your emotions under control, unwilling to let anyone in the Inner Circle see you in such a vulnerable state. Years of cautious composer, wasted, all because of a meeting that lasted less than 30 minutes. You expected disapproval, your emotions had only been met with ridicule in the past, but the apparent emotions flying across Cassian’s face were anything but cold.
Worry. Guilt. Unease. Cassian’s emotions were so boldly displayed, you didn’t need your powers to disconcert them.
Cassian paused in his ascent as he looked you over for injury, but Azriel closed the distance in the time it took you to blind away the tingle of the latest round of tears. Their concern was almost palatable, and being shown that type of care felt too good to be real.
These males had no reason to care so much, Nesta had no tangible reason to care so much. You were so… you, so replaceable and plain. You breathed through the thought, let it roll over you, maybe that was why they cared so much, because you are you. It had never occurred to you that you were someone worth caring for. Not when your own father never cared. Certainly not after Rhysand gave you the ultimatum to get useful or get out.
You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you. Nesta’s words repeated in your head, sending a zing of determination down your spine.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” Azriel crouched down, his chest siphon reflecting the late afternoon sun. His questions made you feel queasy, but his presence soothed over you like a balm. This male simultaneously was the person you worried about disappointing most, and the person you felt most safe being vulnerable around.
Unlike with Nesta, you didn’t struggle with facing Azriel. He was inspecting the grime covered scrapes on your bare toes. “Where are your shoes?” He asked you, puzzled as he then took note of your sweat soaked bra, “and your shirt?”
A dark look passed over him, if his shadows could withstand the direct sunlight, you were sure they’d be writhing around you. He spoke your name like a whispered prayer, desperate. His gloved hands hesitated as he reached out to cup your face, only smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks when you didn’t jerk away, “please look at me,” and you did, meeting his amber eyes as he wiped remnant tear stains from your cheeks, “Did someone try to hurt you?”
You knew what he meant, but your explanation caught in your throat. A brief moment of shame overwhelmed you, because here you were blubbering over some harsh words from your High Lord, when people suffered far worse fates than your own every day. Azriel began to tense, an icy cold rage taking form as he mistook your silence as an affirmative.
You shook your head ‘no’, hating the troubling turmoil you had unintentionally sowed in him. His shoulders sagged, the sign of his relief so slight, many would have missed it. It was all it took for the remaining threads of your thin composure to snap.
Azriel all but scooped you into his arms as tears blurred your vision, and you crumbled into him, no further prompting needed. He held you so tight, it was like he was trying to hold all your pieces together for you. His wings flared to keep his balance, and maybe later you’d feel sheepish about almost tipping him backwards down those unforgiving stairs, but you relished in the comfort his strength brought you.
“I-I was–It was–” You couldn’t string the sentence together, “We were…I was–” you tried again but your breathing was off, your thoughts all jumbled, and Blessed Mother, you couldn’t do it again. Any words you’d thought about trying to say morphed into sobs, barely audible, but you couldn’t hide the way your body shook with them.
“Rhysand happened.” Nesta asserted, sparing what was left of your dignity by cutting off your senseless stuttering. She summarized the meeting, but touched on the major points that had triggered your anxiety. She was gentle with the recollection of your part in the meeting, scathingly critical of Rhysand.
“When I left Rhysand’s office, The Morrigan was getting in his face, and as much as I would have loved to see how that went down, it felt wrong to not check in with you.” Nesta explained like she was coming clean, “ I asked the house where you were.”
It was about as close to an apology you’d ever get from Nesta. You knew from experience that Nesta took her time warming to people, preferring to mind her business and stay out of Inner Circle drama. Once she’d made an offhand comment about being the center of the drama enough to last her the rest of her fae lifetime.
Keeping your head rested on Azriel’s shoulder, you turned your face to the side so your voice was less muffled, “Thank you,” your words carried on the wind, paper thin, frail, but so heartfelt, “for following me.”
Nesta didn’t respond, and you didn’t dare look at her out of fear of getting weepy again. But you felt it all the same, a shift in the relationship between the two of you. Like a bridge branching out, a new understanding solidified in place, and you knew Nesta had felt it too.
You shifted in Azriel’s arms, intending on testing your strength, but his arms tensed to keep you in place. In one graceful movement that had your head spinning, Azriel stood up right, adjusting to support your weight in a bridal hold.
“How about we get you home and clean you up?” Azriel suggested, loud enough for the others to hear, but the question aimed at you.
Home. As in the apartment you shared with Mor. He had called Velaris your home.
Your heart gave a painful throb, all choked up again at the sentiment. Going home sounded like the most splendid thing in the whole world in that moment. You didn’t want to think about Rhysand or Hewn City anymore, you wanted to go home so much it hurt.
There was some rustling, Cassian coming to stand near Nesta. “Wanna race me back up to the house?” His words were muffled as if his lips were pressed into the crown of Nesta’s head. “Winner gets head.”
The swift resounding slap Cassian received almost made things seem normal.
“Are you two good?” Nesta ignored Cassian’s taunting, and you nodded at the same time Azriel responded with, “Yes, I’ve got her.”
A beat passed in silence, all four of you waiting to see if anyone added anything else. Then rapid footsteps took off up the stairs, and you popped your head up from the crook near Azriel’s underarm to see Nesta sprinting up the stairs.
“Hey!” Cassian bellowed, charging after her, “cheaters never prosper, Nesta!”
“Prove it, you overgrown bat!”
If you weren’t about ready to pass out from exhaustion, you would have laughed at their antics. Azriel was watching them, an unguarded fondness in his hazel eyes you rarely got to see. The two of you stayed like that, Azriel watching his friends, you committing his soft expression to memory. By the time Azriel glanced down to you, Cassian had overtaken Nesta’s lead, their figures dots in the distance.
You were a melted puddle of female in his arms, all tension and stress slipping from your muscles as your eyelids drooped. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes open for another second. Paranoia nagged at you, fear of what you’d see when you finally rested your eyes.
Nothing. Blissful darkness. Peace.
“I’m going to take off now. Loop your arms around my neck and hold on tight, okay? Once we get up high enough, the rest of the flight will be smooth.”
You did as you were told, any other time you would have been a nervous wreck, but you didn’t have it in you to fret. You’d always winnowed with someone, even learning how to land the drop through the wards when Mor winnowed with you to the House of Wind. You’d thought no one had noticed how you avoided the topic, but surprise surprise, Azriel had noticed.
The thought of being up that high in the sky and dropped sure made your pulse spike. Growing up in an Underground City meant your feet were always planted on the ground. So maybe it wasn’t a stretch to claim that you weren’t a fan of heights, you’d never flown with anyone before, but it would make a lot of damn sense.
Your musing was cut short. Azriel launched straight up into the sky, powerful wings effortlessly gaining momentum and speed. You clung to him, hands clasped together around his neck in a death grip, screaming bloody murder the entire ascend. Although you would deny it if anyone asked.
Things evened out once Azriel felt he was high enough, setting a leisure pace towards what you assumed to be the direction of Mor’s apartment. Your eyes were squeezed shut, wind whipping your hair out of what was left of your updo, tossing it across your face.
You must have been quite the sight, if the amusement in Azriel’s voice was any indication. “Are you going to look at the view?”
Your hair was a disheveled mess across your face, the wind burned your already sore eyes when you tried to pry them open. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t keep my eyes open,” It was probably beautiful, but you didn’t want to push your luck, you’d had enough panic attacks for the day, “Luckily, I don’t want to.”
He chuckled. “Next time then.”
Blame it on the fatigue, but you found yourself nodding in agreement. Something you may come to regret when he urges you to fly with him instead of winnowing the next time you travel together.
But maybe it won’t be so bad, if Azriel was the one carrying you. With your eyes closed, ear pressed to his chest, his steady heartbeat lulled the residual tension and anxiety away until all you felt was the security of his arms. You could almost forget that you were hundreds of feet off the ground.
In Azriel’s care, it was easy to relax, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen. It was in that half dozing state, snuggled up as close as you could get to him, that your sleepy mind realized moments like these were the ones you wanted to remember.
Ultimately, Rhysand’s nasty words were a small part of your day. The majority of your time was spent with Nesta, bonding with her in a way you’d never managed previously. Something that would have never happened if Rhysand hadn’t been a dick.
Yeah. You’d much rather remember the day as the Nesta heart-to-heart incident. Or the first time you flew with Azriel.
Drifting into a deeper sleep, you dreamt of the way Cassian’s laughter echoed with joy as he chased after Nesta up the stairs. You dreamt of soaring through the clouds with Azriel, the same fondness you’d seen in his eyes for Cassian and Nesta, but aimed at you.
It may take you the rest of your life, but you would replace all the trauma muddying up your memories with new memories you wanted to remember. New memories filled with laughter, affection, trust, and adventure.
One day at a time.
Rhysand could go pound sand though.
XxXx
Previous Chapter / Bonus: Chapter 2.5 / Next Chapter (coming soon)
A/N: Don't worry the next part is going to be more like the first chapter. There will be like two more chapters sprinkled in that have a more serious tone, but the rest will be fluff, drama, and tomfoolery a plenty. Stay tuned for cheeky Cassian in the next update!!
Tag List: @f4iry-bell @jediknightjana @microwaveallthedemons @olive-main
@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @5onedirection5
@brieflyclassymortal @hauntedstudentobservationus
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel fluff#Like Bugs in a Rug#my writing#kayjaywrites#nesta archeron#the morrigan#a court of thorns and roses#rhysand#cassian
442 notes
·
View notes
Note
can i req miguel and sunshine where she has a BUNCH of hickeys but shes too nice to make fun of so the spiders tease miguel instead?
Just A Taste
(Miguel O' Hara x Female! Reader)
A/N: Omg this is so funny and cute!!! I was kinda struggling writing this because I was like, 'How much is too much for hickeys?'. It's currently hot as hell where I live and so you can tell where that inspo comes from this can be read as a part 2 or a sister fic to Just A Bite. I almost made it an unofficial part 2.25 to Our Girl, but I changed my mind. Also, I'm sorry it's a little short, but I hope you like it.
A/N: I also really wanna try that sorbet thingy where they come in the fruit shells if you know what I'm talking about. If you love this then please check out the master list and if you wanna be kept informed about updates on the Miggy and Sunny series, then comment on this taglist and you'll be added.
WARNINGS: Grumpy x Sunshine, Female reader/ Female pronouns, Barely any use of Y/N ((Sunny is her nickname, not her actual name)), OOC Characters, Flirty Miguel, Some implications of NSFW content, and Google Translated Spanish.
~~~~~~~~
It was very rare that it would get so hot that Miguel would be laid back with the rules. He held everyone to a certain standard when it came to being a part of his elite task force and he was a stickler for them to act like it. Despite this, he only expected three rules to remain to be followed at all times.
All Spidermen can’t travel to other worlds without notice.
Spidermen can’t travel without a mask on to protect the identity of all Spidermen.
Everyone has to wear their spider suits at all times.
Unfortunately, certain circumstances don't really allow certain rules to be followed reasonably. Especially when it involves people with special circumstances.
Such as this.
“Miggy!” A soft whine emits from the chair beside him as the woman sat upside down. Her unmasked face felt hot as a light sheen of sweat made her beautiful face glow against the soft light of the monitor. “It’s so hot…I thought you said Lyla would fix the air hours ago.”
Miguel rolls his eyes at the sight of her feet lightly hanging over the top of the chair as. “Mi amor, if you stay like that, you’re gonna have a lot more to worry about than a heat stroke.” He playfully pinches her ankle as he grabs a tablet from the table, fanning his own burning skin.
Due to a massive heat wave, Earth-928 was experiencing the hottest summer it has ever had in history, causing Lyla’s A/C system to malfunction. The Lobby was left a broiling mess with Spidermen refusing to come by until the AI’s systems are rebooted. Only a handful of spiders were on base with the residential sweetheart suffering the most since she lives there.
“Can I please take this off?” She moans as she swings up and shoots him those dreaded puppy dog eyes.
“Oh?” Miguel quirks an eyebrow as his eyelids lower. A playful smile graces his handsome face as he chastises. “I didn’t expect you to be so risky, mi sol.”
A flurry of butterflies spread out in her gut as she glares at Miguel. His response is to chuckle as that pretty glossed lip pokes out as she scolds him, “Not like that, Miguel, and you know it. This suit feels like a furnace and I just want to relax…”
The idea of his cute little lover prancing around in the nude would be an interesting idea to Spiderman, but he knew that his love would never agree to do that with others in the Head Quarters. Miguel bites his lip as he contemplates torturing his arañita some more, but he decides to show mercy as he relents.
“Alright, mi amor.” He sighs as he allows his own suit to dissipate, exposing the tight black tank top and tight athletic pants. “Pero tendr��s que cumplir esa pequeña fantasía mía más tarde, mi niña bonita.”
His remark is ignored as she stands up from her cheer with a quiet “fuck yea”. After tinkering with her gizmo, the black and white suit disappears revealing her white tank top and black running shorts, but Miguel couldn’t help but smirk at the blotches of bruises that marred her skin.
Just before he could comment on it, the door opens as a voice complains, “YO BIG MAN! You need to tell that computer to fix this air!”
Another voice accompanies the new yorker's as the tall Brit yells out. “It’s sweltering here, man!”
Ben and Hobie came to a halt as they see their friend smile at them. “Hey, guys!” Sunny calls and waves at them while their faces grow ten degrees hotter.
The poor woman’s entire body was covered in hickeys. Her shoulders and collarbone were littered with several little puncture wounds while her neck had multiple light scratches dragging down. A distinct handprint was present at the base of her neck like a necklace with matching bracelets on her wrists. Her exposed thighs bared no better as the inner sides of her thighs had similar bite marks with a matching set of claw marks on the outside of her thighs.
Ben swats a hand over his mouth as his hand slams over his horrified mouth while Hobie looks at Miguel in an amused expression. The urge to throw himself into another dimension plagues Miguel’s thoughts as he realizes that he will never live this moment down for the rest of his life. Rubbing his hand over his face in frustration, the oblivious spider turns back to her lover as she tilts her head at why everyone was acting weird.
“Miggy, are you alright?” She mumbles as Hobie joins them up there with fake concern wrapping around his voice. “Yea, boss, are you alright? You looking a bit flushed, yea?” Hobie struggles to hide the growing laughter in his voice as Miguel throws him a nasty glare.
The punk was never afraid of getting under his leader’s skin, but his ego really took over when he knows his boss would definitely not do anything while his missus was right there watching him. Ben also decides to join the fun by remarking, “Yea, you look like you need something to blow off that steam. Maybe a little taste of something sweet, right?” He teases as he figures he was safe.
Unfortunately, he unknowingly sparked an idea in the naive spider’s mind. She claps her hands in excitement as she exclaims, “That’s a great idea, Ben! I think I have some sorbets in the freezer of Miguel’s apartment.”
Miguel wickedly smirks as he realizes that he may have an opportunity to exact some revenge as the two other boys tried to reason with her to stay.
“Oh wait, Sunny, You really don’t have to..”
“Yea, Love. We are fine really!”
The boys try to reassure her that she didn’t need to travel all that way to get some ice cream before a smooth voice says,
“Es una idea maravillosa, mi amor.” Miguel praises as his love’s smile brightens in response. “¿Por qué no vas a buscarme a mí ya ti ya que estos dos quieren ser miserables en este momento, de acuerdo?” He coos causing the woman to swoon at his soft tone.
“Alrighty, Miggy.” She grins as she opens the portal with her gizmo. The boys’ hearts stop in their chests as the little spider ignores their pleas to stay and happily skips through the portal to Miguel’s apartment.
“Now then…” Miguel’s menacing voice twists around his cruel smile as he looks at the trembling boys. “What is it that you guys wanted to talk about?”
Yep, they are fucked.
~~~~~~~
As the portal reopens on the observation deck, a smiling jumping spider comes back through with two packages in her hand and two spoons as she calls out, “Miggy, I’m back!”
“Llegando, mi sol.” His voice surprises her as he swings himself back onto the platform. She tilts her head as she begins to ask where he went when she noticed that he was now shirtless with the evidence of what she’s done to him now on full display.
His chest had small dark circles littering his pectorals that created a trail down his abdomen and his abs, disappearing into the dark brown happy trail that began below his belly button. Upon seeing her stunned face, Miguel chuckles as he gently takes one of the icy treats from her shaking hands and a spoon before sitting down in his chair.
“Gracias Amor.” He says nonchalantly as he rips open the packaging and starts eating the sorbet from its fruit shell.
“N-no problem, Miggy..” She sits beside him and opens her treat as she avoids looking at his powerful back muscles as they flex and move as he ate the sugary sweet. She almost drops the damned thing after the deep scratches on his shoulder blades reminded her of what they did just the night prior.
“¿Qué pasa, mami? Miguel mocks as a mischievous smirk causes his fangs to poke out. “¿No te gusta tu sorbete? ¿O hay algo más que te gustaría probar?” He purrs as the spoon in her hand falls to the floor with him chuckling.
“Miguel!” She scolds as she begins to bend over to pick up the spoon as another spoon full of an icy treat. Her stomach flips as Miguel looks at her with his pretty apologetic red eyes as he pokes her pouting lips with his peace offering.
“I’m sorry for teasing, my love. You just look so cute and flustered.” He admits he gives her a soft curl of his lip.
Matching his smile, Sunny opens her mouth and happily accepts his apology with a small moan. She sighs as she lets go of his spoon with a satisfied smile.
“So good!~”
“I’m glad.” He smiles as he dips his own bite and eats it. “Es casi tan dulce como tú…”
“Miggy!” An embarrassed voice shrills as the man laughs with his love.
~~~~~~~~~~
Translations:
arañita - Little spider
Pero tendrás que cumplir esa pequeña fantasía mía más tarde, mi niña bonita.--But, you are gonna have to fulfill that little fantasy of mine later, my pretty girl.
Es una idea maravillosa, mi amor.- That's a wonderful idea, my love.
¿Por qué no vas a buscarme a mí ya ti ya que estos dos quieren ser miserables en este momento, de acuerdo? -Why don't you go get me and you some since these two want to be miserable right now, alright?
Llegando, mi sol.- Coming, my sun.
Thank you,love- Gracias amor
¿Qué pasa, mami?- What's a matter, mami?
Es casi tan dulce como tú…–It's almost as sweet as you...
~~~~~~~~~~
Taglist:
@ameliadraws
@tojisrightnut
@whyareyoubored
@silly-lovestruck-em
@luvil1y
@chims-kookies
@himesuedi
@22carolina08
@chaoticevilbakugo
@boredwithlifeatthispoint
@hoshhoshh
@isaidoop
@pheroineux
@rosiepetalss
@aniya7
@savannahlynnes
@boldlypessimistic
@dilfaddiction
@xsuvs
@bunnybopug01
@tanakaslastbraincell
@brivers
@mistermouseshideyhole
@paranoiac-666
@reypolaris
@beeframon
@sofiahowland376
@bby-lupin
@thesrtuggleisveryreal
@arminarmout15
@mintellaine
@maddsunn
@sleepyamaya
@meshuao
@scaraza
@nobarasgfriend
@kurxxmi
@lemoonandlestars
@pix-stuff
@galaxieshearme
@sunshiines-stuff
@iytatsworld
@corpsebridenightamare
@p-rspective
@almostjollypizza
@celestiayxl
@christinaatyourservice92
@marisolpusheen
@hereliespumpkin
@lordelvr
@shadowlover321
@internal-soundtrack
@lotustv
@0sftom0
@whosace16
@namjoons-crabssss
@baefys-world
@namioom
@20forty9
@cicithemess2000
@hailssss222
@cityofvoldemort-blog
@snow30285
@serenssuga
@miguelluvrinnit
@sammywammy1
@dameronshandholder
@moonlight-fox
@miwagila
@alexthebootyeater420
@mariaatp
@10-jiku2
@uselsshuman
@cookiezxx
@randomhumans-blog
@mothsicn
@gingerdissapointment
@outspokenmatters
@cookieshakr
@alex-river1
@mellowstatesmanhandsempath
@luna-usagi-chan
@icantsleeplol809
@tiredweeb7
@4ishere
@i-heart-marvel
@mooomeadows
@king-julian6201
@local-mr-frog
@superbjealousy
@wonwuz
@lokisnumber1whore
@deloe18
@all4koo
#miguel o’hara x reader#spiderman#spiderman 2099#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman into the spiderverse#miguel ohara#fanfic#across the spiderverse#miguel o’hara
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
savior complex - joel miller x f!reader
masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller
All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine
summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one. ♥
“What do you want?”
The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.
“I need your help,” he says.
You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”
It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference.
The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second.
He’s covered in blood.
It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow.
Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.
“Why should I help you?”
He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained.
“Because I have nowhere else to go.”
The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.
“Please?”
He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.
“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave?
Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.
You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile.
Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.
“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”
His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.
“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.
“It’s none of your business,” he quips.
“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.”
“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”
“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue.
Joel doesn’t answer.
“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple.
“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard.
“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”
“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”
You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that.
“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict.
“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.
“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?”
“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage
“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.
It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.
When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side.
“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”
“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.”
He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”
The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.
You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.
You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.
“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.
“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one.
There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.
“Open up.”
He glowers at you like a defiant child.
“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips.
When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.
You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest.
It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”
You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched.
“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”
Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable?
As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand.
It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.
“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”
He nods.
“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction.
He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.
Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage.
“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy.
He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.
Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.
The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.
Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”
You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”
He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.
You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”
“Thank fucking-”
“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”
His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell.
“Why me?” you ask, finally.
“What?”
“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”
Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”
“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”
One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.
“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.”
Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do.
“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers.
“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….”
He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard.
You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.
Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”
“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.
You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes.
Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.
He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…
— — — — — —
The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching.
Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.
It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges.
There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling.
– Take pain meds
– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle
– Change dressing
– LEAVE
The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper.
‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.
He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide.
When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up.
“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again.
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration.
Instead of correcting him, you say nothing.
“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.
“Ben was just leaving,” you say.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.
Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.
You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder.
“Who was that?”
“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.
“How often does he–?”
“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?”
Joel doesn’t answer.
“You probably needed it.”
You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”
Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed.
“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”
He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”
You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you.
Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.
Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought.
No, is his answer.
He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk. Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.
The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask.
“It was sitting out.”
You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”
The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits.
“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”
Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”
“It doesn’t feel good.”
“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”
He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound.
He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.
“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”
“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.
“Suit yourself.”
“I will.”
You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them.
“I’m sorry.”
Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.
You balk at him. “For what?”
Everything. “Your brother.”
“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head. “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.”
“Yeah.”
“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection.
He nods, takes a beat.
“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-”
“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”
“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”
“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool.
“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”
“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done.
Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it.
I’m sorry.
You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once.
“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”
A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward.
The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.
“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”
This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film.
“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.
Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy.
“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.
“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”
It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide.
He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?
But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap.
He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to.
You break away first. “Fuck.”
Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase.
“I do want you.”
“Then have me.”
He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.
Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?”
He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes.
Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts.
You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.
What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.
But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.
Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur.
“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.
“I know.” But I still do.
Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement.
Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.
“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans.
“Take these off.”
Yes. There’s no protest.
It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.
“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”
“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you.
You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you.
The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.
“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”
You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.
You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.”
“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”
“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well.
He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time.
It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate.
You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.
“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.”
His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.
“I’m not - fuck.”
The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again.
You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”
Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known.
He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer.
“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing.
“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”
He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.
The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.
Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling.
We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.
Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him.
When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.
You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved.
“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles.
“She knows I can take care of myself.”
Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.
“You should probably go.”
His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.
The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.
He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.
“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.
Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.
“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”
You look up, nod, and he’s gone.
— — — — — —
part ii
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller imagine#joel miller fanfic#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#enemies to lovers#tlou#tlou hbo#pedro pascal#tlou fanfiction#tlou imagine
4K notes
·
View notes