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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months ago

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Hello, hope you're a having a good day

Could you write something about 141 x reader where the sparring session turns a little too not your usual sparring (if you know what I mean). The reader and them being all sweaty and shit and like the sexual tension that's been there for a while. This idea has been plaguing my mind since forever. Thank youuuu

Haha! Yes! Omg, I love it. Okay, for this, I didn't go full smut. When someone mentions sexual tension, I tend to hyperfocus on that and want to bathe in it. Give me naughty thoughts and flirting-maybe even some actual physical contact that borders on dangerous territory. Give me the yearning! I want to giggle and kick my feet and think about what might happen later.

So, I indulged in that regard! I had lots of fun with this. Thank you so much for sending it in!!!

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

Task Force 141 x TF141!Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, knife play, grinding, rough kissing, caught in the act, training, naughty thoughts, mutual yearning

Word Count: 2.4k

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

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Come on. Come at me.”

Soap rolls his shoulders and then brings his fists up in a fighting stance. He makes a “go on” gestured with his hands.

Every muscle in your body is sore. Tired doesn’t even begin to describe how you’re feeling. But you want to best Soap. He’s been on your ass for weeks now—insisting that the two of you should spar together. It’s not the sparring that makes you warm and tingly but the way he suggests it.

Always leaning in. Standing far too close. Bumping your shoulder with his.

Soap waits, but you’re not sure how to proceed. So far, you’ve been completely unsuccessful. As if knowing all your moves, Soap has dodged each blow and kick, effortlessly taking you down to the mat every time you thinking you’ve ensnared him.

Stealth is more your thing. Creeping around in the shadows. Taking out opponents from afar. A sniper scope is your friend. Hand-to-hand isn’t.

You lunge for him and Soap steps back. Fist missing him, you sidestep and go for a jab in the stomach. Soap slaps your hand away, and you want to yell in frustration.

“Sloppy today,” chides Soap, grinning like this amuses him.

It probably does. He’s one for a good laugh.

This time you feign, and Soap takes it, moving in. You’re ready for him, turning out of his swing to duck beneath and then aim for the face. Soap rises to block, and opens a clear line to his groin.

Fucking beautiful.

Lifting your foot, you don’t tap him hard, just enough for his cheeks to go pink. Soap grunts, and you chuckle.

“Shouldn’t have left yourself—”

With an oof, your back smacks against the tumble mat beneath you. Soaps snags your wrists and pins them above your head. You go to kick out at him, but Soap’s knees are between your legs. He shoves them wider.

You’re completely trapped beneath him.

And in a completely inappropriate position.

From where you’re pinned, you notice the small beads of sweat on his brow and how a few pieces of hair stick to his skin. Though his chest is covered by a shirt, it’s snug, with every muscle on display. Those powerful thighs of his press against yours in such a way that you’re imagining nothing between your bodies.

Would he feel this powerful over you if the two of you were elsewhere? Perhaps, somewhere more private. Somewhere without a tumble mat. Somewhere with a bed.

“Can’t harm the goods, love,” says Soap, his voice husky. You’re not sure if it’s from the close contact or from the tap you gave his crotch.

“Then don’t leave them vulnerable,” you reply, almost not recognizing the sound of your own voice. It too is husky as if dipped in desire.

The middle of Soap’s brow scrunches slightly. His gaze travels downward to linger on your lips and then further still until you sense him admiring more than he is observing.

“Soap—”

His gaze snaps upward. “Johnny,” he corrects. “Think we’re on closer terms.”

“Are we?” you ask, as his hips start to relax.

The press of him against you is apparent, and the hardness there is poking at you. Insistent. And you don’t want to ignore it.

Instead, you press upward, grinding against him.

Soap—no—Johnny, makes a sound in his throat.

One moment you’re under him and then you’re in his lap, the two of you sitting up, staring into each other’s eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your hands fists the front of his shirt.

“You—”

“Are we interrupting something?”

You and Johnny turn just as Ghost and Gaz enter the gym. Gaz has a towel draped over his shoulder. The water bottle he holds it half-way towards his mouth before he freezes, gaze locked on you and Johnny.

Ghost cocks his head, arms crossed over his chest.

You’re speechless. Lost. Your mind hasn’t caught up.

But Johnny’s has.

With a twist, Johnny rolls and then lightly tosses you off him as if the two of you were simply practicing and not staring into each other’s eyes.

“You want a go, Lt?” asks Johnny.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“You up for another round?” asks Kyle.

The man is grinning like he could do this all day. You’re sore everywhere—ready to collapse from exhaustion. Hand-to-hand combat is not your thing which is why you’re here in the training room with Kyle.

Yes, you need practice, but you’ve also had your eye on him, admiring him when you think no one is looking. It’s an excuse for some alone time.

“I’d rather eat glass,” you mutter, snatching up your water bottle and drinking the last of it.

“Hate me that much?” he teases.

“So much so that I wanted to spend the afternoon beating your ass.”

Kyle bursts out laughing. He snatches the water bottle out of your hand and aims it at you, squeezing. There’s nothing in it. A few measly drops hit your face and then you lunge for him. Kyle jumps back and extends his arms outward.

“One more round.” He winks. “Come on, love.”

He’s being cheeky, and your blood is pumping.

Kyle tosses your water bottle to the side as you stride forward. His arms go up, and then the two of you are nothing but flying fists and feet. He’s faster, blocking every blow you send his way.

Sweat accumulates on your brow and on the back of your neck, dripping down your spine. You lick your lips, taste the salt from the sweat.

You duck. Swing. Kyle snatches your wrist and twists, pinning your arm behind you. With a sharp jab of your elbow, you nail Kyle in the stomach, freeing yourself.

As you spin to lash out, Kyle is right there, in your space, blocking all movement. You try to step back, to allow space in your next strike, but Kyle rushes in. The two of you are twisted up. Falling. Slamming into the mat on the floor.

You shove and Kyle resists, his strength outmatching yours. With cheek pressed into the mat, you have nowhere to go. You’re completely on your stomach, and all of Kyle’s weight is on you. He breathes heavily, chest heaving. You feel his breath against your skin, and the contact only sends your skin into a shiver.

Your mind drifts, lingering in places it shouldn’t. Worse—Kyle is aroused. His hardness pokes at your ass. But whether he notices or not is unclear.

“You’re improving,” he says.

“I have a good teacher.”

Kyle makes a noise that sounds like agreement. Every muscle is tense, and even Kyle’s hold on you seems laced with something harsh. But then it eases. Softens. His grip loosens enough that you roll onto your side, glancing up at him.

He is so goddamn close. Just a gentle tilt of the head and your lips would meet his. It wouldn’t be that hard. He’s right there.

Kyle blinks, and then his gaze trails downward, lingering on your lips.

“We,” he begins. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

His thumb traces along the side of your throat, and your eyelids flutter with contentment. A little moan escapes you, and you hear Kyle’s sharp inhale.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck it.”

His thumb becomes his whole hand. Holding you in place, Kyle goes all in, claiming your lips with his. It is dominating, and you happily give in to him.

John Price

Your back hits the tumble mat with a sharp slap. The exposed portions of your shoulders and back sting from the contact.

"Again."

Groaning, you push up to a seated position. "We've been at this for hours."

"And you need practice," counters Price.

He's hatless. And shirtless. Only in cargo pants and boots, Captain Price's bare skin glistens with sweat. You won't pretend that the sight of him like this doesn't intrigue you. For months now you've been observing Captain Price in more than just a professional manner. It's hard not to, and the sweat-drenched man before you isn't helping things.

Captain Price runs his fingers through his hair, taking a step back. The casualness to the movement causes your stomach to twist with desire. Your body betrays you, and you have no idea if these feelings are entirely one-sided. Sometimes you think you might gleam a notion of his thoughts, but it always manages to slip through your grasp.

Price offers his hand, and an idea forms.

You extend yours, but don't close the distance. Price is the one that leans forward to do so. It's the perfect opportunity. When your fingers close around his, you tug back, throwing him off balance.

Price tips forward, and you turn to the side as he crashes down to the mat. In one fluid movement, you roll Price onto his back and straddle his stomach.

"Never let your guard down. That's what you always say."

Price's eyes widen slightly before softening. The corner of his mouth twitches into a hint of amusement. It immediately sends heat flaring through you.

"I do," he replies, and it's nearly a coo.

That smirk of his widens into an actual smile, and then it's you on your back and Price straddling. You strike out with an elbow but Price catches your swing, trapping your arms above your head. He bends forward a bit, and it is then that you feel the stiffness against your stomach.

Price makes no move to hide it, and you don’t dare glance downward.

"You need to do better-"

"Captain."

Price immediately recoils, sitting up and releasing your arms. You twist to look behind you, only to find Ghost and Soap standing nearby. Ghost is ever the silent observer, but Soap's head is slightly tilted to the side, the middle of his brow pinched like he's not sure what's happening.

"Meeting starts in five,” says Soap. “Came to find you."

Price coughs and then he's off you, kneeling and offering you a hand again. You don't try to knock him down.

"Just going over some pointers,” replies Price.

"Pointers?" deadpans Ghost and you shoot him a look. He shrugs at you, gaze lingering before moving to his captain.

"Give me ten minutes. Shower. Then I'll be there."

Captain Price gives you a quick glance before walking off with Soap. Ghost crosses his arms over his chest and just stares.

“What?" you snap

"Pointers," he repeats.

"Oh, fuck off, Simon."

He chuckles and turns to follow the two out of the training room.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Your posture is terrible."

"That's very helpful, Lieutenant,” you deadpan.

"Are you sassing me?"

"No."

Simon shakes his head and sighs. “Can’t throw a knife accurately if you’re hunched like a goblin.”

“Goblin,” you mutter under your breath. “Asshole.”

“What was that?”

You clear your throat. “Seems easy, Lieutenant. You just throw the pointy end at the enemy.”

Simon grunts and then grabs your raised arm. "You won't hit anything standing like that."

You resist his pull but you're outmatch when it comes to strength. With one hand on your arm and one on your waist, Simon shifts you into position.

"Like this," he instructs, bringing your arm back. "Firm grip. Feet pointed forward." Simon releases your arm but his hand on your waist remains. "Throw. At the target."

You let the knife fly. It strikes just right of the bullseye.

"Again,” nods Simon.

"Really?"

Simon slowly drops his hand from your waist, the tips of fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

Removing a knife from his boot, Simon flips it end over end. "We could hone your skills a different way."

"What way?"

“Grab your knife and find out.”

Stalking toward the bullseyes, you yank out the knife, joining Simon in the sparring ring. He bends at the knee, crouching into a fight stance. You mimic the movement.

Simon lunges first and you sidestep. But he's quick for such a large man. He moves around and behind you so fast he's almost a blur.

Grabbing your wrist, Simon lightly twists and pins you against his front, the knife tip pointed at your throat.

"Again,” he growls.

Simon lightly shoves you away. You spin. Striking out. He slaps your arm down and raises his own, the knife tip pointed at your throat for a second time.

"Again."

Showing your teeth, you charge at him, barreling into him at the middle. Simon staggers but doesn't faulter. He attempts to toss you off him, but you remain firm, grabbing hold.

This unloads him, his weight toppling with you. The two of you go down. Simon rolls you onto your back, his body pressed to yours, knife at your throat again.

"Better,” he says. “Still needs improvement."

You go to shove him off, but Simon doesn't budge. He remains where he is, and every point of contact is like an electrical spark. Even his face is close, balaclava nearly scratching against your skin. There is not part of him you’re not touching.

Awareness settles in.

Simon is all hardness over you.

"Have any tips you can give me?" you reply.

His gaze slowly lowers to your lips. His hips shift slightly, something stiff poking against your inner thigh.

“I have one,” he murmurs.

Bet I can guess.

“How do you want it?” he continues.

"You're the expert," you reply softly, hooking your leg over the back of his.

It's an invitation, one you aren't sure he'll take.

There’s a brief pause, and then Simon hums in agreement. It’s a pleased sound, one that instantly makes you shiver. Without taking the knife from your throat, he closes the distance, lips pressing against yours through the balaclava.

Heat erupts, the knife in your hand forgotten on the floor as you grab at him, fingers digging in.

It's only a tease. You want the real thing.

"What's the tip?" you ask once he breaks the connection.

Simon answers by grinding his hips against yours.

That one. Got it.

“We should—”

A door slams from somewhere down the hall. Simon’s head snaps up. The knife disappears, and then Simon is pushing himself away, kneeling beside you. His head is turned toward the main doors, but no one enters.

“It’s late,” you say. No one should be coming this way.

He turns back to you. “Your knife skills are shit.”

You groan. “I know. Goblin hunch. Got it.”

Simon snorts, and offers his hand. You take it, and he pulls you into a seated position. “Just a few more rounds,” he says, and then with a husky twinge to his tone, “and then I’ll go make sure the locker room is clear.”

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kookslastbutton · 8 months ago

Text

what love feels like ༓ myg (m)

✑ Summary: Being a mother to a beautiful baby girl and wife to an adoring husband is the most rewarding feeling in the world. But you also work a full-time job, are overtired most of the time, stressed, don't have any alone time, look very different than eight years ago, and sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs on you until one day, all of your deepest insecurities rear their ugly head–that your husband might not love you as much anymore and someone could take him away from you.

Pairing: husband!yoongi x reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6.7k+

Warnings: swearing, both Yoongi and oc are in their 30s, mom and full-time worker!oc, reserved!dad!yoongi, lack of intimacy, mentions of body insecurities post-pregnancy, mentions of fear of abandonment, mentions of jealousy. irrational worries, built-up stress, light fighting, silent treatment, stubbornness, lots of reassurance, nightmares, cute backstory of how they met, a lot of ily, Yoongi and oc being good parents 🥹, Yoongi calls oc doll, and explicit sexual content

sexual warnings: swearing, kissing, neck kisses, pleading, banter, dirty talk, doll petname, asking for consent, b**b squeezing & sucking, hair threading, penetration, f*ngering, big d*ck!yoongi, growling, missi*nary, eye contact, tearing up, c*ming together

Now Playing: Breathing by Anne Marie

a/n: Okay this was for Yoon's bday. Based on the poll, husband!Yoon won. Was intended to be a Drabble but well...heh 😅 Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and Yoon is just such a good hubby for responding well to these very relatable insecurities. (Low-key love this couple...) I'm sorry for any typos or warnings i missed! I checked and double checked but a few might have slipped. Enjoy! Anyway please enjoy! 🥰

“So, you're Jia's father, huh? I don’t think I've seen you here before, and I’m sure I would have recognized you.”

With his back straight and arms folded, Yoongi gives the woman in front of him a quick once-over. Mid-40s, freshly single, and definitely in need of some companionship. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; she’s been talking his ear off for the past twenty minutes like he’s some kind of remedy to all her problems.

Honestly, he just swung by to pick up his four-year-old from daycare after another grueling day at work. But the moment he walked in, it was as if all the single moms latched onto him like a flock of hungry geese. This one’s name is Sandra in particular.

It reminds him of his college basketball days, how the cheerleaders all too eagerly swarmed around him after sinking the winning shot at the championship game. Shame he was too busy eyeing the girl in the stands to care, her face buried behind a book twice as big as her head. Who reads an 800-page novel during the playoffs anyway?

Fate, as one may call it, intervened about a week later when his best friend became said girl’s lab partner. Yoongi didn’t make any sudden moves at first, but well, he did make her his wife three years later.

“It’s just so nice to finally meet the father of such a sweet child. Especially considering how many dads tend to take a backseat in their child's early years.” Is she still going on? Yoongi does his best to stay present, though it’s proving unsuccessful. “And Jia truly is an angel! It’s clear you’re doing a wonderful job raising her, even with a full-time job and all.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together at the somewhat odd choice of words. “Thanks,” he drawls out, noticing her pupils dilating with every breath. “Most of the credit goes to my wife though. She’s a great mom to Jia.”

“Jia’s m-mom?” Sandra stutters, her mouth slightly agape. Yoongi senses the gears turning in her head as she struggles to process the unexpected presence of his wife. Tempting as it is, he holds down a smirk. Of course, he’s a happily married man–for nearly eight years now.

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “She’s usually the one to pick up our daughter from daycare, but she’s been working a lot of overtime lately. I thought I'd come instead so she can get some rest."

“Oh, well that’s very–“

“Daddy! Daddy, you’re here!” The sound of a familiar high-pitched voice, along with a light pattering of feet, diverts both adult’s attention.

“Hey kid.” Yoongi effortlessly lifts the small child once in front of him, securing her in his arms. “Have fun today?”

Jia gives an enthusiastic nod, bright red ribbons in her hair bouncing cutely as she does. Proudly, she shows him the drawing she made.

“See? It’s me, you, and mommy!” She makes sure to point to each part of the picture with her pointer finger.

Yoongi gently takes the artwork from his daughter’s hand and lets out a soft chuckle. “Now this is what I call a masterpiece! Mommy’s gonna love hanging this one on the fridge. How about I hold onto this and you go grab your backpack, okay?”

As soon as Jia’s feet touch the carpeted floor again, she races off to her cubby in the far corner of the room. Yoongi shoots Sandra a final glance before slowly following behind. “We got to get going, but nice meeting you.”

“You…too.” Sandra’s response is more than disappointed as she watches the father-daughter duo make their way out of the building. Evidently, Min Yoongi isn’t the single dad she originally assumed. Funny, she swore there wasn’t a wedding band in sight. Maybe she missed it.

“No, I’m sorry but I’m certain we haven’t used any of your services in the last six months. My husband canceled it in late October.”

With one hand, you grip your cell phone up to an ear while the other pops open the dishwasher. You’ve been on the phone with the cable company for half an hour, trying to make sense of an unexpected charge that appeared on your bank account this morning. You consider yourself more patient than most, yet after working all day, a pile of laundry waiting to be washed, and dinner threatening to burn on the stove, the last thing you have time for is arguing with your old service provider.

“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize for any confusion. I’m taking a look at my records and they’re all showing me that—oh wait a second.”

The young man on the opposite end of the line interrupts his own thought, piquing your concern in the process.

“What did you say your last name is?”

You answer and in an instant, you’re met with a thousand rushed apologies; something about getting the account names mixed up in their system. It’s difficult to decipher everything you hear with the front door being thrust open that very moment.

“Mommy, where are you? We’re home!” Your daughter not so subtly announces her presence from the foyer. She kicks off her shoes, hangs her backpack on the designated wall hook, and then rushes to the kitchen upon catching a brief glimpse of your shirt.

“It’s alright, these mistakes happen.” You hang up the call and turn around to find Jia only steps away, a big goofy grin on her face. Infectious, you break out into a smile yourself and swoop her up.

“Hey honey, I missed you so much!” You kiss the side of your daughter’s head as she wraps her small arms around your neck. “You look so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair! Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?”

Being that you were called into work earlier than usual this morning, Yoongi was the one who got Jia dressed and ready for daycare. You’re delightfully surprised by the results.

“Mmhm,” Jia nods, twirling a couple of strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “But Daddy pulls too much!”

“Maybe if someone had listened and stopped fussing when I told her, I wouldn’t have accidentally yanked on her hair when I was reaching for her favorite Hello Kitty scrunchie.” Yoongi joins you both in the kitchen, walking over to press a quick peck on your lips while tenderly caressing the small of your back. The gesture soothes you of your earlier frustrations. “Who was that on the phone? Cable company?”

“Yeah, they canceled the charge. Wrong account.” As you reiterate the entire mix-up, your eyes wander all over your husband. He’s especially handsome tonight, given his perfectly tousled black hair and navy blue blazer flowing over his body. It’s tastefully oversized with a clean, white top paired underneath. You, on the other hand, are sporting a raggedy old t-shirt and stained sweatpants.

There was a time when you used to put a shit ton more effort into your appearance. It was before you got pregnant with Jia, back when you and Yoongi were going out on weekly dates. Neither of you has that kind of time anymore, or energy for that matter. You didn’t believe the other moms when they told you the romance takes a nose dive after you have your first kid. Yet here you are, proven wrong again.

Being parents to a beautiful baby girl is likely the most rewarding feeling in the world for you and Yoongi. You don’t remember the last time the two of you got real quality alone time though. And sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs more on you with each passing day to be honest. Sure, you’re not the same person you used to be eight years ago, but shouldn’t you and Yoongi still make time for at least a little intimacy?

“How was picking up Jia by the way?” You look at Yoongi who merely shrugs nonchalantly in response.

“It was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Yoong gives you another peck before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go get changed. Why don’t you show Mommy the drawing you did Jia?”

“A drawing?” You shift your attention to your daughter whose eyes sparkle like diamonds upon mention. “We should put it up on the fridge then. Let’s take a look hmm?”

“It’s in my backpack! My new friend and I were drawing together. Her name is Mi-Sun.” Jia continues telling you all about her friend Mi-Sun as you make your way to the front door where her backpack hangs. You’re fully engaged until the very end. “Daddy made a new friend too!” she joyously claps her hands together, not realizing the depth of her remark.

“Oh, who’s Daddy’s new friend honey?” You ask, staying as calm as possible.

“Ms. Cho! They were talking for a really long time today.”

Ms. Cho? You think back to all the moms you’ve met at daycare. Somehow you can’t recall ever hearing or meeting a Ms. Cho. She must be a single mom, you deduce. Was she new? What did she look like? And why didn’t Yoongi mention her when you asked?

This has to be nothing but a little small talk, an acquaintance at most. Besides, the moms at Jia’s daycare are quite a chatty bunch and Yoongi wouldn’t dare overstep any boundaries.

“Do you know what they were talking about?” You don’t enjoy asking your child for details about your husband, yet you can’t seem to help it this time.

“I dunno,” she shrugs her shoulders. "Daddy was laughing a lot."

Suddenly, the self-assurance you gave yourself earlier slips away; seemingly useless given the queasy feeling building in the pit of your stomach.

For the remainder of the night, you purposely dodge every attempt your husband makes to kiss, touch, and hold you. You’ve even begun responding to his questions in one-word answers and at times, with nothing at all.

Yes, you’re being petty; more than usual. The silent treatment frustrates Yoongi to no end and it isn’t very mature of you, but neither is refusing to tell your wife that some single mom was flirting with you in front of your kid! Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe it all sums up to a harmless conversation, but it’s not like you know either way with Yoongi being as reserved as he is. It brings you back to your early dating days when he wouldn’t think to tell you about various aspects of his day; who he ate breakfast with that morning or the one classmate of his that wouldn’t leave him alone for two semesters.

Truth be told, you're simply hoping that your husband will bring up the topic first, without having to be the classic nagging wife. You’re a jealous person by nature so it’s not a simple task. Even now as you fold the first batch of laundry on your shared bed, him on the other side doing the same, you struggle to keep from blurting everything out.

“So,” Yoongi fluffs up a clean pillowcase before sliding it onto one of the bed pillows. “How was work?”

What a basic question, you grumble internally. Is that all he’s got? “Was okay,” you reply. “The usual.”

“You must be tired from the day. Did you get to lie down at all?” Yoongi picks up another pillowcase, repeating the process as before. When he glances your way, it’s clear something’s on your mind. You’ve started pairing Jia’s socks far more aggressively than normal and you’re holding back your responses. “Did you hear me, doll? Or am I going deaf here?” The sarcastic chuckle distracts you from your task, forcing your attention.

You’re about to respond when your eyes briefly flicker down to his hands, his left one in particular. Where's his wedding ring? Yoongi always wears it no matter what. The same sick feeling from before returns tenfold. No wonder that Ms. Cho was all over him–she must have thought he was single.

“No, I didn’t get to lie down Yoongi. I worked all day, came home and made dinner, called the cable guy to get that stupid bill figured out, and now I’m doing the second load of laundry. I’m really just not in the mood to chat.” It comes out a blur as you snatch the empty laundry basket and head for your washer and dryer, your eyes welling up with tears.

“__, wait.” Yoongi tosses the last pillow near the headboard and stops you in your tracks, his hand firmly gripping one end of the laundry basket. The intensity of his stare softens as he speaks. “I'm sorry if it seems like I'm forcing you to talk. I know you've been losing a lot of sleep recently between work, Jia, and upkeeping the house. We just don't get a lot of time to see each other anymore and I miss you…I miss talking to you."

With every ounce of self-control remaining, you hold back any tears that risk spilling out. You don't know why you're acting like this, why you're crying over something that seems so small and insignificant to the rest of the world. Yoongi loves you. He's said it a million times and proven it to you over and over again, for eight years now. He wouldn’t cheat on you, yet you still get so worked up about the idea that someone could take him away from you. Someone half your age, more attractive, or hell even the opposite sex if it means fewer dark circles under their eyes.

"Why- why aren't you wearing your ring?" Your naturally confident voice dwindles to the whisper of a mouse. It's completely out of character, nevertheless, here you are.

"I..." Your husband's voice wavers. His gaze flickers to his left hand, where his ring should be, but isn't. "Shit...I took it off in the shower this morning," he confesses, frustrated by his forgetfulness. "I was in such a rush to get Jia to daycare, and me to work, that it completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry—I fully intended to put it back on." He pauses, then perks up. "It's still in the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

You watch as he makes a beeline for the master bathroom, eager to rectify the situation as soon as possible. You should have kept silent what you say next, but you don't.

"No wonder the moms at Jia's daycare were so drawn to you."

"What?" Yoongi stops in his tracks. The dumbfounded expression on his face tells you that you've caught him off guard again.

"Jia told me about someone named Ms. Cho," you reluctantly continue. "The two of you were laughing and talking and–"

"Baby, don't worry about that." Seizing his chance, your husband walks back over to you and sneakily pulls the laundry basket from under your arm. He sets it on the ground after, then reaches to take your hand in his, but stubbornly you cross your arms.

"Her name's Sandra," he starts explaining. "She's a new mom at the daycare and she didn't know anyone, so she started talking to me. I got the sense she was a little overly friendly but it was all small talk, nothing more."

Still largely unsatisfied, you remain unmoved. "If it wasn't a big deal then why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because nothing serious happened. The majority of the conversation was her venting about her ex-husband and me wishing you were right there next to me. Please believe me. All I could think about was finally being able to come home to you after a long week with Jia in our arms."

"Really?" Well, now you're feeling guilty for avoiding him in nearly every way tonight. Guilty for believing such wild assumptions that he'd leave you for someone else over one measly conversation. Guilty for letting yourself get so worked up over a situation you, quite frankly, knew few details about.

"I mean it doll." This time, when he reaches out to grasp your wrist, he succeeds. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the edge of your bed, gently pulling you down to sit on his lap. "Do you really think I could look at anyone else the way I look at you? Or think about you the way I have for the last eight-plus years we've been married and known each other?"

You hesitate your answer, averting his eye contact. "I know but…"

"No, don't finish that. Look at me," he intercepts. "You and our daughter are the only women on my mind–24/7. I can't get either of you out of my head and I don't want to. I'm so sorry I forgot to put my wedding band back on this morning, and again tonight. I feel awful about it and I'll be more careful from now on. And another thing, when Sandra and I were talking I mentioned you multiple times. So, it's clear to her that I'm a happily married man."

The last bit of information manages to perk your ears. "You talked about me?" Your eyes widen as you finally shift your full attention to him. Yoongi eyes widen with you, amused by your sudden change of heart to look at him.

"I said my wife is an amazing mother, works too hard for her own good, and needed to rest today. Give or take a few words."

That's all? You huff to yourself. Would it been nice if your husband also thrown in that you were beautiful or stunning in that mix of compliments? Yes, yes it would have–again, you're pettiness clouds your better judgment. You're not as pissed off as before, but rather semi-irritated.

"Okay…well I guess it's fine then. I'm sorry for being short with you earlier. I shouldn't have made those rash conclusions about the ring and that woman from the daycare. It wasn't reasonable of me." You get up from his lap, yet Yoongi isn't entirely convinced that you're okay.

"There's still something you're not telling me. I can tell."

"No, there's nothing else." You waive him off, placing your hand on your bedroom doorknob "You told her you had a wife so it's fine. I need to switch the second load of laundry.”

"Come on, doll. Let's not leave things unsaid now."

Sighing at his plead, you find yourself giving into all your repressed thoughts and emotions. It swallows you up, like a tidal wave you can't stop. "Look at me Yoon. I'm sweaty, I have dark circles under my eyes, stretch marks, love handles, my hair's a mess, and all I wear are old sweats covered in stains. I'm nothing like I used to be! No wonder we aren't intimate anymore."

Yoongi rises from the bed at once, offended by the sudden digression. "Is that what this is all about? It’s not even about that single mom from daycare is it?" The truth of the matter sinks in as he speaks.

"I guess maybe so…though I'm still annoyed about that too." Great, you're back to square one again.

"Come with me, I need to show you something." Your husband gestures you to follow him, which you slowly concede to.

"What are you doing Yoon?" You both walk into the master bathroom, stopping in front of the large mirror above the sink.

"I'm showing you the woman I'm in love with and have been in love with for nearly eight years now. Sweats and all." Yoongi makes you face the mirror directly, hands around your shoulders. You have trouble stomaching the sight.

"Yoongi please, I can't. The laundry ringing off." You avoid looking into the mirror and make a move to leave the bathroom.

"Just stay with me a minute, please?" Your husband refuses to loosen his hold on you, turning your body so you're looking eye to eye. "No, you're not the same person as you were and neither am I. We're parents to a beautiful daughter now, who we love and adore. We're also overtired 90% of the time, juggling a million things at once. But there's one thing you can count on to always stay the same–my loyalty to you. I'll always be in love with you __, no matter what age you are or however way you look. There's nothing you can do to change that, so why fight it?"

Dammit. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in his heart-melting speech. It's not his words alone, it's the sincerity behind them. How he's repeated similar countless times before throughout your entire relationship.

"I love you, Yoon..." you choke out the words, composure fleeting.

"I love you so much, doll." He wipes the wetness of your tear with his thumb. "As far as us not being as intimate anymore, that's my fault. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't desire you every day. Why don't we send the kid to my parents this weekend and let me start making things right hmm?"

"I don't know if we can this weekend. Jia has a playdate on Saturday."

"So, I'll ask Mom to take her. She'll be happy to, trust me. We can finally watch that movie you've been dying to show me since what? December?"

"You're serious?" Your eyes light up at the mention of what is essentially a movie date. The show Yoongi's referring to is one you've been craving to see for months, yet neither of you has found the time to watch. "I've been talking about it for so long, Yoon."

"I know you have, it's why I suggested it. I've been wanting to watch it too with all the trailers you keep sending me. Plus, I'll be able to keep my beautiful wife in my arms for over two hours. That's a lot for us, especially with you being such a busy bee. I can never get you to light in one place! What's up with that, huh?"

Feeling your natural self re-emerging, you throw a playful swat to his arm and scowl at his teasing comment. "You're one to talk! You're basically a workaholic! Besides, you knew who you were marrying when you met me."

Yoongi chuckles and brings both hands to cup your cheeks, squishing them slightly. "A cutie who reads 800-page novels at a basketball game?"

"Stop babying me!" You pull his hands off your cheeks and rub them, trying to regain some composure. "I don't regret my choices, I like books. It's why I'm such a boss at work!"

"Okay, boss," he laughs. "What about what I suggested before then? I can call Mom tomorrow and ask her if she could watch Jia for the day. She'll take her to her playdate, then they can spend the rest of the day together."

It does sound nice, having the whole day with your husband.

"Okay," you agree. "Let's try."

"Good." Yoongi slides his hands down to your hips and pulls you flush against his chest. "How about we seal it with a kiss now?" You nod and he leans his head down, pressing an amazing, tender kiss to your lips. It makes you both giddy on queue.

"Read one more story, Daddy!" Jia leaps off her small, twin bed and bounds for her bookshelf. She lets out a series of giggles when a large pair of hands catch her, lifting her high into the air.

"I already read you three books kid," Yoongi says, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bedtime." He then tucks her into her fluffy comforter, plugs in her teddy bear nightlight, and closes her bedroom door.

The next second, Jia comes running out of her room, latching onto his right leg. "I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna play!" Figures she'd be hyper at this hour.

Yoongi sighs and picks her up. "Daddy told you to go to sleep, it's not playtime. You'll have lots of time for that tomorrow when you get to see your friend." He then carries her into her room, yet she fusses in his arms; thumping her tiny fists into his chest.

"No, no, no, Daddy. I want to play!"

Sighing, Yoongi looks at his child with sharp eyes. "Jia–"

"Hey," you interrupt, entering your daughter's bedroom upon hearing the commotion down the hall. "What's going on?"

"Kid doesn't want to go to bed."

You give an empathetic look and saunter over to the pair, gently taking Jia into your arms. Yoongi places his hands on his hips as he watches you reason with your daughter.

"Jia, you know tomorrow's a big day right? You and Sana are going to go to the playground together." The child nods. "You don't want to be tired when you're playing do you?"

"No..." She shakes her head. "I want to be awake!"

"Then you need to listen to Daddy and go to sleep. That way you'll be full of energy tomorrow when you and Sana go on the swings or slide down all the big slides." You smile as Jia starts rubbing her drowsy eyes, yawning in the process.

"But I...okay," she slowly concedes, eyes fluttering shut as she gives into her sleepy state. Unsurprising to you and Yoongi, she was tired all along. But like most kids, hated going to bed.

"See?" You lay Jia in her bed and pull the covers up near her chin, giving her a light kiss on the side of her head. Yoongi bends down and does the same after you. "You just gotta talk to her a little, she'll typically fall asleep on her own."

"But I read her three of her favorite books." Yoongi shuts off the overhead light, along with the door to Jia's room, and follows you to your bedroom.

"That's different Yoon," you argue back. "Books excite her."

"She takes after you that way then." Yoongi pulls his t-shirt off, leaving him bare-chested, and climbs onto his side of the bed. You join him shortly after with your head resting on his chest and an arm thrown around his waist.

"I'm so exhausted," you yawn.

"Go to sleep, baby. I'm right here." Your husband places a hand over your wrapped arm, sending you off into a deep slumber.

Well this is just ironic. Almost 2 A.M. and you're wide awake.

What initially started as a nice, relaxing dream quickly turned into a terrible nightmare. In the dream, you woke up alone. Yoongi was gone. Jia was gone too. You can't exactly make sense of it, except for a vague memory of Jia calling another woman 'Mom'. You couldn't see her face very well, so it could've been anyone. You couldn't speak either, so even when you tried approaching the three, they couldn't hear you. You've had nightmares plenty of times, but this one is new. It's a clear projection of all the underlying concerns upheaved from earlier; insecurities, abandonment, loss, and it has you unsettled.

You glance over to your husband's side of the bed. He's fast asleep, no longer cuddling you due to you both flip-flopping in your sleep. You decide to slide closer to him, needing to watch him for a while. It might sound weird, but you love watching him sleep. He's so handsome and you feel a great deal of comfort doing so. Maybe if he was awake, you'd tell him about what you dreamt. Then again...maybe not.

"I love you Yoon," you whisper as quietly as you can, tracing his every facial feature with your eyes.

"'m, I love you too."

Is he-was he awake? As if caught red-handed, you quickly flit your face away in favor of the blank ceiling above. You weren't expecting him to answer at all, and in such a hoarse voice too. You're a little turned on by it to be honest.

"Can't sleep?" he speaks up again, eyes still closed.

"No, I''ll be okay though. You can go back to sleep. Don't worry."

He grunts, a tad unhappy with your dismissal of him. "Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?"

You whip your head in his direction. "How–" You pause, seeing his eyes blink open.

"I didn't meet you just yesterday, doll. I know they keep you up. Just know, I'm always here okay? Always." He reaches for you with delicate fingers as he continues. "Now, come here. Seems we got separated in our sleep."

You accept the offer and cuddle into him again. This time your noses nearly touch and his arm wraps around your lower waist. You feel the growing urge to kiss him, wanting to forget your nightmare entirely. But perhaps silly, you ask permission first, seeing as he's close to drifting off again.

"Yoon?"

"Mm."

"Can we kiss?" Your cheeks flush a little at the request. Why are you acting like this? You've been married for years.

"Sure, 'm tired but I could go for a make-out right now." A small smirk graces his lips as he teases you. You give him a classic 'Yoongi!' in reply. "I'm kidding. You don't ever have to ask me that," he finishes.

"Hmm, maybe I don't want a kiss anymore." You feign stubbornness, just to see his response. And a response he gives you, more than you're prepared for.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, capturing your lips in one fell swoop. He moves his lips against yours as the hand on your waist grips tighter. The tiniest of moans escapes your lips.

You attempt to break the kiss first, thinking it will only last for a few seconds. Yet Yoongi slips a hand behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. One that's deeper than the last. You feel your breath being taken away little by little, especially when his tongue licks into your mouth. God, you haven't kissed like this in an eternity. A wetness soon gathers between your thighs.

"'m, Yoon," you gasp when his cool fingers sneakily make their way under your shirt, tickling your bare skin. They travel the expanse of your waist, stomach, and up along your back. "So cold."

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and retracts his fingers. He then lazily moves his body until his chest hovers over your own, rolling you on your back in the process. He's a bit of a blur due to the dimness of the room, yet you can see the whites of his eyes a bit better than before.

"Help me warm them then," he says, folding his hands on top of yours from where they rest on your stomach. "You're really burning up, doll."

His observation is right. Ever since you woke up, you're body's been hotter than normal. The stress is clear and it's only increasing due to the unexpected turn of tonight's events; your husband seemingly wanting to make love to you in the middle of the night.

"So I am," you reply, staring straight into his eyes. "Must be because of all the sudden surprises today. My body's finally responding to it all."

Yoongi nods, following your implication. "Well let's do something to calm it down, shall we?" He waits for your final go before making any abrupt movements.

"But...you haven't seen me–"

"Naked in a while?" he predicts your next words, unfazed. "I've seen it all, each time better than the last because I love you. You're beautiful to me, no matter what. Let me love you __. I've missed you. I've missed us."

"Okay...please," you sigh, desperately needing his touch. "It's been so long since we've been this close."

Neither of you has it in you to delay another second as you dive into another fiery kiss, your hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. You love his hair the most, so you run your fingers through it repeatedly. Your husband's soft grunts remind you that it's as pleasurable for him as it is for you, and as if to counter, he latches his lips to the curve of your neck.

"Yoon," you moan, shivering at the feeling of being peppered in open-mouth kisses. Your eyes automatically roll up as well.

Yoongi nips at your jaw next, featherlike, yet deadly to you nevertheless. He doesn't allow himself to linger more than a second, though, preferring to keep you on your toes. So with careful fingers, he begins lifting the bottom of your shirt.

"Can I?"

You hum in approval and lean forward for him to remove it.

With your nipples now exposed to the brisk air, stiffening due to arousal, Yoongi brings both his hands up to caress your boobs. He's incredibly gentle, telling you how beautiful you are once again until his thumbs start circling your peaked nipples. A rush of sensation shoots up your spine as he rolls them harder, flicking them once in a while.

"Fuck," you swear.

"Feeling good?"

All you do is nod fervently in response, which Yoongi takes as his signal to lower his head to your chest. He squeezes both breasts in his hand before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, licking and sucking relentlessly. He repeats the same to the other.

"Yoongi, I need you. Please." You're core tightens, thighs struggling not to rub together, as you plead with your husband to relieve you. You are so wet and getting wetter.

"I'm here, doll, I got you. Fingers first hm?"

He pushes part of the comforter towards the foot of the bed, then gestures for you to raise your butt. Any shred of mystery of how worked up he's gotten you slip away as he pulls your underwear and pants down your legs. They both get tossed on the floor, per usual.

Bare pussy exposed, Yoongi guides your legs further apart and brings a hand down to your entrance. One of his long, slender fingers traces up your folds so smoothly that you buck your hips upon the touch. He smiles lightly at the subtle response, pleased that you're finally enjoying yourself; too often you put your needs last. His finger slowly sinks into your well-lubricated pussy, velvety walls clenching around it.

"Oh, g-god," you give a shaky moan as his finger pumps and curls in you, stimulating your g-spot. "Need you now, Yoon, so bad."

"Mm not yet, we need to stretch you out. You haven't taken me for a good three or four weeks," he smirks at your eagerness, sliding a second finger next to the first. "This pussy is drenched but not enough. I need you to come. Can you do that for me?"

Fast, quick movements follow suit as your husband works you up to an orgasm. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you chant in near whines. Your pussy is spasming around him, walls tightening with each push and pull. You know when he draws his hand out that it's covered with your come. Messy, sex is messy and both of you are too far gone to care; the pleasure sweeping over you.

Finally, in what feels like an endless tease, you have your first orgasm of the night. You feel your body relaxing into the mattress again, yet your breath remains short. Yoongi, on the other hand, groans seeing your release dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. For a split second, there's a slight darkening in his eyes while he takes in your post-orgasmic form. The two fingers that had been inside you are sensually brought to his lips, slipping between the seam before being cleaned off.

You're taken aback by the action, though you've witnessed it before. Something about watching your husband willingly follow through with a gesture so lewd makes your head spin–you want him to fuck you right this instant. He must share the same feeling because you don't even need to sound the words due to his hands already making quick work of his pants.

"You drive me mad, you know that? Can never get a break with how sweet you taste. Your lips, your come. All of it makes me go mad." His full length comes in view, hard and tip leaking with pre-cum. You try not to let yourself stare at the thickness but hell, you must've forgotten the extent of your husband's size. You don't remember it being this big before.

"Well," you gulp. "You're not making it easy on me either, looking like this."

Yoongi climbs over to you again, settling into a straddled position, and looks deep into your eyes. "Who's fault do you think that is?"

"It's your fault." You bend your legs and wrap them around his mid-section. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance. The anticipation is beyond grueling.

"No," he says, aligning himself up to your weeping hole. "it's yours." He then thrusts his hips forward, his length sinking into you so perfectly it has you completely satisfied.

"Y-Yours," you whimper out, unable to form a steady sentence.

"Fine." He picks up his pace. "Let's just agree we both fuck each other up on a daily---ah fuck!" Yoongi growls and gives you a suspicious look when he feels your pussy suddenly clench around his length.

"I didn't do it on purpose this time! You're fucking me too good is all."

"Really? You're not just teasing me?"

Yoongi is slow to believe since you've purposefully clenched countless times before, simply out of playfulness. Tonight is different than those nights though because you're telling the truth–he's truly fucking you so good.

"What the hell," he concedes. "You feel so fucking fantastic, I don't even care." He continues his movements, thrusting into you with deep groans and labored breaths. His fingers grip the mattress harder with the veins in his neck bulging out.

Both your bodies move in sync as the familiar sound of skin slapping on skin echoes off the walls of your bedroom. You do your best to keep your moans low, not wanting to risk waking up your daughter.

"Yoon, fuck! I need to come, it's gonna-fuck-happen soon," you swear, pussy throbbing at the feeling of being so full after weeks of abstinence. You can tell you're reaching your high with the bundle of nerves in your core threatening to snap at any given moment.

Of course, you're wet too, extremely wet.

"I'm. Nearly. There." He barely sounds the words out, jaw clenching. "Just another minute, and we can finish together."

Your eyes, which haven't left his since he entered you, begin to glass over with tears. It's overwhelming; his love for you. No matter the doubts that tell you the opposite, you can't give in to their ugly lies. You'll continue to struggle, naturally, but you won't ever let them win. Yoongi's never once given up on you, and neither should you.

"I love you, Yoon...I love you with all my soul," you choke the words, falling apart all at once. "I'm sorry for today. How jealous and irrational I got."

"Don't apologize, doll. I shouldn't have let it go so far, our lack of intimacy and alone time. I promise we're going to make it all right okay?"

Giving you one last thrust, you both have your release at the same time. Yoongi helps ride your orgasm out by lazily continuing to grind into you. Yeah, you might need to shower and switch out the sheets after tonight, but you don't regret it one bit.

"In all seriousness baby," Yoongi speaks up, guiding your legs back on the soft mattress until you’re comfortable. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for everything. I understand your feelings and where you were coming from. I will say, the silent treatment kills me though. I'd rather you yell at me than not talk to me at all."

"It's not easy for me to raise my voice like that, Yoon." You throw your arms around his neck and sigh softly. "But I can try talking to you more, or at least tell you I need some time to process before I'm ready to have a conversation. I don't know, am I making sense?"

"Plenty of sense. I'll share more about my day with you and who I'm talking to as well. We'll also carve out time to have together. I love our daughter, but I don't see the harm in reaching out to our friends and family to babysit once in a while."

"Well, this sounds good to me," you hum.

"Me too." Yoongi smiles wide and goes in for another warm kiss. Your eyes flutter shut in unison.

This is what love feels like.

a/n: LMK what you think 🥰

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#yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts imagine #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts au #fic:whatlovefeelslike #kookslastbutton

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appalachiancowboy99 · 2 months ago

Text

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air. Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else.

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

#Thank you for reading - from the bottom of my little Appalachian Heart <3 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan #rdr2 community #grumpy #fluff #arthur morgan rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #rdr #dutch van der linde #molly o'shea #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you

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muxshwriting · 29 days ago

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alone together

Seth Clearwater x reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't realise his own strength. it doesn't usually bother you until you realise that he's leaving something more permanent with his hugs || warnings: bruises, being loved to death, mentions of insecurity (like one sentence), characters aged up to like 18ish || word count: 921 || masterlist

The moment Seth imprinted on you, he knew the rest of his life would be perfect. He'd heard from the others how amazing it felt to find your imprint but no one truly prepared him for when he first saw you. You'd been friends before he shifted but when he saw you again months after that, when he truly saw you, it was like nothing else in the world.

You spent almost every evening at the Clearwater's, your own parents understanding how much Seth meant to you. He quickly became your everything, your day was never good unless you saw him. And your day was never perfect until you were wrapped up in one of his hugs.

"Better?" His arms wrapped around you until they were pressing into your skin. Sometimes you needed to feel like your body wasn't yours, that you and him were one and the same so that his perfectness might rub off on you.

You hum in response, burrowing further into his neck and relishing in his warmth. The pair of you are sitting on the sofa at his house, simply taking time to be with each together without needing to do anything else. "Just a rough day."

His touch sooths you as his comforting weight around your midsection deepens and calms the feeling crawling through your chest. "You wanna talk about it?" His voice is muffled against you but the concern in it has your heart melting.

"No. It's getting better."

"Happy to help."

Almost a week later you're helping Leah bake some cookies for the pack at her house. Seth's out on patrol with a few of the other boys. You lean against the counter before going back to upright with a hiss of pain.

"You okay?"

Your eyes widen as you turn to Leah. "Yeah. It's fine."

"It doesn't sound fine."

"It's just a bruise."

Leah seems to relax that it's not serious. "Oh. How did you bruise your side? Fell off the bike or what?"

You laugh at her suggestion but don't answer the question.

"How'd you do it?"

"Um... It's from Seth."

"From my brother Seth? Your imprint? My little brother Seth?" Leah's face turned cold as her mind ran to the worst possibility.

"Not on purpose!" You're trying to reassure her but it only makes her more suspicious. "I had a rough day at work and stuff ad I just needed him to hold me. But with his wolf strength I guess he hugs a little too tight. I didn't even notice until a couple days ago."

Leah ran her hands through her hair, pulling at it slightly as she processed what she heard. "Does he know?"

"I don't want him to worry. Or not hug me because of it."

"Show me."

Slowly, you pull up the hem of your shirt, revealing the bruised and inflamed skin of your side and bottom of your ribs.

Leah has a sharp intake of breath as she sees the extent on your injury. "We might need to tell my mom about this."

You pull your shirt back down, gently wrapping your arms around you as if to shield yourself. "It's fine." You dismiss.

"It's really not." Leah argues. "Just let her check."

She's not giving in anytime soo so you concede. "Okay. But I don't think she can do anything about it. She's just gonna tell me to put a heat pack on it, which is why I have Seth."

Seth, at that very moment, comes back from patrol and waltzes in. "What do you have me for?" He presses a kiss to your forehead, wrapping an arm around your waist. It takes everything in you to not hiss as he rests his hand on the bruise as Leah raises an eyebrow at you.

"Don't worry about it." You kiss him back, letting you senses be surrounded by him for a moment before Leah clears her throat.

"It's not nothing. Tell him."

Seth, ever oblivious, asks "Tell me what?"

You sigh, reaching for the hem of your shirt but not lifting it yet. "You know how I had a rough day last week?"

"Yeah..."

"And you hugged me really tight cos I asked you to?"

"Yeah."

"It kinda left a bruise. But it's fine! Leah's making it out to be a much bigger deal than it is and all I need is my personal hot water bottle and it'll be healed in no time." You lift the hem of your shirt to show him and Seth immediately starts fussing.

"Babe, this is a big bruise."

"It doesn't hurt that bad." Just at that moment Seth rests his hand on top and you can't stop the groan you let out. "...Only when I touch it."

"I want my mom to look at it."

"That's what I said!" Leah cried.

The two siblings started talking over one another about the best thing to do, whether they should go right now, whether you should even move or if it's best for you to go to bed. Their voices grew louder than just talking and you felt yourself shrinking back from them.

"I'm sorry."

Seth's mood immediately charges as he cups your face. "You don't need to be sorry for anything, okay? I'm sorry I did this to you."

"I don't want you to be sorry."

"Why don't we just go upstairs and cuddle, yeah? More gently this time."

You nod in response.

"Mom can have a look later. Let's just do nothing."

"Do nothing together?"

"Of course."

#seth clearwater x reader #seth clearwater #twilight #twilight x reader #muxsh #muxshwriting

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teratosfavouritesnack · 3 months ago

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"Ishtà-kurme"

husband!orc x chubby!fem!human x husband's sons - orcish mating traditions, your first time with your husband, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, loads of cum, cum eating, family bonding (let's call it like that lol), soft doms, your husband's sons' very first time (just to be very clear, there's NO INCEST here, his sons are not yours), slight language barrier, romantic fluff <3

Your husband needs you to take part in his sons' rite of passage to adulthood.

+12 k.

The long fabrics of your dress brush against the smooth stones on the ground as you walk at a brisk pace towards Mauhul - your Mau. You can feel butterflies stir in your belly, your heart racing in anticipation at the prospect of making love for the first time with your beloved husband.

When he called for you, requesting your presence in his chambers, you felt it in your bones; you would finally consummate your marriage and start your new life together. You’re not sure why it didn’t happen on your wedding night, nobody even mentioned the matter before or during the ceremony. After the festivities, you and Mauhul had simply parted, retiring to your own separate quarters for the night. And you did so for the following nights as well, after spending a lot of time together, snuggling in the sunlight. You had concluded that perhaps the orcs didn’t follow the same customs of your people and so you had tried to not give it too much importance. Sooner or later you would be intimate, that much is certain, and so you went on with your life, hanging out with your husband, deepening your bond, while waiting patiently for that special moment to arrive.

And you think that moment could very well be upon you.

Your hand shakes a little as you push the door to his chambers open. You pictured this moment in your mind so many times: your tall, buff orc lying on his bed, already fully undressed, waiting for you to join him, beckoning you over with an inviting grin on his lips…

The scene you’re presented with, however, is quite different. Your husband stands by the crackling fire, half-naked, in the company of his two sons… who are also half-naked. Loincloths made of animals pelts cover their modesty, leaving the rest fully exposed. Their mighty builds, broad shoulders, massive chests, thick arms and thighs are all in full view, making your eyes widen even further and your now tensed hand linger on the steady surface of the wooden door. Your stunned stare darts from one orc to the next, until it lands on your husband with a silent questioning look.

Mauhul's black eyes instantly light up as they meet your gaze, watching you as you hesitantly stand by the doorway. The chief orc smiles and steps away from the fire to welcome you.

"Ah, my love, come in," he says, extending his hand. His sons, Tarek and Moth - spitting images of their father - watch you as you approach, their dark eyes flitting between you and their parent with a mix of curiosity and something else that you can't quite decipher.

There's some tension in the air that makes you nervous. His sons' presence in his chambers cannot be left to chance. You can sense there's a reason they're here and for you to be here as well, with them.

"We were just discussing something important," your husband says. His movements are fluid despite his immense bulk as he walks towards you.

You try to mask your apprehension as you step closer until you're standing right in front of him. He’s so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.

"W-What… about?" you ask him hesitantly, voice trembling slightly. Your hands fiddle with the drapes of your long dress, the fine fabric creasing under the pressure of your nervous pinches.

"Their coming of age.” His answer is simple, though it makes you uneasy.

Mauhul watches you closely. He senses your discomfort and can see the slight tremors that run through your hands as you toy with the fabric of your dress. His large, calloused hand reaches out to cover yours, stilling your fidgeting. His touch is tender, a stark contrast to his intimidating size and looks.

"Their coming of age?" you repeat, the words heavy on your tongue. Your eyes dart to his sons, who seem to be watching you and their father with bated breath.

"This is a significant rite of passage for them," he states, his voice soft and soothing. "They've grown strong and capable. And I, as their father, must ensure they realize the importance of the role that they're about to hold in the clan," Mauhul adds, his fingers trailing down your arm and raising goosebumps across your skin.

You swallow and blink up at him, puzzled. You're not sure what the implications of his words are or how you fit into this scenario, but you can feel the tension in the room getting heavier and heavier by the second.

Mauhul's free hand goes to rest gently on your chin, tilting it upward so you focus on his eyes, his gaze intense and almost primal.

"And as they approach adulthood, there are certain... traditions that must be observed," he says, his fingertips slowly tracing the line of your jaw, leaving tingles in their wake.

You shudder under his delicate touch, his words making your stomach turn. Your body seems to be catching up on the undertone of this conversation long before your mind.

"W-What sort of traditions?" You inquire cautiously, unsure whether or not you genuinely wish to know.

Mauhul's nostrils flare slightly as he inhales deeply, taking in your scent - a blend of fear, excitement, and innocence that only adds to his yearning.

"There are rituals that mark an orc's transition from young to adult," he says, his voice dropping to a rumble. "Rituals that involve you, my lovely wife. Tonight, you'll be their partner in this rite."

You blink, your eyes widening and flitting to the young orcs before returning upon him. You gaze into your husband's kind eyes, hoping to find some answers into the depths of his dark pools to the myriad of questions spinning inside your mind.

"I..." you stutter, your stomach churning. "I'm afraid I don't u-understand..."

Or perhaps you’re choosing not to understand. The more you think about it, the stranger it all sounds. What kind of partner would he require for his sons' transition from orclings to adults? How could you possibly assist them?

Your breath hitches, your brows furrows. Surely, he doesn't mean...

Your gaze darts back and forth between him and his sons as you subconsciously back away, your mind finally catching up to what has been left unsaid.

"Mau..."

Mauhul's smile fades slightly as he senses your anxiety. He steps forward again, closing the distance between you two, his hand coming up to gently cup your chin, making you look back up at him.

"My love," he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, "This is an important rite for my sons to go through. And you... you have an important part to play in it."

His other hand comes to rest at your hip, gently pulling you closer. "Do you trust me, kisee ?"

Your wide-eyed stare searches his face, with a trace of panic in it. You swallow again, attempting to soothe the furious hammering of your heart, but with little success. The prospect of taking part in such a rite causes your body to oscillate between uneasiness and wicked trepidation.

Of course you trust your Mau, but you're confused by what's being asked of you. You also can't help but think of your unconsummated marriage. If what you assume this rite is about is actually true, does that imply you will be intimate with his sons prior to your own husband? This notion doesn't sit well with you.

"But, Mau... W-what about us? We haven't..." Your voice trails off as you frown up at him.

A faint smile flickers across Mauhul's lips as he watches the plethora of emotions dance across your face. He can see the panic in your eyes, the trepidation, the confusion, and the trust you have in him... all mixed in a beautiful, confusing whirlwind. He leans down, brushing his lips against your ear, his breath warm and soft against your skin.

"I know, mìzaah ," he murmurs, his hand at your hip pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours, "But that will change tonight. I will claim you as my wife, completely, and my sons will be here to witness it."

You gasp sharply at his words, your body instantly warming up. Your hands reach up to tug at his long braid, your wide eyes meeting his again. Now you understand. He has been delaying your intimate union precisely for this moment, precisely for this rite.

You glance back at his sons, looking at the young orcs as if you're seeing them now for the first time. You haven't had time to build a closer connection with them yet, they're almost strangers to you and the mere idea of letting them witness your lovemaking sends your body into a frenzy.

"Will they only... watch... or...?" You express your concerns, dropping your voice so that only your spouse can hear.

Mauhul smirks, clearly aware of your body's reaction to his words and touch. He draws you in closer, his hand on your hip going around your waist and pulling you flush against him. He glances down into your eyes, his gaze glazed over with desire.

"They will watch," he declares, stooping down to whisper in your ear, his breath fanning your skin. "They'll watch as you become entirely mine. Learn from it. And then... join in."

You breathe in sharply once you hear him confirm your worries.

Your fingers dig into his braid, lightly tugging on it. Your wide eyes lock onto his face again, boring deep into his own, seeking confirmation, reassurance... guidance.

His intense but reassuring gaze is fixed on yours, ensuring that intense connection you've become so addicted to.

"Trust me, my love," he murmurs with a deep rumble. "I will guide you through it. You have nothing to fear. And I'll be the one to claim you first. My sons will learn from me... and then they will learn from you, as you please them as well."

His sinful words send chills down your spine as they snake their way through your mind, bringing to life vivid images of the scenario they depict. However, the shivering rapidly gives way to a warmth that pools between your thighs. You can't deny the growing dampness there, or how your nipples harden against the silky fabric of your dress.

Your heart stutters, your body trembles, and your doe eyes gaze straight into his as the words leave your lips in a shaky whisper.

"If this is what you request of me, husband..."

Mauhul nods, his smile broadening, his eyes filled with possessive pride, delighted by your trust and devotion, moved by your willingness to please.

"It is, my love," he replies, lifting his hand to cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "I would never ask this of you unless it was of the utmost importance to our tribe."

He bends down and gently captures your lips in his, his hand on your hip pulling you closer. The tender but meaningful kiss has you melting on the spot and your mind spinning, your lips chasing his even as he moves away.

"You'd honour me... and my sons with your willing participation."

Your gaze lingers on his lips, filled with increasing yearning. Your hand relaxes its grip on his hair, traveling up his torso to rest on his tattoo-covered chest.

"I'll be honored to take part in your tradition," you say softly, your eyes meeting again. "And help your sons in their coming of age."

The sight of your small palm on his chest, your eyes glazed with need, sends a rush of primal satisfaction through Mauhul's veins. His massive hand goes from your face down your neck, tracing the curve of your shoulder before resting on your lower back and pulling you close against his strong body.

"You are... perfect, mìzaah ," he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble, filled with desire and admiration. "Your trust and willingness please me greatly. And my sons... they will be grateful to you as well. They will know what it means to honour a woman... to worship a woman as she should be worshipped."

His remarks, praises, and probing hands make your body tingle, and your cheeks flush crimson with heat. A soft hum escapes your lips as your hand glides from his chest to his cheek, stroking it lovingly.

Mauhul closes his eyes for a moment, savouring the gentle gesture. When he reopens them, they are filled with a burning longing. His hand on your back squeezes, bringing you closer.

"We shall begin the ritual, then," he announces, his voice thick with lust.

He glances over his shoulder to his offspring, who are still standing by the fire, observing the two of you with ardent looks. "Come closer, sons."

Your gaze shifts to the two young orcs as he urges them closer. Your eyes rake over their forms, taking them in. It's equally odd and comforting that they resemble their father so much... Although, given your understanding of what is about to occur and their role in it, you can't help but flush in embarrassment at the sight of them.

As the lads approach, their steps slow but deliberate, Mauhul returns his gaze to you, his hand firmly spread across your hip. Your stomach flips under his possessive touch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your belly from above the fabrics of your dress.

"Kneel, boys." he gruffly instructs.

You watch in amazement and awe as they drop obediently at your feet. Their gazes are keen and fascinated as they take in your smaller stature while towering over your frame even as they stand on their knees.

Mauhul instead moves to stand tall behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist, possessively holding you close while his free hand traces idle patterns along the curve of your thigh. Seeing you marvel at his sons then look up at him expectantly, uncertainty clear in your expressive eyes, he gives you a reassuring nod and a warm, indulgent smile. His eyes glow with pride and affection for you. You're such a delicate creature compared to his burly sons, to his burly self as well, yet here you are, ready to undertake this crucial task for his family.

"This is their chance to admire you properly," he explains quietly, leaning down to murmur in your ear, "to appreciate the beauty and delicacy of the female form... before they learn to ravish and conquer it."

His large hand trails lightly up your side, brushing the outer swell of your breast before cupping the back of your neck in a gesture that feels both protective and possessive. He draws your head back so you can meet his piercing black gaze without straining your neck.

"They must show proper respect first and look upon you..." his gravelly voice drops to a conspiratorial purr, "...upon your pure unveiled beauty.”

You shiver at his purr and look up at your husband as if mesmerized. Your lips part but do not form words. You simply nod your head in consent, ready - as if you could ever be ready for something like this - to do whatever he asks of you. Your body suddenly grows too hot under the fabric of your dress.

With a satisfied grunt, Mauhul allows himself a moment to admire how beautifully you submit yourself to the situation - your eagerness to please him evident in every trembling breath and flustered blush painting your delicate features. Then, with a firm but gentle tug, he begins to untie the laces at the back of your gown, his fingers deftly working the knots of your bodice loose.

"Mmh. You wore your best dress for this, kisee …" he murmurs appreciatively, his breath warm against your skin as he exposes more of your delicate flesh inch by tantalizing inch.

"Oh..." a soft gasp escapes your lips at his praise. You did choose this dress in the hopes he would take his time peeling it off of you. Your eyes flicker to your bodice coming undone and pooling at your wide hips. A red shade dusts your cheeks as you briefly glance at the two orcs kneeling before you, noting how hungrily they are drinking in the newly exposed sight, before you bashfully avert your gaze and bite down on your lip.

Mauhul chuckles deeply, amused by your modest reaction despite the situation. His rough hand slides up from your thigh to rest on the bulge of your soft belly, pressing your body closer to his towering form.

“You've got nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures you in a rumbling tone, tracing the edge of the fabric that now clings loosely to your curves. “They are honoured to witness such beauty.

“And so am I.”

With a final yank, Mauhul pulls the gown completely off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet. You stand now before him, clad only in a simple linen shift that does little to hide the enticing curves of your body. Your breasts strain against the thin fabric, nipples hardening in the humid air of the hut.

His sons' hungry gazes drink in every detail of your exposed form, their breathing growing heavier as they marvel at the contrast of your delicate features and petite frame against the robust, muscular build of their father, standing behind you like a looming shadow.

Your instincts urge you to press your thighs together and lean back against your husband's chest, as if seeking shelter. You refrain however from draping your arms across your torso to conceal your obvious arousal, visible even from beneath the linen shift. You keep your gaze away, a bashful look engraved on your face, yet you still try to catch his boys' gazes, ashamed albeit curious about their reactions. It's strange; deep down, you actually want his sons to like you so as to please your husband, to make him proud.

“You needn't be coy with them, my love” he purrs, grazing his tusks along the sensitive skin of your throat. “They hunger for you, just as I do.”

Turning your face toward his, Mauhul captures your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue and staking his claim for all to see. When he finally breaks away, he looks down at your flushed face with satisfaction, noting how dazedly you meet his heated gaze.

“You please me greatly,” he whispers, his hands trailing up your arms, his calloused fingers gently peeling the strands of your shift down the curve of your shoulders. “And you’re about to please me even more.”

You feel a rush of satisfaction as you hear the praise. Your hooded eyes are fixed on his dark, mesmerizing pools. A soft, fond smile blooms on your lips as you keep staring up at your spouse, as if he is the beacon you follow, while he undresses you entirely.

As the last threads of fabric fall away, exposing your full form to his hungry gaze, Mauhul lets out a low, approving rumble. The sight of your delicate skin bathed in firelight is enough to stir the beast within. His sons' eyes widen in unison, relishing the sight of your creamy, supple curves.

“Beautiful…”, he mutters reverently, his gaze roving over every inch of your exposed flesh. From the swell of your breasts, down to the soft narrowness of your waist, to the roundness of your hips and thighs – each part molded with flawless generosity.

Mauhul reaches around to cup one of your breasts, his calloused palm enveloping the soft mound. He thumbs your hardened nipple, eliciting a startled moan from your parted lips.

“And so responsive too,” he praises, his voice dripping with adoration. “Such a treasure to behold and claim.”

His sons watch, transfixed, as Mauhul continues to fondle and tease your sensitive breasts.

Your body arches against his under his eager touch. Soft moans leave your lips in appreciation, your skin tingling all over and rising with goosebumps. Your thighs squeeze together again, this time to create friction for the ever-growing ache in your core. This is the first time your husband touches you in such an intimate way and you're already lost in the pleasure his warm, rough palm brings you. You almost forget his sons are watching and are soon to witness their father claim you as his.

Feeling your thighs clamp together, Mauhul chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest and against your ear. His grip on your breast tightens, squeezing the soft flesh firmly as he watches you react.

“So impatient, aren't we?” he teases, pinching your nipple harder, drawing another sweet moan from your plump lips. “But we mustn't rush things, my love. This will be a long night.” his growl vibrates against your skin. “I will savour you and make sure you remember this night for the rest of your days. Just as my sons and I will.”

His free hand moves lower, skimming across your soft stomach until it finds its way to the moist heat between your thighs. As his fingers delve into your slick folds, he finds your swollen clit, circling it slowly.

The moment his thick fingers meet your nub, your breath hitches sharply and your whole body jolts in pleasure, knees buckling under your weight. Your head falls back against his broad chest and your eyes flutter closed.

A guttural groan escapes Mauhul as he feels how wet you are already. His thumb rubs your clit faster, coaxing more sounds of delight from your quivering lips. His other hand squeezes and kneads your breast, tweaking the nipple roughly between his thumb and forefinger. With your back pressed against his front, Mauhul can easily feel every little response to his touch. Your walls clench around nothing, desperate for something to fill them. He groans deeply, feeling his own desire spike at the thought of taking you, finally claiming what’s his.

“See? Such a responsive little thing you are”, he murmurs into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive lobe. “You were made for me, weren't you?”

He continues to circle your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm. His other hand leaves your breast, tracing down your side before gripping onto your thigh firmly and lifting it, stretching your cunt. In this position, his touch feels even more intense, the thrills of pleasure coursing through your body are even sharper.

His sons watch, enraptured, as Mauhul's large fingers work magic on your quivering flesh.

With practised ease, he begins to rub faster, applying pressure that sends shockwaves of delight through your body. Your cries fill the air, mingling with the crackling fire and his son's heavy breathing.

"Oh, Mau-!" you whimper, writhing against his chest, hips seeking and at the same time trying to evade his greedy fingers.

Hearing his name fall so sweetly from your lips only fuels Mauhul's desire further. His movements become more purposeful, and relentless. He presses two thick digits inside your slick warmth, relishing the way you cling to him.

“You like that, do you?” he asks gruffly, curling his fingers upwards to stroke against your innermost walls.

The boys continue to watch in reverent silence, their eyes wide with fascination and barely concealed lust. Seeing their father take you so eagerly only serves to inflame their own arousal. Their erections already strain painfully against their loincloths, yearning for release.

Mauhul adds another finger, stretching your tight pussy even wider. Each thrust sends ripples of pleasure through both him and you.

You writhe against his firm body, your walls throbbing around his thick fingers stretching you out. Your hooded eyes look up, searching his gaze as you pant heavily. You can feel a hot pleasure coil in your lower belly, and your legs twitching more and more as the climax gets closer. The squelching sound his fingers produce by pumping in and out of your wet cunt drowns out every other noise.

Mauhul's eyes burn with primal hunger as he watches you lose yourself to the sensations he's creating. Your needy whimpers and the sight of your succumbing to his touch are intoxicating. Feeling your impending orgasm, Mauhul quickens his pace, driving his fingers deeper and faster. His thumb still circles your clit relentlessly, pushing you closer to the edge.

“That's it, cum for me,” he urges in a deep rumble. “Come apart on my fingers like the good little wife you are.”

He pistons his digits in and out of you rapidly, each thrust hitting that special spot inside you. Mauhul's own need is becoming unbearable, his cock throbbing painfully in his loincloth, pressing against your spine.

His words send you hurtling over the edge. Your pussy clenches tightly around his fingers as you cry out, your body spasming with the force of your orgasm. Mauhul keeps pumping, milking you for every drop of your release and you almost feel yourself faint from the overwhelming pleasure you experience. Heavy and loud pants fall from your parted lips as you sag against him, nearly dropping on the ground when your knees give out under you.

Feeling you come undone on his hand elicits a growl of satisfaction from Mauhul. He revels in the way your body trembles and in the vice-like grip of your spasming pussy around his fingers. He slows his motions, letting you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm and holding you steady, one strong arm hooked around your middle to keep you from falling.

As you regain some semblance of control over your limbs, Mauhul withdraws his fingers from your dripping pussy with a lewd squelch and brings them up to his mouth, where he laps at them hungrily. A low grunt escapes him at the salty-sweet flavour, fueling his desire even more.

Slowly, deliberately, he sinks to his knees behind you and pulls you close, letting you lean your whole weight on him, your ass pressed against the upper side of his chest, your arm latched around his shoulders. He prays your trembling legs open again, holding your thigh up with his forearm and allowing his sons a perfect view of your glistening sex.

"Behold," he announces reverently, "the most precious prize. My wife’s sweet honey."

He dips his fingers in your juices again, splaying them all over his palm, then presents it to his sons’ hungry gazes, stretching his fingers to display your sticky essence.

“Why don’t you give them a little taste, hm my love?”

His free hand nudges your own and your hooded eyes flicker to his face. Your mind is still hazy after your intense release and you struggle to register his words.

Seeing your confusion, Mauhul takes your small hand in his massive one and guides it towards your soaked folds. His sons' eager eyes follow the movement, drinking in the sight of your delicate fingers coated in your own arousal.

“Let them taste you,” he explains, his voice a low rumble. “Feed them.”

With Mauhul's encouragement, you hesitantly extend your fingers towards the boys. They hungrily lean in, their tongues darting out to lick at your sticky digits. Moans of pleasure escape their lips as they savour your unique flavour.

Your chest heaves with a shuddering breath upon feeling their avid tongues swirl around your fingers. The haze in your mind is slowly fading and the realization of what is happening has you blushing all over again, especially as you notice how their eyes remain locked on yours, watching your reaction intently.

Noticing your blush, Mauhul smirks, pleased to see such a response from you. The sight of his sons worshipping your fingers like precious gems is incredibly arousing. He can't help but let out a satisfied groan, the sound vibrating against your back. He leans into your neck, whispering words meant only for your ears.

“Enjoy this, mìzaah . This is how you deserve to be treated – to be worshiped like a goddess.” His voice is a rough purr, filled with promise and intent.

Mauhul slips his hand up to cup and squeeze your breasts, thumb brushing over your hardened nipples. Shifting a little on his knees, he gently pushes your thighs wider apart. Your folds glistening wetly, inviting and tantalizing. His gaze shifts back to his sons, still licking and sucking thirstily at your fingers.

“Do you want more?” he questions them, voice laden with promise. Their nods and hums of approval are quick to follow and you can see their pupils dilate at the inviting sight of you stretched out so open for them. They glance back at their father, seeking his confirmation before they crawl forward, almost bumping their heads against each other in their eagerness to taste your juices directly from the source.

“Careful boys, there’s enough for the both of you.” he teases with a hearty chuckle, playfully squeezing your thighs as you whimper at the contact of their greedy tongues meeting your sensitive pussy.

Mauhul’s presence is large and imposing, yet his touch remains gentle as he helps you maintain balance while the boys worship your cunt. Their tongue action intensifies, their slurping sounds echoing in the room and their excitement palpable.

Looking down at them adoringly, he speaks in an authoritative tone, “Clean her properly, make sure you get all of her precious nectar.” His eyes land back on your face and an amused grin spreads on his face. “It will make you grow even stronger.”

Your arm squeezes tighter around his neck, seeking his grounding presence as his sons make you squirm and writhe against their tongues. Your head drops against his, your cheek pressing over his own, your shallow breaths fanning his skin.

The boys listen attentively to their father's instructions, their tongues swirling and probing deeper into your slick entrance. Mauhul's laughter rumbles through him, vibrating against your ear and sending pleasant tingles down your spine.

Watching his sons work diligently on pleasuring you only fuels Mauhul's own desires further. He can't help but let his eyes roam over your curves appreciatively, taking in every quiver and gasp that leaves your lips. With deliberate slowness, he slides his hand down from your breasts to trace along the side of your hips.

"Look how beautiful you are," he murmurs huskily. "My wife… my treasure."

His touch is tender yet possessive as he runs his rough fingertips across your soft skin, outlining each curve like he’s memorizing them.

The combination of your husband’s praises and reverent touches and his sons’ eager mouths sucking and lapping at you is too much to bear. A series of ever louder mewls fall from your lips, your grip tightening on Mauhul’s neck, as you feel another overwhelming orgasm crash onto you. Your body contorts sharply and your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure blinds you.

"That's it, my love," he coos, his voice a soothing rumble. "Let go, let us take care of you."

The boys continue to lap at you, prolonging your bliss until you finally start to come down. As your tremors subside, they look up at their father with proud, satisfied grins, their faces smeared with your essence, their cheeks flushed and chests rising and falling rapidly due to their exertions.

“Good pups.” Mauhul looks at them fondly before turning his attention back to you. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense, dark gaze. "Aren’t they good pups, hm?”

You're still trying to ease your breathing as your heavy-lidded eyes meet his. You barely have the force to nod your head but take a deep breath and glance lazily at his sons, wishing to praise them for how amazing they made you feel. "G-Good pups..." you manage to say in a breathless and shaky voice.

A pleased smile curls at the corners of Mauhul's mouth, delighted by your response.

“You heard her, boys?”

The pride in Mauhul's eyes is unmistakable and so is the reverent awe in his sons’.

He gives your chin a gentle squeeze before releasing it. His gaze never wavers from yours, filled with a depth of affection and possession that sends warmth spreading through your entire being.

"Now, we show them how a true mate submits to her husband... and how a true husband worships his mate."

With a swift motion, Mauhul grabs hold of your hips firmly, and hoists himself up from the ground, bringing you up with him as well. He cradles you in his arms like a precious treasure and carries you towards the centre of the room, where the firelight casts long shadows across the ground.

"And you, my sons," he addresses the boys over his shoulder, "watch carefully and learn. This is what it means to belong to someone."

With that said, Mauhul lies you down on the furs, positioning you right in the middle. The boys watch their father with wide-eyed fascination as he eases himself down on top of you. There's an air of expectation and anticipation amongst you all – eager for whatever comes next.

Your hooded eyes are locked onto him, unwavering from his towering muscular form; they lazily roam over his bare chest, lashes drooping slowly as you breathe deeply, still trying to regain control of your pounding heart. Yet, it is difficult for you to prevent your heart from stuttering at the sight of your handsome partner and the prospect of what he is, finally, going to do to you. You melt into the warm, soft furs beneath you, your tender body still trembling from the unparalleled ecstasy you've just experienced. Your hair is scattered all around your head, and your thighs are clamped together, curling lazily on top of one other. All the while, your eyes marvel at him.

A low growl escapes from deep within Mauhul's throat as he hovers above you, his massive form casting a shadow over yours. He reaches out with one hand, tracing the delicate curve of your jawline with his calloused fingers before cupping your cheek gently.

"You are so beautiful, my love," he whispers, his voice low and husky with desire. "I could stare at you forever..."

Slowly, deliberately, he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It's a kiss filled with passion, hunger, and adoration. His tongue delves into your mouth, tangling with yours in a slow sensual dance as he explores every inch of your mouth. When he pulls away, his breath mingles with yours, and his eyes burn with a smouldering intensity.

“Feel me”, he whispers hoarsely, his hot breath sending chills down your spine. His hands gently take hold of yours, guiding them to his taut muscular chest. “I am your protector, your provider, your lover.”

Your hands reverently plane over his muscles, lingering over his heart, feeling its steady beat under your palm and his muscles flexing beneath your touch. Your eyes rake over his body, taking in his powerful physique, each mark on his skin telling a story of triumphs and failures. You bask in his warmth and the trepidant feeling buzzing within you. You're about to finally consummate your wedding with your husband, to be united with him in the most intimate and primal way. You don't even think about his sons watching you anymore, it's as if there's nobody else in the room but you and your beloved.

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes sparkle with pure devotion. The flickering flames of the fire are reflected in your big doe eyes, looking up at him so earnestly and expectantly.

There’s no mistaking the tenderness emanating from Mauhul’s touch as he lets go of your hands and begins tracing patterns along your exposed curves - mapping out every part of your body as if he has already learnt every curve and dip by heart.

His large hands slide down your sides, then grip your waist firmly, lifting you slightly to position your buttocks on his thighs. He captures your lips in another heated kiss as he presses his hardness against your core. He grinds slowly, relishing the sweet friction and the gasp that escapes your lips.

Your body arches instinctively into his touch. You are so ready, so wet, so incredibly eager for him.

With a tug he strips off his loincloth, revealing his fully erect cock to your hungry gaze. It stands tall and thick, a golden ring sitting at the base, its rosy head dripping with pre-cum, a visible testament to his keen arousal.

Your eyes widen at the sight of it, at its veiny-mapped look and mighty size which seems to stir something within your very core, a thrill running down your spine straight to your throbbing sex. There’s a hint of apprehension now clouding your gaze too, your body tenses just thinking of his thick, lengthy cock shoving its way into your hole.

“Trust me,” he murmurs as if sensing your concern, his voice rough yet reassuring. “I would never harm you.”

You nod and bury your hands in the furs at your sides as you brace yourself for what's coming next, anticipating both pain and pleasure. But he takes hold of your hands again, holding them tight in his warm palm, settling them on your lower belly. His eyes bore deeply into yours, engulfing you with a soothing warmth that permeates your whole body.

He lifts your legs higher with his free hand, spreading them wide across his hips as he aligns himself with your slick entrance. With deliberate slowness, he pushes in – just enough to breach that tight barrier, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch until he's buried balls-deep inside you, the golden ring is cool against your hot flesh. His eyes never leave yours.

Your walls stretch to accommodate him and clench tightly around his shaft. A groan rips from deep within his throat, pleasure coursing through his veins at this first intimate connection with his wife, as he feels how snug you are around him – how perfectly you fit him.

Mauhul drinks in the sight of you, his pupils dilating at the raw emotion shining in your eyes. He feels a surge of possessiveness and protectiveness wash over him, knowing that this precious beauty belongs to him now, body and soul.

Your body is shaken by faint tremors, your muscles tense, your walls throbbing around his unmoving length. Your locked eyes say everything about your connection, and the way he's gazing down at you, holding your hands and pulsating within your walls makes you feel so utterly... loved.

He holds still for a longer moment, savouring the incredible feeling of being completely enveloped by your warmth and tightness. His heavy lids briefly drift closed as he revels in the blissful sensations, letting out a low, rumbling moan.

A few beats pass, and then with a guttural grunt, he begins to move, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back into your welcoming heat. He sets a slow, deep rhythm, relishing each stroke as he fills you again and again, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with a lewd sound.

His gaze never departs from your own, drinking in the play of emotions dancing across your face – the initial tension giving way to relaxation, to acceptance, to growing pleasure. He can feel you responding to him, your inner muscles rippling around his shaft, urging him deeper.

"You are truly mine now," he growls, punctuating each word with a powerful stroke. His hand tightens on yours as he picks up speed, driving into you with increasing urgency, chasing the blissful release you both crave. “And I am yours. Completely.”

Shivers of pleasure consume every cell in your body as he thrusts in and out of you at the most tantalizing and blissful speed. You can feel his length sink deep into you under your palms resting on your lower belly, where his hand keeps them still as if aiming to make you feel even more connected to him. "Mauhul, ohh... gods-" you whimper breathlessly, your eyes crossing slightly as the pressure in your stomach mounts.

The sound of your sweet cries spurs him on and he increases his tempo, pounding into you with relentless fervour, driven by primal urges and a deep need to claim you thoroughly. His hips slam against yours with each powerful thrust, the force sending jolts of pleasure radiating outward from your joining point.

He can tell you're nearing your peak, your moans turning to breathy cries of ecstasy, your hips bucking against his to meet each of his powerful thrusts. His strong arms wrap around your smaller frame, dwarfing you, and making you arch against his body. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his hot mouth, sucking hard on your sensitive button as he continues to plunge into you with unyielding force, setting a relentless pace designed to drive you wild with pleasure.

The dual stimulation sends shockwaves through you, intensifying the throbbing contractions of your pussy around his cock. Your hands reach out to grab onto something, finding his thick biceps. His muscles flex and ripple beneath your fingers as he drives into you with abandon, the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh filling the air.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, watching intently as tears well up in your eyes due to the overwhelming sensations. Pride, satisfaction, and adoration mingle together in his penetrating gaze.

“Come for me, mìzaah ,” he urges, his voice husky with desire. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock as you come undone.” He rocks into you harder, faster, seeking that perfect spot inside you to send you over the edge.

His lips leave your nipple to trail searing kisses along your jawline, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there as his cock drills relentlessly into your slick folds. He reaches down with one large hand to press firmly against your clit, rubbing the swollen bud in time with his thrusts, intent on throwing you over the edge into a shattering climax.

And he does push you to the brink of madness, sending your body convulsing against him, with cries of ecstasy tumbling out of your parted lips. Your walls clench tighter around him, milking his throbbing shaft, drawing him closer to his own peak.

He revels in the sensation of total possession, feeling you unravel beneath him. His grip tightens on your curves, dragging you along the slippery fur bed as he seeks out every last drop of pleasure from your coupling.

With a savage roar, he tightens his arms around you and buries himself to the hilt, his shaft pulsing as he erupts inside you, flooding your womb with his hot seed. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he loses himself in the all-consuming bliss of your joining. For long moments, he remains buried deep, savouring the aftershocks and the feeling of your still-clenching warmth around him, while you’re lost in a haze of ecstasy.

You’re still panting heavily, feeling thoroughly spent as your hooded eyes slowly regain focus, landing on your husband, taking in his dishevelled state, his sweaty skin, his long black braid draped over his shoulder, his blissful expression... and you feel your lips curl up into a lazy but content smile.

As the waves of pleasure recede, leaving behind a sense of profound satisfaction he pulls out slowly, allowing his spent length to slide free from your clenching walls with a wet pop. The sight of his cum dripping down your thighs and tainting the furs elicits a primal satisfaction from him, a grin spreading across his features.

“Mmh, ùmah (mine),” he coos racously, brushing a calloused thumb over your slick folds, smearing his seed over your soft skin and pushing it back inside your walls. He draws lazy circles around your clit, teasing it gently until you flinch away in protest, still too sensitive to touch.

His eyes roam hungrily over your flushed skin, the sheen of sweat glistening on every curve and valley. His fingertips proudly trace over the mark he's left on your breast with his tusks, as though claiming ownership of your body once more. His fingers then trail back downwards, following the gentle slope of your stomach until reaching the apex of your thighs. He gives your mound a playful smack, chuckling deeply when you squeal in surprise.

His laughter is rich and full, echoing off the stone walls of his chamber as he teases you mercilessly with gentle slaps and pokes, enjoying the way you squirm and writhe beneath his touch, and the lazy breathless giggles that escape your lips. He leans down, planting a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your lower belly and inner thigh. Reaching the apex of your legs, he parts your folds with his thumbs, exposing your sensitive pink flesh to the humid air of the room. His nose brushes against your sex, inhaling deeply the intoxicating scent of your arousal mixed with his own essence.

"Mmm, you smell like spring," he growls appreciatively, before he moves lower on the furs, spreading your thighs wide with his massive hands. His tongue darts out, flicking across your wetness in a slow swipe, tasting your juices mingled with his own.

“And you taste like victory,” he declares, dipping his head further between your legs to feast upon your sweetness. Each lick is drawn out, each suckle meant to draw forth another whimper of delight from your quivering form.

His onslaught on your still sensitive bundle of nerves has you wriggling and trashing on the furs, soft strained whimpers falling from your mouth, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging meekly on it. But suddenly you freeze, your heavy eyes landing on the two figures kneeling just a few feet away from you. His sons. How could you forget that you had an audience? They have been watching you coupling as part of their rite! Lost as you were to pleasure you didn't pay them any mind. But now, all at once, your husband's words rush back into your mind, bursting through the fog that has been numbing it. "My sons will learn from me... and then they will learn from you, as you please them as well." Your cheeks flush crimson again at the realization, and they only get hotter when you notice the massive bulges under their loincloths and the way their bodies tremble as if they're about to explode.

Mauhul feels you tense up and follows your startled gaze to where his sons kneel nearby. A low rumble emanates from his chest, somewhere between amusement and paternal pride at the sight of them, so aroused and fascinated by the act of mating. He knows they're learning valuable lessons today, about the power of desire, the thrill of conquest, and the depths of passion that can exist between husband and wife.

“Ah, look at them,” he says, his deep voice laced with mirth. “Look how much they enjoyed watching us. They've learned much about how to please their future mates.”

He shifts, laying beside you, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at your form sprawled languidly on the furs. His rough fingers trace the curve of your hip gently before resting on your plump belly, feeling it rise and fall with each ragged breath you take.

With a nod, he gestures for his boys to come closer, his voice low and commanding. “Approach, lads. Come to claim your new status.”

You watch in both apprehension and trepidation as his sons scramble forward eagerly, their cocks straining against their loincloths as they reach your side. The youngest, Moth, looks a tad more composed, although his breathing is uneven and quick, betraying his internal turmoil. Beside him, Torak appears visibly shaken; beads of perspiration trickling down his forehead, his normally resolute countenance displaying palpable trepidation. Yet both share the common hunger, the craving to experience such carnal intimacy like their father just has, guided by instinct and nature's demands. None move into action, waiting for their father to give them instructions.

Mauhul watches his sons approach, noting the mix of excitement and nervousness etched on their faces. He feels a surge of pride seeing them so eager to claim their place as adults, to follow in his footsteps and assume their roles as warriors and protectors and fathers.

He leans down, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, before sitting up straighter and addressing his offspring.

"Torak, first," he simply states while directing his attention to his eldest son. His tone exudes authority, demanding utter compliance, to which the firstborn responds by taking a tentative step forward, his large hands fumbling with the leather ties that hold his loincloth in place. The material drops away easily, revealing his throbbing cock, fully erect and pulsating with unspent lust.

Your sight settles on his veiny meat, and you linger there for a moment. It's not nearly as large or long as his father's, but it bends slightly upward, giving it a wicked look that makes your walls flutter.

Mauhul glances at you, your face showing signs of nervousness mingled with lustful curiosity – the perfect mix for this particular scenario. There’s something intensely satisfying about watching his family unite like this, bonding through tradition.

“Show her what you’ve learned,” his voice booms through the room, filled with pride and expectation.

Torak’s hands tremble slightly as he reaches out to cup one of your breasts. His touch is tentative at first, unsure, but quickly gains confidence under his father's approving gaze and your soft hums. He leans down, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand continues to knead the other breast.

Watching his eldest son attend to you stirs something primal within Mauhul, a surge of possessiveness mixed with satisfaction. He leans back on his heels, allowing Torak space to explore and learn while keeping a protective eye on the proceedings.

A smirk plays on his lips as he watches the young orc's tentative touches blossom into confident caresses, spurred on by your moans and the way you arch your back, offering yourself further to his son’s attentions.

You bite onto your bottom lip to muffle your moans as you feel the young orc’s hand travel along your stomach and slide between your thighs. Your lashes flutter and your head cranes slightly to the side to search your husband’s gaze. One of your hands reaches out as well, seeking contact with him. Your fingers find his thigh, resting near your head, and dig slightly into his tight flesh.

Mauhul meets your gaze, his eyes burning with intensity as he allows you to ground yourself through the touch. He covers your hand with his own, holding it firmly against his thigh, the contact a reminder of your connection amidst the sea of new sensations washing over you. His other palm comes up to brush stray hair from your sweat-dampened brow, tucking them behind your ear tenderly.

His voice is a low rasp when he speaks, meant only for your ears. "That's it, kisee . Let yourself feel everything. Remember, my sons are learning from you too - teach them well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, his words igniting a fresh wave of arousal but also a deep sense of responsibility. You think you realize now how important this moment is. How meaningful your role is in this rite. And so you brush aside the lingering awkwardness you feel towards this unorthodox orcish tradition, releasing your inhibitions to try and take on the duty your husband has bestowed on you.

Your free hand moves down towards Torak’s head to gently stroke his long dark hair tied in decorative braids, your fingers weaving carefully in his loose roots.

“You’re doing good, Torak.” you praise him softly, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "Don't be afraid to touch me as you wish." Your stomach flutters when you see the young orc look up at you in a mix of shock and awe, then the instant glint of confidence that flashes across his eyes before he lets his fingers brush against your wet folds and rub around your entrance. His eyes are locked onto yours to gauge your reactions. You moan and nod at him in approval, your hands tightening their relative hold on Torak's hair and your husband's palm.

Mauhul's grip on your hand also tightens reflexively as he watches his eldest son gain courage from your encouragement. Pride swells in his chest, not just for Torak's growing boldness, but for your poise and grace in guiding his son. You embrace your role as a mentor with a natural instinct that takes his breath away.

The sight of Torak's fingers disappearing into your slick heat sets Mauhul's blood aflame, but as much as he longs to join you and stake his claim once more, he knows he has to wait. This is his sons’ moment and he won’t rob them of it. Instead, he leans in close to your ear, his hot breath fanning across your neck as he murmurs, "Such a good mate you are. My precious little wife… helping my sons become Shakran’z. "

Your heart leaps at his words, your languid gaze flickering up to briefly meet his eyes before you lock it onto his firstborn’s expectant look once more. Your fingers curl around the end of his braid, gently pulling on it. Your attention seems to spur him on, leading him to push his thick fingers inside your already thoroughly stretched and naturally lubed entrance. He’s still slightly hesitant in his actions, but you smile at him and roll your hips against his hand, to reassure him that he’s on the right path. “Yes, like that, Torak. Curl your fingers…”

Mauhul delights in the spectacle before him: you, the precious gem of his tribe, deflowering his young in service of mating traditions, but with all the grace and love of someone who genuinely cares for those they guide. It ignites a fire within him unlike anything else.

"That's it, Torak," his voice breaks through the silent haze of lust that fills the hut, gruff yet filled with paternal pride. "Please your mate before you claim them."

His father's words further encourage Torak to be more confident in his actions. His fingers curl and start to slide in and out of you, teasing that spongy area inside of you that has you instantly moaning in pleasure. His other hand moves to your lower belly, positioning his thumb over your clitoris just like he has seen his father do earlier. The pad of his thumb draws uneven circles on your swollen nub, managing to elicit shivers to run through your body.

Your head falls back on the furs, your body writhing and arching under his ministrations. Your palm tightens on Mauhul's hand and he squeezes it back as he watches intently, drinking in every detail of your shared intimacy. The flush spreading across your cheeks, the way your breasts rise and fall rapidly with each moan escaping your lips, the sway of your hips matching Torak's rhythm.

"Good boy," he praises Torak, his voice rough with need. "Make sure she’s ready for you... Make her cum..."

A whimper falls from your lips as Torak quickens his movements, wanting to take you over the edge just as his father said. Your hips buck against his hand, your eyes squeeze shut as you feel that pressure growing in your lower belly all over again.

"Yes... Oh... Yes..." you encourage him, cradling his braid in your shaky fingers until you can't take it anymore and start to convulse in pleasure, a muted scream falling from your parted lips.

You don't have time to recover, however, because feeling your walls clench around his fingers has sent Torak's hunger to the roof. His instincts kick in, overpowering his lack of experience. His eagerness to finally claim his maturity is so deep and ardent that he grabs his cock and pushes it inside you while you're still spasming.

"Oh! Gods!!" you cry out, eyes widening in shock and landing on Torak's hips just as they start to move back and forth with an erratic and disjointed pace that makes your whole body shake and jiggle.

With a low growl, Mauhul witnesses as his eldest plunges into you. Watching as his progeny claims you with his throbbing cock brings forth memories that burn bright within his chest - his own rite of passage decades ago, the impatience of youth, the yearning, the awake of his primal instincts, the overwhelming sensation of completeness, the deep-seated need fulfilled. Your pleasure-laden screams fill the air, mixing with his son’s huffs, setting off an echo of past bliss inside him.

“Easy now,” he growls soothingly through clenched teeth, giving his son a pointed look, to which Torak immediately responds by steadying his thrusts, even if only barely. Since the start of the rite, he’s felt his length throb maddeningly, an ache which only worsened as he watched his father claim his wife. And now that he is finally inside you, he can't hold back any longer. His grunts become louder, his eyes squeeze closed and his warm palms grab onto your hips as he plunges deeper inside you, seeking his first release. Release that comes quickly and overwhelmingly, with hips bucking erratically against yours as his hot seed fills your channel.

Your stunned gaze flashes towards your husband, searching his face, silently questioning if his son was supposed to cum inside you. The proud look etched onto Mauhul's face is enough to convince you that Torak's did exactly what was expected of him. You feel his palm squeeze yours as he cups his son’s jaw, drawing his hooded eyes on him.

"Let it be known," he declares in a loud, clear voice which echoes through the room, "That Torak, my firstborn, has finally become a Shakran .”

The sound of Torak’s shallow breaths mingling with the crackling of the fire and the gazes of the three orcs so full of intensity and pride creates an atmosphere that is both raw and sacred. You don’t even dare to breathe as you lie there on the furs, your mind spinning and walls twitching around Torak’s softening cock as you stare at the scene in awe. Your wonder only intensifies as you catch your husband dipping a sharpened bone in a pot of ink and puncturing his son’s skin with it, skillfully etching a marking onto his chest. You’re not sure what the intricate lines mean but you’ve seen identical marks on your husband’s chest and you can definitely tell how significant they are. Torak’s passive reaction to the puncturing is also worthy of notice; he maintains his attention on his father and keeps his muscles from twitching despite the droplets of purplish blood rolling down his thick green skin.

Once the marking is completed, Mauhul gives his son a final proud nod. You can feel his seed leaking out of your walls, as well as the humid air meeting your wet folds, as Torak slowly detaches from you, but not before smiling down at you and whispering, "Raak ut, ishtà-kurme."

You've been with the clan long enough to grow familiar with the way the orcs express their gratitude, although perhaps not long enough to understand what the term 'kurme' means. Now, however, there is no time to dwell on translations because, while one son has completed his rite, another has yet to go through the passage. And so, everyone's attention is drawn to the youngest, who has been patiently waiting, in reverent silence, for his turn.

As soon as Torak pulls away from you, leaving behind a trail of your combined fluids, Moth steps closer to take his place between your legs.

Leaning back on his heels, his large hand finding your hair, Mauhul allows his eyes to roam over the youngest orc. He’s not particularly large like Torak, but he carries a strength in himself, an aura of determination. The same determination that was in Mauhul when he became an adult, years ago. Even you can notice the uncanny resemblance between the two now that Moth is so close. Both of his boys resemble your spouse in more ways than one, but the youngest exudes the same calmness and tenderness that Mauhul has. The way his palm reaches for your face to gently wipe a stray tear from your cheek - a tear you had no idea you shed - and his kind eyes smile down at you as if he's the one supposed to reassure you only serve to reinforce your impressions.

You’re so lost in his dark eyes, marvelling at just how much his gaze resembles that of your beloved Mauhul that you barely manage to catch a glimpse of brownish freckles scattered across his throbbing length before he rubs its head along your slit and gently but firmly pushes inside, eliciting a soft gasp out of your lips. He feels larger than his sibling as he stretches your walls. The wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh soon fills the room again as Moth picks up the tempo, his pace much more controlled and steadier than Torak’s. One would almost think this was not his first time, although watching his father first and his brother second must have given him enough visual clues to know what to do. Soft whimpers fall from your lips as your body is rocked by his thrusts, your heavy-lidded eyes unwavering from the youngest's face.

“Strong, steady strokes,” Mauhul advises softly, his voice carrying an air of approval. He feels a surge of pride swell in his chest seeing how Moth seems to have taken in everything, moving with such control and purpose. It reminds him of himself, years ago, determined to make the most of this rite, eager to prove his worth. He runs a comforting hand over your sweat-drenched hair, noting the exhaustion etched on your face but also the satisfaction shining in your eyes.

Moth nods, acknowledging his father's words without breaking the rhythm. Yet, it's clear that he needs no prompting, every thrust a deliberate caress designed to elicit moans both from you and him. His hands cup the soft mounds of your breasts, thumbs teasing your hardened nipples, adding to the rousing sensation. Each stroke sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your walls to clench tighter around him.

“...You're doing well, my son.” Mauhul praises him, his massive hand slides possessively over your stomach, feeling the tremors beneath his palm as you respond to Moth's attention.

Your eyes meet the dark pools of your husband's, and even through the haze, the exhaustion, and yet another orgasm brewing in your belly, you find yourself smiling up at him, searching for his touch with your smaller hand, his name falling from your lips in a hushed plea.

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue causes something to stir deep within Mauhul. A warmth spreads across his chest, mingling with pride and love, a blend that makes his heart throb painfully. “My beautiful kisem… ” he murmurs, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss. Meanwhile, the rhythm between you and Moth grows more frantic, your hips rolling lazily to meet each of his powerful thrusts. Your body moves of its own accord, responding naturally to the sensations flooding through you. You're teetering on the edge once again, the pressure building in your core threatening to burst forth at any moment.

Moth’s fingers meet your swollen bundle of nerves, interrupting the kiss by eliciting a loud whimper from your lips. Your hooded eyes meet Moth’s again, his gaze locked onto your face, eager to capture your every reaction, ready to change his actions accordingly.

You only have the force to rest your free hand upon his - the one still squeezing your breast - and nod meekly in approval before you drop your head back, resting it on your husband’s thigh. Every nerve of your body is awake and on fire, your muscles tensing, your thighs twitching at every stroke of his cock and flick of his finger against your clit, your face contorting in pleasure as one more orgasm rapidly approaches.

Mauhul’s hand caresses your hair, providing a grounding presence amidst the storm of sensations overwhelming you. The sight of you losing yourself to pleasure over and over again is intoxicating, he’s already grown addicted to it and he can't wait to witness it every day from this moment forward.

Moth seems to sense your impending climax, his movements becoming erratic as he chases after his own. His strokes grow shorter and more insistent, his fingers rubbing tight circles around your sensitive nub. With a final, deep thrust and a low grunt, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, holding still as he unleashes ropes of cum into your channel. He doesn’t stop pleasuring you though, even as he reaches his first release. Only a few moments later your back arches and a strangled cry tears from your throat as ecstasy crashes over you in waves.

Mauhul watches in awe as you shatter apart, your entire body trembling and writhing against his and his son’s. Pride swells in his chest at the sight of his youngest son bringing his wife to such heights of pleasure. He leans down to scoop you into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest. "You did wonderfully, my love," he praises softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his tusks grazing your sweaty skin.

His gaze shifts to Moth, who is withdrawing from your quivering body, a satisfied smirk playing about his lips. "It seems my young warrior has inherited his father's prowess in the art of lovemaking." he announces with a smug, then looks at Torak and adds, “Both of my young warriors. You have made me very proud.”

His look then turns solemn once more as he fixes his dark eyes on his youngest son and declares: “Let it be known that Moth, my secondborn, has finally become a Shakran .” And just as he did for Torak before, he grabs the bone from the floor, dips it in the pot of ink and brings it to his son’s heaving chest. Mauhul presses his other palm on his skin and looks at him with affection and reassurance as his son’s body gradually eases its tremors. Only then does he start to mark his skin with the same intricate lines as earlier. Even through your droopy lids, you can’t help but reverently watch as your husband’s hand makes quick work of the tattoo. Your tired eyes rake over the young orc’s skin, rising to his face. He’s calm even now, a perfect picture of serenity, which deeply amazes you. He too, just like his brother has done before, moves his gaze back to you and smiles as he whispers the same orcish words with a devotion that makes your still racing heart miss a beat. You cling to your husband’s side as you nod at his son, acknowledging his words despite not fully understanding their meaning, already thinking of inquiring about them to Mauhul later.

With the completion of the ritual, Mauhul sets the bone aside and pulls you closer, his embrace enveloping you completely. As he rests his chin atop your head, his voice booms out, filling the room with a mix of pride and love.

“You've earned your rightful place among our adults,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Today, you became true Shakran’z - protectors, providers, and lovers. May these marks serve as a reminder of your role in our tribe. When the time comes, you’ll carry on our line of truebloods by providing your seed to the clan’s zàgartha but you will also take wives and repopulate our tribe with strong warriors, children of the bond you will build with your drùda’z.”

Mauhul's gaze drifts to you, looking exhausted but content in his embrace. He brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Tomorrow we will celebrate. Now… you may go.” he dismisses his sons in a whisper, without taking his eyes away from you.

He wraps his massive arms around your tiny frame protectively, holding you close against him. The warmth emanating from his large body envelops you in its cocoon-like embrace as he cradles you.

You struggle to keep your eyes open, feeling too spent, drained of all your forces after the physically straining rite you've taken part in, your body still buzzing from the intense series of orgasms you've just experienced. Your sweaty forehead rests on his chest, your frame sagged against his muscular torso.

"Mau?" you meekly call out for him. Your droopy eyes lock onto his, your fingers lazily drawing patterns on his broad chest. You wait for him to hum back before speaking again.

"Your sons have called me… 'kurme'," you point out, curiosity twinkling in your tired eyes. "What does that mean?"

A deep, rumbling chuckle escapes Mauhul's chest, resonating through your frame pressed against him. He looks down at you adoringly, his expression softening at the adorable sight you present - so exhausted yet curious like a mouse. His broad hand strokes slowly down your back in soothing circles as he responds.

“That is the orcish word for mother,” he explains in hushed tones, his dark eyes beaming down at you. “However, they have not simply called you mother but ‘ishtà-kurme’. Guiding mother. The mother who lights the path.” His thumb draws idle figures on your bare shoulder. The gentle motion seems to ease your strained, tender body.

“In our culture,” he starts again, his deep voice growing serious. “It's a term of utmost reverence and devotion. To a Shakran orc, the ishtà-kurme is someone held dear and sacred. They have shown you immense respect by calling you that, my love. They will hold you in high regard for their whole lives for what you have done for them today… and for all the things they will learn from you in the days ahead.”

Slowly he lifts his hand, cradling your delicate face gently within the expanse of his huge, calloused palm. He lowers his roughened lips against yours, capturing them in a tender kiss, conveying a wealth of emotion that words cannot match. “You became their yazàkurme , chosen mother, the moment I took you as my kisem… ”, he pauses as a fond smile curls up his lips, his black eyes sparkling as they reflect the warm glow of the fire. “My kisee -” he coos affectionately in a softer tone, making your stomach flutter. “My wife. And one day you’ll be kurme to our children.”

You sigh, feeling your heart swell with love. “Those are a lot of names…” you quip back with a soft huff of a chuckle, your tired eyes crinkling in both amusement and affection as they gaze lovingly up at him.

With a hearty laugh, Mauhul’s deep voice fills the room, echoing off the stone walls. His laughter fades into a soft hum as he gazes down at you, his eyes sparkling with undisguised adoration.

“Indeed, many names for one little human,” he muses aloud, a touch of pride evident in his voice. “But each one holds its weight in significance. For us orcs, titles matter. They define bonds, roles, and responsibilities.”

He releases your face, allowing his roughened hand to slide down your neck, coming to rest on the swell of your breast, just above your heart.

“You lost your name when you left your village to join us,” he whispers solemnly, his eyes flickering to his hand as his fingers splay over your soft flesh, feeling your heartbeat under his palm. “So we shall give you many, in return.” His eyes meet yours again, a genuine and fond smile blooming on his lips, one that causes your heart to stutter under his palm. “But one will always stand above all. And that is mìzaher. My mìzaah, that's what you are. My life companion, my only love.”

Your palm comes to rest on his cheek, softly cradling his face as you gaze deeply into his eyes, a faint veil of emotion blurring your vision as you return his adoring smile. You're physically drained, still a tad unsure of what has just occurred and what it all means for you, but one thing is certain: the overwhelming feeling of being loved, treasured, and protected that envelops you fully now as you rest in your beloved husband's arms. You wish for this feeling to last forever.

Mauhul leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he savours the gentle caress. When he opens them again, they shine with a depth of emotion you have rarely seen in another being - pure, unadulterated love.

"You need rest, mìzaah, and a bath," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your palm. His eyes crinkle in amusement as he adds: "I can gift you more names tomorrow."

He shifts, carefully scooping you into his arms without breaking eye contact. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he stands, cradling you against his broad chest.

“You can close your eyes. I’ll take good care of you.”

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fandoms-writings · 8 months ago

Text

Little Shadow

Pairing: Halsin x Half-Elf!Reader (fem intended)

Word Count: 6.9K (oops)

Summary: You can always count on Halsin to heal the group when needed, going out of his way to make sure you're in the best care. And he's always been a flirt, but that's all it is, right?

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, mentions of injuries, blood, bruises (they're adventurers they're gonna get hurt sometimes), p in v, fingering, oral (fem receiving), mentions of Halsin having the potential to shift during sexual acts (iykyk)

A/N: thank you so so much to @banana-cheese-cake for beta reading for me and letting me talk about this so much ❤️ Also Happy Easter to those who celebrate ❤️

Halsin had always been impressed with the way you fought, the way you trained. You were so meticulous in the tiny details, the things no one else in your little band of misfits would notice. But it was those details that kept you alive, kept you the least harmed of your entire camp. Most of the time.

The way you danced with your blade was unlike anything he'd ever seen before - and he'd been around for a couple centuries, so he'd seen his fair share of sword wielders and dagger throwers and magic casters. But you - you moved with such fluidity and lethal steadiness in your swings.

The strength he'd seen in you while traveling with you these past weeks was something he marveled at. Especially with how young you were.

You'd never told him directly, but from what he could gather, you were a half elf, which meant you had at least another century before you started to appear "aged" as the humans called it. That also meant that you had unbounded potential to grow in your skills. Though, he wasn't sure how much more you could learn.

There was a rustle in the woods next to the camp, pulling him from his thoughts of you as he looked up. You'd gone out this morning with Karlach, Astarion, and Shadowheart to scout and clear the roads to move your camp closer to the city, so he figured you were finally returning. But you were making so much noise. You were usually quiet on your return to not startle those who stayed behind or attract any unwanted attention.

As you barreled through the brush, Shadowheart limply hanging between you and Astarion and Karlach protecting your backs, Halsin's heart plummeted.

You were covered in blood and your knees were shaking as the two of you dragged Shadowheart through the camp. Halsin ran for you, coming to a stop in front of you and taking the girl from your and Astarion's arms.

He took Shadowheart to her tent, laying her down and beginning to heal what wounds he could see. You'd followed him, though he could sense the exhaustion pulling your body down as your feet stumbled after him. He watched as you began removing her armor, tugging the pieces off of her with shaky hands.

He'd never seen your hands shake. He'd never seen you so calmly distraught.

"What happened?" He asked, moving to a wound in the girl's abdomen. A gnarly gouge, likely from a hook horror or a gnoll. Shadowheart's body shifted as you tugged her boots off, throwing them in the pile of armor in the corner.

"Gnolls," Your response was clipped, as usual, eyes locked onto the several cuts and gashes along your friend's skin. "I tried to protect her, but there were too many." He tried to show his surprise at the continued explanation. You usually stuck to one or two word answers around him, no matter how hard he tried to get more. "We almost didn't make it out with her."

He hummed in response, watching as the wound stitched itself back together, the discoloration beginning to leave her skin. Once all of Shadowheart's armor was removed, you stood, mumbling about how you'd return quickly and you left.

You were back only seconds later with a rag and a bucket, and you began cleaning the blood from your companions skin in the areas he's already healed.

The two of you worked in silence until you were sure he'd healed every little scratch on Shadowheart before you both walked out of her tent, allowing her to rest until she woke on her own. You sighed and rolled your neck, your shoulders drooping as if you had weights tied to your arms pulling them down.

"Are you injured?" Halsin asked, stepping toward you, but keeping his hands to himself. Through all the blood on you, he couldn't tell if any of it was yours, and if it was, where it came from.

"I'll be fine, go help Astarion and Karlach," You demanded, your eyes looking past him at the setting sun.

He moved to argue that you also needed attending to when you held up your hand, pushing it into his chest and giving him a weak shove.

"Halsin," You whispered his name and his mind froze as you looked up at him, "Please."

He let loose a breath before dipping his chin in a nod. The corner of your lips twitched up before falling back into a hard line.

"Thank you." He watched as you turned from him, heading for your own tent as you began undoing the buckles of your leather armor, preparing to remove it.

He'd do as you asked - he would go check on the others, make sure they were alright. Then, he'd check on you. He'd even have Astarion hold you down so he could heal you if he needed to.

~~~

You huffed as you dropped your bloodied leather armor on the bank of the river near camp, kneeling down with a grunt as you began rinsing the blood from your clothing. The water of the river began to darken, reddening as you held your shirt in the stream, attempting to push out the blood before it dried. You were still covered in it, but armor was never cheap, and you weren't one to parade around in bloodied clothes any longer than necessary.

Once you were satisfied with how clean you were able to get your clothes, you hung them on a tree branch hanging over the embankment to dry before removing your undergarments. The blood had soaked through to those as well. When they were hung next to your armor, you stepped into the river, hissing as the cold water bit at your ankles.

It was a rather deep river, the water coming up to the bottom of your ribs once you reached the middle. You tried to scrub as you went, watching as it flaked off your skin and disappeared into the stream, revealing injuries you hadn't dared to acknowledge until now.

There were gashes on your legs and arms, bruises littering your body, more coming to light as you scrubbed the blood and mud away.

"Will you allow me to heal you now?" Halsin's voice sounded from behind you and you fought against the embarrassment of him catching you naked in the river as you folded your arms over your breasts.

"I'm fine," you looked over your shoulder at him, the worry evident in his eyes as he stopped right at the water's edge.

"You're bleeding."

"I said I'm fine." You growled out, watching as his lips pressed into a hard line and he squatted down, picking up a twig to fiddle with as he looked at you.

"Why won't you let me help?"

"Because I didn't ask you for it." You scowled, turning away from him and lowering yourself into the stream, holding in the hiss as the water rushed by, cleaning the cuts and scrapes along your arms. Before he could respond, you dunked your head, letting the cold water run through your hair, the current pulling as much of the blood and dirt out as it could without you scrubbing it.

When you emerged, wiping the water from your face, Halsin had moved.

He was maybe two feet from you, standing in the river still clothed, the water up to his hips and his trousers soaking it up, clinging to his muscled thighs. That worried look still plagued his face as he looked down at you, his brows pinched together and a heavy frown on his lips.

"Why can I not offer my help to you?" He asked, his voice a low rumble. You fought the rush of nerves that flooded your system, using the day's anger to push them back down into the pit in your chest they'd crawled out from.

"Because I am not in need of it." You sneered. You just wanted to be left alone, left to wallow in your self hatred and frustrations. Left to tend to yourself. To suffer. "I can take care of myself," You held his gaze with a glare, "Always have."

"But you do not need to," He muttered, taking a small step toward you, "You are allowed to lean on your friends for assistance."

You scoffed, looking away from him. "It was that type of thinking that cost us today."

"I believe it is what saved you today."

"You weren't there." The sound of Shadowheart's scream as the gnolls ripped her open would not be a sound you ever forgot. Or forgave yourself for. "They relied on me, leaned on me, to lead the way, to find a way to win and I fucked up." The anger bubbled in your chest, simmering as your eyes grew blurry, "I got cocky and moved too far too fast. A small group of beasts circled around to Shadowheart. I failed them."

You were waiting for him to agree, to shout at you, to yell. But there was only silence. Hell, you weren't even sure he was still standing there as you continued, "I failed them, and I almost failed in getting them out. They relied on me and I let them down." Your hands came up to your shoulders, grazing over the injuries that had clotted there.

"Is that why you refuse to let me heal you?" Halsin asked, the sounds of splashing water telling you he was moving. He appeared in front of you, kneeling down and letting the river wash over him without so much a shiver. "Because you think you deserve it? As some sort of punishment?"

You held his stare, your vision blurring as your anger bubbled in your throat.

"Yes, you made a mistake, everyone does," He closed the distance between the two of you, but still not touching you, "but you still all made it out. You relied on each other to escape alive. You got them out." Your brows pinched as he spoke, "I talked with Karlach and Astarion, they told me how you fought tooth and nail to get to them, to help them.They credit their survival to you."

"They're fools to do so," You whispered and he shook his head.

"They are not," He stated, "You saved them today. You took care of them," He reached a hand out for you, waiting for you to take it, "Now let yourself be cared for. Let's not add to your collection of scars."

You took a deep breath, trying to will the tears in your eyes to vanish before they fell. The words wobbled as they left your lips, "You're not going to leave me alone until you heal me, are you?"

"If you truly wish for me to leave you alone, I'll go," His hand was still held between you, open and waiting. "But I don't believe you deserve more scars marring your perfect skin, or any sort of punishment."

You took a deep breath, blaming the shuddering in your breath on the chill of the water as you lifted your hand out of the water and rested it in his own, palm up so he could see the cut there. "Okay."

"Your skin is like ice," His warm calloused hand wrapped around yours as it glowed, your skin stitching back together, "Should we move to a tent?"

Before you could deny him, your body shook with a harsh shiver running through your spine and you sighed. "Yes, please."

He looked back to your clothes hanging over the tree, still dripping pink water. "I'll go get you a towel and some dry clothes."

~~~

You sat in Halsin's tent, your damp hair clinging to your skin, his extra shirt drowning you. He hadn't wanted to go through your things, so he'd grabbed you some of his clothes and you didn't argue as you'd slipped them over your head at the river bank. Your legs were bare, his shirt practically a dress on you, and it took all of his will power not to stare when you shifted where you sat across from him, the fabric of the shirt riding up your thighs. Your thighs that were burnt and bruised and sliced.

He’d decided when finding you in that river, injuries on display, the blood leaking from your skin washed away by the freezing water, that he was going to leave tonight and let the bear inside him hunt down that pack of gnolls.

He cleared his throat before gesturing to - well to all of you. “Where would you like me to start?”

Your eyes, heavy with exhaustion, lifted to his. Your skin had grown paler by the hour and your body had become sluggish. He’d have picked a starting point himself but he knew not to rush or push you.

You gestured to your arms as you held them out before him, palms up showing him the clotted slashes on your forearms.

Halsin took your arms in each of his hands, the area glowing as he healed you. The next hour went on like that, you silently giving him parts of you to heal and him healing them without hesitation. By the time he’d finished, your normal tone had mostly returned to your face, but you were mostly asleep.

Healing was not only tiring for the healer, but exhausting for the injured. He’d noticed your grit teeth, your subtle controlled breathing as your skin closed and knitted back together. He couldn’t blame you for slipping into a deep slumber as he finished the last wound on your shoulder, gently removing his hands so as to not wake you.

Seeing you so relaxed, so calm, it was new to him. You’d always had a stoney expression, your lips set in a thin line and your brows settled almost permanently in a subtle scowl. But the lack of anger and sorrow in your feature now - well he wasn’t sure which version he was in love with more.

Halsin pulled a blanket over you, stepping out of the tent to let you sleep. The rest of the camp had mostly retired for the night as well, only Astarion reading in his tent with the flap open.

The vampire looked up at him with those red eyes, nodding in acknowledgment before returning his attention to whatever text was in his hands.

The Druid slipped into the woods, walking for a while before he deemed he was far enough away. Far enough to not wake the camp, before he shifted, letting the bear begin its hunt.

~~~

Leaves rustling nearby woke you, your eyes opening to see the unfamiliar inside of a tent. Your brows pinched as you sat up, a groan escaping your chest at the effort. Your body was exhausted, and as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, you started to remember what had happened. How you got to be in this tent, in the shirt that hung from your frame.

You remembered who put you there.

Glancing around the tent for Halsin, you found you were alone. You didn't want to be the reason he didn't get to sleep tonight so you stood quickly, climbing for the entrance flap, reaching to push it open, when it slipped from your fingers.

You peered up into the shadow looming over the entrance, and your body prepared for a fight. Their features were in heavy shadow as the campfire lit them from behind and there was a familiar iron rich smell coming from them. Blood. You just hoped whoever this was hadn't gotten to anyone else in your camp yet, that they were still alive.

Your muscles tensed and you took a breath to shout, to wake up your companions if they were alive and warn them. But the figure held up a hand, his voice a low rumble that calmed your nerves instantly.

"It's just me," Halsin said, slowly lowering himself into the tent, "I did not mean to startle you."

You backed up, allowing him into the tent as your eyes traveled down his shirt, the red splotches hiding in the shadows. When you looked back up, you saw he had already figured out what you were looking at, and he could read the question on your lips.

"It's not mine," He whispered, "I'm alright."

"Whose is it?" You demanded, watching as he rummaged around for clean clothes. He pulled out a new pair of loose trousers.

"The gnolls." He grunted, standing to leave. Your hand shot out to his, gripping his large fingers before he could leave.

"You went after them?"

He looked down at you, a slight smirk on his lips before his fingers squeezed yours back and he said, "Of course I did," as if it was the only logical thing for him to have done in the first place. His hand slipped from yours and just like that, he had slipped back out of the tent.

You tried to follow him, but when you ripped the flap open, he was gone. You would have settled back into the warmth of the tent, shut that flap against the chill that pricked at your skin. But you stood, exiting the tent, and followed him down to the river.

If he was going to wash up, that's where he'd go, unless he really wanted to hike another 3 miles to the next lake, which judging by the exhaustion in his eyes when he'd come for clean pants, you assumed he wouldn't. You hadn't bothered with shoes, and you cursed yourself for it as you tried to step around jutting up sticks and rocks that could slice your feet.

Soon enough, the moonlight reflecting off of the river's surface was visible through the trees and you could hear the splashing of the water. Pushing the branches of the trees away, you finally broke free of the forest line and had river rocks beneath your feet.

Halsin was in the middle of the river, scrubbing blood from his hair, just as you had done only hours before.

"You'll catch a cold out here like that," He called to you, turning around to face you.

"Why did you go after the gnolls?" You asked, crossing your arms across your chest, the movement reminding you how bare your legs were when the shirt shifted across your thighs. You tried not to bring attention to it, ignoring the chills that ran up your skin.

He looked down at the water as he rinsed his hands, "Does it matter?"

"That depends entirely on how you answer the question."

He glanced at you for a moment before dunking his head under the water, only to come right back up to the surface only a moment later. He sighed as he walked to the embankment, his dry pants hanging up on that same tree your earlier clothes still hung from.

"Then it does not matter," He said, climbing out of the river, the water sliding down his chest, to his stomach, to his - you averted your eyes. You should've assumed he was naked, and you weren't sure why it made your heart start racing the way it did as you suddenly found the boulder next to you very interesting.

"It does to me," You muttered, not expecting him to have heard you, to have been trying to hear you over the sounds of the river.

Once his trousers were on, he turned to you, walking to stand at your side. "Would it be hard for you to believe that I did it because I wanted to?"

You turned from the boulder, glancing at his feet to make sure he was clothed before your eyes trailed up his body, landing on his face. "You wanted to go on a midnight gnoll hunting spree?"

He grunted in agreement, his head inclining to the side. "Is that hard to believe?"

You scoffed, "Yes, actually. Especially because you went alone."

"I can handle a pack of gnolls." He said the words with such certainty, his voice low and rough, it had your stuttering to respond.

"It was reckless," You meekly muttered back, "You could've been hurt."

"But I am not." Neither one of you had moved since he came to stand beside you, both of you remaining a mere few inches from the other.

"But you could have been."

"Is that worry I sense in you, little shadow?" The nickname wasn't new, it was something he used to recall how you seemed to slip between darkness going undetected when tracking down leads or targets, but it also wasn't commonly used. He liked to use it when teasing you, flirting with you. But you were in no mood to flirt, and the only way to get him to see that, was to be honest.

"Yes, it is." You stated, and the slight smirk that had grown on his lips fell as his eyes widened. "Why did you think it was a good idea to go hunt down those beasts without the rest of us, in the middle of the night? Hm?"

He blinked once, twice, before sighing and looking at the ground beneath his feet, his hands finding their way to his hips. "I went because they harmed you," he said, and your world stilled.

"What?" You asked, willing him to look at you again. He wiped a hand down his face before looking at you, his eyes full of nerves that he kept well hidden.

"They hurt you," he sighed, reaching for your hands, "They almost killed you, and it angered me. It angered the beast that lives in my soul. I had to do something, and taking out on them the anger they caused was the only thing to do."

Something in your chest melted at the conviction in his words, the utter dedication. You wanted to wrap your arms around him, to tell him he didn't need to do that, to fight for you. But in your experience, people only did these sorts of things when they wanted something in return.

Your fingers tightened around his own, squeezing them as you took a breath, pushing down the swell in your heart at the look in his eyes.

"What do I owe you?" You asked, trying not to cringe at the confusion in his pinched brows.

"Why would you owe me?"

"Because that's how the world works," you muttered, "Everything has a currency, whether it's gold, silver or favors. So what do I owe you? "

"You owe me nothing," his voice rumbled through your bones to your core, "I did not do this to gain a favor from you. I did this," He stepped closer, his breath mingling with yours, "because the thought of those beasts getting away with harming you is not something I can peacefully live with."

"Why?" You read the confusion on his face and asked again, "Why? Why am I so important?"

His hands dropped yours as they cupped your jaw, those large thumbs stroking across your cheeks and his fingers settled on your neck.

"Because you are magnificent," His eyes were darting around your face, taking in every little detail while you allowed him to be this close, "You are the leader of this camp, everyone here follows you more than they follow themselves. You are the heart of this adventure we are on. You are fancied by everyone here."

"I doubt that."

"Well," He said, "I know I do."

"No you don't." You whispered and his face pinched. "You don't, you might think you do, but you don't."

"Why don't I?" He asked, refusing to step away from you, your face still in his hands.

You refused to look at him, your eyes locked on the water of the river just behind him. "You can't," You whispered, "Anyone who ever has ends up dead, if they don't leave me first."

His face crumbled at that, hearing the ache of the past years of your life in your words.

"Why would they leave you?" He asked, his voice barely audible over the river.

You told him. You rambled about the horrible childhood you had, the early death of your human father, and the resentment in your elven mother when you were left on her doorstep. How you raised yourself, hunted for yourself, since she refused to have any hand in the way you were raised, including feeding you. You told him how you ran away when you were just a teenager and had been on your own ever since, for nearly two decades.

Continuing your endless babble, you told him about the times you'd been captured by strange monsters throughout your travels, trying to leave out the details of what happened when you were held captive, but you knew he could piece it together. You explained how these things happening had made you cold, and shut off from the world, damaged, when you were silenced by something soft pressing against your lips.

Your eyes were wide when Halsin pulled away just a second later, his lips parted as he looked at you. There were a million things either of you could've said, but your mind was blank now. The lingering pressure of his lips on yours distracting you from the wetness you now felt on your face.

When did you start crying?

You tore your gaze from his lips up to his eyes, where they watched you with such gentleness it frightened you. The want - no, the need - to have his lips on yours again was the only thing you could focus on now that you'd had a taste, and you would jump up to take it for yourself if the intensity in his gaze didn't root you to your spot.

"I know what I enjoy," He whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed against yours as he spoke, his breath fanning your face as his wet hair fell around you, "and I know what I want."

He didn't close the distance, instead letting your lips faintly brush while you tried to say something, anything.

"And if you'll let me," He continued, "I'd like to enjoy what I want for as long as you'll allow."

"Why don't you just take it?" You whispered.

"I'm waiting for your permission."

Silence settled over the two of you for a moment, the only noise between you being your mingling breaths. You took the moment to consider it, letting him have his way with you. You hadn't planned on fucking any of your traveling companions, attempting to keep it professional between all of you, but you couldn't deny that you'd at least thought about it. Not just with Halsin either, but that was something for another day.

You'd thought about his hands on your skin, how large and safe they'd feel, how his fingers would feel in your cunt, in your mouth, wrapped around your neck. All you had to do was say yes, and he'd give it to you.

So you swallowed your nerves, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "You have it."

Halsin instantly closed that tiny fraction of distance, pressing his lips against yours. One of his hands left your face, going down preferring to pull your hip, tugging you into him as his lips parted, his tongue brushing against yours. You swallowed his groan as his large hand pushed the edge of your shirt up so he could cup your ass, grabbing all he could and squeezing.

His right hand left your face, reaching down to mirror his left and he tugged up, grunting what sounded like "jump" between kisses. Your hands wound around his neck as you did your best to hop, letting him catch you and pull you up his body, pinning you between his chest and the smooth boulder at your back.

The hair on his stomach brushed against the insides of your thighs, tickling in the best way, the pressure from his stomach pushing into your cunt, only separated by the thin fabric of your panties that were already wet.

Halsin's lips left your mouth and he trailed open kisses down your neck and what he could reach of your chest, biting and sucking as he went, lighting your nerves on fire at the same time. HIs hands easily pushed you further up the boulder, bringing your dripping core up to his view and putting your legs over his shoulders.

His eyes were hungry as he glanced between you and that soaked spot in your panties. His lips attached to your leg, working their way up your inner thigh, each bite he climbed higher earning more and more desperate whines from you. He chuckled at the noises escaping your throat as he looked up at you, his eyes glazed over with lust, but also so so clear at the same time.

"Is this okay?" You'd never heard his voice so rough, so raw as he looked up at you. "We can always go somewhere more comfortable."

Something in your chest melted at the concern in his words. Even when his hands were shaking and his pupils were blown, your comfort was priority. But you didn't care if he took you in his tent or a bed or against this damn boulder, you just needed to feel him.

"It matters not to me," you were breathless as you told him, "I just want you to show me how much you say you want me."

He smirked at that, one of his hands dragged over your skin as he slid it under your shirt, reaching to grab your breast as his other pulled your panties aside.

He laid his tongue flat against your aching cunt and licked a languid stripe up, flicking it across your clit before going back for more. Your hands shot to his hair, still wet from the river, carding through it and gripping it at the roots. His hand on your breast pulled and played with your nipple, the sensation caused by his rough fingers shooting through you to your core, soaking his face even more.

You watched him from up on that rock, his face buried in you, his eyes closed as if he were savoring it. A moan vibrated from him, through your cunt that left you gnawing on your lip to keep quiet. You weren't close to the campsite, but who knew what or who else was out in these woods.

Your breath started to quicken, your grip on his hair tightening further, and his eyes opened to look at you. You could barely see the hazel in his eyes as he watched you panting and writhing above him. The pressure building was familiar and you knew it wouldn't take long for you to snap if he kept going the way he was

It seemed he knew too.

Because suddenly, his mouth was off of you and your skin was met with the chilled air.

"Can't have you cumming just yet," He declared, his hand leaving your chest and trailing down to your cunt, lightly dragging through the folds and slick. Your hips bucked into his hand and he chuckled, "Eager?"

Your skin heated at his comment and how focused on your dripping entrance he was. When your breathing had somewhat evened out, two of his fingers circled your cunt, spreading your slick around and around before he finally looked up at you, and slid them in.

Your mouth opened in a strangled moan that you had fought to not let out, the stretch just from his fingers alone enough to make you dizzy with want. They slid all the way in before they curled, stroking that perfect spot to make your back arch and your moan grew louder.

Halsin grinned, "Oh I love that sound you make." He angled his head down again, watching his fingers get swallowed by your cunt over and over again as he pumped them in and out. "And I love watching my fingers disappear inside you."

His head dipped lower, and his lips wrapped around your clit, his tongue tracing tight circles over it in time with his fingers. That pressure from earlier began building again, quicker this time as you struggled to stay somewhat quiet. You tugged on his hair and your hips rocked, grinding into his mouth and fingers, his name a whisper on your lips.

"Don't stop," You panted, release so close your muscles began tightening, "please don't stop."

He groaned into you, the vibrations shooting through everyone of your nerves and your head fell back with a soft thud against the rock. The band that had tightened in your core was so close to snapping, to sending you over the edge.

But before you could go over that edge, Halsin released your clit and pulled his fingers from you, chuckling at the truly pathetic whine that left your lips, tears starting to gather in your lashes at the sudden loss.

"Don't worry," he muttered the words into the skin of your thigh before moving both your legs off his shoulders, wrapping them around his waist, "You'll get to cum," He leaned forward, catching your lips with his, and you moaned at the taste of yourself, "I promise."

He wrapped his hands around your thighs, telling you to wrap your arms around his neck and he picked you up from the boulder. He didn't take you far, just turned and leaned down, laying you on the river bank before sitting up, his hands going to the ties on his trousers.

"I've dreamed of this since I met you," he declared as he untied his trousers. Your eyes traveled down his chest to the large bulge he was working to free, and your cunt clenched around nothing in anticipation. "I've been wanting to take you for weeks."

A shiver of excitement raced down your spine, "So have I."

His eyes darkened at that, his hands quickening their pace and he finally removed his pants. He reached for your hips, pulling your panties down your legs and tossing them to the side. He grabbed the edge of your shirt, but stopped, looking at you.

"It's a bit cold out, do you want to leave this on?" Your heart melted at his concern, at his ability to still worry even when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

"I want to feel all of you against me," you said, a thought taking over your mind, "but I also want to be on top. I want to ride you."

He grinned down at you as you shifted to sit up, "You can do whatever you wish to me."

You smiled, crawling over his legs as he sat and lay on the ground, sighing when your legs settled on either side of his hips, your core hovering over his aching cock. He slid his hands under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, tossing it to the pile of clothes before his hands dragged down your shoulders and over your breasts before resting against your hips.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he said, his thumbs stroking circles into your hips as your hand reached down, wrapping around his cock. He groaned at your touch, his head tipping back as you stroked it up and down.

You angled your hips and lined him up with your cunt, swiping him through your folds a few times, relishing in how his grip tightened on your hips. You went to sink on to him, to finally have him inside you, when he startled.

"Wait." His eyes snapped open. "I have to tell you something first." Your brows pinched, but you let his cock go, and you settled on top of it, sliding your hips back and forth over it while you waited for whatever he had to tell you. "Fuck, you're not gonna make this easy are you?" He smirked.

You shook your head, swallowing your moans as you waited.

"If I get too worked up, I have a. . . a chance to shift," He said, eyes avoiding yours. You angled your head to the side, as your heart stuttered at the sudden anxiety rippling off of him. You'd never seen him so nervous, he was always so sure of himself, of what he did.

"You mean," You whispered, "You could change into a bear?" There was shame in his eyes as he nodded.

"I understand if you change your mind about this, I won't be hurt." He still wasn't meeting your eyes as he spoke, his hands unnaturally still before they started to pull away from you.

Your hands snapped out to grab his wrists, pulling his hands back to your skin as you lifted your hips up. His eyes finally lifted to yours in surprise when you reached down to again grip his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance.

"Are you too exhausted to heal if necessary?" You asked, your voice low and sultry as you waited for a reply.

The corners of his lips twitched up, and the worry for him in your heart ebbed away for now, "I'm never too exhausted to heal you."

"Then it matters not," You pushed down on to him, moaning at the stretch, "I like a challenge."

He moaned as you sank down, inch by inch, his eyes locked on to where his cock disappeared into you. When you were all the way to the base, you began slowly rocking your hips as you adjusted to his size, watching him as his eyes closed and his head tipped back again, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Gods," he sighed, "You feel so good wrapped around me like this."

When the sting of the stretch turned into a burning need, you lifted your hips, dragging off of him about half way before sinking back down. You braced your hands on his chest, gripping the hair there as you angled your hips and drove them down, hitting that spot that had you unable to bite down your moans.

"You're going to wake up the camp moaning like that, little shadow," He grunted below you, "Do you wish to be found out here like this?"

Your cunt clenched around him, and he moaned a laugh.

"Oh, you like that idea?" He asked, his breath coming in hot pants as you leaned over him. "You like the idea of one of them finding you like this? Maybe they'd want to join, hm?"

The thought of one of your companions finding you two, and wanting to join you, the thought of another pair of hands on you tore a loud moan from your throat and he grinned, his hands helping your hips keep their rhythm.

"You do like that," he mused, his eyes starting to glow gold, "Oh fuck - " He grit his teeth, pushing down that need to shift as you fucked yourself on his cock. But he couldn't hold in all of it.

His body grew a bit, the muscles stretching under your hands, but you didn't stop. The rhythm of your hips faltered as your climax grew closer and you were thankful he was helping you keep it, his hands lifting and slamming your hips down for you.

You felt the stretch before realizing what was happening - his cock grew as he tried to hold in the shift. The sudden added length and girth sending you over the edge, everyone of your muscles tightening as your vision went white and your blood roared in your ears. You were sure you screamed, but there was a hand over your mouth, one that smelled of your own arousal.

Halsin kept slamming your hips onto him, hitting that spot over and over and over. You felt his legs shift as he planted his feet on the floor and suddenly you were tugged down. His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding your face in his shoulder where you bit down to keep quiet, and his other arm wrapped around your back.

He slammed up into you, chasing his own release but also ripping a second one from you. You bit hard into his skin, your lips vibrating against his shoulder as you shouted at your second orgasm, your cunt clenching his cock as he stilled, spilling into you.

Halsin’s body twitched as he shouted into your neck, his hold tightening on you, squeezing the breath out of you. Your mouth released his shoulder, instead placing gentle kisses along his skin as his body began to shrink back to its normal size.

"Are you alright?" He whispered into your cheek, dragging his lips over what he could reach of your face. You hummed and nuzzled your nose into his neck.

"I'm alright," You mumbled, exhaustion beginning to weigh heavy on you. "Just. . . just tired."

He chuckled, stroking the back of your head and tracing patterns over the expanse of your back. "Go to sleep, little shadow, I'll dress you and carry you back to camp."

You let out a sleepy giggle, "What if I woke them?"

"If they'd heard your scream when you came, they would've run down here already," He pulled back so he could try to look down at you. "But I think I caught it in time."

"I guess you did," You words started to slur as sleep started to take you.

"Maybe we should ask one of them to join next time, just to keep you quiet," He murmured, smirking at the way you moaned at the thought, your hips trying to grind down on him. "Oh yes, I think next time we'll see if one of them will join us."

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stargirlrchive · 8 months ago

Text

INVISIBLE STRING — CASSIAN!

pairing: cassian x morrigan (half) sister reader

notes: :3 hi hi this is so scary. i haven’t posted a full thought out fic in probably a year (crazy) and i would like to say i have not finished the series so if timeline is inaccurate and just plots don’t make sense w canon it’s bc im still on acowar :p but cassian has taken over my brain and i can’t get him out of it !!!! c: part two is already being worked on bc im so proud of her. i hope u all enjoy it <3 ++ i know mor is described as being blonde and fairly pale in complexion which is why i made reader her half sibling, and there are no descriptions of reader’s physical attributes bc i wanted to kept it as neutral as possible :3

cw: angst, hurt no comfort (yet?), azriel’s shadows being the biggest cassreader shippers ever, unrequited love but really it’s just idiots in love. also mentions (brief) of abuse from keir (gross!)

Your fingers nervously fumbled with the straps of your leathers. Heart pounding in your ears as you forced yourself to drop the nervous jitters, fingers balling into tight fist to stop their trembling.

It had been a long time since you had last seen your family. A long time since your gaze met violet eyes, or your nose scented cedar wood and night chilled mist. The lingering scent of sea salted water and citrus, and fresh paint and vanilla, and sweet wine and roses had nearly erased from your memory. But what you missed the most was the red gleam of siphons that glowed ruby red under certain light.

Truly, in an immortals life time half a decade was just a blip in time, minuscule, but you had never been gone this long from them. Especially not from Rhys, Az, Mor, and Cassian, with the exception of Rhysand’s imprisonment under the mountain.

You blinked away the burning in your eyes as you pushed open the doors of the town house. Soft chatter growing cold at the unexpected intrusion. You had barely enough time to register everyone seated at the table when shadows were zooming past their master to greet you excitedly.

Nuzzling into your hair and neck and arms. Azriel’s shadows had always been so fond of you. Whispering and singing in your ear in a language you could not understand.

They tugged you forward, until you were stumbling clumsily as they dragged you towards Cassian. An ache settled deep in your chest as you fought against them gently, moving between Azriel and Rhys. You missed the flash of hurt in hazel eyes as you avoided him.

Five years later and he still didn’t know the truth of your departure. Before your thoughts could send you spiraling, Rhys’ voice called your name. An undeniable smile in his voice before his arms were enveloping you, “Cousin, you’re back.”

“I am.” Your throat felt thick, tongue heavy as you fought back tears. His scent had always comforted you, Rhys had given you and Mor a chance. A lifeline in the sea that you were drowning in, in Hewn City.

Two sisters, both forced into a world that was cruel and unkind. Morrigan as rightful Heir of Keir had experienced the brunt of it all. From being stuffed into tight dress, to being pranced around in front of grimy men, and nearly forced into a life with a male whose family’s cruelty knew no bounds.

Your torment had been in forms of neglect and isolation. Your father had never much cared for you, being a product of affairs, his bastard, he left you alone. Barely acknowledged your presence when at the mere age of nine you were thrown into his arms from your mother’s father, stating you were no longer his responsibility since your mother’s death. Your father’s neglect, you now realized, had been a blessing.

You were Mor’s shadow. Clinging to her as any younger sister would. Always causing trouble until you learned to obey. Mor never let you experience the abuse from your father fully. Always taking the blame, always hiding you. You owed her and Rhys, your family, everything.

There was a soft clearing of a throat that pulled you and your High Lord apart. Shadows greedily pulling you to face everyone else. Azriel’s hazel eyes assessing you, looking for any injuries before his fingers were squeezing your elbow gently. A soft hello.

Your eyes flickered around the room, and you realized just how much had changed. Your High Lady, and dear friend seated at the head of the table, Rhys by her side. Besides him sat Azriel and then Elain.

Your throat tightened as you allowed your eyes to flicker to the other side, Nesta beside Feyre, and Cassian beside her. Amren had most likely skipped out dinner to enjoy the privacy of her apartment, and Mor was no longer around. Preferring to spend her time on the continent.

The golden thread that tied you to the Lord of Bloodshed sung loudly and happily in your chest. Five years since you had last laid eyes on him and the feeling alone nearly brought you to your knees.

Your eyes flickered away from Cassian, ignoring the way your heart and soul begged you not to. “Is my room still available?”

Feyre sent you a soft smile, sad really, as she realized how desperately you wished to find some peace and quiet. She knew of your affections for the General, and how you had never told him only to watch him fall in love with her sister.

“Of course it is, but you should join us.”

You swallowed roughly at Rhys’ words, unable to stop the gnawing pain in your heart and the cruel words circling in your mind. Cassian was not yours, he had never been and it was unfair of you to expect him to love you the way you had always yearned for him too. But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, it always fucking hurt.

“I’m quite tired, maybe tomorrow.” Rhys didn’t push, just affectionately tucked your hair behind your pointed ear and let you go.

Your steps were quick, hurried and Cassian’s voice sounded like smooth velvet as he called your name. You didn’t stop, your knees nearly buckling under your weight as you forced yourself to keep walking.

Mumbling a quiet, “Goodnight,” before disappearing into the hallways in search of your bedroom.

During your five years away at Day the turmoil in your heart had eased, if only slightly. Cassian would unintentionally send his emotions down the bond, and it seemed it always happened when your heart had finally let you rest.

When you finally saw light at the end of a never ending tunnel of despair, the mating bond would reel you in, viciously and unforgiving. You were sure you were being punished.

How dare you ever try to question what the Mother wanted for you?

Being back in Velaris, being back home, felt so much worse. With the distance, even when his emotions poured into your very bones, it felt weakened. Less tethered to you.

But now? Now you felt his sorrow so deeply tears fell freely down your cheeks.

You had only been trying to sleep for a few hours, your rest had been fitful at best, anxiety prickling at your fingertips as you threw the warm blanket off of you. You needed air. You needed clarity.

Your feet moved on their own. From what you last knew there were no longer many residents here. You were careless in thinking so as your feet moved hurriedly through the house and out into the garden.

Filling your lungs with air as tears prickled at your eyes, the cold nipping at your skin as you sunk into one of the benches placed around the area.

You had only been in his presence for a mere five minutes and your heart was already waging a war against you.

Maybe you could convince Rhys to send you off once again. Your years away at Day had been filled with research and insight, maybe you could do the same at Dawn. Or any other Court that wasn’t here. Gods, you’d even take the forsaken libraries in the Hewn City if it meant not being here. You’d beg if you had too because this, this was too much.

You let out a shaky breath as your mind ruthfully plagued you with memories of the past. Of your utter devastation of hearing that Mor had slept with Cassian.

Of the guilt you felt after, when you avoided her in anger and utter jealousy and then told of the way she was savagely left to die.

You would never forgive yourself.

Remembering when you realized you were utterly and hopelessly devoted to your life long friend, and learning to live with just having a small part of him for you.

Hoping and praying to the Mother that he’d love you back. Hoping to see a spark of honeyed warmth, or a lick of jealousy when you found solace in the warmth of another. Anything, you prayed and prayed, but she never answered.

Not until you had pinned him down on the training matt, wings sprawled out beneath him as you stared at him smugly. A soft, primal, smirk on his face as he gripped your thighs. “You’re getting better.”

Your laughter filtered through the open area, “Only ‘better’? I just kicked your ass.”

He grunted, tugging you gently and in a quick succession of movements had flipped you over, pinning you to the ground. His thighs caged over yours, pinning your hands above your head as he sent you a toothy smile.

The wind that had been knocked out of you was not due to the fact your back had hit against the matt, but because something snapped inside of you. An invisible golden thread, darting from your chest to his, so visceral you could almost taste it, singing happily at finally being acknowledged.

But he gave no indication that he had felt the mating bond snap into place, “Yes, ‘better’. Because you should know not to let your guard down.”

Your speechlessness could’ve been a product of being bested in sparring, your mind racing with things to say but nothing came out.

The fog that had formed in your brain cleared at the bark of laughter that left Azriel, “If you two are done flirting, get back to sparring or leave the ring.”

You don’t remember what excuse you used to suddenly needing to leave but you did. Hope sparkling in your chest at what you thought was an answered prayer by the Mother. He was yours, just as much as you were his.

Only for the ember to burn to ash quickly, as two nights after Cassian had come to you looking for guidance on how to court Nesta.

You tried so hard, pushing down the mating bond that roared and screamed in utter agony as he spilled to you his affections for the eldest Archeron.

Your heart stuttering and begging for release of this pain as your mind caught up to you. He’d never see you. He hadn’t before, so what would be so different now? What would suddenly make you worthy in his eyes? The mating bond?

You realized quickly that you didn’t want that. Didn’t want him to love you just because fate decided to pair you together. You wanted him to love you, to yearn for you the way you had for him without something telling him to.

So with a forced smile you consoled him. Running your fingers through his hair and giving him advice on how to win her heart.

Some days you cursed yourself for that night. You wished you had been selfish and told him he was yours. But then the guilt would settle and you knew you’d never have the heart to force that onto your dearest friend.

In the end all you wanted was his happiness, if that was with someone else then you’d have to learn to live with it.

It had all led up to the night where you accidentally walked in on Nesta and Cassian in the kitchen at the House of Wind, lips and tongues tangled.

The mating bond felt like it was burning you alive from the inside out, angry and volatile as it blamed you for pushing him into her arms.

You’re not sure how you ended up in Rhys office, your face pressed into him as your fingers tried to claw at the hurt in your chest, “Make it stop, Rhys. Gods please, just make it stop.”

He had never seen you like this, never seen you in such despair as he tried to calm you down. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help you.

Only held you in his arms and sang a lullaby his mother had always sang to the three of you as children. Your desperation and pain eased and numbness eventually coated your insides.

“Send me away.”

He hesitated, wiping your tears as Feyre’s soothing touch caressed your back. His violet eyes shining with hurt and concern for you, “What are you running from?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by the deep timber of a voice you were so familiar with,“Is it just me, or are you avoiding me?”

Heat quickly ran from your skull down to your spine at the velvety voice that belonged to Cassian. Your back tensing uncomfortably as you turned to look at him.

You refrained from letting your eyes glaze down his form. Bare chested and wings lazily held up as his brows furrowed when he took you in.

“Cassian-what are you doing here?”

You stood up from your seated position as he moved closer. His eyes never leaving yours, “Here as in the gardens or here as in my home?”

Your brows furrowed, were he and Nesta now permanently in the town house? It would’ve made sense, seeing as they were all here, having dinner earlier.

“In-in the gardens.”

His lips twisted up into a small quirk of a smile, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to reacquaint himself with your features.

Your heart lurched to your throat as his gaze lingered on your lips before he looked back into your eyes. “I heard you walking around. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“How did you know it was me?”

His lips tugged into a proper smile this time, “Who else could it be?”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell you that he’d long ago familiarized himself with the sound of your steps.

Your brows pinched together, full lips tugging into a small frown, “Where is everyone else?”

“Elain is most likely off in Lucien’s apartment, Azriel is at the House of Wind.”

And despite yourself, you asked, “And Nesta?”

Your throat bobbed softly, heart already preparing itself to hear that she was tangled in his sheets in his room. A soft shrug came from him, muscles flexing deliciously at the movement, “Probably with her mate.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his words. Her mate? You were sure the confusion was evident on your face as Cassian laughed. “It’s a bit unfair isn’t it? She was made a measly six years ago, and she’s found who her soul is tethered to, while we’ve been around for centuries and have no luck.”

“Lucky her.”

He hummed, eyes glazing over your face and the look in his eyes was unrecognizable. Warm and honeyed. It made your stomach twist and turn into uncomfortable knots.

“I should go to bed, Cassian. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You made to walk away from him, but his rough fingers wrapped around your forearm in a touch that could only be described as gentle. When you finally looked up at him his brows were pinched together in confusion, and hurt.

“What’s with the full name?”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrowed slightly at your words, “You’ve used it on me twice in the span of a few minutes. I’m never ‘Cassian’ to you.”

A stretch of silence passed between the two of you, you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act around him anymore.

Gods, you had come around to the idea of seeing him tangled with Nesta. But you were back and he was single. Or at least not with her and you don’t know what you feared most.

That your heart would take this as hope and yearn for him, and watch him fall for another, or to finally tell him how you felt. If it would even mean anything to him, if he’d even want you.

You couldn’t do it, you wouldn’t. You refused to let hope spark in your heart when he had already tangled himself into your very being like overgrown ivy. You don’t know if you’d survive any more rejection.

His voice was softer this time, thick fingers cupping your cheeks and jaw, forcing you to look at him, “You were gone five years and I can barely get five sentences out of you before you’re running away from me.”

Tears stung behind your eyes as your throat tightened at the hurt twinging his voice. It took everything in you to not soothe the crease between his brows, your body tensing softly as his thumb caressed your bottom lip gently, “If I have offended you, or hurt you some how tell me how to fix it. I have been waiting for five years for your return and I cannot stand to think that this whole time you were away you were angry with me.”

You wished you could speak, but your tongue felt heavy. The hurt in his eyes turned to something akin to despair at your silence, his hands dropped from caressing your face to hang loosely by his side, his wings slumped against the floor.

You let out a shuddering breath, forcing yourself to look away from him, “I should go to bed.”

And this time he didn’t stop you.

Weeks had trickled by so slowly since your return to Velaris as you tried to find your place back in your home court.

You had never been particularly good at fighting, your strength came from your knowledge. Books and literature had been something you had clung to as a child and it never left you.

You digested text in a way the inner circle did not, memorized details and names and faces others struggled with. But that did not mean Azriel was any easier on you when it came to training.

The muscles in your abdomen ached painfully, your arms felt heavy and filled with sand as he squared up once more. “I need a break.”

“You need to focus.”

A whine ripped from your throat in protest, Az’s shadows peppering cooling kisses and caresses on your skin to try and comfort you. “Just a few minutes. Please?”

“You think if someone were to try and attack you, they’d spare you if you whined like a petulant child?”

At your silence and glare he continued, “Didn’t think so.”

Your fingers balled into fist as you readied yourself, your muscles heavy with exhaustion as you threw punch after punch his way. “Remain focused, let yourself do what feels instinctual.”

You were sure you would’ve passed whatever Azriel’s standards were had his shadows not wrapped around your legs. Tugging insistently and trying to drag you away.

You heard Azriel’s noise of protest as he tried to rein his shadows back but they refused. Your head turned towards the direction in which they were tugging you in only to be met with Cassian’s warm hazel eyes already on you.

With an accidental misstep you were tumbling forward, falling far too quickly to catch yourself. Your head ringing harshly as the side of your face smacked against the mat.

Someone called out your name in a panic, and you missed the way Cassian had roughly pushed Azriel away from you as he turned you around.

His eyes frayed with worry as your eyes remained unfocused, “Can you look at me, dove?”

You blinked a few times before a groan of discomfort left your mouth, “What the fuck happened?”

Azriel’s shadows sheepishly began to caress your skull, pressing kisses of apologies on your skin. You didn’t hear anything besides tiny wisps of whispers coming from them but you’re were sure they hissed at Cassian as he shooed them away.

It took you a few minutes but you were eventually able to sit. Your ears ringing and still a little dizzy but you were feeling better despite the throb on your temple.

Azriel’s shadows peered at you from behind him sheepishly, and it was only when you extended your hand to them that they swarmed you in a flurry. Rubbing against your neck and hair affectionately, being careful with the side of your face but caressing you softly.

“They say they’re sorry.”

Your lips quirked up at Azriel’s words, “They’re forgiven.”

They buzzed in excitement, before stilling softly as Cassian extended a hand out for the shadows. They treaded carefully, lightly caressing his arm as in apology as if they had also offended him.

A few swirled around your hand and fingers, tugging it much more gently into Cassian’s extended hand. Your cheeks warmed up in embarrassment but before you could pull away, he tangled his fingers with yours.

The shadows swirled around your intertwined hands as if proud of themselves before finally returning to their master. Azriel sent you a soft smirk, and with a shake of his head diseapeared into a mass of dark misty shadows.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded slowly, retorting in exasperation, “Just feels like I hit my head.”

Cassian’s lips tugged into a soft smile, helping you up and not dropping your tangled fingers, “Let’s get you to Madja.”

He pulled you along closely, walking you both towards the edge of the training area. Before you could overthink about being so tangled in his arms he wrapped himself around you. One hand cradling the back of your head to his chest, while the other gripped the back of your thighs.

Your heart pummeled to your stomach as he took off flying, it had been so long since you felt the breeze against your face like this. Your legs wrapping around him as a startled laugh left your mouth.

You felt his laugh more than you heard it, his chest rumbling against yours and for the first time in years, your heart felt at ease around Cassian.

No turmoil or anguish, just overflowing affection and happiness as he flew you carefully around Velaris. Your face tucked away from being so pressed to his chest to look up at him and your breath hitched.

He was truly so beautiful, rough and sharp features that looked like he was made out of stone carving. His lips the perfect shade of dusty rose and plump, his nose fit him beautifully too, slightly crooked at the slope from being broken over the years. White-raised scars on his beautiful tan skin. You were so close you could see the faintest of freckles that doted his skin.

“You didn’t pass out on me, did you?”

Heat bloomed on your cheeks at getting so lost admiring him before you tucked your face back into his chest, “No, I’m fine.”

His fingers squeezed around your thighs as he pulled you closer before he descended down to the Town House.

You were grateful for the hand he kept placed on your back as he walked you into the house. Your dizziness hitting you once again as you landed on solid ground. The warmth running down your spine at his heated touch had you suppressing a shiver.

Your bones ached in protest when he pulled away and sat you down in front of an amused Rhys and exasperated Madja. The elder lady frowning at the bruise on your temple.

“Cassian, I’ve told you not to be so rough when training,” Madja’s soothing voice chastised the General. Your lips tugging into an amused smiled at the noise of protest that left his mouth.

“It was Azriel’s shadows that caused this.”

Madja’s eyes narrowed softly at his words but said nothing more. A hiss leaving your lips as she pushed against the bump forming near your eye.

Cassian’s fingers twitched nervously at the sound of your discomfort. His eyes glued to you as you were looked over by the healer.

Something warm and comfortable hummed in his chest seeing you. The weeks you had been back were nothing short of torture for him.

In the five years you had been gone Cassian came to the devastating realization that he was utterly and unabashedly enamored with you. Cursing himself for the time wasted on pointless lovers, on Nesta, when you had been by his side for the better half of four centuries.

His heart cracking open and knocking him over one restless night as his mind tormented him with everything he had been lacking since you had departed to Day.

He figured that he had always loved you, had always cared for you. But the twisting of his gut in your absences alerted him that it was in a way that was different from Mor and Amren, and then Feyre. His obsession with needing you near, needing you safe stemmed from some thing else entirely.

It took four months of being away from you to realize that. Cursing himself at all the time wasted.

And it wasn’t as if he didn’t try to get ahold of you while you were studying and researching to your hearts content at Day. He had sent letter after letter, received few responses but he had figured you were busy.

His skin had only started to crawl with dread and anxiety when there had been reasons for the Inner Circle to attend a meeting, or some grand ball thrown by Helion, and you were never there.

Either whisked away to some other Court for extended research or taking time away to visit your sister.

The very last time he had stepped foot in Day while you had been there was about three months before your return. Rhys had granted him permission to seek you out.

And when he stepped foot into Day Court’s palace in search of you his hope dwindled as Helion informed him that you had just left a few days prior for a fourteen day tour at Autumn Court. But he swore he scented the soft jasmine and lavender cream that he recognized as your scent roaming the halls.

Resigned, he returned home.

Then you returned, so careful and tense in his presence he wished to turn back back to when things were easier between the two of you. When his face would nuzzle into your soft belly as you ran your fingers through his hair and consoled him after a nightmare.

Or how he’d find his favorite pastries wrapped up on the counter that he knew you’d gone out of your way to get him.

He missed when his feelings hadn’t tangled themselves so deeply into you and he could just be. Gods, did he miss you. He yearned and ached and burned for you while you seemed content at keeping him an arms length away.

The mother could be so cruel.

He barely registered Rhys pressing an affectionate kiss to your bruised temple and mumbling that he was taking Madja back before something so earth shattering was unraveling in his chest.

His eyes wide and chest heaving the second the two of you were alone and your eyes met. A deeply rich golden invisible thread darting from his chest to yours.

He had unconsciously poured all his emotions of recognizing the bond down your connection. A primal need to be closer to you bursting from his chest as he tugged on the bond.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t seem surprised he noted. Your side of the bond closed off tightly he could feel nothing from your end. He hated that.

Your eyes were wide in apprehension as you stared at him, tears lining your eyes as his emotions of love and devotion were so strong they brought him to his knees before you. Pleading and desperate as he called out your name.

“Don’t do this, Cassian.”

His brows pinched together as he reached for you, the bond screaming in agony as you avoided his touch and stood up to create some space between the two of you.

“Dove, listen to me. Please.” He was not above begging, still kneeled in the center of the room as his wings slumped to the ground. His eyes following your every move as you nervously ran your fingers through your hair.

“I feel it, I feel you.” His fingers and hands were steady as he pointed to his chest despite the feeling of anxiety creeping into him.

“You’re mine, my mate, dove.”

There was a beat of silence, Cassian staring at you as if you had delicately placed every beautiful star in the sky. But you had never seen him look at you like that before.

Never had he inclined he wanted you besides the bond. Gods, did it hurt. Your stomach churned sadly as your fingers balled into fist as you shook your head in denial.

“No. No, you don’t get to just suddenly want me because of the bond. I don’t want it this way.”

His frown deepened at your words, your emotions so heavily felt they started to crack the walls you kept up and pouring into the bond.

You had known for years. Five years, you had known and said nothing. “Gods, Cassian! I have loved you for so long. Prayed and begged to the Mother, to the Cauldron, to the Moon and Stars to have you return my affection and you didn’t.”

Cassian wanted to speak, to protest your words but the frustrated tears pouring down your beautiful face and the agony building in his chest, that was no longer just his, kept him quiet. “I’ve watched you pine and love others, and you have never looked at me that way. You had never thought me worthy of you in that way, and now that you know. It shouldn’t change a thing.”

“But it does,” His fingers itched to devote themselves to you. To memorize every curve and dip on your body. “It changes everything-”

You cut him off before he could continue, before he could tell you that he now felt worthy of loving you. That he now knew he could love you in a way you deserved if the Mother had blessed him with you as his wonderful mate. “Well it shouldn’t.”

You sniffled softly as you stared at him directly in his eyes, “I don’t want it to.”

#cassian #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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pretzel-box · 3 months ago

Note

HII, THIS IS MY FIRST TIME REQUESTING SOMETHING IF IM DOING SOMETHING WRONG FEEL FREE TO DELETE THIS ASK, BUT I WAS WONDERING…. In one of his lines sebastian makes a joke about having cards and such, the later says “ive never played cards actually.. meaning to learn.”. SO WHAT IF, i were to kindly and politely ask for anything that includes gender neutral reader teaching sebastian how to play cards, thank you for reading this in advance :3

UNO!

words: 1,7k

tags: uno, the card game.

authors note: I had too much fun with this and added Uno into the scenario! Sebastian learns everything about the wonderful world of cards.

Years ago, during a weekend at your grandparents' house, your grandpa placed a worn stack of playing cards in your hands and asked if you'd ever played. At the time, you hadn’t—being young and inexperienced—but that was the day you learned. Every time you visited afterward, your grandpa would teach you a new card game, keeping you entertained for hours.

So, when Sebastian mentioned that he had a deck of cards buried somewhere among his tools, junk, and files, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. Excited, you immediately hopped off his tail, which you had been using as a comfy seat, and began rummaging through his things in search of the cards.

“Don’t expect me to play with you,” he huffed, trying to avoid getting pulled into your sudden enthusiasm. He tried to mask his lack of skill by pretending he simply didn’t want to play, but your excitement made it clear that he wouldn’t be able to escape.

Before he knew it, you were sitting in front of him, shuffling the deck with ease, your fingers expertly spreading and reassembling the cards in one fluid motion. The sound of the cards snapping back together caught Sebastian’s attention, and despite his initial reluctance, he found himself watching you with curiosity.

You smiled at him, seeing the interest flicker in his eyes. “Come on, it’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.”

Sebastian grumbled under his breath but sat down across from you, folding his arms as if to keep up the pretense of disinterest. “Fine. But I’m not going to enjoy this.”

“We’ll see about that,” you teased, dealing out a hand of cards to him. You started with something simple, a basic game that didn’t require too much strategy. As you explained the rules, Sebastian’s brow furrowed in concentration. He kept glancing from the cards to you, trying to piece together what you were saying.

“Wait, so I can only play a card if it matches the suit or the number?” he asked, holding up a card as if it might give him the answer.

You nodded encouragingly. “Exactly. And if you can’t, you draw from the deck until you get something you can play.”

Sebastian stared at his hand, clearly overthinking his next move. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, his frustration starting to show.

“It will, just keep going,” you assured him, demonstrating a few moves to help him along. Slowly but surely, Sebastian began to understand, though he still looked uncertain with each card he placed down.

But as the game progressed, something surprising happened—Sebastian’s competitive side started to show. His earlier confusion faded as he began to grasp the game’s rhythm, and soon he was playing his cards with more confidence. You noticed the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth whenever he played a particularly good move, and it made you smile in return.

By the second game, Sebastian was leaning forward, more engaged than he would have admitted. “I got it this time,” he said, his voice tinged with unexpected enthusiasm. He played a card that blocked your move, his eyes lighting up as he realized he was starting to get the hang of it.

“Nice move,” you praised, genuinely impressed. Sebastian’s smirk grew, and he gave you a sidelong glance that was almost playful.

“Don’t think I’m going easy on you,” he warned, but there was no real bite in his words. He was enjoying himself, and it showed.

As the games continued, Sebastian’s initial reluctance was replaced with growing excitement. He began to anticipate your moves, even teasing you when he managed to outplay you. The grumpy, stoic man you were used to was momentarily replaced by someone who was genuinely having fun, and it warmed your heart to see him like this.

By the time you reached the fourth game, Sebastian was fully invested. He was still far from a card shark, but he was learning quickly and starting to enjoy the process. After winning a round a rare smile of his made a brief appearance.

“I knew you’d get into it,” you replied, happy to see him loosening up. “Maybe next time I’ll teach you something more challenging.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, the hint of a grin still on his face. “You think I can handle it?”

“I know you can,” you said confidently, shuffling the deck once more. “But first, let’s see if you can win another round.”

And so, the two of you continued playing, the shop filled with the sound of shuffling cards, quiet laughter, and the growing bond between a grumpy fish and his human friend.

Three days had passed since you first taught Sebastian how to play cards, and in that short time, it had become a regular part of your routine. Whenever there was a lull in your mission and you saw his open vent around, you’d pull out the deck, and Sebastian—despite his initial reluctance—would join you, slowly improving with each game. The more you played, the more his gruff exterior seemed to soften, revealing a side of him that was competitive yet surprisingly good-natured.

On the fourth day, you decided it was time to take things up a notch. When you walked into the shop that morning, a mischievous grin spread across your face. Sebastian looked up from his work, his brow furrowing in curiosity when he noticed the new deck of cards in your hand.

“What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the colorful box with suspicion.

You sauntered over to the table where you usually played, setting the box down with a flourish. You found this in a dumpster around one of the many office rooms. “This,” you said, holding up the deck, “is a game called UNO. I figured since you’ve gotten pretty good at regular cards, it’s time for a new challenge.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, still wary but clearly intrigued. “UNO, huh? Doesn’t sound too tough.”

You smirked, shaking your head as you started to shuffle the cards. “Oh, you have no idea. This game’s a bit different. It’s not just about matching suits and numbers—you’ve got action cards, wild cards, and, of course, the dreaded Draw 4.”

Sebastian watched as you dealt out the cards, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

You began to explain the rules, showing him how to match colors or numbers, how to use the action cards to skip turns, reverse the order, or make the other player draw more cards. Sebastian listened intently, nodding along as he picked up the basics. But when you explained the Draw 4 and Wild cards, he gave you a skeptical look.

“So, I can change the color and make you draw four cards?” he asked, holding up the card and studying it closely. “That sounds a little unfair.”

You chuckled, enjoying his reaction. “It’s all part of the strategy. You have to know when to play those cards—and when to save them for later. Trust me, once you get the hang of it, you’ll see why it’s so fun.”

Sebastian wasn’t entirely convinced, but he went along with it, sorting his hand and planning his first move. As the game began, it became clear that this was a whole new level of challenge. The fast-paced nature of UNO, combined with the unexpected twists from action cards, kept him on his non existent toes.

At first, Sebastian struggled with the new mechanics, hesitating as he tried to remember which cards did what. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him concentrate, his usual grumpy expression deepening into a thoughtful frown. But soon, just as with the regular cards, he started to catch on. The competitive spark you’d seen before returned, and before long, Sebastian was playing his cards with growing confidence.

“You’re getting the hang of it once again,” you noted, as he successfully played a Skip card, blocking your turn and earning a satisfied grunt from him.

“Yeah, it’s not so bad,” Sebastian admitted, though his tone was more grudging than he probably intended. “Still not sure how I feel about that Draw 4, though.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” you teased, winking as you placed down your own Draw 2 card, watching as he groaned and drew two more cards from the deck.

As the game continued, Sebastian started to enjoy himself, even laughing quietly when he managed to reverse the play order right before you could make your move. It was clear that he was getting into the spirit of the game, and the playful banter between the two of you made it even more fun.

By the time you were nearing the end of the game, Sebastian had only a few cards left, his earlier hesitation replaced by determination. But just as he was about to play his second-to-last card, you laid down a Wild Draw 4, changing the color and forcing him to draw four more cards. He stared at the card you’d played, then at the stack he had to draw from, his mouth opening in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, though there was no real anger in his voice—just the frustration of someone who was so close to victory but had it snatched away at the last second.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter as you watched him reluctantly pick up the four cards. “Welcome to UNO, Sebastian. Anything can happen.”

He gave you a mock glare, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “This game’s ridiculous,” he grumbled, though you could tell he was already plotting his next move.

Despite the setback, Sebastian managed to hold his own, and when the game finally ended—with you barely winning by a single card—he was already asking for a rematch.

“Again,” he said, shuffling the cards himself this time. “I’m not losing like that twice.”

You grinned, happy to see him so engaged. “You’re on. Just don’t blame me when you end up drawing another four cards.”

As the two of you began the next round, the shop filled once more with the sounds of shuffling cards, playful competition, and the growing camaraderie between you and the man who was quickly becoming more than just a grumpy store owner.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #uno

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jaysgirlx · 9 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❥ pairing: valentines jason todd x f!reader

❥ summary: this is your first valentine's day with jason after well he died and came back, he needs everything to be perfect for you to make for all the lost time.

❥ warnings: bit of angst, mentions of abuse/torture, tons of fluff & smut, unapproving dad Bruce Wayne

❥ wc: 4.3k

"Jason stop it, c'mon Bruce is going to catch us" you squealed, while your boyfriend pressed kisses all over your neck. "I don't want you to get banned from seeing me again, especially with Valentine's upcoming!"

Jason groaned and lifted his head up from your hickey-stained neck. "Even if Bruce does ban me, there's no way in hell I'm missing our first Valentine's," Jason says, laying his head on your chest. The two of you comfortably lay in your bed, cuddling while your parents were asleep a couple doors down.

You'd grown up with Jason, you'd always known him as a troublesome kid but that didn't stop you from developing a crush on the guy. You never thought of saying anything until you learned he'd gotten adopted after his dad kinda just disappeared.

For weeks you'd missed him, you missed how dumb antics, you missed the way he was always following you around and you missed his dumb smile. God, you loved that cheesy grin he always gave you..

Until one day he appeared on your doorstep, telling you that Bruce, his new dad was finally allowing him to visit his old friends. You thought he'd forgotten you but it was far from it and you knew then and there you definitely had a thing for Jason Todd.

It still took a while for either of you to confess your feelings. You thought you would crack first but Jason did instead when he learned that some guy from your school had a crush on you. He didn't mean for it to come out but he was just so jealous, "Why go out with him when you have me huh? I'd make a much better boyfriend. Just go out with me"

He wasn't wrong because he did, a week later you were on the best date of your life. Jason took you to this amazing amusement park that was happening in the middle of Gotham City. The whole night was spent on games and junk food, and Jason Todd got his kiss on the cheek that wasn't from Barbara.

Over time your relationship developed into something more, you couldn't help but spend more and more time with him. He eventually asked you to be his girlfriend and you've been his ever since.

"Well, I don't want to risk it okay? You need to get home before Bruce notices, don't you guys have patrol tonight"

"Okay fine, fine but first, I have something for you princess"

You watch as Jason pulls out what looks to be a ring box. "Woah, wash slow your roll buster, we are only 15 you can't freaking propose!" you whisper scream, praying that your shock wouldn't wake up your parents.

"Princess calm down, it's just a promise ring," Jason said rolling his eyes as if this was normal. "I wanted to give it to you before our date tomorrow, so you'll already be wearing it"

Jason sat up a bit and cleared his throat while he looked at you nervously, "I'm not sure if I've made this clear but…I love you y/n. Like really love you and you're the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with. So I got this promise ring, it's like a sign of me promising myself to you if that makes any sense"

"You love me?"

"Yes, I love you y/n and you don't have to say it back okay? We're young, I have years to come to hear you say it"

You were silent as he slipped the ring on your finger. You could tell from the moment he opened the box it wasn't cheap but you couldn't complain he bought it for you. Because he loved you. And you wanted to say it back but you were scared, scared to fully accept that you loved him.

Jason didn't care if you said it back or not because, in his eyes, you were the only one who accepted him. He looked at you sweetly and gave you a soft smile before getting out of your bed and heading towards your window. Now was the time to say it, to tell him you loved him but you just couldn't m

"I'll see you tomorrow okay sweetheart? I'll pick you up at 7" He says climbing out the window with one of his cheesy grins.

At the age of 15, you'd never be happier to be young and stupidly in love with Jason Todd. Ever since he moved in with Bruce, the two of you didn't get to see each other a lot, and that caused tension between him and Bruce. Jason believed he deserved a later curfew so he could visit you but Bruce was against it, he didn't think it was safe.

Tonight Jason snuck out to see you, the two of you had Valentine's Day plans and wanted to confirm them and we'll spend time with you. You were his world, you were one of the biggest reasons he became Robin. You were the one he wanted to protect no matter what and you knew that.

What you didn't know was this would be the last time you'd ever see Jason at least until you saw his casket. The two of you never celebrated your first Valentine's and you never got to tell Jason how much he meant to you. You never got to tell him how stupid he was for sneaking out, how much you didn't deserve this wrong, and that you did love him back.

7 years later

Everything had to be perfect.

Currently, it was February 14th and Jason had woken up with what was probably the worst news he could've gotten over a phone call.

Dear Mr.Todd, we're sorry to bother you on such a busy day but your reservation at Gotham Restaurant has been canceled due to a surge of higher-paying customers. We can reschedule your reservation for free at any time. We are sorry for this inconvenience.

"You're kidding me right!" Jason yelled, banging his fist against the wall. Out of a day, it had to snow today huh? Your first Valentine's since the two of you got back together. The first Valentine's since he died. Jason had never been able to give you the Valentines you deserved and when the two of you got back together, he immediately started planning.

"No Sir, we are very sorry for this inconvenience and we can try and get you another reservation elsewhere but-"

"Nowhere else is going to have any free spot and even ignoring that my girlfriend wants to go the Gotham Restaurant not anywhere else"

Well, that is what you had told him when he asked what restaurant would you like to go to that you hadn't been to yet. This wasn't how today was supposed to go. Jason had the whole day planned out. What should've been waking up in his followed by breakfast in bed, shopping, lunch, more shopping, dinner at your favorite place, a movie, dessert at your favorite ice cream shop, and ending with hopefully some cuddling if you didn't mind was now all ruined.

Jason had needed today to be perfect especially after you got over the fact that your dead boyfriend was not only alive but also vililangte who was formerly a crime lord. The fact you still wanted to be with him after all this time bewildered him this led him to believe he was probably on thin ice with you so today had to be perfect.

Since it was already Valentine's Day he knew no other restaurant would have any space for a reservation so that meant he'd probably have to cook the two of you dinner. Jason had quite the stocked fridge so he didn't see it as a bad idea but he knew you'd be disappointed for sure.

His entire relationship was riding on today being perfect and it was already failing. While Jason tried to get dressed he quickly noticed that it was already passed 8 o'clock. He was late, He said he'd make you breakfast in bed at 8 which made him late. Could today get any worse?

And it did when you told him you wouldn't eat breakfast with him because your boss really needed you at work for a couple of hours and he had already been on his way to your apartment. "I'll be back early enough for us to go shopping, and go to the restaurant. mkay? I guess we'll have to miss the movie" you said through the phone while simultaneously getting dressed for work. "Can't wait to go the Gotham Restaurant, can't believe you got us a reservation babe."

"Yeah about that…" Jason couldn't do this, he couldn't tell you that actually, you guys weren't getting dinner anywhere and that he was going to cook at home. You sounded so excited and so happy and he didn't want to be the reason that went away. "You'll love it alright. I'll pick you up from work around 6 for your shopping spree and then we'll get dinner"

"Jay I don't need to go shopping, dinner is enough really-"

"I want to take you shopping okay? I have enough saved up to spoil you and that's what I plan to do sweetheart"

Your heart hummed at the word sweetheart. It had been so long since Jason had called you that. It felt surreal because at times he didn't feel like Jason, well not like your Jason. The Jason who kissed you like his life depended on it, the Jason who was obsessed with holding your hand, the Jason who told you he loved you.

When Bruce called you and told you Jason was alive you didn't believe him. Jason was dead, you were at the funeral just like everyone else and knew how he died. A small part of you blame Bruce, this wouldn't have happened to Dick and even if it did he would've found him. Bruce tried telling you a couple more times but you ignored him. Your boyfriend, no your Jason was dead. The next time you hear about it was from Dick because Jason was out for blood. Joker's if we had to be specific.

You didn't want to believe him but Dick had loved Jason like they were biological brothers and you knew he wouldn't lie. He warned you that Jason was different and that I should be wary of him.

You took his advice and made sure not to walk home alone and tried not to go out at night but one day you had a rough day at work and you decided to visit Jason's grave. You left red dahlias on his tombstone and sat down next to it. You started talking to it about how your boss yelled at you and called you incompetent. "You would have called him an asshole for that if you were here," You told him how much you missed him. You knew he was alive but it felt so much easier talking to the tombstone because it felt like he was really there.

You did this consistently for about 2 months, you had caught on that someone was watching you. It was Dick because when you did actually see the figure they were much taller than Dick and they stayed hidden, Dick wouldn't have a reason to do that. It made sense to alert Dick but you didn't because you knew who it was and you weren't ready to face him.

Eventually, you heard from Dick that Jason had changed and that maybe you should talk to him but you still needed time. That didn't stop Jason from approaching you at your apartment. You were startled because your little high school boyfriend was suddenly 6 feet and over 200 pounds. He was practically all muscle and you were kinda scared. That didn't stop you from crying in his arms.

It took a while for the two of you to adjust to being in each other's lives especially when you never stopped having feelings for him. When you admitted that to him, he asked for a second chance. That he'd be yours even if you weren't his. So you let him be yours.

"Okayyy, I'll see you at 6 hun," you said just as you cut off the call.

Jason paces around his bedroom trying to figure out how the hell he was going to get the reservation back.

The two of you arrive at the mall, and you wait while Jason parks his motorcycle. It was shocking how there were barely any cars in the lot. Jason assumed that maybe people were just busy cause of Valentine's. You were so excited to go in that you ran over to the doors to get inside except you couldn't.

Closed for Construction, the sign read.

Jason didn't think today could get worse but it did. "No no no! This wasn't supposed to be Damn it!" He said angrily. He had even called the building, they were supposed to be opened. Construction wasn't for another 2 weeks, it was just his luck that they decided to start early. "Jason it's fine, I told you I don't need to go shopping. It was very thoughtful of you though to want to spoil me but you're already getting me dinner at the best restaurant in the city"

"There is no dinner! Our reservation got fucking and canceled and…Today is ruined y/n. Let me just take you home."

"Jason why didn't you tell me, I can promise you today is not ruined. Jay, are you even listening to me?"

Jason was hardly processing your words though because all he could think was losing you. You would dump him and he would go back to hating himself and his very existence. Would life go back to being a reminder that he died? He was tortured endlessly until he was finally out of his misery. No matter how hard the Joker tried to convince him that you hated him he wouldn't believe him. The part of you wearing his promise ring is what kept him going. What got him through the beating. What made it easier to look at the scars.

What left did he have if he wasn't able to love you. He was yours, he didn't know how to love others and he didn't want to because he would always love you. When he was watching you he realized that even though it had been 7 years you were still the same.

Still had the pretty smile and that contagious laugh, still had a knack for books and enjoyed it. You were still his, at least he believed so. And the one thing you asked him, he couldn't deliver. You messed up your first Valentine's and now he was going to mess up this one too.

"Jay for fucks sake, would you look at me!!"

Jason wasn't sure if it was that cursing that made him snap out of his spiral or maybe it was the fact that you were holding his hands. It had only been 2 weeks since he reintroduced himself into your life, and had been avoiding affection. He knew it was cause he was so big now and you were a bit scared. But right now you weren't. You were holding your hands with his. You were looking at him with what looked like pain and so much regret but you were smiling at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Just shut up okay? And listen to what I have to say"

After you had finally managed to calm him down you knew you needed to tell d him how you had felt. "When I lost you, I regretted so much Jay but what I regretted most was not telling you that I loved you and it hurt. It hurt knowing Joker had you and that you were in pain but what hurt more was that you were really gone."

You paused and slowed your breath a bit.

"I know it seems like you owe me something like you need to make up for lost time or show me you're worth love but I already know that Jay. I've been yours since we were kids, m'kay? "

"But I do owe you, I owe you the goddamn world if possible"

"For what Jay?"

"Accepting me again I know I'm different than I'm used to be. I'm more shut out and I know I definitely look different. There is so much you accepted just cause I love you"

You groaned annoyingly and raised your hand up and shook it in his face, "Have you even noticed that I'm still wearing this promise ring? The one you gave me?"

Jason had, you wondered why you still wore it. It was so tiny and was probably uncomfortable. It was a tiny gold band, he had paid Selina for that had a diamond on it. To others, it clearly looked like it could be an engagement ring and you still wore it because you still, did being to someone whether was dead or alive. People tried to convince you to move on and take off the ring but you didn't listen.

"You still have it..."

"Mhmm, believe me now?"

"How about we get dinner to go at some random place, come to my place and we'll eat and cuddle while watching some movies"

"You're okay with just that?"

"I'm okay with anything as long as I'm doing it with you Jay, that's the whole point"

Jason smiled and held you in his arms, "can't believe you're still all mine"

"C'mon let's go to the movie theater and see what they've got"

And that's exactly what you did.

The two of you were cozied up on your bed, with a bunch of food. Jason bought himself chili dogs and got you pancakes to make up for breakfast. Who knew pancakes tasted better at night?

Jason also bought 2 tubs of Ice Cream to substitute as dessert. You may not be eating at that fancy restaurant but you were still having the time of your life.

"I swear you hated chili dogs when I was alive?!"

"I always liked them I just never wanted to admit it else that would've been the only food we'd ever eat"

While the TV played in the background you looked over at Jason who looked the happiest he'd been all day. There he was, your Jason. He was there, under all those scars he was still there. Jason noticed you were staring you looked over at you, and leaned in to place a soft kiss on your lips. "I've missed the taste of your lips" he whispered quietly

He kissed you again and this time you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. "I've missed you, Jay," you said in response. Jason didn't hands on his way to your hips and he pulled you closer, right onto his lap. You still hadn't adjusted to Jason being so big, so when your hands found your way to his muscles you were surprised to feel him groan while you felt him up a bit.

"Sweetheart, if you keep this up I'm going to do something you might regret"

"I didn't regret my first time with you, I'm not going to regret it now babe"

He groaned again this time grinding his hips upwards against yours. Jason swiftly switches your position, putting you underneath him. His kisses quickly became more eager while his hips rutted into you, "Baby, I don't have any-"

"Don't need it, got on the pill a couple years back" you said softly, gripping his shirt. "I promise I want this, so let's get these out for he was please?"

Your pleas were enough for Jason to take off your dress, you'd worn a red satin dress. He'd always liked you in red, especially when it was just for him. Jason had on a tux except he replaced the jacket with his favorite leather one. Regardless, he still looked so good, as he always did.

His leather jacket was already on your bedroom floor, you tried to undress him but he stopped you. "The scars…I don't want to scare you again"

"You won't, I promise. I'll even kiss them, they're a part of you Jay and you're mine" you say tugging on his shirt. With a sigh, he silently takes off his shirt. You raise your hand to touch him but stop and make sure it is okay. He doesn't verbally answer but he gives you a nod. You trace his scars with your finger but one sticks out the most, his neck scar.

You move your face closer to his neck, and kiss his scar, "You're still as beautiful as ever, you're still my Jason" you say while you pull away from his neck. Before you can even read his reaction, Jason kisses you again, rough and with more of a need. Jason had told you he'd met other people but in the end, he could ever think of you. You were the only person who made it just for him.

You'd had your own set of boyfriends which all seemed to end up the same, they'd get too close and you'd dump them. You couldn't imagine loving anybody the way you loved Jason. Jason's body pressed against yours with his hand on your back, pushing you into him. Your hands made your way to his pants, tugging at the waistband. "Patient baby, I'll take em off for you"

The sound of a belt hit your floor but you didn't care, you kept kissing him like your life depended on it. You didn't fully remember when Jason took off your underwear but you remember him, "Jay when did get so..."

"big?" he finished for you with a chuckle, "Yeah, there's a lot you're going to have to get used to with me" His tip pressed at your cunt, earning a disapproving groan for you. You didn't like how slow he was going, you knew he was doing it because he didn't want to hurt you but you weren't 15 anymore you could take it.

You wrap one leg around his waist pushing against his back. Jason liked the way you squirmed underneath him, practically begging for him to fuck you. After a couple minutes, he gave in and sunk his cock right into you. Your nails dug into his back, feeling the stretch of his cock inside you. You felt so embarrared you came on his cock from just him entering"

"Did you just-"

"Shut up please"

Jason looked down at you, his cheeks flushed red, while he was breathing very quickly

"Jay why aren't you moving"

"Can't baby"

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean if I move, I'm going to cum on the spot sweetheart so please bare with me" he groaned out, trying to adjust to your warm cunt hugging his cock. Slowly he began to move, using one hand to grip the sheets in hopes he wouldn't blow his load too quickly. His other hand was on his hip, trying to steady your body. Your hands were on his face, caressing his cheeks. Whenever he blushed it was so obvious, you used to tease him all about it even though you loved it.

He down to capture your lips again, allowing your arms to find themselves around his neck. Each thrust was messier than the last, getting rougher after each second. Sex now was so much more different than when the two of you were teens. Jason did things you didn't even know he could do. Once he'd found your g-stop he began to abuse it, earning a chocked moan from you every time. He was studying what you liked, what made you feel good and you loved him.

He let go of the sheets and placed both hands on your hips, giving you even tougher thrusts and even biting on your neck. Your entire body was on fire, you were overwhelmed notnonkynfrom his size but the feeling of Jason's body pressing into yours. You couldn't feel so good.

You always knew Jason was a bitter, also long as he didn't draw too much blood you were alright with it. A soft moan left your mouth as you came again, cum running down your thighs while Jason continued to fuck you. Jason thought about overstimming, making you beg for him to stop because you'd feel too good.

"Didn't know my girl was into biting" He said, while lifting up one of your legs to push deeper into you. You'd cum for tbr second time but he needed you cum one last time at least before he came. The rough slaps of skin and moans filled the room. Making it hard for you to not cum again on the spot. You felt so good you couldn't even complain that he was teasing you "Fuck you're really sensitive sweetheart"

You hid your face in the crook of his neck while his hips pounded into yours. Your legs shook while you whispered in his ear, "If you don't stop m'gonna cum again, Jay pleaseeeee"

He didn't stop though, instead, you came another two times. Makes a mess of cock. "Such a good girl f'me, just let me fill you up and we'll be done. I promise sweetheart" He gripped your hips tightly before releasing inside you. The two of you exchanged a couple more kisses while you both rode out your orgasms.

You whimpered while he pulled out of you, missing his warmth already. He watched as his cum poured out of you, dripping on the sheets. You laid back on the bed, while he hovered over you for a brief moment.

Once he laid down next to you and though he was panting he pulled your body onto his lap. You rested your head on his chest just as he used to do to you. That reminded you, there was something you needed to say, "Jay can I say something I've been holding in for a long time, yeah?"

"Mhmm, what is it, sweetheart?"

"Jason Peter Todd, I love you"

❥ a/n: happy valentine's to all my lovelies!! i hope everyone enjoys this fic and also has a nice valentines day, whether it's with someone or by themselves.

❥ taglist: @meowkn, @kazzattack, @woodenanemone, @yourlocalcringydaydreamer , @orchidsangel, @millyhelp

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daycourtofficial · 8 months ago

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Starfall in Autumn

Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader

Summary: based on the prompt for @starfallweek “characters a and b realize they won’t make it to Starfall. They make the most of what they have to celebrate”

Warnings: pregnancy mentioned as a plot device to keep us in Autumn 🫡, Eris being down bad

Upon your engagement, you told Eris that you wanted to incorporate Night Court traditions into your life here in Autumn. One such tradition included attending your home court’s annual Starfall Ball.

Your favorite night of the year, bringing Eris along to spend the evening with your family. The first few years were tense, and while your family is far from accepting him with loving arms, they do have common ground they can discuss and safe topics for all parties to avoid any fights or arguments.

Usually Eris would spend most of the evening with you or Lucien, but a few years ago he and Nesta began an annual traditional chess match. The two were quite evenly matched, the both of them ignoring everyone in concentration.

This year, however, you were stuck in Autumn, unable to get dressed up. The one night of the year you donned Night Court attire, instead staying in comfortable slippers and a simple black dress.

You were close to your due date, the next heir of Autumn in your womb, and they were much too large for you to winnow comfortably anymore. An unfortunate fact you discovered two months ago on a trip with Lucien, your brother in law suffering the consequences of your motion sickness.

You and Eris made the decision then on no more winnowing, and the Night Court was simply too far away to travel by carriage or horse this far along in your pregnancy.

So the two of you stayed behind, the crisp air, faint smell of apples, and the red and orange leaves doing nothing to soothe the homesickness you felt deep in the pits of your stomach.

Autumn didn’t celebrate Starfall - you couldn’t see any of the beautiful colors that fill the night sky here, not a trace of starlight anywhere.

Eris held your hands as you sat on a blanket, the crunching of leaves as your body hits the earth. You watch the sky as you feel your mate’s warmth next to you.

“Er, what are we doing out here?”

“Patience is a virtue, my love,” he replies, kissing your hand.

“Since when have you been so concerned with being virtuous?”

He leans up, a hand lying across his knee. He looks so relaxed when you knew he had been anything but. Eris was incredibly experienced in caring for babes, having helped raise all of his brothers.

His least favorite part was always the labor. He’d pace outside of his mother’s chambers, his father nowhere to be seen until after the ‘inconvenient part’, as Beron described it. His thoughts would lead him to the worst conclusion, preparing himself to lose his mother, the only softness he’s ever experienced in the world.

And now he was crippled with those same anxieties about you. He swallows those fears down, saving them for later. Now was about you.

“I’m preparing to be a father, dear, I have to put on a front at least.”

He pulls out a bottle of apple cider from the basket next to you two, along with two glasses. He gestures the bottle to you, and you nod. He pours your glass and hands it to you before pouring himself a glass.

You hum as the cool liquid slides down your throat, leaning into Eris as he wraps an arm around you.

You breathe in the cool autumn air, a faint smell of bonfires in the distance. You watch the stars as they twinkle, reminding you of your childhood, of Starfalls past with Rhysand.

Eris senses your nostalgia through the bond, and tightens his grip on you. You notice a few other fae in the clearing, bringing their own blankets, snacks, and children.

“I thought the Autumn Court didn’t celebrate Starfall?” You ask, eyes finding Eris’s amber ones in the dark.

He exhales, the movement of his chest rubbing against you, “we do now.”

Your gaze on Eris was interrupted by a large boom on the other side of the clearing. You look for the source, assuming you’re under some form of attack, until the sky lights up in beautiful shades of red, shining so brightly against the night sky. The red scatters across the sky, fizzling out, making way for the next boom, this one followed by a green light display.

“What is this?” You ask, unable to look away, never seeing anything like it before.

“Well, during the war we were experimenting with new weapons, and one of our scientists invented this powder. We’ve only been able to use it for these big, beautiful displays.”

“Truthfully, they’ve been sitting in storage for years. Beautiful, but not very useful for the war. When we decided on staying here for the holiday, I was trying to find ways to make the day memorable for you.”

You pull your eyes away from the display in the sky, Eris’s pale face lit up in shades of green and yellow light. “Er, you big softie,” you choke out, tears threatening to spill out at the gesture.

It wasn’t the Starfalls of your youth, running around with Rhysand or Cassian, the Illyrians flying you into the stardust until you were covered in it.

It wasn’t your childhood, it was new. And perhaps this would be your children’s childhood - starfalls spent under the manufactured displays, so different from the real thing, but beautiful in such a unique way.

He inhales through his nose, trying not to take the bait, but he knew you were right. He was still rigid and untrusting, but you had smoothed out so many of his rough edges over the years.

“I am what you have made me, my love.”

#acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra x you #eris x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris x y/n #eris x reader

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regainingparadise · 2 months ago

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Relistening to TMA Season 5, I am again struck by how goddam badly Martin and Jon need couples counseling.

I love them both. I ship them very much. But oh lord they have issues

Like, these are two individuals who, under the very best of circumstances, would really need therapy both individually and together. They are both people with plentiful quantities of relational trauma from childhood that neither of them have worked through even the slightest bit.

And then you throw them into the apocalypse. And you add a metric fuck ton of guilt, helplessness, and the dynamics of being "The Antichrist and +1"?

On a surface level--Jon is in a perpetual state of information overload. Martin is in a perpetual state of "can you please just explain the basics of what's' going on in a given situation and not just say "it's complicated" or launch into a gruesome monologue"

But on a deeper level, their childhood relational traumas have left them each with opposing avoidant tendencies: Jon is unwilling to broach a difficult conversation, which leads him to hide information until he's confronted. Martin, on the other hand, has a finely honed ability to ignore information that he doesn't like until he no longer can hide from it.

Biggest example of their avoidance tendencies: Martin's Domain

Way early on, when we barely understand any of how the hellscape works, Jon mentions it, Martin shuts it down hard and deflects quickly with a bid for affection from Jon

Martin is in deliberate denial, but Jon admittedly wasn't particularly clear to start with.

"We all have a domain."

Jon means it, presumably, as "Me, You, and other 'Avatars.'" Jon is used to being grouped with those empowered by the Entities. Martin isn't. (see also: MAG185: Martin" Is that how these creatures see us now? As one of them?") But that's not what Jon says. And this is MAG167--they've only been through four domains, at least that we've seen. Jon is speaking from a place of knowledge, and assuming his listener has that same knowledge.

And when this issue comes up much later in MAG183, Martin has spent 17 episodes ignoring or forgetting that he has a domain, not letting that information in so that he has never processed it. (See also: Mag170: "Sometimes I wonder if I forget things on purpose. Easier not to think about them, I guess. Easier to just let them… slip away. They can’t hurt you if you don’t think about them.").

Martin confronts Jon on his avoidance (because while Martin may be good at ignoring things he doesn't like, he's far better at bringing up challenging topics), Jon is able to manage some A+ communication on his feelings and the genuine challenging of figuring out how to share upsetting information when he has All The Information, Martin accepts that. I just desperately want a therapist to be there and make them continue this conversation and practice ongoing good communication skills!

Though they resolve this, even though Jon has an explanation that makes sense...he was really leaving this conversation to the last minute. Would he have "[brought] it up at the crossroads" as he claims to Helen? Or would he have avoided it entirely, as she accuses, or waited till they were at the threshold, as he does with The Desolation and the Hunt, leaving Martin to confront terrifying situations without forewarning or planning or explanation.

Again, Jon kind of tried to bring up some of the potential issues with Basira and Daisy before entering the Hunt domain, but kept it Vague and Ominous ("Things aren't...good"). Martin took that vagueness as an opening to avoid engaging with potential bad news. The teensiest bit of therapy for either of them about their communication issues could have let Jon add "I know you're exited but FYI here are some specifics that you should know" and/or Martin go "I'm excited to see them but given that nothing is good right now, can you be more specific?"

Instead, Jon approaches difficult conversations by being Vague and Ominous, Martin gets snarky or passive-aggressive at the vagueness, upset or aggressively avoidant at the Ominousness, Jon closes back up like a turtle into his shell, and the conversation only comes back up when the situation has drastically escalated, leaving them both more upset.

Jon wants Martin to trust him, because explaining what he knows implicitly is an ordeal for him, and because his upbringing by his grandmother has suggested that communicating is generally unwanted and burdensome (See: MAG081 A Guest for Mr. Spider).

Martin wants to know what is going on, because he's in an awful hellscape of shifting rules about what can and cannot hurt them, completely dependent on a brand-new romantic partner for his survival and purpose, and also because his upbringing and coping mechanisms as a caretaker rely on him knowing enough to help, and his time as an archival assistant has given him some not-inconsiderable trauma about being left in the dark (See: MAG118 The Masquerade) (There's also another post in my head about how MAG118 primed Martin for both the Lonely and his development as a more confrontational character in S5)

All that to say.

Martin needs therapy to deal with the way he chooses not to absorb information he doesn't like. Jon needs therapy to understand that sometimes it's ok to bring up important topics even if the other person will be upset. They both need therapy to cope with all the guilt and helplessness around the apocalypse so they stop taking it out on each other. They need therapy together to learn how to work through their conflicting coping mechanisms.

#Look I love them #But they need so much therapy #Even in the most no powers fluffy AU fanfic #They really would need therapy #Jmart #teaholding #Jon Sims #Jonathan Sims #Martin Blackwood #Martin K Blackwood #the magnus archives #tma podcast #tma #tma meta #tma spoilers #making my english professor proud #Marfisa Thinks Things

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hollowed-theory-hall · 2 months ago

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Still going through the slowest Deathly Hallows reread, and I encountered this lovely Tomarrymort moment I felt like sharing. I mean, I saw some people mention how Hermione refers to their mental connection as a relationship:

“You never really tried!” she said hotly. “I don’t get it, Harry—do you like having this special connection or relationship or what—whatever—” She faltered under the look he gave her as he stood up. “Like it?” he said quietly. “Would you like it?” “I—no—I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean—” “I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when he’s most dangerous. But I’m going to use it.”

(DH, 202)

Above Harry clearly denies it, but later in Deathly Hallows, there's a moment I didn't see talked about as much, where Harry, in his own mind, agrees with Hermione:

Harry was just able to make out the indistinct features of an object that looked like a skull, and something like a mountain that was more shadow than substance. Used to images sharp as reality, Harry was disconcerted by the change. He was worried that the connection between himself and Voldemort had been damaged, a connection that he both feared and, whatever he had told Hermione, prized. Somehow Harry connected these unsatisfying, vague images with the destruction of his wand, as if it was the blackthorn wand’s fault that he could no longer see into Voldemort’s mind as well as before

(DH, 375)

Not only did Harry lie to Hermione but he actually prizes his connection to Voldemort for its usefulness and for the sense of purpose it gives Harry. Now, I want to expand on the latter one.

I already talked about how in Deathly Hallows, Voldemort's sole purpose and obsession is Harry, but, Harry isn't much different. Like, he has a few other things going on, but a lot of his sense of purpose and sense of self hinges on Voldemort.

The reason these visions from Voldemort become so important to him is that he feels it's the only useful thing he can do since they're stuck on the Horcruxes' front. They give him a sense of purpose. The fact he connects the loss of his connection with Voldemort and the destruction of his wand is so fascinating to me.

Because Harry's wand is so important to him, he describes it as a piece of himself, like a living thing that is part of him:

The holly and phoenix wand was nearly severed in two. One fragile strand of phoenix feather kept both pieces hanging together. The wood had splintered apart completely. Harry took it into his hands as though it was a living thing that had suffered a terrible injury. He could not think properly. Everything was a blur of panic and fear. Then he held out the wand to Hermione

(DH, 300)

Without realizing it, he was digging his fingers into his arms as if he were trying to resist physical pain. He had spilled his own blood more times than he could count; he had lost all the bones in his right arm once; this journey had already given him scars to his chest and forearm to join those on his hand and forehead, but never, until this moment, had he felt himself to be fatally weakened, vulnerable, and naked, as though the best part of his magical power had been torn from him.

(DH, 303)

Connecting something he thinks about like this and his connection to Voldemort is... well, it's interesting, to say the least.

I mean, of course, there is the twin core and its protection, and it's clear why he would connect his wand to Voldemort, but Harry was always fond of his wand despite its connection to Voldemort, not because of it:

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia.

(GoF, 310)

So, I find all this kinda interesting. How during the final book Harry's sense of purpose and being becomes more and more hinged on Voldemort while essentially the same thing is going on with Voldemort who forgot about the ministry entirly and is only focused on killing Harry.

#harry potter #harry james potter #tommarymort #harrymort #deathly hallows #hollowedrambling #hp #harry potter and the deathly hallows

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itgetzweird08 · 1 month ago

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one two three four

katsuki bakugo x Gn!reader

One week later

T-Minus three weeks until the dance

—------------

“Good Morning!”

For so early in the morning, the rat principal was very cheerful. The same couldn’t be said for his human climbing tree. Mr. Aizawa stood slouched, eyes dark and face heavy with lack of sleep. Nezu sat snuggly in the binding cloths on the tired man’s shoulder. Mitsuki had only spoken to the principal on a handful of occasions, and she always thought he was very…unique. But he was damn good at his job, and he really cared about his students. That's why Mitsuki had such a good feeling about the request she was about to make, despite it being such a large one.

“‘Morning. Thanks for meeting with me, I know your schedules are probably packed with everything going on around here.”

Nezu smiled cheerfully at the woman, waving a paw in dismissal. “Nonsense! I’m always happy to meet with a parent, especially you, Mrs. Bakugo. Young Bakugo is an amazing student and has done a lot for the country. We owe him a lot. Now, let’s get into the conference room. From the summary of your reason for meeting that you gave me, I figured it would be best that the rest of the faculty joined us as well.”

The three walked into the conference room, with Mitsuki taking a seat at the head of the table. Around the table sat the UA teachers, Hounddog, and Hawks. While initially shocked by his presence, she realized that it made sense. In her email to Nezu, she mentioned that the subject of the meeting had to do with bending an international rule, and Hawks had a lot of contact with other countries as the new head of the Hero Commission. She was grateful he was here, as she knew he had a particular soft spot for Katsuki. If she remembered correctly, he called him “A little asshole with a lot of spunk”. She thought it was a fair statement.

After exchanging greetings and pleasantries, and accepting a cup of tea from Present Mic, she began the meeting.

“Thank you all for being here. I recognize that you all are busy so I’m gonna try and make this quick,” Mitsuki sat up straighter, folding her hands together as she looked around the table. “A couple of years ago, Katsuki met another hero student at the I-Expo. They stayed in contact for a while, got really close, and eventually started dating. They care for each other, a lot. They talk every night and are a huge pillar of support for one another. So much so that,”

Mitsuki found herself getting choked up. She always did when she thought about the possibility that she would have to deliver that letter to you. She cleared her throat, taking a breath. She hated crying, especially in front of people. After a moment, she continued.

“Right before the war, Katsuki gave me a box to send them in case something happened to him. He truly cares about them. On that note, as you all know, the Spring Dance is coming up. Despite what most people think, Katsuki actually enjoys dressing up. I thought he would be excited about the dance, but he wasn’t. In fact, he’s dreading it. All his friends have been talking about are their dates, and Katsuki refuses to take anyone but them. Now, for my request. Katsuki died for this country. This is his last chance for some fun before graduating and becoming a real pro. So please,” she bowed deeply as she spoke. Mitsuki had a lot of pride and was known for rarely ever apologizing or bowing to anyone. But Katsuki deserved to be happy. She just wanted her kid to be okay.

“Please allow them to attend as Katsuki’s date. I can give you records, letters of recommendation, and even character statements. They are a great kid and an even better student. They would cause no trouble. I just want Katsuki to be happy.”

The room was silent as all of the staff looked at Mitsuki. They then looked at each other, all thinking the same thing. Finally, Hawks broke the silence. “To be honest with you, Mrs. Bakugo, this is a complicated situation. Other countries still don’t have a particularly great view of Japan. Trying to convince them that they should allow a pardon, just for a school dance? Realistically, it’s damn near impossible,” Mitsuki felt her heart sink, a disappointed sigh leaving her. Well, at least no one could say she didn’t tr-

“However, you make a very compelling point. Young Bakugo saved not only Japan but the rest of the world. He is, without a doubt, a hero. I make you no promises on what the rest of the commission or international board might say, but I can promise that I will advocate for Bakugou and get you an answer before the end of the week.”

Mitsuki broke out into a rare, wide, sincere grin. She bowed once more to the room, bending deeply.

“Thank you all.”

————

It was about 15 minutes before your usual morning talk with Katsuki when you got the call. Before the war, Katsuki gave you his parents' contact info in case of an emergency. You had only spoken to them on a handful of occasions, wishing them a happy birthday or anniversary, shouting ‘Hello!’ when you were on the phone and Katsuki was at home. But you had never really spoken to them one-on-one until Mitsuki called you.

You answered without hesitation, disregarding your normal early morning TikTok scroll. Something had to be wrong for her to call you, you figured. Your voice was frantic when you answered. “Hello? Is everything alright Mrs. Bakugou? Is Katsu-“

“Chillax kid! Jeez!”

You blinked, confused at her tone. Okay, so clearly there wasn’t an emergency.

“I’m sorry, I thought something was wrong. You’ve never called before-“

“Sorry, I should make more of a habit of calling my future daughter in law”

You chose to ignore her comment. “So..if there’s no emergency, not to be rude, why are you calling?” You could picture her shit-eating grin in your head, knowing it was where Katsuki had gotten it from.

“Well…I spoke to Hawks, you know the head of the hero commission here in Japan, he spoke with your government and pulled some strings…how would you like to be Katsuki’s date to the Spring dance?”

————

I’m having trouble tagging some of yall 😔. Anyways sorry this is so late, uni has been beating me into the floor 😭

Taglist: : @sleepyeri @teeesthings @zaiban2989 @kathsuhki @rinbeeyum @oladelmars @luv-for-fictional-characters @attackonnat @ratcity12345 @bffrs-stuff @ch3rryjampi3 @venus1224idkpleaze @fiannee @consentismfhot @abcdefghijklmmopqrstuvwxyz @bl-og134 @amayaaaxx @mikestuffffs @mushroomsoup119 @thatprettybunny @wheezdostuff @devils-adversary @enony-da @matchat3a @kawliflo @urmomsbananabread @anicaaa67 @that-sweet-mars @crimsonrubie @xanneeeyyyy @sweetloveandaffection-blog @ghostreadersthings @itsdragonius @snore-3 @sleepyk0dyz @ririoutspoken @ivuriexo @getosuckers

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xeeljii · 3 months ago

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CURRENTS ⋆⭒˚.⋆

PART 2: Let It Happen

WARNING! Explicit RPF!

IMPORTANT!!! You have to read PART 1 before this or it won't make sense! ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

Summary: You and Joost were never lovers, never friends but something in the middle that ended up hurting more, you meet again years later and many things have changed but others stay the same.

Word count: 14,4k

CW: 18+, f! reader, past friends with benefits, mutual pining, jealousy, yearning so much yearning, angst with a happy ending? who knows…you will have to read I guess (๑>؂•̀๑)⋆˙⟡

You had said yes to dinner, that was unexpected. Some part of him thought you would hang up or curse him out and then hung up but you didn’t and somehow that scared him worse. It meant that you were truly unbothered by this, that he was just an old fling who had no further impact on your life and that you were totally calm about this unlike him, who hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you for a single minute since the call. That was not the reality at all but he couldn’t know that. You had kept your old number, that was the first surprise actually, he had heard from an acquittance from those days that you were back who had heard it from a friend of a friend and he wasn’t sure if it was true but he wanted it to be. He had called to the number he weirdly remembered by heart and had waited with sweaty hands while it rang, when he heard your voice he felt a strange sense of warm envelop him for the first time in years.

Joost was eager to see you and felt a nervous at the same time. He knew things ended up badly between the two of you, but the truth is that there really wasn’t any clear line of what you were, so how could there ever be a good ending?. Regardless, now you were back and he felt he could finally face you, if anything he just wanted to know you were doing alright and maybe you had even found someone you loved in the time you were apart, then maybe he could put all his pent up feelings to rest and move on, emphasis on the maybe.

He had gotten a table at a much nicer restaurant than he thinks the two of you ever went to, in truth those days the best he would do was get take out to your tiny apartment before or right after you had sex. He wonders if he ever properly took you out on a date and the answer is no, he didn’t. He had been immature and self centered without even realizing and you were far too good for him, he didn’t understand why you even wasted your time on him when so clearly many other better candidates were holding out a candle for you and yet you chose him, always.

He arrived earlier than the meeting time, he was bad at timing in those days and he still was, but wanted, no, needed, to make a good impression so he made the effort and waited on held breath until he saw your familiar figure entering the restaurant. You hadn’t changed much and at the same time you were totally unrecognizable, more regal, elegant and beautiful than he remembered. It seemed like you had grown into every one of your features even more dazzling than before and carried yourself with so much grace it felt like you were floating.

He was taller, maybe it was just you memory playing tricks on you, he had kept the mustache but everything else was different. His hair was longer, cut into a mullet, you remember how he had mentioned wanting one as a child, it is the same color as when you met him, which means he kept dyeing it or had dyed it recently, he was wearing chunky glasses, when you met him he would refuse to and would just walk around half blind, he was dressed differently and he was more handsome than you wanted to admit. It would be a lie to say you didn’t keep an eye on him through the years, secretly proud of his successes and uncharacteristically anxious about his failures. But he had thrown you out and there was no reason to let him know that, answering his call like a good loyal dog was humiliating enough.

“Hi.” He gets up to greet you and speaks all cheerfully, way too excited to contain it, part of him thought you would stand him up which wouldn’t be fully underserved but he is ecstatic that you are actually here.

“Hey.” You reply with a small smile escaping your lips.

He opens his arms, wants to hug you so bad, he has missed you so terribly but you just extend you hand for him to shake. His face drops a little but he composes himself quickly and shakes your hand back with a faked smiled pulled taut on his lips so you won’t see how disappointed he is, your skin is so soft and warm his memories didn’t do you justice.

“You look really beautiful.” He says, it stumbles out of his mouth, he doesn’t know if it is not the right thing to say but he means it, truthfully with the years passing his memory of you had gotten fuzzy and seeing the real you in the flesh in front of him is a lot to take in.

You smile back at him, there is the smallest blush on your cheeks, almost undetectable, back when you first met he would enjoy making you blush over everything and anything it was so easy and he loved pulling your hands away from you face when you tried to hide it.

“You look good yourself Joost.” His hand tightens a little on yours, hearing you say his name sends a wave of nostalgia over him that threatens to knock him over, maybe he wasn’t strong enough to face you but you are here all the same.

He helps you sit, pulls your chair and calls for the waiter. You order and the waiter disappears again after bringing you your drinks, you talk a bit about everything, what you have been up to, what he has been up to, you mention the place you had moved to, how your career had grown, the job you have now, he talks about the places he has been to, the cool artists he has met and the Eurovision thing, he skims right through it even though you know from the whole press and the sad expression on his face that it was a fresh wound. You feel a little sad that he will not talk about it with you, but even in the days when you shared a bed he was so cagey you couldn’t expect him to open up now out of all times, so you just let him change the subject without a fight.

The dinner feels awkward, not entirely bad but not entirely good either, you had known each other for little under a year so you tried to make the same questions you would for an old acquaintance but it didn’t help that he had gotten more handsome and mature and kept distracting you with his shiny smile. You eat in silence for a bit unsure of what to say, you weren’t old friends but you weren’t exactly strangers either. It was far too weird to try to keep this fake diplomacy with someone who had seen you naked so many times but it was even weirded to try to pull conversation out of him when every word and every question felt like you were walking on shaky ground.

“You-your new album was good.” You say after a while starting to feel the tension is too heavy, your words tumble and crash on each other, you speak too fast, your hands are sweaty and maybe you will faint, but at this point it would be better, a nice dramatic exit to the night and then tomorrow you would change your phone number and never hear from him again.

“You listened to it?” He looks at you genuinely surprised like he didn’t expect it all all, he looks so eager to know what you thought, in the old days music talk was the only time you felt he was really honest with you and this feels so familiar a wave of nostalgia softens you.

“Yeah, I did tell you I liked your music that one time.” You smile at him before looking away avoiding his bright eyes. “And I didn’t say that just to get you in bed mind you.” He laughs.

He had always liked that about you, you had a quick mind and would be able to talk about anything and make it funny, he was happy to hear your stories. Now years later and much learning in between he had finally realized what he had truly lost and it hurt like a thorn deep in his heart. He would dream about you, not often truly, but it happened a few times through the years in a way that made him think about you when it was the last thing he wanted to do. In dreams he would see you impossibly bright, laughing at something stupid he said and by god did he say a lot of stupid things on those days, or in the shower talking about something one of your friends had done, while he just wordlessly admired the soft curves of your figure covered in drops of water, he would see you in bed sleeping with drool coming out of the corner of your mouth that he would wipe before you raised because you would get shy and flustered if you realized on your own when you woke up. He feels his heart swell in a way that it it hasn’t in years, you are sitting across from him looking so pretty under the candlelights, he remembers you younger, sitting on the tiny table at the kitchen of your apartment, stealing food from his plate and laughing at the TV, he wishes he could have kept that forever, the place that felt like home.

“Are you seeing someone?” He asks all of a sudden, he knows he shouldn’t, he is pushing his luck too far and yet can’t stop himself.

“You don’t get to ask that.” You shake your head.

“We are catching up, right? It is a normal catching up question.” He says with an awkward laugh more trying to justify himself than anything.

You don’t know what to answer, you had obviously had other relationships in the mean time it was not like you were eternally holding hope that one day he would remember the old toy he left hanging somewhere and come back and pick you up, but now of all times you were single. Lying didn’t feel right and telling the truth didn’t either. Maybe somewhere in the middle will do.

“I have been on a few dates.” You say careful with every world, if you had been looking at him instead of avoiding his gaze perhaps you could have seen the way his shoulders dropped but you missed it.

“I see.” He replies drily, regrets the question instantly perhaps he would be better off not knowing.

“What about you?”

“No.”

You crook an eyebrow at him. “Really now Mr. International Superstar?”

He looks up at you, finds you wearing an amused face, perhaps being friends is still okay, no matter how much his heart aches for you he doesn’t want to fully lose you from his life ever again.

“I’m not the type.” He replies shaking his head lightly, you roll your eyes at him.

“Okay.” You say tone full of sarcasm perhaps it comes out more bitter than you mean it to be, even in the past you had not been together and now you have even less of a reason to give him attitude.

“I’m serious.” He says a little indignant. “I mean obviously I’ve been with people but I just-” He stops himself halfway through, you look at him even more curious now.

“You just what?” You ask.

“Nothing.” He goes back to dig on his plate.

I just cannot meet someone like you. Is what he leaves unsaid, you shrug and continue eating in awkward silence. He remembers all the things he left unsaid before, how he wanted to but didn’t think you would want to hear it, how he was so unsure of himself he didn’t want to fuck up, too scared of rejection he didn’t even dare try and how because of all that, he lost you and he refuses to let that happen again so he gathers as much courage as he can and says.

“Actually, I just haven’t met someone like you.”

You choke a little on your food, you can never recall a time where he would ever be so honest and can’t figure out why he would be now, you look at him with wide eyes. Your brain works hard to make sense of what he is saying. You didn’t understand why he wanted you back then and now that he has even more options it makes even less sense, you feel stupid and small again, it makes you angry. You laugh bitterly.

“I’m serious.”

You try to hold back your anger and take a deep breath before replying. “I don’t know I- I wouldn’t know Joost, I don’t really think we ever got to know each other.” You shrug slightly and smile sadly at him.

That hurts him more deeply than you can imagine and the fact that you are right is worse.

“I always regretted how things happened between us.” He says, sounds truthful enough but you can’t help yourself or the bitter feelings that fill your heart now.

He sounds so far off from the guy you had met, it feels like he might be an entirely different person playing a prank on you, but when you look back at him you see those same baby blue eyes that would find you in the night it sends a pang of pain to your heart.

“It is whatever.” You say, drinking from your glass trying to keep it together. You feel like an idiot right now, you shouldn’t have come, it was a bad idea.

You feel like yourself of four years ago again, and she sucked. She was not very smart and she was so stupidly in love with this guy, she had made you answer his call eager to see him again and now it was you who had to take charge of her bad decisions.

“I really am sorry.” He moves to grab your hand. You feel the back of your eyes prickling uncomfortably, maybe you weren’t so over him as you liked to pretend.

“Okay.” You say, not knowing what else to say as you pull your hand away, his touch feels like it burns. He looks truly regretful, you shouldn’t have blown off the handle like that and you know better than it, but the younger you is so eager to see him again she seems to keep popping out and makes you act unlike yourself.

You finish your meals, still talk about mundane stuff, how moving was a nightmare, he tells you he has moved a bunch, he is an expert and he should write a book about it, he is ridiculous in an endearing way, that hasn’t changed at all. You wish somewhere in your heart that he will meet someone who makes him happy, who can match his wit, who will laugh at his jokes and make sure he eats at least one proper meal a day because you suspect somehow that he still not very good at taking care of himself. You wish well for him because somewhere inside your heart he still has a place and you still feel so much tenderness for him it chokes you up a little bit.

The waiter takes the plates away, Joost pays for your meals and opens the door for you, had he ever been that gentlemanly? No, not really. Again this new version of him seems to be making you dizzy.

“Can I walk you home?” He asks as you exit the restaurant.

“Sure, yeah I would like that thanks.” You accept because if this is the last time you will see him you want to extend it a little more, be a little selfish for your younger self she deserves to stare at him for a little longer so she can finish memorizing all pretty landmarks of his pretty face.

You walk together slowly like you are both trying to prolong the inevitable goodbye as much as you can. He points you to new places that have opened and also the once that closed since you were gone, he recommends some so you can go later, secretly wishes he could be the one to take you there. He misses all the mundane with you, after you he never really got to experience that with anyone else and felt like he didn’t even want to, too scared to muddy his memories with you. The further away from home he got the more he wanted to come back and the more that feeling grew the more he realized he would never again meet someone like you.

In those days you had thought he was a little out of your league, he had though you were a little out of his. You never seemed to quiet connect perfectly like pieces of a puzzle being forced to fit together by greedy hands, now, with more life experience under your belt you wonder if that is even a real possibility and maybe you were just being unrealistic in your expectations. Now, you are looking at him with new eyes and he seems to be a really good guy, not prince charming, not straight out a romance movie but just him, just Joost and that is somehow better than any stupid fantasy.

He keeps stealing little glances at you like he is trying to commit you to memory, like any moment now you will disappear into a cloud. And maybe he isn’t so wrong you have already done that before and you distantly think if things would have been any different if instead of running away you would have faced him head on, even if it didn’t fix anything it probably would have given you better closure than what you have right now.

He feels this weird soft sadness envelop him the longer he looks at you, your hair is different, there are almost unnoticeable scars on your hands maybe from cooking you were always a little reckless with the knives, your face has grown even more beautiful and he can’t help but feel so lonely when he realizes he missed all of that, that he could have seen you grow and change right in front of him like a little plant on the windowsill and he missed it for his own lack of courage. He sees tiny goosebumps form on your arms, remembers how you were always bad at taking a jacket with you when you went out and that one at least seems to not have changed which makes him smile, you are not a total stranger after all.

He chucks off his blazer and rests it on your shoulders without a word, you feel his scent envelop you so suddenly that you feel you might truly pass out now.

This image of you on one of his hoodies sitting on bed while he plays you one of his new songs pops up in his mind so clearly he feels he has turned back time and he truly wishes he could.

“I wish we had met at a different time.” He says not looking at you, he fears if he sees the rejection on your face it will be too much.

“Yeah? I don’t think you should think like that.” You say kicking a little rock down the street to distract yourself from how overflowed with emotions this whole thing makes you feel.

“How come?” He stops on his tracks to look at you.

“Well, nothing would change, we just wouldn’t work.” You shrug like you are just stating facts it angers him a little truly.

“Well I'm different now, you are too.” He says plainly.

“You can’t know that from a dinner.” You laugh genuinely for the first time in the night, he hasn’t heard that sound in so long he wants to record it keep it in his heart forever even if you don’t want to talk to him ever again he wants to at least keep that.

“But I can, you are more mature and smarter and more beautiful too.”

You properly snort at that last one even thought he is being honest. You shake your head and turn around to look at him.

“The bleach melted your brain.” You scrunch your nose and raise a hand up to shake the soft strands of hair between your fingers, like you are really friends, like all of this is normal.

Should he try that? If you reject him could he offer being your friend, he really does like you not just having sex with you, like you think, and he thinks you are wicked funny and far too kind, probably kinder than he deserved, specially at that time and if he has a little crush on you it would be okay as long as he kept it to himself, he could also have you in his life. Who knows maybe down the line you could be proper normal friends and perhaps that is what the universe had always envisioned for both of you but you had gone and messed with it by adding love to the mix.

You find yourself deep into the streets of the city you once loved so much, next to a man you also loved too much for your own good but then all too late you realize you accidentally walked back to your old place, the one where you had been together countless times, you break out into laughter your body doubling over.

“What?” He asks amused looking at you, you can’t reply, this is all so stupid, it can’t be happening. “What? Tell me.” He says rubbing soft circles between your shoulder blades over his blazer to calm you down.

You look up at him your eyes full of happy tears or perhaps sad, you can’t know. You feel so overwhelmed by everything, you have been so good at holding it in and now you just explode. You are laughing and crying at the same time, you feel like four years of forgotten feelings just bubbled to the surface and you can barely bring yourself to care.

“I don’t live here anymore.” You manage to blurt out, you are wiping away at your tears while still giggling in between so amused by the entire situation it is like it isn’t even happening to you, like this must be a dark comedy movie or something “God this is so ridiculous, this is so stupid!” You say throwing your arms up in the air and shaking your head.

He thinks you are so beautiful in your wild laughter but he starts getting worried when he sees the tears don’t stop.

“Hey, it is okay, we will get a cab.” He says taking a step towards you but you take a step back like you are afraid of his touch.

“No, no.” You shake again, not really knowing what you are saying anymore.

“Hey are you okay?” He is worried now, truly scared, he goes to put a hand on your shoulder then feels you shake with a heavy sob.

“No, I am really not.” You say it in between a bitter laugh as you cover your face with your hands. “I just really wish I had never met you.” You blurt it out before you can stop it and it cuts deep right into his heart, you can see through eyes blurry with tears how Joost’s face drops and goes pale instantly, he lets go of you.

“I’ll get you a cab.” He says, his voice sounds distant, so unfamiliar now.

The fact that he looks so sad angers you even more, he has no right to be the one hurt when he is the one who threw you away.

“Don’t you wish the same too?” You say in a harsh tone, just wanting him to confirm all your fears, that he was glad he got away from you, that his life was so much better now and he never missed you, never thought of you.

You were looking for a fight, for him to be cruel like he once had been, even though you knew it was not on his nature and he never meant it like that. He takes a deep breath and looks at you like you are asking something so stupid it isn’t even worth answering, he looks like he is about to cry too.

“No, never. I wouldn’t give up meeting you for anything.”

You feel your throat burn with a sob. You stand together in the dark streets silently waiting for the cab, it arrives he helps you in without saying a word and then you are gone.

He watches the car drive off holding back tears when he sees you disappear around the corner, it hits him, you are gone, you are truly gone and he couldn’t fix anything, he couldn’t solve anything, like every time before he messed it up, he wasn’t enough and now there is no second chance, he already spent all his second chances years before and this was his last one and even when such a long time has passed he didn’t figure it out, didn’t figure you out for as much as he wanted to pretend like he knew you maybe he didn’t at all.

Joost goes back home alone, showers alone and then falls into bed trying to get some sleep alone, like always. Nothing has changed because nothing could change and maybe he was the only one who hadn’t moved on, the only one who had not grown because you at least were smart enough and strong enough to cut the cord. But he was still pathetically holding onto the memories, onto every word and every touch and every night you spent together without admitting to himself it was all just that, memories and perhaps it should stay in the past, perhaps it is supposed to just be looked back on fondly instead of like him clinging like a scared child to something he doesn’t want to lose.

The days go by in a blur, he doesn’t really want to get up from bed and he doesn’t really have a reason to, he just stays inside mindlessly watching TV and scrolling his phone, he thinks about calling you, apologizing again but he remembers your words so vividly ringing inside his head, the way your tears shone so brightly in the night, how you regretted him and he can’t bring himself to be an inconvenience in your life again, he knows somewhere in his heart that he has taken enough. Even when he realizes you accidentally left with his blazer on, he doesn’t call, he is too scared again to act so he just sits still and watches as life once again passes him by. He thinks he will get new cards and a new ID which is a pain and he should just text you at least but then if you sent his stuff back without even meeting him, then you would have truly no reason to talk again and even if it is selfish it is a line he is not willing to cut yet, he is not strong enough for that one yet.

By the fifth day Joost runs out of all the food at home and most importantly of all the beer, the only thing that is helping him sleep. So he decides to venture out, not that he particularly wants to, but he figures some day sooner rather than later he would have to pick up the pieces and start the arduous process of moving on from you, a process he has already delayed by a few years. He leaves home right at lunch time with some spare cash he had around and goes for the supermarket to pick only the essentials, he sees all sorts of people there, old couples and young parents with their kids and it makes him feel all the lonelier, he wishes you were with him, not that the two of you ever did that sort of domestic thing together but he wishes you would have, he thinks it would have been fun, even though in truth anything that involved you would be fun.

As he is making his way back to his place, bags in hand, his eyes linger on one of the restaurants he had recommended to you and all of a sudden there you are like a mirage, under the umbrella of one of the tiny outside tables surrounded by pink flowers with the sun generously illuminating your sweet face making you look ethereal. You take his breath away, you always do, his feet move before he can think it through he just can’t stand living like this, knowing you are out there and he can’t share in your days, bask in your laughter, drink from your beauty, it will drive him mad. As he crosses the street he can feel the vomit of words brewing at the back of his throat and all of his sentences start with “I’m sorry, please, please give me another chance, please let me prove I can be good for you.” He is not above begging he realizes.

But before he can talk, before he can even pretend for any longer that his fantasies where you forgive him and take him back will become real, a man approaches you from the other side of the table and as soon as you feel his presence you stand up with a bright smile on your lips, the kind he wishes he could pull out of you, you go to hug the stranger pressing yourself tightly to him. Joost imagines you smell heavenly, you must feel soft, your hair is shiny and you look so pretty and his heart breaks all over again. He is angry, he is angry at this man for daring smile at you, for daring touch you, he is angry at you for using his restaurant recommendations for another guy who isn’t him, but most of all he is angry at himself, he can’t forgive himself for losing you.

He stays in place watching from where he can’t be seen, just twisting the knife deeper on himself. You are smiling and chatting happily, the way he wished you would have talked to him, and yet it is another man who has your tender eyes glued on him, it is another man who is taking you out for lunch, and it is another man who is making you laugh, not him, never him again, no matter how much he wants it. When you reach to grab your partner’s hands he has to look away, he feels tears start falling from his eyes, he tries to furiously wipe them away but they keep coming, he is drowning in love and lost and the only one who could save him told him she didn’t want anything to do with him. He finally gathers enough strength to walk away, and go back to his empty house to wallow in self pity, all alone again.

If he had ever paid any attention and ever had put in more care in getting to know you then he would have recognized that other man not as a stranger but as one of your closest friends and he would have realized that you were not in any sort of romantic date but just a real catch up with a friend, the kind you could never have with him because you weren’t really friends. So instead of knowing any of that he continues for more days forming more and more imaginary scenarios inside his head of you with some other guy, you going on dates and holidays together, you going to restaurants and looking pretty under the candlelight, you moving in together and then getting married and then growing old all of which he can’t be part of and it tears his heart to pieces. So he tries to drink himself to sleep trying to catch some dreamless rest that evades him. But even then he is unsuccessful because you appear on every corner of his mind, haunting his every thought and even when he is unconscious you show up laughing in his face, so cute and so out of reach. He remembers you, now more than ever, with a fresh image of what you look like, his memories become clearer, he remembers your face when you slept, every single detail and the expressions you made, he remembers the way you had looked like back when you told him you loved him and how he didn’t say anything back, Why didn’t he say anything back? Was the fear of things being real greater than his love for you? No, of course it wasn’t but at the time he was too stupid to understand that, so now four years later like an idiot he keeps wishing he could turn back time and knowing he can’t.

That night after you had left Joost you had continued to silently cry on the ride home until at some point without even noticing you stopped, but the ache in your heart didn’t go anywhere it only became more prominent and uncomfortable with each passing day. Younger you had felt devastated she had hoped new you would be mature and smart enough to solve it, solve whatever it was you and Joost had going on. But even age and maturity couldn’t help you when you didn’t even know what you had with him to begin with. And truly this had all been a big mistake you shouldn’t have gone seen him, no matter how much your heart ached for it. You had taken a long shower and gotten in bed in complete silence, too exhausted for anything else and fallen asleep with a dull ache pounding in your heart.

The morning after you had woken up late and with a splitting headache, everything had felt so surreal but when you saw his blazer on your chair you realized it actually did happen. You cursed yourself mentally for not giving it back, for taking it home and now you would have to see him again, but you could also take the easier way out and just have it delivered and avoid the whole interaction. Yet you don’t, he had been honest with you that night, much more than in the almost whole year that you had known him before and now you felt guilty about how bad you had ended the night. You tell yourself it is best to cut things off cleanly this time, so there won’t be an infected wound like last time. So you end up looking inside his wallet for his ID and search his address up, you also find an old note you wrote him once half jokingly “VALID: For one kiss!” it reads, you had given it to him, written on the back of a grocery list, after you accidentally sat on one of his pairs of glasses and crushed them, he had just laughed it off even when you offered to pay but he had kept the piece of paper for some reason, it pains you and makes you want to cry all over again.

You don’t show up to his house immediately, you can’t. It was one thing to know what you should do as a responsible adult and a completely different thing to actually have the strength to do it. You have to wait some days to gather strength, you keep trying to distract yourself with work and some old friends but it is useless because every time you see his blazer on your chair you think of him and how you wish that instead of coming back to an empty house you were coming back to him sitting on that same chair, smoking cigarettes like he once did in your small apartment.

However, you decide that prolonging the inevitable is only doing you more harm than good so a little over a week after the dinner you show up to his address late in the after noon, right before evening, you had to hype yourself up the whole day to go there and have this conversation, that was assuming he was there. Just your luck when you ring he answers. He opens the door slowly and almost doesn’t belive it is you.

“Hi.” you say shyly.

He looks rough, he is pale, his hair is messy and his eyes look slightly red like he hasn’t slept, there are also deep dark circles right under his pretty blues that now seem dimmed.

“Hey.” His voice is shaky and nervous, he holds onto the handle of the door like if he lets go he will crumble right in front of you.

“Um, I forgot to give it back sorry.” You say raising the blazer in your hand.

“Oh, it is okay.” He is dumbfounded, after that night he truly didn't expect to see you ever again and here you are. He is looking intently at your face like soon you will disappear, like this is just another one of his dreams he has been having all week where he sees you vanish right in front of him, but you don’t.

“Can we talk?” You ask with worry in your face, he hates that, hates that every time he is involved you seem to be so on edge.

“Sure, sure. Come in.” He moves from the door and lets you in, closes the door after you.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He brushes his hair out of his face, is thankful that he even managed to shower and change his clothes, at least today after a week of self pity.

“Just water thanks.” You say, he walks you to the living room, tells you to sit that he will be back in a second.

You do so, still holding onto the blazer tightly like a lifeline, you look around his place, it is much bigger than what he had in those days, a little less messy but still very much a bachelor house, it makes you a little happy even though you have no right to feel so, he is not yours and he never was, you have to keep reminding yourself. You are only here for closure, only that.

“Here.” He says sitting on the armchair next to the couch like he wants to give you space and not suffocate you.

“Thanks.” You mumble taking a sip. You let a long minute go by before you open your mouth.

“I’m sorry about taking your jacket, and your wallet, I promise I didn’t rack up thousands of euros on credit card debt.” You say with the smallest hint of a smile.

That gets a laugh out of him, it is the first time in days he feels anything that isn’t dread and of course the only responsible could be you.

He smiles softly but there is a hint of sadness under it. The air feels heavy with tension and you just want to lighten it up, he looks so sad you want to ask what is wrong but the question dies in your throat not knowing how much you are allowed to overstep. You don’t know what to say but you wish you could sooth him of whatever his worries are, if you were his girlfriend you could comfort him about whatever is bothering him, even if you were only his friends you could offer a helping hand, a kind shoulder to lean on, but since you are nothing you just keep your hands to yourself.

“That is fine. I wouldn’t mind.” He says, it is a little stupid but he truly wouldn’t, if this was one of those problems you could just throw money at to solve he wouldn’t mind spending millions to get another chance with you.

“Ah! I forgot you had superstar money, then maybe I should have bought myself a car.” You smile mischievously at him.

He rolls his eyes at you, he knows you wouldn’t but he finds you amusing nonetheless. “You could do whatever you wanted.”

For some reason it feels like he is not just talking about spending his money and you feel a little shy all of a sudden. You want to fill in the silence before it drowns you.

“I’m actually sorry for the inconvenience. Did you not need your cards?” You ask, leaving the blazer to the side.

“No.” He pauses for a moment, thinks his next words carefully. “I just haven’t been going out, I was busy.” Busy thinking about you, busy dreaming about you, busy pining after you, all so I could see you laughing at other asshole’s shitty jokes that aren’t mine. He doesn’t say that, he knows better than to say it but the uneasiness with which you look at him makes him all the more resentful about what he saw that day.

“I see.” You say, sensing a shift in tone. You fiddle with your fingers as you look around, there are a couple of pictures of him with friends it makes you smile, knowing he has people looking after him, people you recognize, at least some things remain unchanged, at least he is not alone.

You are distracted seemingly by the walls or not wanting to meet his eyes, whichever it is doesn’t matter because you look so pretty in this light, in any light and you are biting your lip like you always did when you were nervous, it is so reminiscent of old days it envelops him in nostalgia, but you look so different now and at the same time you look like you could belong here, like you could really be his as he is already yours. Like you could wake up in his bed, your bed, and have breakfast together and then say good bye to come back home to dinner with you and shower together and fall asleep in each other’s arms and then wake up and do it all over again, because you can.

And he distantly wishes he was a different man, the kind that could actually have those things with, the kind you could actually introduce to your friends and the kind you would be so happy to see like the guy at the cafe. He furrows his eyebrows, he doesn't want to think about that but the doubt itches in his mouth and he sort of wants you to confirm all his worst fears, that yes that other guy is the love of your life, that you couldn’t be happier, that he is so much better than Joost, that Joost has always been way beneath you and that you will soon get married and have the life you have always wanted, the kind of life he could never give you. He wants to be put out of his misery and stop holding any hope that you will want him ever again so he doesn’t stop himself before speaking and breaking the uncomfortable silence no matter how much it makes him feel like he is walking to his own execution.

“I saw you at the new restaurant the one near the supermarket the other day” He takes a small pause until he sees you make eye contact then continues. “With your boyfriend.” The word comes out bitterly from his mouth making him uncomfortable with every syllable.

You look at him a little puzzled, have to make an effort to remember what he is talking about, then when you come up with the answer you break in laughter throwing your head back at his misunderstanding.

He is even more confused, he is hurt now, it is one thing for you to have a boyfriend and it is another to rub it in his face and laugh at him for still being so stupidly in love with you, he feels so dumb and inadequate but then you finally stop giggling and look at him from under long eyelashes with a warm smile while shaking your head and he forgets why he was even angry in the first place.

“That is my friend, we were classmates in university.” You explain still between fits of laughter.

“Oh,” Is all that he manages out.

“Oh?” You repeat raising your eyebrows and looking at him amused, you scoot closer in the couch to get a better look at his face, he is blushing so prettily.

“Were you jealous Joost?” You crook your head to the side playfully, still so amused at how mortified he looks, he doesn't even want to meet your eyes.

“Tell me~” You say in a sing song voice as you go even closer to him.

He wants to melt into the floor and avoid this, he feels so childish in his fit of jealousy now and all the sleepless night he spent having nightmare about your wedding day to some guy that isn’t even your boyfriend. He finally takes a deep breath, still feels his skin burning hot with embarrassment but he makes the effort to look at you.

“Yes I was.” He admits, he doesn’t know why exactly he is so eager to admit it, it is not like he has the right to be jealous, but you had said “Tell me.” and how could he ever deny you anything? He covers his face with a hand faking a cough so you won’t see how deeply red he has turned, but you do notice and you are still smiling at him. He likes this, he likes you, he likes having you close like this, even when you are laughing at him, he could be your jester he thinks distantly, he would be okay living like that as long as he could stay by your side.

You pull back further away and relax into the couch, he wishes you would have stayed closer, he swears he could smell your perfume or maybe it was just wishful thinking. You both just sit in silence for a while not saying anything but finally the silence doesn’t feel daunting it just feels good, like there is finally some peace. You wish you could stay like this longer but any more indulging in these scenarios of the past and what ifs and you won’t want to leave his side, so you take a deep breath before trying to say anything. You turn your face to look at him and find him already watching you, it make you blush lightly but you still speak up.

“Joost I’m really sorry about that night, I shouldn’t have said that.” You don’t turn your eyes away even when you want to, so overwhelmed by how penetrating his eyes feel on your face, you hold his gaze so he will know you are being sincere.

“Oh, that is okay.” He says, his tone is nervous now, you can tell he is forcing a smile but you shake your head.

“It was mean and unnecessary I shouldn’t have, I’m really sorry.”

He shrugs slightly, he wishes you weren’t having this conversation now, he wanted to keep playing pretend in his head of what it would be like to have you here in his living room day after day always and forever without even talking because silence is just comfortable between you two.

“If you meant it, it is all good. You were just honest.” He swallows deeply trying to sooth his nerves.

Why was he so kind of all a sudden? Who was this man? The more time you spend with him the less you felt you knew him, it frustrated you somehow.

“I was just cruel but I didn’t think it would hurt you.” You say a little defeated.

“Why would you think that?” He asks genuinely, there is no hint of anger or sadness in his tone, just genuine curiosity like he genuinely doesn’t know.

You look up at him and shrug slightly. “I didn’t think you cared about me enough for it to hurt.”

That is his fault fully and he just has to live with it but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

He gets up, moves to sit next to you on the couch, whatever happens is okay but you have to know how he really felt, you have to know how much he really cared for you no matter how unable he had been to show you, you at least deserved it now.

“Can I be honest?” You look at him and nod, don’t trust yourself to speak right now, feel like tears might start streaming form your eyes any second.

“I really did like you, back then.” He stops for a second, wants to grab your hand but knows better.

“I actually loved you.” He says in a painful sigh. Your heart squeezes painfully.

“When you said it, I didn’t know what to do, I was stupid and didn’t say anything, I thought you would be there as long as it took me to say it back.” He shakes his head, feels so disappointed in his younger self.

“Obviously not, I was idiotic and selfish and you deserved better than that.” He smiles bitterly knowing nothing that had happened could be changed.

You have to swallow hard to get yourself to speak. “Why did you call me?” You ask shaky voice, eyes shining with tears threatening to spill over.

“I really missed you.” He shrugs a little and smiles sadly. “I wasn’t lying there really is no one else like you.”

Your hands are trembling on your lap, you feel stuck, you can’t move, can’t speak and can barely breath you are dissolving into his living room couch, he recognizes the signs all too well from experience and grabs at your hand, holds tight while searching for your eyes.

“I’m here.” He says, his voice feels like it is coming from underwater.

“Look at me.” You force yourself to do so, you realize at some point you had started crying, he pulls your hand softly to his chest and splays your fingers on it.

“Breath with me okay?” You nod and follow as he does.

He takes deep breathes, keeps the air inside and then exhales slowly, you focus on the feeling, try to follow the best you can, you focus on his eyes he is looking deeply at you, blue was always your favorite color or it became after him, you are not too sure.

After what feels like hours of slow breathing you finally feel your heart beating a little slower. All of a sudden you feel so tired, you still feel like you are slowly coming down to earth. You let your head fall on his chest, hear his heart calm and slow, he feels like a rock you can cling to when you feel like drowning. In some more minutes you get your heart to match his.

“I really did love you Joost.” You whisper against him, now his heart picks up, you can feel it in the palm of your hand, like it is your own and in a way it always did belong to you even if you didn’t know.

“I still love you.” He says.

You raise your head from his chest, look into his eyes.

“Can we try again?”

You don’t answer, you can't, you don’t know what to say truly so you just kiss him. It feels new and familiar at the same time, but undeniably him.

He feels his heart stop, has thought about this scenario so many times through the years of your absence, has dreamed about it and found solace on imagining it when he felt his loneliest but the reality is all the sweeter. You are really here in front of him kissing him deeply holding at his shoulders like he will slip away but he now knows there is no better place on this earth than in your warm embrace. He reacts belatedly, he wraps his arms around your middle holding you closer, chest against chest you can feel each other so real that it is scary and exciting all at the same time.

Four years of pent up feelings wash over you, you can’t get enough you chase after his lips drink from his touch. It feels so familiar and delicious like getting home after a long vacation but also so different like you are new lovers just learning each others’ bodies for the first time. You make a move to sit on his lap but stop unsure if you should but he is so sweet and he helps you brings you closer kisses at you neck, takes a deep whiff of your scent. Your perfume is not the same you used to use but underneath it is the aroma of your skin, undeniably you and it spurs him on.

You are making out on the couch like teenagers, almost like all the times you did in your tiny apartment but this time is his place and everything that surrounds you feels so much like him in a way that makes you lightheaded, back when you first met you had only been to his place a couple of times and it seemed like you weren’t allowed to look but now you are drinking in every detail with curious eyes as he kisses on your throat. Hands are grabbing all over each other, neither of you can get enough, he feels sturdier, his arms seem bigger, the little tickling of the mustache is the same, he feels so warm you want to melt into him forever. You pull back from the heated kisses and make move to pull your shirt off but he stops you putting his hands over yours at the hem of the garment.

“Wha-” You look so confused and almost frustrated with him, if he tells you to leave you don’t think you could live down that humiliation.

But he is looking at you with so much lust, love and nostalgia all mixed into his deep blue eyes.

“I want to- bed” His words are jumping all over the place, he is trying so hard, has waited so long for this, truly didn’t think it would happen again but now he has you and he wants to take his time. “Can I take you to bed?” He ask it sounds weird, barely makes sense and yet you understand him perfectly.

“Please do.” You say kissing him again and smiling against his lips.

He lifts you up easily and quickly, he grabs at your thighs from below the curve of your ass, wants to feel you up higher but is still anxious that he will scare you off, that all of this will become too real for you and you will scurry away like running water between his fingers. But you just hold him tighter as he walks to bed, his eyes stay on yours almost entranced on your face. When you finally make it to his bedroom he lets you down softly on the bed, he is so grateful for once he remembered to make it in the morning and just his luck today he also changed the sheets.

You are a divine sight he drinks you in, lips kissed red and face so deep with lust laying on his bed staring up at him waiting, a sight he thought he would never get to see again, he wants to burn this moment in his memory forever, he just blinks slowly at you and looks.

“Joost, come here.” You finally say when you see him just staring at you like he is in a daze.

He crawls on bed on top of you, slowly, still so unsure. Maybe he has craved you so much he has been hallucinating this whole thing but you grab at his arms and pull him closer to start planting little kisses on his jaw, his breath picks up, he closes his eyes to focus on the feeling of your soft lips, you grab at his face with your hands pull him closer to your lips, you kiss him deeply, he opens his mouth for you you push your tongue in slowly feeling him, just tasting him. He still smokes you can tell, if you work your brain extra hard you could guess it is still Camels. You smile to yourself, you can remember so many little things about him like he had never truly left your heart at all.

He sucks on your tongue, he wants to eat you whole, you taste delicious, you feel delicious at some point his hands make their way to your waist and now he has you against his chest again rubbing softly at the inch of skin that your shirt ridding up allows him. He feels so hot you feel so hot, your skin is so tender and soft it is better than he remembers, he wonders if you still use the same lotion you did back then. He grabs at the hem of your shirt looks up at you for confirmation and you nod. He lifts it up drinking in every inch of skin that his eye can reach, there you are, it is still you.

There are tan lines on you, he wonders where you went on vacation, he spent his last one in France, he went to a nice place by the beach, the kind that you would like, he wonders if you would let him take you there, just the two of you, already dreams of what you would look like wet from the ocean and glistening with the sun.

“Your mind is elsewhere, should we reschedule?” You say teasing him with a smirk.

And that hasn’t changed either. “If we stop I might die.” He pulls his shirt up, is already feeling so hot he might get heatstroke just from looking at you.

“Hey! Don’t do that. I want to undress you too.” You complain soft scowl and cute little pout on your lips, he wonders if you ever realize just how charming you are to him.

“I’ve missed you.” He says in a whisper against your lips as he cages you between his arms again.

“Well you have me.”

You grab at his neck pulling him down on top of you, your legs are tangled with his, his breath is deep, he is holding his weight on his forearms, doesn’t want to crush you but you want to feel him all over you, you want to take everything he has to give you. He kisses along your jaw softly reaches at your neck and starts planting a delicious trail of open mouthed kisses down your throat, bites softly at your collar bones, you pull away laughing at it but he holds you closer to him. He places kisses all over the skin on your shoulder then down to your chest and buries his head in the valley of your breasts, you giggle, he always had his fixations and this one hasn’t changed at all. His hands are playing with the band of your bra shyly swiping his fingers underneath as he continues to kiss you.

He looks up at you resting his cheek on one of your breasts. “Can I?” He has the worst case of puppy eyes ever, it reminds you why it was so hard to say no to him.

“I’m yours.” You smile softly at him pulling your fingers between strands of his soft hair.

He looks so baffled. So overwhelmed with emotion he becomes that he quickly raises from where he is and crashes into your mouth pushing you into bed almost too hard.

“Lifde.” He whimpers against your lips before kissing you deeply, like he is trying to convey years of unsaid things in just one kiss.

His hands roam softly on your back, you feel so warm. Finally he reaches for the clasp of your bra and unhooks it without separating from your mouth for a second like if he did he would drown. The garment falls down your arms, he admires your soft forms mouth agape and eyes shiny. He reaches a hand to massage at your breast, he is hypnotized by the way the fat gives under his finger tips, by the heat of your skin, the way your nipples pebble immediately at the first touch like your body recognizes him and comes back to life.

“You are so beautiful.” His voice is deep and heavy with lust, your legs wrap around his hips and pull him closer just to share in his heat.

He continues playing softly with your mounds, goes to kiss at the thin skin, wraps his lips around your nipples and sucks softly until he has you whining and pushing your chest against his face, his big hands holding at your middle pulling you against him just holding you impossibly closer to him like he wants to dissolve inside your ribcage listening to the beat of your heart forever. You feel him so hard under you, his length pressing right against your own core through the layers of fabric, your hips start grinding against his without even meaning to, moving on its own like your body recognizes his and has missed him so much, moving solely on instinct you don't even have to think.

Your cunt is throbbing with desire, you feel yourself so wet, the fabric of your panties sticking uncomfortably to you. It feels so hot and you just want tot touch him directly.

“Joost.” You mewl under him trying to get his attention but he continues licking incessantly at your nipples pinching and pulling lightly with his hands to the sensitive skin.

Your hands are at his shoulder grabbing tightly but when you see he is not even listening you move them downwards one hand going between the two of you to palm him through his jeans. He moans around your nipple at the contact and then sucks harder trying to get as much of your flesh in his mouth as he can. You continue to stroke him lightly then stronger, faster, you feel him moaning and bucking his hips into your touch, chasing after the friction when you tighten your grip he all of a sudden stops his bucking hips and pulls away from you, leaving your nipples covered in his spit, swollen and shiny on the light of his room.

“If you keep going I’m gonna cum in my pants.” He says truthfully looking up at you with big eyes. You laugh, he is so blunt and honest, it is still hard to get used to it but it is so terribly endearing.

“Not like it would be the first time.” You say grinning wildly.

“Liefde.” He whines scrunching his eyebrows and letting a soft blush adorn the high of his cheekbones. “That was one time and I was drunk.” He is turning an ever deeper shade of pink right in front of your eyes, you distantly wonder if anyone else is able to make him melt like this, if anyone is able to tease all these reactions out of him and you remember his words “There really is no one else like you.” and you smile to yourself contently.

“Take them off.” You say going for the zipper of his pants and dragging down, he lets you, he feels like he can barley breath seeing you almost naked on his bed and undressing him is a dream he thought would never come true again.

He helps you pull the pants down and kicks them off bed along side his boxers that are sporting a big wet spot right at the tip of his erection. Then he goes to grab at the waist of your jeans and undoes the button before pulling down softly watching your beautiful legs emerge from the fabric. His hands go to your legs slowly inching upwards, massaging the soft muscle, feeling the smooth skin. You lay back down and just stare at him, he has some new tattoos, he has gained some wight, his chest hair is still there but is darker now same as the happy trail and all the beauty marks you remember and the ones you don’t as well. He has changed and he is still in there somewhere, recognizable but different and even better because this time it is real and not just pretend.

He bends down to place kisses at your thighs almost reverent like you are a divinity that has wondered into his house. He keeps moving higher up until he is right at your core, he kisses over the fabric of your underwear then looks up at you, you nod approvingly before he moves to part your legs. He grabs at the back of your thighs and quickly pulls you closer to him. Gets in the middle and starts planting kisses all over your legs and between them, the skin is so soft there he tries to rub his face against it as covertly as he can and fails miserably because you are looking directly at him seeing how eager and needy he is just makes you hotter.

He kisses over the lace of your underwear, his lips are plump and soft, you hated to admit it but nobody gave head like him. He truly enjoyed it, the closeness, the wet feel on his mouth the scent of your core deep in his nose in an addicting way. He kisses and licks through the fabric and your hips are pushing against his face, he goes to hold you down, he wants to take his time remembering every place, every tender touch that had you melting into his mouth. His eyes are closed and eyebrow scrunched in complete concentration. He is licking through the fabric applying sweet pressure on your clit but holding you tightly by the hips so you will let him set the pace. Little curses escape your lips as you whine into the air for him. “More Joost more.” You plead looking down at him with big wet eyes. He opens his eyes slowly, can barely make contact from his position but he wants to look at you all the same, wants to give you everything and anything you ask for.

He moves the fabric to the side and takes a deep lick into your core that has you twitching on his mouth, he spreads your folds open with his fingers and sucks your clit between his lips as you moan uncontrollably. When you both would do this in your apartment he would have to cover your mouth with one hand as he worked the other deep inside you because you were so deliciously loud all the way through, but you got complaints form the neighbors on more than one occasion that had you furiously blushing red even if to him it just filled him with pride that he could make you scream his name so loud; however now at his place you can be as loud as you want, as vocal as you can, he eats your sounds up and it pushes him forward, makes him suck at your clit harder feeling it twitch between his lips, makes him lick deeper like his jaw is not going to ache but for your pleasure any discomfort is worth it. He pushes his ring finger inside of the tender muscle of your core and feels you clamp down on him immediately, so needy and so sensitive already. He thinks it is a pity you mustn’t have had anyone to do this for you all these years when it should have been him always ready and mouth eager to please you.

He pushes another finger into you, your hips rock hard against his hand like you are trying to get him deeper. You taste delicious, it is better than his fantasies, it is all you. His finger pump deep into you as he keeps trying to reach that spot that used to have you melting and when he finally finds it you all but scream and curse, there are tears falling from your eyes but it is all from pleasure and you look so beautiful, his eyes are glued on your face he wants to make sure he is making you feel good, making it worth your time now that you have give him this chance. He sneaks a hand upwards softly caressing your belly up to your chest and grabbing at one of your breasts and softly massaging feeling the pebbled nipple between his finger still wet form his spit and so hard begging for attention, he pinches at the sensitive skin and feels your cunt react immediately gushing on his fingers. His mouth is still connected to your sensitive bundle of nerves but you feel him moaning wildly, see how he is humping against the mattress, there is a wet spot of his pre-cum on the bedding that he doesn’t seem to care about, all but hypnotized with your pretty face and lascivious sounds.

You take his hand, the one that is kneading at your chest, and pull it towards your mouth, you grab at his fingers and put them in your mouth letting the soft wet muscle of your tongue slide between them before you close your lips and suck greedily around them, it goes straight to his dick, he has to make a superhuman effort to not finish right then and there, he moans so deeply right against your clit you can feel your orgasm threatening to wash over you any second but you don’t want it like this, you want to feel him, now that you finally have him you want it all.

You pull his fingers out of your mouth wet and shiny with spit and pull yourself slightly from his embrace before speaking in labored tone.

“Joost come here, kiss me.”

He slowly pulls away from you with a slightly confused expression, he pulls his finger out of you softly but you still wince when you feel how empty you are without them. He crawls over you, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and asks.

“Was it bad?” He looks genuine and a little disappointed.

You laugh, that he could ever think that when you are all but melting on his palms and you were one shy lick away from coming in his mouth.

“You are the best but I want to cum with you.” You explain.

You cup his face on your hands and pull him into a deep kiss tasting yourself on his tongue it so erotic and nostalgic it makes you feel like you are in that tiny apartment so many years ago. You pull away slightly and sit up on bed, and pull your underwear down your legs.

His dick hangs heavy between his thighs, the tips is red and glistening with pre-cum you bite your lip in anticipation. Even if you liked to pretend like you didn’t, you had seen him just like this naked and ready for you on your dreams many times over the years but now you finally had him in front of you and you were so hungry for it. You take him in your palm stroke softly at the velvety skin, feel him twitch under your touch, you bend down a little and look at him through half lidded eyes.

“Can I?” You ask already licking your lips in anticipation, you have missed him so much he was always so vocal you want to hear his pretty sounds again, feel his warmth on your tongue and the way he fills your mouth.

He looks at you with eyes full of adoration and caresses at your cheek with tattooed knuckles.

“I would love nothing more liefde, but if you do that I won’t last at all.” He says smiling brightly. His younger self would have probably bragged about his endurance then avoided even looking at you to not cum too fast but the man in front of you right now is so honest, he is naked but more than anything you feel he has stripped his soul bare, all for you.

“Okay, yeah.” You nod stupidly, you don’t know what to say, he keeps dolling out loving words onto you and it is frying your brain slowly. You push your hair behind your ear to distract your hands. “How do you- how do you want me?” You ask timidly feeling shy all of a sudden like it is your first time and the way he is being so gentle and loving it might as well be.

“Can you lay back down for me?” He asks, you nod and slowly, lay on bed again waiting for him. You don’t know what to do with your hands, you just rest them on your chest and feel how rapidly your heart is beating, you start getting shy all of a sudden. He looks so beautiful so grown, his arms are bigger, his face is more handsome, he feels like a stranger and you start getting timid that perhaps you don’t know him at all. He sees the hesitation in your eyes and asks softly as he caresses at your cheek.

“Are you with me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nod affirmatively and smile fondly. “I just- I can’t belive it is you.”

He knows what you mean, he feels it himself. It is all so new but so old and rehearsed at the same time, he knows you, he knows it is you, and yet he also feels in awe of the person you have become while he was gone from your life.

He nods overwhelmed with emotion to speak. You see how his eyes get shiny, you reach for his arms and feel the warm muscle beneath your palms as you pull him closer. You kiss at his cheek, at the corner of his lips, at the stray tear that escapes him.

“You okay? We can stop if you want to.” You whisper softly massaging at the muscle of his shoulders.

He shakes his head, sniffles softly and kisses you. “I am better than ever before” He says finally smiling ear to ear.

“Okay.” You say smiling and laying back down.

You spread your legs for him, he comes closer in the space between your thighs, you can feel the heat emanating from his body just a breath away. He grabs at your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist, now you are flush, your sexes barely touching it feels like kissing. His hand moves from the muscle of your thigh slowly up your belly resting on your navel, he is just feeling you, trying to memorize the feel of your body under him all over again. He looks at you and you nod at him, sometimes there is no need for words.

He grabs his length in one hand and pumps himself a couple times before he lines himself up with you entrance. He pushes in you slowly, his bulbous tip catches on the wet warm muscle of your hole that all but flutters around him. Inch by inch he melts in your heat, his eyes stay on yours all the way to the point you have to look away to stay sane but he pulls you back with one gentle hand on your chin so he can see you, he has missed you so much, it has been so long, he has not stopped thinking about you for a single moment and he refuses to lose another minute. When he finally bottoms out he takes a deep breath and rest his forehead against yours, his skin is shinny with sweat and you must feel yours is too but you are too concentrated on the way his lips are but an inch from yours, how his breath is so warm and you are breathing it in, he becomes the air that you breath.

Joost finally starts to move after a long minute of just feeling himself inside you, how your warm walls cling to him and pulse all around his length, he pulls away softly but not fully, his tip stays inside your heat before he pushes back in in swift motion. He had never been a selfish lover but now he seemed absolutely laser focused on your pleasure only, thrusting deeply inside you in fast hard motion then pulling out painfully slow, you keep gushing around him feeling yourself become closer to the edge by the second. He keeps his eyes trained on yours all the way. He caresses at the skin of you cheek and you chase his touch completely shameless pushing your head against his hand to feel more of him. You are moaning into each other’s mouths, drinking in each other’s sounds.

He feels he won’t last long, he sits up slightly leaving you so lonely without his lips but you forgive him when his hand goes to the middle of your legs and he spreads your lips apart to press constant circles on your hard clit sending waves of pleasure up your spine.

“You feel amazing schat.” He says when you clench on him at the added stimulation.

“I thought about you all the time.” He whimpers with a deep thrust.

“I can't believe I get to do this with you again I didn’t think it would happen.” He confesses as he pulls out, he can’t seem to stop his mouth.

“I’m never letting you go.” He thrust deeply into you again, your clit twitching under his thumb you feel your orgasm quickly building again all around him, walls pulsing wildly as he moves inside you.

His words have you dizzy, his dick inside you feels divine pushing and pulling at your sensitive walls and his relentless deft fingers on your clit are threatening to send you over the edge any second, you think he must feel it the way you are throbbing on his length and gushing all over his cock.

“I’m close Joost, don’t stop.” You whimper.

He keeps the same rhythm that is quickly bringing you to your peak. You look so beautiful, your skin is covered in sweat, you hair is wild and tussled on his pillows, on his bed, your body splayed so beautifully on his mattress, he feels like you belong here, he wants you to belong here with him forever. He can’t stop the words from spilling from his mouth.

“I love you.”

You cum, you gush all over him, clenching impossibly tighter on him, so much it makes his own hips stutter. Wild tears fall from your eyes as your hips move on their own trying to ride the rest of your high on him, you are breathing heavily you can only hear the pump of your blood on your own ears, you feels like you are falling back to earth rapidly.

He still feels the beautiful spams of your release on his length as he watches stupefied how you cum and stays still while you ride your high on his dick just letting you enjoy your pleasure and catch you breath. Then he bends down to be closer to you, to kiss at your pretty lips.

“Just a little more schat.” He promises against your ear, you nod dumbly unable to speak at all, you feel like he is taking you through a perpetual never ending orgasm that washes all over your body.

His movements get more uncoordinated but he is still chasing his high as he holds you in tender hands, he keeps whispering soft words at you and little i-love-yous accompanying every move, you don’t really reply, you can’t, so you just kiss him back softly. He lets you, now it is you who needs time and if anything the years have made him more patient, not perfect but just better and you are worth all the wait it takes.

He is hypnotized by the sight, by the way your bodies melt into each other the way your core keeps dripping sweet honey all over him, he knows you were made for each other, he wants you to know it too. He lets go of your thighs and goes to grab at your neck lifting your head softly from where it rests on the pillows.

“Look” He says, his voice sounds like he is right inside your head.

He angles your head so you see where you are connected, you see his length disappear inside you and then see him again as he pulls out over and over again like waves crashing on the beach.

“Hold your legs for me.” You can’t reply, you become hypnotized by the sight as well, you wrap your hands around your knees and do as he says, he could probably talk you into anything right now.

He leans over almost folding you in half, your muscles will be sore tomorrow but right now the stretch is so delicious you feel like you are alive for the first time in a long while all your nerves standing on fire.

“Look, we were made for each other.” He says all gone, completely lost in pleasure and the way you all but melt around him he might be right.

You look up at him and he does the same, your eyes lock as his hips thrust deeply into you one last time as he comes deep into your walls painting everything with his thick release, he moans your name loudly, his hips stutter into yours, all uncoordinated with the last of his release, you hold onto him like he is a life vest, he almost closes his eyes from pleasure but makes the effort to keep them trained on your face all through it.

“I love you.” He whimpers with a last thrust and you pull his face to yours to kiss him.

He collapses onto you, his weight feels delicious if only a little suffocating, but you caress at the tired muscles of his arms, at his back, at his shoulders and neck as you slowly bring him down to earth to you again. You feel his heart beating rapidly inside his ribcage and his breaths are shallow as he tries to compose himself. You hold him through all of it and play with the hair at the nape of his neck that you have missed so much. You feel him soften inside you but you wish you could stay like this forever, eternally connected.

Finally he gathers what little strength he has left and rolls over onto his back next to you in bed. He is still breathing heavy but he looks over at you so enamored, he brushes the hair away from your face to look at your properly as if he is doing it for the first time and you give him a smile in return. All blissed out and fucked out you truly are an angel come to life on his bed and he can’t fully belive it yet.

After a long moment just breathing slowly and looking at you he swallows deeply and pulls himself together for what he now knows he has to do. He rolls on his side so he can look at you better and you can feel he has something to say so you follow and do the same watching him expectantly. He clears his throat before speaking.

“I really meant it, can we try again?” He asks looking deeply into your eyes.

“I don't know.” You say honestly, seeing him was great, it would be a lie to say there weren’t butterflies in your stomach but you didn’t know what to do with that.

“We can start from scratch.” He offers, you laugh at that.

“Yeah how? We already know each other.” You say, he shakes his head.

“We have changed a lot.” He is right, he has become so mature you barley recognize him at all and you are also not the same it would be unfair to say so.

“So what do we do?” You ask truthfully looking at him expectant.

The Joost you had met would have probably shrugged and changed the topic but the one right now in front of you smiles back, pretty dimples adorning his face and says.

“I am Joost Klein, born and raised in Friesland, I am 26, I am a dancer, video editor, rapper and international super start amongst others, nice to meet you.”

He extends his hand at you waiting for you to shake it.

You think about it for a second, seeing his pretty eyes looking at you all sparkly and sweet, it takes you right back to the first time you met but now you are both so different it truly feels like it happened a life time ago. There is no point in thinking about it anymore, those people no longer exist, whatever they did is not part of today anymore and more importantly they were a little bit stupid.

So you extend your hand to shake his, the skin feels warm and still so soft. You like him, you think you do, maybe it is nostalgia, maybe in a few weeks, maybe in a few months you will realize this is not what you want and maybe that is okay, but right here right now he is looking at you full of hope and you want to share some of it, so you pull yourself closer let him wrap his arms around you and kiss him deeply. Tonight the sky is full of stars and you feel the nice warmth of his body lull you to sleep. You can dream in his embrace of a good future were you actually figure it out together and who knows maybe this time you can because this time he loves you and he actually says it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚ A/N: Thank you so much for reading this ended up being very long! Let me know your thoughts/comments pls and sorry for any mistakes my brain is fried lol! -`♡´-

#joost klein #joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost #joost smut #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction

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sorcerersseestars · 1 year ago

Text

LIMERENCE (part I)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

"I can't stop loving you, no matter how hard I try."

summary: Your long-time friend stirs feelings inside you that you never realized existed. Of course they bubble up in your chest while he’s in the midst of ignoring you and discovering his own possible romance. Your mutual friend thinks she has it all figured out—or does she?

pairing: gojo satoru x gn! reader

fandom: jujutsu kaisen

genre: hanahaki sickness au, angst, hurt/comfort, drama, slow burn!

warnings: mentions of feeling sick, being stonewalled kinda, usage of the word (Y/N) bc Gojo is too fed up for nicknames (in reality idk what else to use 😶), Gojo being an ass (common theme in my fics oops)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: This is the first part to my hanahaki au! I’ve had this in my drafts for the longest time, but never committed to writing it all out until now. This first bit is kinda slow and maybe confusing BUT hopefully I’ll be able to clear it up next chapter. Not proof read very thoroughly; will probably regret later 🫥

part ii part iii

“DON’T YOU THINK you could be a bit nicer to me?” You try, clasping your hands together as you look up at him with an odd smile—a cross between apologetic and playful. You’re joking, or at least half joking. It’s too difficult to be serious with Gojo; his habit of masking emotion with jest must be rubbing off on you.

Only one corner of his mouth raises. “Good one, (Y/N)-chan. As if I didn’t use to pay your bills.”

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks, and he walks away from you without a single glance. You frown and lightly jog a few steps to catch up to him.

“Ah, and I’m forever thankful for that!” You say, cringing at how overly peppy your tone is. “But that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Hmm,” Is all he says. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn’t carry himself with as much ease as usual—his posture is closed off, angular and tense.

“What I meant was–” You prompt your own answer, as he doesn’t make any move to. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I know you’ve been really busy lately, so I don’t blame you, but I think we should go out and do something. Could help relieve some work stress too, don’t you think so?”

“Maybe,” He says, the word short yet effective in its delivery. The word was sharp in his mouth, clear annoyance shaping his tongue enough for the word to have a bite to it.

You wince. He never used to be like this. Gojo has been in a state of perpetual mirth—and one could argue levity—for the entirety of your friendship, never taking anything seriously and always looking for opportunities to poke fun at you to half-jokingly glorify himself. His expression has always been infectiously positive—never molded into anything hard or serious.

But, lately, everything you thought you knew about Gojo Satoru has faded away into your memories. He never seeks out your presence anymore, which is polar opposite from your high school days, when he would follow you around and pester you until you’d hang out with him. You actually used to get annoyed at this behavior, but you’re sorely missing it now.

You feel like you know nothing about him these days, only hearing tidbits here and there from your mutual friend Shoko. It stings to know that he obviously talks to her, and quite often at that, seeing she always has new details to spill every other day.

It doesn’t make sense to you: him and Shoko were never particularly close, definitely not nearly as close as you and Gojo were. In fact, she thought of him as particularly annoying in high school, and often swore to you that she would cut all contact with him once they graduated.

Back then, you had rolled your eyes at her antics, never believing that anybody could cut Gojo out of their life, seeing as he simply wouldn’t let them. But how else could you describe what he seems to be doing to you?

You bite your lip nervously. “Satoru? Is there something wrong?”

“Not particularly,” He says with a forced smile that’s screaming for you to shut up. You pretend like it’s not the most disingenuous smile you’ve ever seen smeared on his face.

“Are you sure?” You probe. “I mean…what’s been going on with you these days? We haven’t seen each other in forever, and you don’t seem yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

His lips are quirked up, as they perpetually are, but it’s different this time. It’s mocking. A mocking smirk that’s telling you to face reality. Do you really know him anymore?

You pause in your steps, studying his expression. You can’t see his eyes, but you wish you could. He’s hard to read with that blindfold concealing those powerful eyes of his, but it never used to be a problem. It hurts that you’re now struggling to gauge him when your emotions used to feel like one.

Evidently, you can’t answer his question. Not that he seems to care.

“I’ve really got to get going. Students to teach, curses to kill, all that,” He announces, tone low and apathetic. Bored. “See ya.”

Your breath flutters in your throat as you try to bid him goodbye. You choke on your words and only end up tentatively raising a hand. Before you can wave, his form disappears. A gust of wind greets you in lieu of a proper goodbye.

You stay where you are for a few shocked moments, not even registering the hot tears that leak from the eyes he avoided.

You wander aimlessly around campus for a while, the whole interaction replaying in your head several times over. His “Are you sure?” needles its way into your brain even when you push it away, the words hitting where it hurts every time.

Your feet find themselves taking you to an empty break room – ah, this is the one that has your favorite flavor of tea. You turn the kettle on, then eagerly dig through the tea stash. You file through the individual packets quickly and thoroughly, but to no avail. It’s gone.

With a sigh, you grab a random tea bag and throw it into your mug. Frustrated, you roughly begin pouring the now-boiled water into the mug, but it doesn’t seem that was a good idea. Your hand slips for just a split second, but a sizable splash of boiling water still manages to singe your non-dominant hand. A stream of expletives leaves your mouth, and you instantly cradle your hand to your heart.

More tears appear. At least you have an excuse this time—it fucking hurts.

You trudge to the clinic, feeling quite silly, but also seeking some much-needed relief. And you’re not exactly imagining painkillers or an ice pack—no, there’s something else. Someone else.

You hesitantly knock on the door. You feel stupid, but you really have to see her.

You crack a smile at the creak of the door. Your friend and co-worker Shoko strides out with an air of confidence you wish you held.

“What happened?” She asks calmly, eyes lazily taking in your form.

“Spilled some water from the kettle,” You say lamely. “It hurts.”

That doesn’t really constitute a visit to one of the only reverse-cursed technique users in the school, and you know it. So does she.

“Mmhm,” She raises her eyebrows. “Well, come on in.”

You shuffle in a little sheepishly, not able to meet Shoko’s eyes. Now that you’re here, you start to feel unsure about your own motive—do you really want to discuss this? Won’t it just be embarrassing more than anything else?

You stall a little in your steps as the negative thoughts invade your head. You’re startled to attention by a poke to your side—when you look up, Shoko’s playful smirk fills your vision.

“Come on over to the sink and we’ll put that under some cool running water,” She says, gesturing to your reddened arm.

You cock your head, looking between her and the sink skeptically, “No ice?”

She shakes her head, sticking her tongue out at you a bit, “Nope! Running water for burns.”

You hold up your hands in defeat, smiling, “Whatever Doctor Shoko says.”

“And I do,” She says cheekily. “So get under that water!”

“Aye-aye,” You say with a salute.

She groans, “Ugh. You guys are so annoyingly similar. Hang on a sec, I gotta grab something.”

She turns away before she can see the way your expression drops. The smile is stolen from your face, leaving behind saddened eyes and a slight frown. There’s only one possible person she could be talking about.

You sigh and turn on the faucet—your disheartened sigh morphs into one of great relief as the cold water soothes your burn.

“That better?” Shoko asks upon her return.

You nod, a small smile coming back, “Yeah, thanks Shoko.”

“Is there something else wrong?” She asks, then shakes her head. “No, scratch that. What’s actually wrong?”

You take a deep breath. How are you going to broach this subject? You wait several moments, pondering your exact next words.

“Do you think Gojo is okay?” You finally ask your long-time friend, words coming out almost cautiously.

She eyes you funnily, “Why are you asking me? As if he doesn’t chase you around the school to blab on about himself.”

You smile, but it’s tainted by bitterness.

“Shoko…Gojo hasn’t talked to me for two months,” You admit quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

She stops.

“What?”

You hate hearing the confusion in her voice. You hate the pity that soon fills her eyes.

“He seriously hasn’t,” You affirm, sighing. “I don’t know what I did, or if I did anything, or…or what. I just, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You sigh. “Of course I have, but he didn’t seem to take my concerns seriously. Or consider them at all. It just seemed like he wanted me to shut up and leave him alone.”

Shoko looks at you curiously, lips quirking as if she has something to say, but no words come out. Is she holding something back?

You take a deep breath, willing the horrible emotion that squeezes your throat away. You look out the window to distract yourself, watching the branches of a sakura sapling swaying in the wind. It looks alone and lost, battered by the relentless wind.

“What’s he been like recently with you?” You finally ask, your gaze still on the tree.

“Normal,” Shoko says. “Annoying as ever. Noisy as ever.”

A cluster of pink petals is ripped from a branch, swirling hopelessly to the ground. When they settle on the ground, you look back to your friend.

“He’s really the same?” You ask weakly.

“Unfortunately,” She says wryly. “Besides, why do you care? We’ve both been trying to get him off our backs since waaay long ago. Sounds like a blessing in disguise.”

“Ah, that’s true,” You admit with a weak chuckle, trying to ignore the way your heart throbs painfully. “But he’s also our friend.”

“Since when? More like a thorn in my side. Maybe he finally got the message,” Shoko smirks. “You should give me instructions for that. I’d have a lot better quality of life, you know.”

You know she’s just joking around with you, but she’s truly just rubbing salt in your wound. Not very ethical for a doctor, even if unintentional.

“Yeah,” You laugh, but it’s an empty sound. “Well, I guess I’ll get going then. Hopefully your next patient gives you an easier time.”

Shoko jokes, “Yeah, this has been my toughest job all week. You fiend.”

Your head is filled with so many questions, all of them growing louder as you walk away from your friend. Your friend who you thought would sympathize with you, but only ended up making you feel worse in the end is acting suspicious. It’s not like you’ve ever wanted to actually cut ties with Gojo, even when he used to pull pranks on you in high school. You craved for a strong friendship with him throughout all his shenanigans.

Why is Shoko acting like you hate Gojo, and what isn’t she telling you?

Before you reach the door, you decide you need to know. You stop abruptly in your tracks.

“Ieiri, you’re not telling me something,” You say softly, not looking back. “Why?”

Shoko sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

You say nothing. The door in front of you is tempting—it’s your way out of knowing the truth. Do you really want to know?

You wait tensely for a few seconds, the silence causing nerves to bubble up in your stomach. But when Shoko begins to speak, they go don’t go away.

“He hasn’t really been acting strange around me, but he’s constantly on his phone. Like always. Whenever he comes to chat, he immediately tunes me out and starts texting or loudly takes a call,” She snorts, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “I thought he was just bored and trying to make me feel disrespected as a sort of cruel joke, but I think it’s something else. I think…I think Gojo is interested in someone.”

Your head whips around, disbelief clear in your features. Interested in someone?

“Maybe that’s why he’s been acting weird. I always thought he was crazy for you, so it didn’t cross my mind until now.”

“Crazy for me?” You immediately echo back, voice hollow and confused.

Shoko shakes her head at you, “C’mon, you can’t be that oblivious. He always followed you around like a lost puppy in high school. He never said anything to me about it, but I really thought he would confess any day for years.”

“He did that to everyone…” You shake your head. “You say yourself he bugged you so much.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, it was different.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your vision becomes foggy at the edges, reality fizzling out.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” You ask. “It’s not like that matters.”

You try to appear uncaring, yet it was a fight to get those words out.

“You’re a sensitive person. ‘Didn’t know how you’d react since Gojo always seemed to chase after your attention, exclusively. But it’s not like it was the other way around—should have known it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not. Guess he’s just growing up.”

“Yeah,” You agree faintly, voice devoid of emotion. Reality is slipping through your numb fingers, the information turning your world into a nightmare. You should have opened the door and ran when you had the chance.

“It’s not,” You say with a saccharine smile, one so sickly sweet that Shoko gets chills. That’s not your usual smile—not one that Shoko has ever seen you wear. “Of course it’s not.”

When you turn on your heel and rush out of her infirmary, Shoko reaches out a hand and her lips part to call after you. It’s uncharacteristic for her—the cold doctor is rarely sentimental or emotionally affected, but she saw something ghastly in that smile of yours.

The slam of the door answers her call. The truth, now imparted, comes to bite her in the ass.

It’s been a few days. You’ve been moping around the school, around your students—trying to cope with the information that you don’t even know is true. You see him across campus sometimes; he’s so easily spotted with his translucent hair and tall frame. Every time, he’s facing away from you, and your eyes fall on the back of his head. Your chest always tightens and you end up turning away, too.

You have ignored the feelings stirring in your chest, not willing to admit something that clearly isn’t reciprocated. It has been working, you suppose, since you haven’t cracked under the mental weight of possibly being in lo—

No, you can’t even think that.

Everything has been as okay as it can. It’s not until you attempt to visit Shoko again to try sort out your feelings, however, that things take a turn for the worse.

Your hand is raised as you prepare to knock on the infirmary door, but you hesitate once you hear muffled voices.

“I don’t know…I didn’t expect it at all.”

That’s Gojo’s voice. That low but self-assured tone is undeniably his.

“Expect what?” Shoko asks, sounding bored.

His reply is so soft that it passes by as just a hiss of air, so quiet that you physically startle at Shoko’s loud reaction.

“No! What? I can’t believe that!” She shouts, laughter quickly following her exclamation.

You shouldn’t be listening—you hadn’t planned to eavesdrop on your two best friends, but for some reason your ear seeks out the wall, as if magnetized.

The next three words uttered still your heart.

“Utahime kissed me,” Gojo admits quietly.

You feel like you can’t breathe. Utahime, who has always despised Gojo even beyond Shoko’s extent. Utahime, who once cried into your chest after Gojo was harsh with her at an exchange event. Utahime, who always persisted that you and Gojo were into each other during high school.

Shoko’s unbelieving chuckle cuts through your thoughts.

Shoko laughs, “Oh, yeah, okay, as if I’d ever believe that.”

There’s silence. Your heart drops at the lack of response—no teasing refute, no playful faux playboy attitude.

Shoko absorbs his unusual silence, finally interpreting his words for what they are.

She gasps loudly, spluttering, “Oh my God, you’re being serious. What?! There’s no way…”

Gojo’s voice is even and deep. “I didn’t lie. She just did it out of nowhere. I didn’t even know how to react, to be honest.”

“So you just stood there?” Shoko snorts, trying to keep up her usual sarcastic persona. “God, you’re insufferable all the way around.”

“I kissed her back,” He breathes out, voice almost weak.

Another long moment of silence ensues. You hold your breath, terrified that your panicked pants will alert them of your presence.

Shoko recovers quickly this time.

“Still insufferable,” She sighs, and you can imagine her shaking her head. “So what now? You like her or something? This is so random.”

“I…I don’t know,” He admits quietly. “I never thought she’d do that, it took me by surprise. I…I think I liked it?”

Your heart shatters. You clutch a hand to your mouth, gagging yourself, forcing back the pained gasp that’s threatening to leave your lips.

“Oh, is that so?” Shoko says drily, but the usual edge to her voice is absent. You can only imagine her expression: contorted with pity and pain, desperately trying to maintain her poker face.

“Yeah,” Gojo reaffirms. “It was nice.”

There’s silence for a few seconds as Shoko takes it all in. Then, “Is she who you’ve always been calling and texting when I’m talking to you? You’re an ass for that, by the way.”

Gojo exhales out a sardonic sniff, “You’re spot on.”

Why are you still listening? You should leave. You shouldn’t be hearing this. Pain blooms in your chest, as if thorns became lodged between your ribs.

“What about (Y/N)?”

You freeze, eyes bulging out of your head.

Gojo sighs, sounding annoyed, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not dumb, Satoru. There was something going on during high school and frankly in the past few years as well. Are you going to deny it?”

He scoffs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shoko. It was never like that.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick. You shouldn’t—there’s no possible way you’re actually in love with Gojo Satoru, is there?

Fuck. The thought you’ve been trying to avoid all this time has finally firmly inserted itself into your head.

You take off swiftly and immediately, and your footfalls are as light as you can possibly manage. If either of them knew you were here, you wouldn’t be able to handle the shame.

Gojo and Shoko are none the wiser to the immoral action that took place just beyond the door—so when Shoko is ready to clock out and opens the door, the presence of a school ID on the ground is nearly missed. She feels something strange crunch underneath her foot and steps away and glances at the foreign object.

You left in such a hurry that your ID flopped out of your pocket. It lays on the ground, your smiling face staring up at Shoko, who looks on in horror. She immediately knows that you heard everything. She quickly steps back onto your ID, concealing your identity with her foot.

With all the sight of his six eyes, Gojo somehow completely missed Shoko’s strategic maneuvers to erase traces of your presence. He whistles nonchalantly, not having a care in the world, apparently.

In contrast, Shoko’s mind is racing. Her eyes roam around the courtyard, searching for your form. She feels rooted to the spot—will she reveal you if she steps away? She almost forgets that she’s not alone.

“You looking for someone?” Gojo asks.

Shoko stiffens, but forces herself to relax and appear nonchalant. “Ah, I was just wondering if…if (Y/N) would still be around.”

Gojo frowns. “Hm. Not sure. Don’t they usually go home right after they get off?”

“Lately, they’ve been staying back to do paperwork,” She sighs. “Masamichi has really giving them too many missions…How come you don’t know that?”

“Haven’t had the chance to catch up, I guess,” Gojo says evasively, then quickly changes the subject. “Besides, aren’t you the same way? You coming or not? I’ve got better things to do.”

He waves his cell phone around playfully, a smirk widening across his features.

Shoko rolls her eyes, “Go ahead. I’m just going to wait here a bit and see if I can text them and get them over here.”

She hesitates for a second before adding, “Actually, why don’t you wait a sec? We haven’t all seen each other in a bit.”

Gojo immediately stiffens. He scratches the back of his head and says, “Ah, I’m actually sort of on a time crunch. Maybe next time.”

What a lie. Shoko thinks, eyes narrowing subconsciously. What is he up to?

As he trails off into the distance, the gears in Shoko’s head continue to turn. He always, always teleports home after work finishes. So why is he slowly walking around campus, head turning this way and that way as if searching?

And you! Why were you there? Why were you so affected? What is going on in your head—or rather, your heart?

Something strange is going on with her two friends and Shoko is determined to find out what.

next part

credit 🩷:

@kiyaedits - baby pink dividers, @sweetxmelody - cherry blossom divider

*note: taglist open!! comment to be tagged in part 2 :)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo behavior #hurt/comfort #gojo hurt/comfort #angst #jjk #best buddie shoko #sad bc utahime and shoko aren’t together in this one 😤#Gojo is a hater

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