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ace-turned-confused · 4 months ago

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mould me for ruin

marcus acacius masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: marcus acacius x virgin f!reader summary: after years of watching general acacius, you long to wield a sword of your own — an opportunity arises for your dreams to come true, in more ways than one word count: 4,6k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied / inexperienced & a virgin, probably historically inaccurate yippie!, unspecified juicy age gap, pet names, smut, loss of virginity, f masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v, comeplay, praise kink, size difference, bit of corruption & innocence kink, some dacryphilia, dirty talk & possessive acacius, Armour Stays On, Skirt Stays On extra info: subligaculum = underwear, mamillare = breastband/bra — if this is wrong then yell at google, not me a/n: so i watched the trailer with my best friend, looked at her immediately and said “i need him to tackle me to the ground” and here we are. i couldn’t help myself. @morallyinept thank you Jett for encouraging me to write this and listening to my deranged rambling, love you so much my friend 🤍 not beta'd, live laugh love

You’ve watched him for years — defending his honour, moulding young boys into fearless soldiers, striding up the palace steps to stand before the emperor. His confidence never falters, and it’s astonishing how his men follow his constant orders, never complaining, never challenging him. He speaks, they listen — you would do the same.

You’ve always dreamed of what wearing armour like his would feel like — how it would weigh down your shoulders, how it would clunk and rattle as you walk, how the leather would flow around your legs. That’s all it’s ever been — a dream, a fantasy. You’ve found as of late that you’ve had other dreams, too.

General Marcus Acacius has always been something of a God to you, he could never do wrong in your eyes and you often thought of him at fleeting moments during your day’s duties. Now, you think of him at night, too, and you don’t know how to stop. Instead of wearing that armour yourself, you’ve started imagining how it would feel if someone else pressed it into your skin. In all of your dreams, it’s Acacius wearing that armour.

You’ve noticed it’s not just your mind that’s affected — you feel unbearably warm, a throbbing sensation between your legs that only intensifies if you ignore it. You used to squeeze your legs together to try and quell that feeling, soon finding that it turned into pleasure.

You’ve always been a curious girl — one night you pulled off your sheets and shoved your hand down to explore yourself, finding you were wet, and if you pressed your fingers into one specific spot for long enough, you felt euphoric. This happens most nights now, and you have to cover your mouth when it’s quiet to avoid waking someone up.

You wondered if anyone else experienced this too but have always been too scared to ask — sometimes you feel embarrassed just thinking about it.

Acacius would never dare to even look at you, for what would a man of his stature want with a girl like you, but there’s no harm in you continuing to look at him — lingering in the shadows during training hours, fixated on him during noble proceedings. You swear sometimes he stares directly at you in a crowd, eyes burning into you as he singles you out.

The sun is just beginning to set, Marcus’ final session of the day has concluded and the servants have come to harp to his every need. One brings cloth for his face, another a small cup filled with water for drinking. A young boy had nicked his arm during a one-on-one showcase, the blood now dried on his skin as bandaging is wrapped around his bicep. The boy looked terrified of what the consequences might be, but Marcus reassured him that no real harm was done.

His body aches as he longs for rest — he’s not quite as young and agile as he once was.

Trudging out of the arena, he notices you — it’s not the first time, either. He imagines you just have an inquisitive mind and are fascinated by the spectacle of physical combat, as most are — but you don’t seem engrossed by the pompous behaviour or extravagant events. It appears as though you live in hopes of being able to train, that you dream you could be the one in the arena. You step out of hiding and try to sneak off in the opposite direction.

“Something you are looking for, girl?”

You halt in your tracks, turning to face him with wide eyes. You don’t respond.

“Answer when you are questioned.”

“I did not intend to be a bother, General Acacius, I will be on my way, my apologies.”

“There is no need for an apology. I have seen you here before — on many occasions, in fact.” He steps towards you and you stand, unmoving. “Tell me, girl, why are you really here.”

Your eyes flicker around as you consider your answer, fingers twitching at your sides as you chew on your lip. Finally, you tell him, “I… simply enjoy watching. You are finely skilled, it is magnificent to witness. All of you, I do not watch you alone, of course.” Your voice wavers as you rush out your last sentence.

“Do you wish to be in the arena, yourself?”

“I could not.”

“I did not ask if you could or could not.”

Again, you don’t respond as your gaze lowers to focus on his chestplate, eyes tracing the twisting gold patterns. He considers how to get the truth from you, and his decision is undoubtedly something he shouldn’t entertain.

“Meet me at sundown tomorrow in the clearing by the lake, it is not too far a journey on foot. You have never been spotted here, so I imagine you will have no difficulty making it out there undetected.”

You sputter out a reply as he walks off, tripping over your words but don’t make any real effort to stop or counter him. Whether or not you show up tomorrow is ultimately your decision, and he will not hold it against you if you choose to remain in the shadows. He does hope you do join him, though, he hopes you might surprise him.

You’ve spent all day weighing up what to do. A few others noticed your mind was distant but you managed to keep their suspicions at bay. When the General caught you the night prior, you were certain you’d be in trouble but he was shockingly calm.

He stood right before you and for the first time, you could take in his features — you’ve only ever been able to admire him from afar. Grey streaks on his temples and spread along his jawline, steel gaze and curved nose, arms and shoulders even thicker and broader up close. You felt that low heat settle between your legs as he questioned you — your dreams will be far more vivid from now on.

Acacius was right when he assumed you could make it out here unnoticed, you’ve mastered the art after years of sneaking around. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon when you hear rustling in the tree line behind you. You turn and see him break through the foliage, clad in his armour with a sword on either hip.

“You are here.” He runs his eyes over your whole body as he moves into the clearing.

He walks out towards you and draws one sword, angling the blade to catch the light as he flips it around in his hand before presenting the grip to you. You furrow your brow in confusion.

“Unless you have one in your own possession, you will need a sword. I did not bring two for my own use.”

You take it in hand, clenching your fist repeatedly to get a feel for it, twirling the sword around — it’s easier to handle than you imagined, but still a solid weight.

“Tonight we will just begin with a few basic movements. You need to be in control of your weapon — if you fear it, that is when you will harm yourself.”

You spend hours focused on moving the sword around your body, watching Acacius’ demonstrations and then mirroring them. It’s not long before you can speed up your actions, remembering the patterns without having to be shown.

“I must admit, I am impressed. You are managing the blade well.” You glance up at him mid-performance — he rests a hand on his hip, his lips just starting to curl into a small smile. “Do you have a weapon of your own? I will not tell.”

“I have a small dagger I found long ago, I find peace in keeping it well-maintained.”

“You will carry it on your person at all times.”

“I should not.”

“This is not a case of should or should not, you will carry it. You may be secure near the arena and its surroundings, but this world is not always a safe one. Your dagger will do you more good in your hand than in your bedchamber.”

He walks towards the water's edge and looks out over the lake. Turning to face you, the moonlight bounces off the water and shines around him — he looks otherworldly. You realise now, as you stand under the twinkling stars, just how long the two of you have been out here.

“It is late, we should make our way back to town. I would like to continue your training, you have made a promising start — if you wish to learn more.”

“Thank you, General. I would like that. When will we next meet?”

“The night after tomorrow. You cannot practise during daylight on your own, and repetition is necessary for mastering an art like this. I will see you then.”

“May I ask…” You fidget with the sword in your hand. “How come we are so far out? Would it not be simpler to just train in the arena?”

“And think what would happen if someone were to see — a girl, sparring with a general in the arena after dark? You will be sent for exile, or worse.”

You hand the sword back to Acacius, eyes flitting up to his and breath hitching in your chest as his hand grips over yours.

“Goodnight, General.”

“Rest well, you will need it.”

He bids you goodnight, sheathing the sword back on his hip. You glance back at him as you retreat into the woods and he’s still watching you. You’re not sure how much sleep you’ll get, but you’ll definitely be well-rested.

It feels as though time had stopped altogether the past two days. Your duties dragged on for hours and you tossed in your sleep. You'd snuck off as usual to view the training sessions, but it isn’t enough anymore now that you’ve done it yourself and spent time alone with Acacius.

You ran his words over in your head, your dagger will do you more good in your hand than in your bedchamber, and he is right. What use is a weapon that you cannot use? You tried tucking it into your subligaculum, but it would dislodge as soon as your movements became vigorous. You took some spare cloth and tied it around your calf, managing to secure the dagger in a way that would remain in place without drawing your own blood in the process. You’re eager to show off your craftsmanship to him.

Acacius is nowhere to be seen when you arrive tonight, a gentle breeze dancing in the leaves and causing small ripples on the water’s surface, lamplight flickering in the distance across the lake. You can hear rustling behind you but pass it off as the wind or woodland creatures until you hear a significant snap and fling yourself around.

You’re met with Acacius, standing no more than an arm's length away — he slashes his sword towards you before you can greet him. You duck down to the ground, air displaced above your head as you look up at him in shock.

“Your reflexes are defensive… swift, but defensive.”

You rise slowly, unsure what his further plans are, chest heaving as you try to calm yourself. Staring at him, you see he’s focused on your hand, a small smirk on his face — following his eyes you realise you’d taken hold of your dagger, the blade shining as it catches the setting sun.

“I see you are carrying your blade, good girl.”

You feel hot. You didn’t know mere words could do to you what your dreams do, but you push it down and blame the adrenaline coursing through your body.

“You already know how to defend yourself, that much is clear. Here we are training to attack, to kill, if that is what will save you. Am I understood?”

“Yes, General.”

You nod and lift your tunic to your knee, still taking in deep breaths as you secure your dagger once more. What was the point of this exercise?

“How did you know I would not retaliate?”

“You would not have stopped if I had been a real threat. You know in your mind I would not harm you, just as I know you would not harm me. That is what makes a bond like this successful: trust.”

The night’s session goes smoothly after that. You do a few repeats of your basic movements and advance into cutting through the air with the blade, Acacius a safe distance away should you lose your grip. Just like your first night, the moon is high up in the night sky by the time you remember the outside world.

“You are making quick progress. How about we try sparring? No complex movements, just stick to what you know.”

So you do, and to your own amazement you do rather well — grip never loosening, you maintain your focus on Acacius the entire time as your blades clash together, dirt whirring up around your feet as you dance around each other. Neither of you back down on your final connection, Acacius grinning at you from behind both blades.

“Should you succeed in this, you shall soon stand high above the rest. Even if they do not know it.”

You both drop your hands, swords by your sides as he stays close. You’re silent as you stare at him blankly, confused by his statement.

“Do you know of any other soldier that has trained by moonlight, alone with me? Those men… those boys, they train because it is their duty. A boy is born to fight. You? Well, it would seem you were born to fight, too.” His voice is soft, his usual curt tone lost to the night breeze. There’s a fond smile on his face, eyes full of admiration as he speaks to you.

“I have often seen you lingering around the arena, I can always spot you in a crowd…” His tongue darts out as his gaze drops to your lips momentarily, before looking into your eyes again. “It is unusual for a girl like you to have such a keen interest in such a… physical activity.”

“Do you think our kind should keep to our traditions? That men should fight and women should care for them?”

“Would I be alone with you under the stars if I thought as much?”

With heat radiating from his body, it takes everything in you not to lean forward into him. His hand brushes over yours as he reaches for your sword, slipping it from your grip to sheath it.

“I think that is enough for tonight. We will keep to this schedule unless I have other commitments — a night of rest, a night of work. There are proceedings at the palace tomorrow, I expect you will be there to witness it?”

“I will, yes.”

Still close to you, he shifts his gaze between your eyes — if you were further apart you might miss the hint of a grin playing on his face.

“It will be quite the sight.” He winks at you and steps back, eyes still locked on yours. “Goodnight, my little rascal.”

You watch as he disappears through the rough, waiting until the only sounds you hear are those from the lapping water and rustling leaves. You lift your tunic hastily, pushing your hand into your subligaculum and down between your legs.

Your problem has only worsened since you properly met Acacius — you relieved yourself after your first training session and last night. Now, however, the wetness has spread to the inside of your thighs, too, the pulsing sensations more intense than usual. You press your fingers into your swollen bud, moving your hand side to side and it doesn’t take long before you come — stretching your free hand out to anchor yourself against a tree, it’s the fiercest feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You hope it won’t take long to fall asleep once you reach town.

It will be quite the sight — you’d tried to decipher what he meant but fell short. It seems that Acacius is rarely untruthful in his words — the events at the palace really were a sight. More specifically, he was a sight.

You had stood in the crowd, not expecting too much excitement, when a broad figure ascending the palace steps caught your eye. Billowing white cape and gold-plated cuffs, when he turned to face the crowds you realised it was him. His usual armour was replaced by, no doubt expensive, white and trimmed in gold, his skirt falling around and between his thick thighs as he climbed.

The grey in his hair and heavy arms accentuated by his new noble appearance, he stood tall and surveyed, hands clasped teasingly in front of his skirt. Just as he told you before, his eyes found you amongst everyone else and stayed on you the entire time, only breaking contact out of courtesy when others spoke with him.

You’ve never been too taken by proceedings like this, always far more keen on the soldiers’ training, but you wonder now if Acacius knows how he infiltrates your thoughts, knows the obscene way your body reacts to them. Why else would he have laid a claim like that?

It was all you could think about the entire day and night, and you think about it now, still, as you try sparring with him. It’s not as simple as the previous time, you find your movements are limited by your tunic, the fabric not as giving as before. You lower your sword and raise your spare hand to stop him, huffing in frustration.

“Is something the matter?”

“It— it is not your problem. I simply need to collect myself. Refocus.” You ready yourself with a defeated sigh but Acacius stands straight.

“Is something. The matter?”

“My tunic, it— I cannot move as I did the other night. As I said, it is not your problem.”

“You can remove it if that would help.”

You stand, bewildered at his comment.

“It is just you and I and the stars. You can remove your tunic if you will spar better without it.”

It seems he isn’t going to continue otherwise, so you place your sword on the ground. He doesn’t turn away from you, either, eyes fixed on you as you look to the floor and reach for your hem. Lifting it up your body and over your head, your skin feels blazing hot under his gaze as you stand nearly bare before him, your mamillare, subligaculum and the dagger secured on your calf your only coverings.

“You are quite the sight, even for a rascal.” You meet his eyes at his words, his gaze hungry. He finally resumes his stance and you retrieve your sword, preparing for the challenge.

The hunger in his eyes only grows stronger the longer you fight, his movements quickening as he advances and forces you backwards. He knocks the sword clean out of your grasp, the blade’s clanking muffled by the earth as he tackles you to the ground, pushing you beneath him and holding you in place.

“It seems your grip is not as secure as you believed…” He pauses as he rakes his eyes over you. “You were quite taken at the palace yesterday, I take it you enjoyed what you saw?”

“It was… quite exhilarating,” you sigh as he shifts, the edge of his breastplate catching on that spot your fingers find all too easily.

“What is wrong, rascal?” You gasp softly as he relaxes, resting almost his full weight on you. You squirm underneath him as you try lifting your hips in search of friction. You notice a change in his eyes and he ticks his jaw.

“Does that feel good?” He punctuates his words by grinding himself into you and holding himself there. “Do you touch yourself?”

“I do not know—” You knock your head back into the ground, pinching your eyes as he grinds his armour into you again. “I do not know what happens, but… it feels good.”

“Have you ever pushed a finger inside of yourself?”

You try turning to the side, his blunt words and forceful movements becoming too much for your uneducated mind.

“You can tell me.”

“I did not know I could do that. Is it not…” you look into his eyes again in search of reassurance, “Is it not shameful, what I do?”

He chuckles at your question, a hint of darkness still in his tone, “My sweet girl, there is nothing shameful about it. Many people pleasure themselves, and others — it is a wonderous thing.”

He lifts himself to push his hand under your subligaculum, fingers circling your bundle of nerves before dragging them through your folds. You feel a different kind of pressure as he repositions his fingers, pushing two inside of you and you cry out, his thick fingers slowly sliding further and further.

Leaning on his elbow, his free hand comes up to caress your cheek and you lean into his touch, heaving and gasping as you get used to the new sensation.

“When do you touch yourself?”

You make no response, your head spinning as that familiar heat that pools in your spine starts growing, only this time it’s far hotter. He grips your jaw, shaking you lightly to get your attention.

“You listen and answer to me. Do not forget that.”

“At night. I… at night.”

“And what makes you seek relief? I can feel how wet you are, my girl — what makes you wet?”

“You.” You moan to the stars as you clench around his fingers, heat coursing through your body as your legs stiffen. That night you came in this very same spot had been the best, but this easily tops it. He pulls his fingers from you as you open your eyes again, and suddenly you feel painfully empty.

“I make you wet?”

“Yes. I think of you when I touch myself. Sometimes I… sometimes I dream of you.”

He kneels back between your legs, manhandling you to push your discarded tunic under your body as he strips off the little clothing you still had on, leaving you completely naked. He smooths his fingers up and down between your legs.

“You are… so sweet, so pure. A girl like you is truly a treasure.”

Sitting up to rest on your elbows, you watch as he pulls his shorts down his thighs, tanned skin peeking through the dark leather of his skirt. He pushes the straps aside, taking his cock in his hand and stroking himself languidly, a twisted smile on his face as you stare, your lips parted in awe.

“Have you seen a man before?”

“Not like this, no. Will it hurt?”

“It may, you are such a delicate girl… but it will certainly be a pleasurable pain.”

He leans over you, cock poking the inside of your thigh as he brings himself close, lips ghosting yours. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand between your bodies, running your fingers through your sticky folds.

“Do you feel how dripping wet with arousal you are, my girl? Do you feel how much your body craves mine?” He takes your hand, coated in slick and twists it to rub his length against your palm. “Do you feel how much my body craves yours, too?”

You try wrapping your hand around him, fingers splayed wide as you feel how hot his skin is, thick and heavy and hard, just like the rest of his body. He sighs softly as you tighten your grip experimentally.

“Will it… will it fit inside of me?” You look at him, eyebrows knitted in worry. His two fingers alone felt like they filled you completely, you’re not sure how you could possibly take more.

“We will make it fit. A good girl like you will soon learn to take me. You were made for me — your body craves mine, remember?”

You nod lazily as he lays you down and cradles your cheek again, your eyes fluttering closed as he softly presses his lips to your forehead. He drags his cock through your folds, nudging himself just inside your entrance. The stretch stings, your face contorted as you groan, but even with the pain you can feel that fire burning in your belly again. His thumb draws circles into your cheek, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I would hate to think how another man would ruin you. You are so tight, so perfect.” He inches forward, forcing your legs further apart and he looks down to where he breaches you. “I will be the only man to ruin you.”

He thrusts into you, sheathing himself completely as tears trickle down your cheeks and past your ears. He wipes them away with his thumb, peppering your face with kisses.

“My poor, sweet girl. Tell me how it feels.”

“So big…” You whine as you clench around his length, over and over. Through glassy eyes, you can see his devilish grin as he chuckles at your response.

“Only good girls can simply take what they are given like this, you are doing so well.” He pulls your hand between your bodies again, spreading your fingers around where he splits you open. You moan, a new wave of wetness pooling around his cock. “Even in your rebellion, that’s all you want to be, isn’t it? A good girl — always apologetic, always wanting to make me proud.”

He gives you no chance to comment or fully adjust to his size as he pulls out and snaps his hips back into yours. Your tailbone and shoulder blades dig uncomfortably into the hard ground beneath you, rendered defenceless as he pins you down by your shoulders. His gaze flickers up to you, hunger in his eyes turned dark as if he’s starving. He pays little attention to you now as he pistons into you over and over, all sense of care gone as he uses you for his own bliss — and yet, you’re on the verge of release again.

It still burns, being stretched almost unbearably wide, but had you known about these possibilities, you would’ve hunted for this far sooner. His cock drags heavily against your walls, the leather and stitching of his skirt chafing against your thighs, chestplate digging into your lower abdomen and you realise he was right — it is a pleasurable pain.

“Come again for me, my girl. Reach your high again, I know you are close.”

You attempt a response, but your words are incoherent.

“Good girls do as they are told — listen, and I will reward you.”

Your legs tense as you clamp down on him, coating his cock as you come again. You think you hear him grunting, senses overwhelmed by the ringing in your ears, unsure if the stars you see are from the night sky or your own pleasure. You’re still trembling when he pulls out and hovers above you, pumping himself with a tight fist until he spills over your stomach and up between your breasts.

Panting as he comes down, you lie beneath him and your curiosity takes over again — you run your fingers through the milky ropes covering your skin, lifting your hand to watch it web between your fingers. You crane your neck and stick your tongue out to taste it, your eyes on Acacius the whole time.

“My perfect girl…” It comes out barely above a whisper, a crooked smile on his face as he leans down to kiss you properly. He’s strikingly gentle, the scruff of his beard and moustache prickling against your skin, his hand curling to cradle your head. “There is still so much for you to learn, and I am eager to teach you. You are my rascal, after all.”

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @cafekitsune

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius smut #gladiator fanfiction

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thedemoninme141 · 12 days ago

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Wednesday got Ghosted... literally.

Never ever thought I would write Halloween specials but here I am...

Paring: Wednesday X Fem Reader! Theme: Fluff!!!

Summary: Wednesday confesses her feelings on a Halloween date.

You wanted a date for Halloween since Wednesday won't go trick or treating with you, you jumped on the offer to trek out to an old, abandoned house in the woods—a place the locals swore was haunted—with her.

And now you both sat on the wooden balcony that hung off the back of the house. Wednesday glanced at you, scrutinizing the way you stared blankly out at the woods, as if you were lost in your thoughts. You seemed quiet, too quiet.

“Do you…” she began, her voice quieter than usual. “Do you regret coming here with me tonight?”

You glanced at her, eyes slightly widened, surprised that she’d even ask. Wednesday wasn’t usually one for questioning her actions—or caring how others felt about them.

“I just thought, perhaps, you might be disappointed that I dragged you here instead of letting you do…something more festive.” She looked away, unsure if you could read the tinge of insecurity in her face.

You tilted your head, looking at her, silent as ever, which only made her feel more self-conscious. She didn’t know what to make of it. Usually, she adored the fact that you didn’t constantly babble on like everyone else did. But tonight, she wanted—no, needed—some kind of reassurance.

“If I’m being honest,” she continued, voice a bit lower, “I've wondered a lot... If I am enough for you.” She cast her gaze downward. “My feelings… they are complicated. I suppose they’re not easily expressed in ways you might expect, or—” She clenched her jaw, then forced herself to go on. “Or that you deserve.”

"Sometimes I think that you see something in me that isn’t really there," Wednesday whispered, "And I fear that one day you’ll realize you were wrong. That you’ll wake up, look at me, and think, ‘this wasn’t worth it.’" She clenched her jaw, the briefest flicker of pain crossing her face before she forced herself to look at you again, her eyes steady.

"But then you… you fascinate me," she admitted, "The way you fearlessly follow me to places like this. Most people run from me, but you… you stay. You follow. It answers all those doubts. Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

A small smile tugged at her lips, but she looked away, as though embarrassed by the thought. "I thought I'd find myself alone, somewhere like this. And I thought… perhaps I’d like that."

Wednesday paused, her hand ghosting closer to yours. "But then you came along, completely oblivious, and ruined all of that," she said, her voice softened by an edge of tenderness. "And, against my better judgment, I don’t resent you for it."

"There are things I struggle with, you know," she went on. "Emotions. They’re foreign… unwieldy. But here I am, feeling them—feeling you, in every cold, dark part of myself that used to belong to nothing and no one." She turned, and her dark gaze fixed onto you, almost vulnerable. "I don't know if I can be what you deserve, but…" She swallowed, her voice soft. "I need you to know, if I’m capable of love, you’re the only one I’d give it to."

"I don’t know why I’m saying all of this," she admitted. "I’d tell myself it’s for your benefit, but really, I think it’s for mine. To tell you things I never knew I’d feel." Her voice trailed off, and she pressed her lips together as if already regretting her words.

A long silence fell between you two, and the quiet grew deeper, the forest still and watching as if it too were waiting for your response.

Then, from behind, a voice broke the silence: "Sorry I’m late, Wends… had to fix Enid’s costume trouble… umm, who’s that?"

Wednesday felt her cold blood run colder. She turned, her gaze landing on… you. You, standing at the doorway, looking at her with your familiar, gentle eyes.

The “you” beside her shrank back slightly, lifting "your" hands in surrender, as though embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

Wednesday's gaze snaps back to the figure beside her — the “you” who had been sitting with her all this time.

Her voice hardens. “Who the hell are you?”

"Um… I wanted to haunt you after taking Y/N’s face," the ghostly you confessed, scratching the back of it's head. "But given the gravity of the situation with your emotions and all… I’ll leave you two alone." The ghost looked at Wednesday, gave a curt nod, and disappeared into the shadows with an almost sheepish wave.

Wednesday was still, her gaze now fixed on you, her surprise melting into a look that could only be described as deadly.

"…How long were you there?" you asked, stepping forward, trying to hide the amused smile on your lips. "And what did you tell the ghost?"

Wednesday’s mouth tightened, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly. "I… told the ghost," she began slowly, clearly unwilling to divulge the truth, "nothing..."

You chuckled, glancing at her with a playful grin. "So… I hope I wasn’t replaced too badly, was I?"

Wednesday let out a frustrated sigh. Perhaps she should've gone trick or treating with you.

At the Ghosts Pub: Hey guys! you won't believe what happened!

[Author's note: It was really fun to write it, Comment how you guys like it.

Request me for more one-shots!!!]

->WORKLIST<-

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rafestify · 1 month ago

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Self Control — Rafe Cameron

rafe cameron x reader

Summary : Pogue!Reader who's known as a very calm and sweet human being, suddenly snaps and Rafe gets turned on.

Warnings : 18+, No smut, just a few cursing :D (english is not my first language, i'm sorry)

Kooks parties were never better than classic Pogues parties, or at least that's what I've always thought. There was always something about Pogue parties, filled with cheap beers, loud music, and people who didn’t care about what you wore or how much money you had. It was freeing. In contrast, Kooks parties felt suffocating—people showed up just to flex about their parents' money and gulp down overpriced drinks they couldn’t even pronounce.

But here I am, walking hand-in-hand with my boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, the "Kook King", to yet another one of these Kooks parties. I can’t help but notice the irony of it all. I’m wearing a dress that costs more than I’d normally spend in six months, and even though it looks amazing, it feels strange—like I’m playing a role in someone else’s world. It clings to my body in all the right places, but it’s not me. Everything about being with Rafe is like that—expensive, luxurious, and completely foreign to the life I’ve known. Growing up as a Pogue meant thrift store finds, hand-me-downs, and making the most out of whatever little you had. Rafe’s world is the opposite. His life is silver spoons and luxury yachts, and sometimes, I feel like I’m drowning in it.

"I'm gonna go get a drink," I said, looking up at him, smiling. His hand let go of mine as I made my way through the crowd, the same familiar feeling of being out of place washing over me. The looks I got from his friends, from the Kooks, remained the same—confusion and disgust. To them, I’ll always be that Pogue who somehow ended up in their circle. Rafe could have anyone he wanted—he’s wealthy, hot, and smart, the complete Kook package. Yet, here he is with me, someone from the other side of the island, where kids grow up on fishing boats instead of private yachts.

I grabbed a drink from the bar—something fancy I couldn’t even name and took a small sip. It was bitter, too strong for my liking, but I didn’t care. I just wanted something to dull the awkwardness I felt. As I turned back, I saw Rafe talking with his friends, laughing at some inside joke I wasn’t a part of. I debated whether to go back and stand by his side or just blend into the background like I usually did at these events. I didn’t want to ruin his fun by being the odd one out, so I wandered away, trying to make myself busy.

Then I heard it.

"She's not my girlfriend, okay? She's a fucking Pogue, dude. A Pogue like her doesn’t get to live under the same roof as me."

I instantly froze. My heart dropped into my stomach. Was he really talking about me? My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. I must have misunderstood, right? But there was no mistaking the venom in his voice. My nose flared as anger and hurt collided inside me, pushing me to the edge. I turned on my heel and stormed through the crowd, my eyes searching desperately for the exit. I needed to get out of here before I exploded. The crowd felt suffocating, their laughter and clinking glasses a cruel mockery of the turmoil brewing inside me. But before I could reach the door, a strong hand wrapped around my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. I spun around, my eyes locking onto his icy blue ones, the ones I used to find myself getting lost in, the ones that now only fueled my rage.

"Where the hell are you going, baby?" he asked, his voice dripping with confusion, like he didn’t understand why I was running away.

I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him properly. My gaze dropped to the floor, my fists clenched at my sides. "Let go of me, Rafe," I said, my voice filled barely-contained anger.

He furrowed his brows, clearly confused. "What's wrong with you?" There was an edge of annoyance in his tone, like I was the one being unreasonable. I snapped. "What’s wrong with me?" He blinked, his face still a mask of confusion. He genuinely didn’t seem to get it. "Y/N, I don’t—"

"Cut the bullshit, Rafe! Don’t act like you don’t know what you said back there with your friends because I heard it all." My voice rose, shaking with the betrayal that gripped me.

The realization finally hit him. I could see it in the way his expression shifted, from confusion to guilt. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his when he was caught off guard.

"Hey, hey… listen to me—"

"No, I don’t want to hear it," I shot back, stepping away from him. "You can take your lame excuses and shove them. Go chase after some other girl." I turned to walk away again, but his voice stopped me cold.

"Do you not remember when we promised to keep our relationship secret?" he said, his voice rising in frustration. "That’s exactly what I was doing!" I froze, his words swirling in my head. I turned back slowly, glaring at him. "It doesn’t work like that, you idiot! You made it sound like I’m just your fucking toy, someone you can dump whenever you feel like it!" My voice was shaking now, the hurt bleeding into every word.

"God, you’re such a pussy, Rafe," I said with a bitter laugh. "Saying stupid shit about your girlfriend behind her back."

He bit his bottom lip, clearly struggling with what to say. For a moment, we just stood there, the tension between us thick enough to cut through. Then, in the most Rafe way possible, he leaned in, his hand gripping my neck as he pulled me into a kiss. "Jesus, you’re so hot," he muttered against my lips, kissing me hard and fast, like he could erase everything with that one gesture. I pushed him away, still furious. "Rafe—" He cut me off, his voice softening, "Save it for later, baby. Let me make it up to you."

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream at him and walk out of that party for good. But his hands were on my waist, pulling me closer, his lips finding mine again in a way that made my anger start to blur into something else.

The frustrating part was that he knew exactly what he was doing.

likes & reblogs are appreciated! 🎀( ﾟ∀ﾟ)人(ﾟ∀ﾟ )

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #netflix #outer banks #jj maybank rp #rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe one shot #rafe obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic

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yunhohours · 3 months ago

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Do It For Me

✗ Pairing: bf!jeonghan x fem!reader

✗ Word count: 1.5k

✗ Warnings: phone sex, liberal use of 'baby' and 'angel,' masturbation (reader only), dirty talk (obviously), no orgasms :)

✗ A/N: this was requested. i was originally planning on doing just a lil hard thought but instead i wrote this in like an hour so i hope it's ok! not intended to be a full fic. a lil taste, if you will.

“I know, right? It was so awkward. And then when I bent down to pick up the change, he bent down at the same time so we collided. And in the process of trying to keep myself on my feet, my coffee splashed all over my sweater. Thank god it was iced. But now I have a huge stain on the nice sweater you bought for me.” You frown, plucking at a loose thread on your bed’s comforter. “Why did it have to be this one? It was so nice and bright white.”

Jeonghan hums on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, angel.”

“No, I’m sorry. You gave me such a thoughtful gift and now it’s potentially ruined.”

He laughs. “I’m not worried about the sweater, baby. I just don’t like that your morning went like that. I can always buy you a new sweater.”

Before you can protest, he continues speaking, knowing you well enough to know that’s exactly what you’d do if he gives you the chance. “Are you still wearing it now?”

You look down at the sizable brown stain and your frown deepens. “Yeah. I just got home when you called. I didn’t have time to come home and change.”

There’s a slight but noticeable silence between your phones.

“You should take it off, baby.”

“I know. I will. I’m probably going to shower soon so–”

“No. I mean right now.”

You hesitate. Is he just being thoughtful or is he up to something? Knowing Jeonghan, it could be either. Maybe slightly more likely to be the latter. “H-huh?”

You can sense the smile in Jeonghan’s voice. “Take it off. Go on. Do it for me.”

You hesitate again, a shiver running down your spine. The atmosphere feels suddenly heavier. Without asking another question, you put your phone on speaker phone and pull the sweater over your head. You shiver again when the air of your room hits your mostly bare top half–only your bra covering you there. “I–um–It’s off?”

Jeonghan chuckles, barely audible. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not–” You don’t bother finishing. You both know that’s not true.

“You are.” Another extended silence. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Lay back for me.”

You shift, pulling your dangling leg up until your body is fully seated on the bed. You maneuver yourself until you’re in the center of your bed, resting your body against the mattress. Jeonghan seems to be able to tell by the cessation of rustling sounds that you’ve done what he’s asked.

“Comfy?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Unclip your bra. It’s that rose colored one I like, right? Your skin looks so pretty in that one. I need you to take it off though. Can you do that for me?”

You nod before remembering that he can’t see you. “”Y-yes.” You sit up just long enough to remove your bra, gently tossing it aside and resuming your horizontal position. “It’s off.”

“Mm. I can just see you now–your face all shy, your nipples forming perfect little peaks.”

He’s not wrong. You chew on your bottom lip. You feel like it’s your turn to speak, but you’re not sure if you should. He’s the one leading this right now, right?

“Unbutton your jeans while you listen to me.” He keeps right on talking, now knowing for sure you’ll do what he tells you. You do. “My angel had a tough day, hmm? My poor baby. You deserve to be taken care of after a day like that. This day has some making up to do for you, isn’t that right? Lift your pretty hips and slide off those jeans. Real slow and sexy like when I do it.”

Your phone rests near your head, Jeonghan’s voice dripping from it like a smooth honey. You close your eyes as you follow the instructions, picturing Jeonghan’s hands instead of your own. A part of you is wondering what he’s doing right now, what he’s wearing when you’re almost naked aside from your panties. “I like it better when you do it,” you admit.

“I know, baby.” The satisfaction in his voice is palpable. “I love how eagerly your hips rise, like you can’t wait to be bare for me.” Your heels dig into the mattress, an effort to disperse some of the tension that’s quickly building in your body. “Just your panties now, right?”

You nod instinctively. “Yes. That’s all.”

“Put your fingers in your mouth. Get them nice and wet. I want to hear.”

Your cheeks burn from the nature of the request, but you’re not sure why you feel so shy. He can’t even see you right now. You take two of your fingers into your mouth and start to suck on them, coating them generously in your saliva. You suppose Jeonghan can hear the wet sounds because he hums–an approving sound.

“Good. Close your eyes.” You don’t tell him they’re already closed. “I want you to pull those fingers out of your mouth and use them between your legs. Don’t take your panties off. Don’t move them. Use your fingers against them. Think about how it feels when I tease you like that. When I use my tongue on you but your panties are in the way. How deliciously frustrating that is…”

You groan, but it’s quiet–unconvincing. It is frustrating, but you also love it. He knows that. “Can’t you just come over?” Your hand falls between your thighs, your wet fingers rubbing against the thin fabric of your panties. A shaky breath pushes out of your parted lips and Jeonghan chuckles.

“I could. But what would be the fun in that?” Your brows furrow, but you focus on touching yourself. It is extremely hot having Jeonghan talking you through this. The pads of your fingers circle your clit, occasionally pulling a twitch out of you. You think it’s both a blessing and a curse that Jeonghan can’t see your body do that. “Use your other hand to play with your nipples. Doesn’t it feel good, baby?”

You pinch your left nipple, rolling the button between your fingers. “Mhmm. Really good.”

“See? I’d never steer you wrong.” You hum this time. “I bet you want more, don’t you? You want those panties out of the way. You want to feel more.”

You huff out a breath, your head nodding against the mattress. “Yes.”

“Move them to the side. Don’t take them off.”

You start to argue, knowing it’ll be easier if you just take them off completely. “But–”

“Shh. You’re imagining me, right? I want you to imagine all the times when you’re so needy for me that we don’t waste time undressing you fully. You need me so bad and I just move those pretty but annoying little things to the side so I can give you what you want.” You whimper at his words, the image vivid in your mind. “Move them, baby. Move your fingers through your slick. Tell me how wet you are.”

You’d swear both your cheeks and your ears are burning now. Your fingers move the fabric of your panties, wincing slightly at the dampness of them. You can only imagine what the situation beneath them is like. You move your fingers down and around your folds, goosebumps prickling your skin at the amount of arousal you find. “I–I’m–”

“Don’t be shy.”

“So wet.” You’re surprised the words are able to leave your mouth. You feel almost embarrassed. You’re this aroused just by Jeonghan talking to you? God, you knew you were down bad for him, but you didn’t know it was this bad. Your fingers are practically aching to thrust themselves inside of your cunt, craving that fullness you get when you’re with Jeonghan.

“I know you are. You always get so worked up for me.”

You make a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

“Relax, angel. Keep playing with yourself. Think about how I use my tongue on you–those patterns that make you shake. Make them with your hands. Get yourself even wetter like that–dripping onto your sheets. Don’t come though. And no fingers inside.”

You’re following his orders as he gives them, your body writhing on your bed as you overwhelm yourself. It’s all so much–how tangible he is in your imagination, how aroused you are, how he sounds talking to you like this. You’re moaning softly, torn between wanting him to hear you and feeling shy about it. You try to direct your focus to asking the question burning your brain, your words broken slightly by the heavy breath of pleasure. “W-why… no fingers?”

“Because I said so, baby.” You can hear a new rasp in Jeonghan’s voice. Listening to you like this, knowing you’re doing as he says–it must be getting to him. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Already?”

You no longer have the faculties to feel as timid about this as you usually might. “Mhmm.” It’s more a moan than an answer, but he gets the point.

“Don’t come.”

“But Jeonghan–”

He talks over you. “Your door’s unlocked, right?”

Your eyes fly open for the first time since all this started, your heart thumping somehow harder in your chest. “Yes?”

The phone clicks next to your head. As you turn to look at it to see what’s going on, you hear your front door open and close.

#th: jeonghan #th: svt #seventeen smut #svt smut #jeonghan smut

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sushis-wild-imagination · 7 months ago

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Seventeen and first dates (all members)

More like this on Seventeen Masterlist <3 Requests are open! Genre: FLUFF

→ Choi Seungcheol

“You do look like a fish�� he says.

You and cheol were walking around in an aquarium as your first official date. You both have been really close friends for a while before you decided to finally give into your feelings and see where it goes with each other.

You couldn’t be happier, cheol really was the best thing that happened to you, even friendship wise. The sweetest boy.

“Look, that looks exactly like you” he points to ansilly looking fish through the glass.

You put you lips out and pout like a fish.

“Close your eyes; you look exactly like this fish behind you,”

You giggle at that, you’ve never been told you look like a fish and that made you laugh,

“let me take a picture” he says.

You stand at the glass, with your lips out and eyes closed. After two clicks you feel someone in front of you and a pair of lips, pecking yours.

“Hey!” You were fully red. It was your first kiss with him. It was playful and so sweet. Nothing like you imagined but a 100 times cuter, innocent.

“Sue me! I stole a kiss” he says running away from you while you chase him.

“Come back here”

→Yoon Jeonghan

“You can’t eat anything if you don’t catch anything!,” jeonghan tells you while you stand at this pool like area for fishes.

You and Jeonghan confessed quite mutually to each other that you liked each other. All your friends could see it, how you would kick your feet at his messages and how he would giggle at yours. You weren’t just friends.

“You’ll let your girlfriend starve?” You ask acting offended.

He pauses for a second and scans you top to bottom.

“Yes”

You playfully smack him while the fish catching turns into a competition about who catches more fish. At the end of the night you had 6 fishes you caught, and you couldn't possibly eat 6 fishes so you gave some away to the kids who couldn’t catch any.

“If this is how we were going to catch fish, I would’ve taken you fishing instead”

“I am somewhat of a master fisherman myself”

You giggle at the reference.

→ Hong Joshua

You’ve liked joshua ever since he transfered to you school in high school. He was your bench mate and it wasn’t a long time before you fell for his charm, he was a handsome boy with such a kind heart. You still had an umbrella he gave you to use.

You met him again at a reunion after years and the group of friends planned to go to an amusement park that weekend at the reunion.

Seeing him again, after years set you off with some feelings, all unresolved.

You reached the amusement park as a group but little did you know it was a set up and suddenly you and Joshua were left alone.

You ended up touring the entire park, you realised he was the same crazy shua you knew and liked. Everything he did made you laugh.

“Here!” He says and hands you a bracelet he won shooting at balloons.

“A souvenir from our first date” he adds.

You look up at him in surprise.

“First date?”

“Unless you don’t want it to be”

“No, of course, I like that”

“Good”

‘Our first date’ rang in your head the rest of the day.

→ Moon Junhui

This was the first time you had gone over to your boyfriend, Jun's apartment. He liked decorating his apartment and interior design, his apartment was full of decorative items, you went through them all. it was fascinating how much you realise of a person just by seeing how they decorate their spaces.

Jun had called you over for a home cooked meal that he was so confident about. He was so excited to make you this Malapot that he knows he makes the best. He wanted to almost show off to you and impress you with his food.

You were excited for the food too, just listening to him talk about it made you drool when you made the plan.

"Ah it's ruined" you hear jun's voice from the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" you walk over.

"Somethings wrong, it's not tasting the way it's supposed to" he says dejected. You go over and he gives you a spoonful of broth from the pot. It was quite flavourful.

"It's good Jun, what's wrong?" you ask again.

"It's good, not great, I can do so much better" he was very disappointed. He just wanted you to enjoy his food and like his food.

"I'll eat anything you make junnie" you say hugging his side while his eyes never leave the pot in front of him.

You force him to look at you.

"There's always a next time, I'm not going anywhere"

He finally smiles.

→ Kwon Hoshi

You were cycling with your boyfriend of 1 week, hoshi. You met at a fashion show and immediately clicked. You fell for his goofy personality and felt this urge to protect him from the world.

He asked you out first and you happily agreed. Both of you had some feelings some flirtatious text messages happening between the two of you.

But today you could taste blood, he was cycling way too hard and you couldn’t catch up.

He was a little ahead of you while you volunteered to crash in the grass to relax, you would’ve died if you went on for a little longer.

You were panting while the tiger came back to you to check if you are okay.

“Cycling is too hard” you say between laboured breaths.

“You have no stamina” he smirks suggesting something completely different.

It was your chance to chase him down for that comment.

“We’ll see” you blush but also respond sassily chasing him in the grass.

→ Jeon Wonwoo

Jeon Wonwoo, your next door neighbour that had taken a liking to you, has made it routine to pick you up from office everyday, so you could go back home together.

You were still unsure about dating him and he gave you all the time in the world to come to a decision.

You wanted to surprise him today, by agreeing to date him. You had spent a lot of time together and he was a sweet guy. You were just scared of something, past relationships weren’t exactly a flower path. He understood that.

You came out of your office building, to see wonwoo, hopefully your soon to be boyfriend, waiting at his bike.

“Did you wait for too long?”

He smiles. “I’ll wait forever, if its for you”

Maybe you don’t have to wait anymore.

You take a deep breath and take his hands in yours.

“Listen, I had to talk to you about something”

His body language changes and he’s almost nervous. You fidget with his thumb, very embarrassed and shy.

“Whats wrong?” He asks getting concerned at how you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“I gave us a thought”

He visibly freezes. Like he’s preparing himself for anything thats to come.

“I like you Wonwoo, I know I’ve been scared but Im ready to get through that”

There is a glowing smile on his face. “I’ll treat you so well, I promise” his hand pats your hair. It makes you feel safe and reassured.

“So girlfriend?” He asks putting your helmet on you and buckling up for you.

Him calling you girlfriend sets your chest on fire.

“Yes, boyfriend” you squeak out, not used to this.

“Let me take you to the moon, our first date”

“I’ll go anywhere with you” you say softly, getting on his bike.

→ Lee Jihoon

Jihoon was a schoolmate first, your co worker second, he recommended you at the company you work at now. You became close with him being the only person you knew. Soon, this closeness turned into romantic feelings. You couldn’t get him out of your head.

You asked him out, you straight up told him, you like him and what he thinks about it. It was the first time you had seen him speechless. He took a minute to collect himself before he said “sure” and you started dating. Although his demeanour may seem as if he doesn’t care but you know he likes you too. There has been multiple times jihoon has gone out of his way to help you blend into your work and otherwise.

“Our first dinner in the studio” he said and it made you smile. You like when he says ‘ours’

“You never let me eat in the studio, how cone today you called me here”

His face turns red before he answers. “I thought it’ll be rude to have your girlfriend eat out while I work in the studio”

It was your turn to turn red. You mutter “cute” under your breath.

The power suddenly shuts down and the whole room goes pitch black. Jihoon steps out to see if its just his studio.

“I think something wrong with the generator on this wing” he says sitting next to you on the couch while you gobble up the food you brought for the both of you.

You hear him sigh and carefully lay his hesd on your shoulder.

“Are you tired?”

He shakes his head cuddling closer, you never took him for a cuddler but its like a cat, if a cat CHOOSES you to cuddle, you shouldn’t move. Thats exactly what you did.

You turn on the light on your phone and set it on the coffee table next to your food.

“Torch light dinner”

You hear him chuckle at that while you offer him some food almost feeding him.

You hoped the light never came back and this stayed like this forever.

→ Seo Myungho

You ran an art workshop where you met Minghao for the first time. You didn’t know what he did and who he was until you saw your pictures plastered all over the internet one day.

He was the first to say he likes you. You liked him too, he brought perspective to your life and you loved that about him.

You and him were at a library having a relaxed date but the thing is you suggested going to a library when you didn’t even read.

You look over at hao, sitting by the window completely immersed in his book, he looked gorgeous. You pick out a comic to read from the shelf. You were a bad reader, even comics bored you after a while. But since Hao liked reading you thought you can enjoy it too. You sat next to him on the couch he was at.

You flipped through the pages and almost got bored instantly.

“Trouble reading?” You hear a whisper next to you.

You look up, not being able to manage this front you put on to impress him.

This was the second time he caught you looking bored.

“I’ll be honest, I’ve never been a reader”

“Everyone’s a reader, you just haven’t found the right book yet”

He’s so wise and calm, he brings stability to your chaos. He suggested a book you might like and he was right, you were immediately hooked to the premise and discovered that you like the thriller genre that doesn’t let you put your book down.

→ Kim Mingyu

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

You shake your head no. Kim Mingyu was a random guy you bumped into at a coffee shop you frequented at. You madecthe first move and dared to ask his number.

Turns out he was the sweetest guy you had spoken to in 4 years. He really reset your brain and suddenly you just wanted to do everything in your power to see where things go. You felt an instant connection you didn’t want to let go of and regret later. You decided you’d go for it.

Kim mingyu comes back to your car, you and him decide to watch a screening of cars 2 in a drive in theatre. You have never been to one and he was excited to show you.

As soon as he opens his package of food, the air is filled with the smell of burrito. It makes you hungry as soon as it hits your nose. But you already told him you didn’t want any, and asking for even a bite felt criminal.

But you were subconsciously staring at his food.

“You’re staring y:n” he calls you out.

You immediately snap out of it and look away, muttering a quick sorry under your breath.

You see him dig into his package and pull out another burrito wrap.

“This is for you” he hands you a wrap.

“No, Im really fine” you defend yourself again, but you were so so hungry.

“I know what ‘im fine’ means y/n, it means you’ll get hungry when you watch me eat” he says smiling like the big puppy he is.

You can’t help but give in, you take a wrap from him smiling sheepishly. He really was the best.

“You eat so well, it could make anyone hungry” you say cutely while he gobbled up his burrito in literally 2 bites. It was insane to watch this man eat.

He pats your head softly.

“HEY! Burrito hands!” You squeal while he laughs.

→ Lee Dokyeom

You and Dokyeom were cycling in the park. It was one of your first dates. You had met him at a coffee shop,ordering something you also liked so he offered to pay for yours too.

Here you were on another date with the goofball. The original plan was to bicycle around the park and get some lunch at a picnic spot.

But, as with dokyeom, he fell off his bike showing off some ‘cool’ moves to you. Although he made you laugh but the fall looked bad. You ended up getting him some ice from the store to press on his wrist.

“This is very normal”

“What do you mean?”

"I was a very… curious kid, i’d put my feet out on the road as a car would pass, just to see how it feels” you laugh out loud at that. “That’s hilarious”

“At least this is making you hold my hand” he says looking down at your hands pressing his with ice while your other hand hold his wrist in place.

This realisation makes your ears go red.

→ Boo Seungkwan

“I can’t believe it” seungkwan exclaims.

You met seungkwan as a trainee and you had become fast friends. But life happened and you decided not to be a trainee anymore. You ended up going for artist management and becoming a manager.

Life had plans of its own when they assigned you to seungkwan and your friendship rekindled. This time the friendship took a step further and you started to love spending time with him laughing with him.

One fine day in the car you blurted out that you liked him while driving him to a solo schedule. To your surprise he reciprocated these feelings. You were the happiest girl that day.

“What what happened?” You ask. You and seungkwan had come hiking to a mountain close to his place.

“My pants tore”

You laugh out loud. “What a memorable first date” you continue laughing while he scurries to cover himself with his bag and a towel he had brought in his little backpack.

“What a story, ‘kids, your dad hiked so hard, his pants tore on our first date’” you laugh thinking about the anecdote you have now you can use. Its a funny story.

“You want to have kids with me?” He asks stopping what he did and looks up at you

You freeze at what had just come out of your mouth. You did not mean it like that but now that you think about it definitely sounded like you wanted to have his babies.

“Um..”

“Thats cute” he says and a sense of relief washes over you as you try to come up with something else to catch the subject STAT.

→ Choi Vernon

Vernon wanted to watch this scary movie and you liked him so much you just wanted to be with him. But you forgot how scary scary movies can become.

Half way through the movie you were flinching and just uncomfortable in your seat, it really felt like someone was going to grab your feet from under the seat.

Seeing you this uncomfortable, vernon casually decided to put his arm around you and cover your eyes for you while you covered your ears with both your hands to protect yourself from jumpscares.

This position automatically made you lean into him a little and it made you feel a million types of a ways. He smelled good was the only consistent thought.

“Are you okay?” He asks leaning into your ears and whispering.

It sent a shiver down your spine. You nod without being able to push out any words. You liked being this close to him. ‘The things you do to me Choi Vernon’ you think to yourself.

You could watch a thousand horror movies if this is how you watch it.

→ Lee Chan

“Its burnt!” He exclaimed looking at the marshmellow you decided to toast for yourself.

“Thats the flavour!” You defend. You liked slightly burnt marshmallows.

You and chan are childhood friends that ended up falling for each other. Your way of showing love was through constant banter.

One such banter, Chan ended up confessing his feelings for you and you found it so cute.

You move away to get some crackers for the marshmallows. As you come back you hear a scream.

“Whats wrong whats wrong?” You panic and rush to him. You see Chan holding his fingers out and hissing in pain.

You immediately take his hand to inspect.

You see that it was a little red, he probably burnt himself. You see him think for a second. He is going to say something funny, you knew that look on his face, trying to cook up a joke.

“I burnt myself so you’ll like me” he said dramatically looking into your eyes.

The lamest joke ever made you laugh so hard, only because it was Chan who said it.

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karlachismylife · 2 months ago

Text

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

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dark-and-kawaii · 3 months ago

Text

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊ Please ₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Summary: You go to find Zevlor, to comfort him. Only to have it lead to him pressing your back against a tree, his lips hot against yours.

Pairing: Zevlor x F!Tav/Reader

✧₊⁺ Content: NSFW - Hurt/Comfort - Fingering - Making Out - Zevlor Hates What He Is - Creampie

✧₊⁺ Notes: Thank you @madam-kumo for the drawing of Lofn <3

Zevlor found himself restless, his mind unable to escape the turmoil of the past few days. The weight of leadership, the constant threat to his people, and the unexpected depth of his feelings for you all pressed heavily on him. Seeking solace, he wandered through the grove as much as he could, his thoughts inevitably drifting back to you. He found himself missing your voice and the way his name sounded on your lips, but even more so he found himself wishing that things could be different.

That was not a new feeling.

He'd often wondered what life could have been like had things been different, had he been born normal rather than some foulblood... Had his people been born as elves or humans... But instead they were all cursed- cursed to hide and fight, to survive, to struggle for every small comfort they could find. Even now, when he had finally met someone, someone who made him feel as though he wasn't broken or cursed, the weight of him being what he was...

It would always hold him down. He would never be able to give you the life you deserved, a failure of a man... That's what he was, and the thought of you living a life filled with ridicule and judgement at his side broke his heart. He wanted more for you, more than what he could offer.

It was better this way, to keep his distance, he reminded himself. You would find a cure for the parasite within you and your allies, a home in the city, surrounded by friends, and live the happy and fulfilling life you deserved. And he... He would be happy for you.

Even if it meant that his heart would stay here, among the groves ruins, broken and buried.

As he continued to wonder he made his way just outside the gates and atop a green hill where he could stare at the stars above, watching the heavens and listen to the wind dance through the leaves, where he could allow the soft breeze soothe his aching heart. He'd been so distracted he hadn't noticed someone approach him until a small hand slid onto his bicep...

Your scent and your touch were unmistakable, but why would you be here? As he turned around with his eyes closed he found himself believe this was nothing more than a trick of his mind...

But when his lashes fluttered open, there you stood... Bathed in the soft glow of the moon and the gentle breeze playing in your hair... Those beautiful eyes of yours looked up at him, searching his face and his soul.

“Zevlor,” you greeted, your voice ever so soothing, “Is everything alright? You seemed troubled earlier-“

“You shouldn't be out here past the gates…”

“Why?”

“It's late. and it's not safe-“

You smiled fondly at him, “I think I can handle myself~”

He huffed, “I have no doubt of that, but you shouldn't be alone out here.”

“What about you, aren't you alone out here?” You continued to smile, not at all swayed by his words, and instead you nudged him a little, “Besides, i'm not alone. Not anymore at least.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and the tension in his shoulders lessened a little, but only a little.

“Why did you follow me out here?”

Your gaze fell to the ground, your voice a whisper, “Because, we may have only met a short time ago... But I can tell, Zevlor.” your smile faltered, “I can tell something is wrong…”

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat, his jaw clenching and unclenching. But the concern in your eyes, the genuine worry... “I don't want to burden you.”

You frown deepened, your grip on his arm tightening, “Zevlor, you aren't a burden. Please... Let me be there for you.”

Zevlor closed his eyes and sighed, unable to look at you, not when the way you looked at him made his chest feel tight, “Everything feels... overwhelming.” he admitted, his voice low and earnest, “I feel like a failure. A failure of a leader. If my people are ever going to survive, truly survive this journey, I need to be at my best... But-“ he looks down at his hands, his claws and his palms calloused and rough, “so many have lost their lives already, and I'm responsible for them... I'm supposed to protect them, not let them parish. There's so few of us left, i-“

He could feel your fingers slip into his hand, your touch so gentle and soft, “You've done everything you can to ensure your people survive and thrive. They wouldn't have gotten this far without you, and you have given them the tools and the strength to keep going. So many of them look up to you Zevlor, even the children-“

“How do I keep going when i'm the reason why their families are gone, when it's because of me that they will never get to know their mothers and fathers?”

You squeeze his hand, “No... Zevlor, none of their blood is on your hands. You're just one man, a Hellrider without his men to back him up. You have been fighting and teaching those who wish to learn. You have done and kept so many of them safe. It's not your fault, it's not-“

“Then why does it feel like it is?”

You let go of his hand, and before he could question your actions you had taken a step closer and wrapped your arms around him, your forehead pressing against his chest, “Because you care about your people... But you shouldn't be alone.” you looked up at him, “Don't try to carry the world on your shoulders... To shoulder the burden alone. Let me help.”

“How could you possibly-“

“I can't, not by myself, but together-“

The commander allowed himself to lean into your touch, to let the walls he had built around himself crumble, if only for a moment. You were like a lifeline, a reminder that he wasn't alone, not when you were around. And for a moment, Zevlor found himself wondering what would happen if he didn't have to be strong. What would happen if he allowed himself a moment of peace- a moment of happiness.

“Please,” your voice was barely a whisper, “Let me in.”

His need for comfort evolving into something deeper, more intimate as he reached for you, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing the delicate line of your jaw, “Thank you.”

The world seemed to fade away as he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that spoke of everything he could not say aloud, everything he couldn't admit even to himself. Everything he would deny if asked. His other hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. It was a gentle exploration at first, a tentative dance of emotions laid bare.

Your arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer, the kiss deepening, a shared promise, a vow, a confession.

You both needed each other in this moment, needed one another as much as the other needed the air to breathe. The heat from the kiss spreading through your body, the sensation making your head spin, a tingling feeling growing between your legs, and Zevlor could smell it, your arousal.

And in that moment, you knew.

There was no going back. This was it.

Zevlor was the first to pull away, his infernal eyes searching yours, as if asking permission.

Your hands found his face before bringing him back to you, your forehead kissing his, your voice nothing more than breathless whispers, “I don't want to be alone either, not anymore.”

His tail wrapped around you and his lips claimed yours once more.

You were his salvation, the light at the end of the dark path, his guiding star, and he would be damned if he let you go, not when the way your body fit him so wonderfully, felt so right, so perfect. Your hands running over his skin, touching him in ways he had only dreamt of, his own hands exploring every inch of your skin, memorizing the way your body moved. Slowly, his legs moved you backwards until your back pressed against a nearby tree. His fingers tracing the contour of your breasts beneath the fabric that hid them away, your nipples hardening at his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

“Zevlor~ Please- i-“

He silenced you with another kiss, his tongue parting your lips, his own need for you growing.

His fingers slipped beneath your pants, teasing your slick entrance, his claws gently scratching at the tender skin, earning him a low whine from the back of your throat, “Mnph~ Zevlor- Please-!”

Your hands traveled down his body, fumbling with the leather strap that held his pants up, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest as his mouth found your neck, kissing, licking and sucking, forever being the man he is and never leaving a mark. His own fingers slipping into you, pumping in and out carefully, his thumb circling your clit.

The world seemed to be spinning as you struggled to focus on anything other than his touch, his scent, and the pleasure that was building inside of you. Your fingers finally managed to release the catch that kept his pants up, and the moment it fell to the ground his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already leaking precum.

Taking him into your hands, stroking his length slowly, earning a sweet little hiss through his clenched teeth, “T-Tav-“

Zevlor’s fingers slipped out of you, leaving you feeling empty, only to quickly undo the belt of your own pants. Once his hands had freed your legs he pulled your pants off, throwing them into the pile his own pants had created.

You could feel his tail snake around your upper thigh, tightening its hold around your leg as his hand moved to the back of your other thigh, lifting you up with ease. Lining his cock up with your entrance, the tip rubbing against your wet folds, teasing your clit… Gods he was so warm, and so damn big-

And then, Zevlor slowly pushed his way into you, your back arching while your mouth fell open in a silent gasp… He was stretching you like no other had, his girth filling every inch of your aching pussy, making your toes curl and his name spilling from your lips.

You both stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the other, savoring the sensation of being joined, and Zevlor allowed you to move first, allowing you to set the pace. Your hips moved, grinding against his cock, and his head tilted back, his teeth clenched… A thick gulp bobbed in his throat as his fingers dug into your skin, his hips starting to rock with yours.

It started off slow and sensual, his mouth claiming yours, his tongue slipping between your lips.

And then the kiss became heated, more desperate and needy, the hunger in the pits of your stomachs growing and spreading. Your legs locking around his waist as the rhythm of his hips began to pick up, his cock slamming into you, making you cry out in bliss.

Your nails scratching his back, your lips marking his chest, his shoulder, anywhere you could reach, “d-don’t stop~ p-please Zev- don’t s-stop- a-ah- ah- oh~ oh gods~ mnn~”

His voice was barely a whisper, his hot breath hitting your neck as he nuzzled the sensitive skin, “Never.”

You could feel the coil inside you tighten, threatening to snap as your pussy began to clench around his cock, his name becoming a mantra on your lips. Zevlor could feel you were close, could smell the sweet perfume of your orgasm approaching, and it was driving him insane, his hips bucking into you, his cock bullying your insides, his teeth sinking into the junction between your neck and shoulder.

The sharp sting of his bite enough to send you over the edge, and as your pussy spasmed around him, your orgasm crashing down upon you, he buried himself inside you, his thighs trembling, the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix, flooding your womb with his seed, his seed filling every inch of your greedy pussy.

Your bodies shook, the aftershocks of the mind-blowing orgasm sending shivers through your whole being, and as Zevlor carefully pulled out of you, his cum leaking out and running down your thighs, the reality of the situation crashed upon you both.

There truly was no going back now.

Your hand moving up to the mark he had left on your skin, the sting still there, and when you pulled your hand away, a crimson hue greeted you.

Zevlor’s eyes grew wide as his mind registered what had happened, “Tav… I-I am sorry, I-I didn't mean to- i- I shouldn't have- i'm-i-“

His eyes were filled with fear and regret, his mind racing, cursing himself for letting his instincts take over, for being so damn careless, for acting like a damn devil-

But his words died in his throat as you moved a finger to his lips, “Shhhh, it's ok. Don't apologize... I... I don't regret it.It’ll be a nice little reminder of you when we have to travel our separate ways.”

Your heart broke a little at the thought, at the reality of the situation, but it was the truth. You knew that the time spent here would be short lived, and yet, in this moment, the idea of having to leave his side and never see him again hurt more than anything you could imagine.

His hand covered yours, holding it gently as he kissed the back of your palm, a soft sigh escaping him. He had wanted to be a man and not a devil for just a moment, and instead he had given in, unable to control the infernal half of himself he supposed.

“Zevlor,”

He hummed, not quite meeting your gaze.

“Promise me we will meet in Baldur's Gate.”

His eyes locked with yours, surprise evident in his gaze.

You smile, and he finds himself falling all over again, his heart melting, knowing he would do whatever it takes to see that smile of yours, to keep it alive, “I swear it by all the gods above, my light.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #tav #zevlor #zevlor bg3 #zevlor x tav #zevlor x reader #bg3 smut

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tweedlydumbtweedlydoo · 3 months ago

Text

Admit it | Damon Salvatore x reader

Summary: Damon doesn’t like that you’re talking to another guy.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a while. Hope you guys enjoy it! x

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} closed

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“Who is that clown?” Damon asked Alaric from his seat at the bar, nodding toward you and some guy sitting at booth, a little too close for his liking.

Alaric twists the stool, shrugging, “Don’t know,” he twists it back to the bar, sipping on his bourbon, “new guy?”

He narrows eyes at the two of you, “Never seen him around here. Maybe I should go introduce myself.”

Alaric grabs his shoulder, as he steps off the stool, “You’re already on thin ice with her. I wouldn’t.”

Damon gives him his signature smile, “When am I never on thin ice with her?” He shakes off Alaric’s hand and struts on over to your booth.

You roll your eyes as you see him approach, sliding away from your date, “Damon.”

“y/n.” He gives you a quick smile and then turns to your date, “And you are?” He places an intimating hand on his shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.

“u-uh Luke-”

“Damon, don’t you have somewhere else to be? I don’t know, drowning in a bottle full of bourbon? Instead of bothering me and my date.”

You place a hand on your dates arm, “sorry about him-he’s just that annoying itch you can’t get rid of.” You smile, “What were you saying?”

Luke glances up at Damon, “Is he like your brother or something?”

“No-”

“No, I’m just her handsome and very sexy ex she can’t get rid of.”

You roll your eyes, “We dated for maybe a week. If that.”

“best week of your life if I remember correctly,” Damon says.

“you know I think it would be best if I go-” Luke starts to slide out of the booth.

You put a hand on his arm stopping him, “No it’s fine, you don’t have to go.”

“I think that would be a GREAT idea.” Damon grins, stepping away so he can exit the booth, an arm toward the door.

Luke is intimated, hurrying out of the restaurant. He doesn’t even stop to look back.

“Damn it Damon!” You huff, gathering your stuff. “What the hell is wrong with you?” You start to slide out the booth and when you stand, Damon steps in front of you so you’re chest to chest.

His smell is intoxicating. It takes you back to the week you two did date. There wasn’t a moment the two of you weren’t touching on each other. It ended in a fight because he wouldn’t admit his true feelings for you. Throughout the week together, he’d made you feel special but once you began talking more serious, it was like he got spooked. He turned everything around, making you believe the week was a temporary thing, never would be serious and you two would only go as far as messing around. It broke your heart because you saw a different Damon that week. You’d fallen in love with him and fallen hard. Your opened up to Damon, let him in and then to find out he didn’t feel the same? It destroyed you.

“Oh come on, he was a loser. He wasn’t your type. A blonde accountant working a 9-5? He was pathetic. He probably couldn’t even figure out how to get your bra off-”

“He was a nice guy!” You defend, “He was kind. Thoughtful. He was willing to be in a serious relationship. The absolute opposite of you.” You push past him, heading toward the exit of the bar.

Damon watches as you leave, a content smile on his face. He’d won this time. Again.

“Why can’t you you admit you love her?” Alaric asks, “instead of ruining every relationship she’s in.”

Damon glares at Alaric, narrowing his eyes, “I’ll kill you. Again.”

Alaric rolls his eyes, “Grow up Damon. She’s not going to be around for forever. She’s eventually going to grow tired of Mystic Falls, grow tired of you being around and move away. Especially if you keep ruining every relationship she’s in.” He gives his shoulder a rough squeeze, before heading back to the bar, leaving Damon with his thoughts.

(listened to All I Need by Within Temptation while I wrote this. feeling all the emotions)

You angrily wipe at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Why did he have to be this way? He was the one who didn’t feel the same way as you. He was the one who ruined the relationship with you and now it seems like he’s made it his personal mission to ruin your life and any chance of happiness.

Damon stalks you from the shadows, watching you walk to your car. Maybe Alaric was right. He couldn’t keep doing this. He could see it was hurting you. And for what reason? Because he was too chicken to admit he loved you?

You slammed your car door and placed your forehead against the steering wheel, letting the emotions take over; your body shook with the sobs.

He clinched his eyes as in pain as he heard your sobs. He couldn’t let this go on any longer. You needed to know the truth.

You jumped and clutched a hand to your chest when someone knocked on the window, “Jesus Christ Damon! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Open the door.” He tugs on the handle.

“Just leave me alone,” you plead wiping at your eyes, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Y/n, please,” he begs, “open the door.”

You do as he asks and open the door. He holds out his hand for you, “what?”

“Take my damn hand.”

You reluctantly take it, stepping out of the car. “Damon seriously, I really don’t have the energy to deal with whatever you’ve got-

His large hands cup your cheeks forcing your eyes to meet his, “I love you. Ok?” He pauses for a moment, his thumb subconsciously caressing your cheek, “I was scared to admit it. It scared me to feel such.. love for you. The last time this happened I was left with my heart broken. I didn’t want it to happen again. My heart burns for you-” his eyes are full of desperation as they stare down at you, “I can’t imagine living this life without you.” He uses one hand to clutch at his chest, “it physically pains me to not be near you. To know all I’ve done is hurt you and for my own selfish reasons. Because I was too scared to admit the truth.”

There’s a heavy silence between you. He can hear your heart racing.

Your small hand reaches up to cup his face and he leans into your touch, desperate for it.

Another tense moment passes and in the heat of passion, your fingers are laced in his dark brown locks, crashing your lips against his.

Comments, likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! I finished this on my phone, forgive me for any mistakes

#damon salvatore fanfiction #damon salvatore fanfic #damon salvatore imagines #damon salvatore oneshot #damon salvatore fanfics #damon salvatore fics #damon salvatore fic #damon salvatore x reader fic #Damon salvatore x reader #Damon Salvatore x fem!reader #damon salvatore x female!reader #Damon salvatore x y/n #the vampire diaries fic #the vampire diaries imagines #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries fanfics #the vampire diaries fanfic

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millieisawriter · 15 days ago

Text

Stitch you up

arthur morgan x reader

summary: a fanfiction where arthur finds your own journal where you wrote about him

wc: 1.2k

english isn't my first language

♡this wasn't requested, but if you wish to request something you're more than welcome♡

all pics are from pinterest

You had joined the gang recently, and immediately noticed him. Arthur Morgan. The big, bad mystery of a man. Soon enough you learnt that he had a past more wounded than anyone you've ever known, and you wanted to help him.

God, you wanted to help him so badly, stitch up the wounds he hid from everyone else, light up his darkness even at the cost of your own light. But you didn't know scaring the shadows away won't be easy. It was as if he didn't let you do it, scared it will break you. Little did he know, the rejection hurt you like a gentle hammer to the heart.

You could be a bit scatterbrained at times. Like that one time when you left your journal god knows where. Writing down your thoughts always seemed to help you feel better, but now there was a risk someone could find it and read it.

Arthur never planned on finding your journal, nor had he intended to read it. He saw it abandoned by the tree where you often sat alone in the evenings, writing while the others laughed and drank by the fire. His hand hovered over it, hesitating. He knew he should leave it be, or better - return it, but curiosity twisted tight in his chest.

Your handwriting was delicate but hurried, with little mistakes probably caused by you glancing around from time to time, checking if no one is looking into the journal over your shoulder. Arthur knew he shouldn't look where he didn't belong. But he kept flipping, kept glancing over the words like he was pulled by a higher force.

Until that one page...

I tried to stitch you up with thread from my own skin, thought maybe my bones could be your bandages. I couldn't fix you and broke myself in the process. But you stay empty and I stay broken, a ruined sacrifice for a love that never wanted saving.

Arthur stared at the words, re-reading them a few times. He felt it in his core, even if no name was mentioned, he knew well who you wrote about. Too well.

His heart was thudding when he shut the journal closed. He had known you had a thing for him, but he thought it's just an infatuation that will eventually pass. Now it turned out your feelings ran deep.

He searched for you, intending to give back the journal as if nothing happened, as if he hadn't read a single word. But from the panic in your eyes, even if the rest of your body tried to remain calm, he knew that you knew.

"I uh... found this by the tree," he muttered, helding the little journal out to you.

You took it, your gaze dropping to the ground in embarrassment, and instead of thanking the man, you said, "I'm sorry."

Arthur looked away, swallowing his words. He should be the one apologizing. You did nothing wrong, developing feelings wasn't your fault. Reading your journal, however, was Arthur's choice.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," he managed to say, "I shouldn't have read it. I– I don't know why I did."

He didn't meet your gaze. Instead, now he was the one looking at the ground. As if he wanted to dig a hole and dug all his guilt and embarrassment there.

"I didn't mean for anybody to see this," you still felt the need to explain yourself, "I know what I wrote must seem so foolish to you."

He shook his head and finally looked at you, "Ain't foolish. Just... I ain't the man for you. Truth be told, I ain't the man for anyone."

That was exactly what you wished to prove him wrong. You wanted him to believe he could be loved. He was worth it, even if he couldn't see it. You wanted to make him see it.

"Says who?" You asked.

He sighed.

It was his concious decision. Nobody had to tell him. He knew he can't be a bad man and expect good things to happen to him. The past had told him enough.

"Says me," he muttered eventually, "I know what I am, I know what I've done. You, on the other hand, you–"

You interrupted him, "Don't give me that, Arthur. I know what you are, too. And so what of it? You're not a bad man, you're just... broken."

"And I won't burden you with fixin' me. Don't do this to yourself, don't go gettin' hurt over someone like me."

"What if I want to be burdened with it?"

That was foolish, way too foolish, to love someone for such a short period of time, but the feeling for some reason so strong you wanted to be their bandage, their stitches, their cure. It didn't make sense, but has love ever made sense?

But, damn it, Arthur would be lying if he said he didn't want it. He had lied so many times already, saying he doesn't feel the same, but his heart ached for you. He wished he could touch you, kiss you, feel you, fully convinced it could fix him so easily.

"We're both fools," he said, his eyes meeting yours and in them you could see the truth. He could reject you as many times as he'd like, but his eyes were longing for you in ways you wished for.

"Maybe," you agreed, your lips curling into a sad smile, "but if being a fool means having the chance to love you... then I'll gladly be one."

Not letting you love him was what broke you, but he was scared letting you do it, would be even worse. But this time, he didn't pull away when you moved closer to him.

Maybe in his eyes, he wasn't worthy of you, of your feelings, of being fixed, of any of what you were willing to give him. But in yours... he was worthy of way more than what this life could offer.

You reached up, your palm landing on his jaw, the stubble nicely tickling your soft skin. This touch was something he longed for from the moment he knew you wanted him the way he wanted you. Your touch sent a weave of warmth through him, as if it had any healing powers.

He closed his eyes, partially because he couldn't quite bear the weight of his own feelings, and partially because he wanted to stay like this for as long as possible. To memorize your touch in case this will never happen again.

"We're both fools," he repeated, his eyes opening, and he gently took your wrist and moved your hand so that he could place a kiss on the back of it, "but if you're willin', then I reckon I am too."

There was just something about you that made this man feel like maybe misery isn't something he's sentenced to for the rest of his life. Maybe there was a flicker of hope, too. Maybe for once he could love and be loved in peace, if he tries to deserve it.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 community #van der linde gang #arthur morgan rdr2 #x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption fanfiction

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forever-rogue · 2 years ago

Note

Heyyyyyy!! First things first, I LOVE YOUR WORK.

I have a request!!

I was hoping you could write a a Joel Miller x Fem! Reader -

Joel and Y/N met in Jackson, and together now raise Ellie. What if one night Y/N is out with some girl friends at a community event or whatever and some guys begin to hit on her and make some inappropriate comments about her, and her relationship with Joel. After Joel finds out he finds the guys and teaches them a lesson about respecting a woman, especially his woman?

You can write this or spin off however you want to! I’d just love to see protective / feral Joel

AN | Okay, so men are the worst but never Joel. Have some Protective!Joel 🥰

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Mild Violence (non-graphic knife use), undertones of SA (it doesn’t happen, but does get referenced)

Word Count | 2.7k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Joel was already laid up in bed, a book in his hands that he wasn't really reading, instead watching you closely. You were mesmerizing.

"I'm sure," he promised, snapping his book shut and getting up. You watched with a small smile as he came over and stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and meeting your gaze in the mirror. His eyes were on yours as he pressed kisses to your bare shoulder, "go on and have fun, baby."

"I'd have more fun with you there, my love," you gently prodded him but you knew that when he had his mind set on something he didn't often change it.

"I'm too old and tired," he teased as you playfully rolled your eyes, "I'll make it worthwhile when you get home."

"Now you're making me just want to stay home with you," you reached up and playfully ruffled his hair, "you always make it worth my while cowboy."

"You are going to go out and have a good time with your friends," he insisted softly with a kiss to the side of your head. You pouted playfully as he pulled away and sat back in the bed, "I'll be waiting right here for you when you get back."

"I'm holding you to that," you winked at him before grabbing your shoes, "you and Ellie have fun too."

"Kid's with Dina tonight," the two of you exchanged a sly grin. Ellie was not good in the slightest at hiding her affections for the other girl, "but I'll keep myself occupied."

"Stay out of trouble!"

"No promises," and with that he resumed his former position and grabbed his book again. At least you wouldn't have to worry about him tonight, "now go and have fun, baby."

"I love you," you grinned at him as he pretended not to hear you, "say it back, Miller!"

"I love you," he promised softly, "now go and quit stallin'!"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One of the best things about Jackson was that it was almost like life was normal. Well - it was normal, the normal that had become so over the course of almost twenty-one years. But there was still comfort in going out with a few friends, having a drink and not worrying about anything.

And, it would turn out, that evening you were mostly right. But also wrong.

Sitting around a table with your girlfriends felt so right, especially when you were gossiping about your current love lives. It wasn't so much gossiping as it was sharing stories, which was still a lot of fun.

"And then Billy said he wanted to try-"

"Hello there pretty ladies," and just like that your entire evening was ruined. The three of you immediately quieted and exchanged wary looks. The man in question was a scummy looking thing that radiated nothing but bad vibes. The friend he had in tow was no better and they were both smirking wickedly, "you look like you could use some company."

But you decided that you weren't having it. You sighed heavily, putting on a sticky sweet smile, "and you look like you can't read the room. Leave."

"Oh," he zoned in on you, stepping closer so he was leaning into you, his warm breath fanning over your face, "you're a feisty one. I like you."

"Well that makes one of us," you sighed dramatically, "you can go now."

"I don't think I will-"

"Listen," Maria spoke up and you'd never been more thankful for her, "you need to leave. Otherwise you'll be dealing with her husband and I don't think you want that. Or mine."

"Ahh," and then he had the audacity to touch you, putting his hand on your face and stroking your cheek, "cute. I'm sure this husband doesn't even exist. I could show you what a real man is like-"

"Go," Tania had had enough and shoved the man off you and stumbling backwards into the bar, "and don't ever show your face around here again."

"Fine," he held up his hands like he was the innocent party, "pathetic bitches."

But luckily they finally got the picture and left, leaving the three of you shaken, but alone. The interaction left a sour feeling in your stomach.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you left the bar it was late and dark but luckily it wasn't a long walk home. More importantly you couldn't wait to get back to the man that was waiting for you at home. A wistful sigh escaped your lips at the thought.

But as you walked your usual path home you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following you. That caused your heart to race and your mind to panic with worry, despite how calm you tried to keep yourself.

After a little bit you stopped dead in tracks and turned around, looking into the darkness. It was then that you saw the man from earlier. Of course he waited. You swallowed the lump in your throat, "what do you want?"

"Aww, little lady," he took that as an invitation to come closer, "I just want to spend some time with you. You know, get to know you a little better."

"I have a husband," you couldn't mask the disgust on your face or in your voice, "and you're a pathetic prick, so you can fuck off."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," he was in front of you now, hand on your upper arm and grabbing harshly, "come on, you know you want it-"

"Fuck off," you pulled his hand off your arm and twisted it, causing him to groan, "and fuck you."

You kneed him in the crouch and he stumbled backwards, yelling a slew of curses at you. He definitely hadn't expected you to fight back, but he was so very wrong. You took the opportunity and ran the rest of the way back home.

As soon as you got inside, you slammed the door shut behind you, making sure it was locked behind you. You leaned against and took a moment to catch your breath and relax.

"Hey baby," Joel was at the foot of the stairs looking at you with worry written all over his face. Fuck. You hadn't wanted him to see you like this, "what's wrong?"

"I-I'm fine-"

"Is that why you came runnin' in here and slammed the door?" He crossed his arms over his broad chest and raised an eyebrow, "baby-"

"I wanted to see you," you swallowed the lump in your throat; you hated lying to him, "couldn't get home to you soon enough."

"Mhmm," you could tell that he didn't quite believe you, but wasn't going to call out your bluff just yet, "you had a good time?"

"I did," and for the most part you really had. You walked over to him when leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, "but this will always best out everything."

"Come on," he took your hand in his and laced your fingers together before gently pulling you up the stairs, "I believe I made you a promise. And I don't like to break those."

"I'd hate for you to do that too," you agreed, with wide, eager eyes, "don't want to break your wife's heart, do you?"

"Never," he led you into the bedroom and shut the door, ushering back towards the bed. You easily complied, sitting down when the back of your knees hit the mattress. Joel had a wolfish look on his face as he drank in the sight of you, "you're so damn beautiful."

"Joel," your cheeks warmed up as crouched down in front of you, his hands settling on your hips. Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you, softly at first but quickly with more hunger.

Your husband reached for the hem of your sweater and slowly pulled it off before tossing it to the side. As soon as you tried to reach for him, Joel froze and pulled back, a hard look settling on his features.

"What is this?" He tenderly held up your arm, frowning at the finger shaped bruises that were already blooming across your skin, "who?"

"Joel-"

"Who did this to you?" He was angry, but not at you. Never at you. Tears welled up immediately as you looked at him with a pathetic little expression, "baby…"

"There were two guys that came up while we were at the bar," a few tears rolled down your cheek but he gently wiped them away, "they were being gross and creepy, but eventually left us alone. W-when I was walking home one of them was waiting outside for me and he started to follow me. H-he grabbed me and tried to…"

Joel didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, pulling in for a tight hug, gently stroking your back, "I know, baby. It's okay - I've got you. Let it out."

"He grabbed me but I remembered what you taught me and was able to get away," you buried your face into his chest, "'m sorry."

"What are you sorry for, huh?" He let out a long breath before pressing gentle kisses to the side of your head, "you've got nothing to be sorry for."

"I just…" you pulled back and sighed lightly, "I got scared. But I'm glad you're here."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help," his hand was on your neck as he stroked your jaw, "but I know my girl can handle anything. Who was it?"

"I think his name is Adam," you shrugged lightly, "he's part of that new group. The one with the beard that always wears flannels."

Joel's jaw ticked as his eyes narrowed. He knew exactly who you were talking about, "Adam."

"Joel," you put your hand on his shoulders and gave it a light squeeze, "he's a jerk but please don't do anything rash. I can let it go…please tell me you'll do the same. I know it sucks but I don't think he's going to be doing anything to anyone anymore."

"I can let it go," he whispered, closing his eyes as he kissed your forehead, "I love you."

"I love you too, Joel."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So…Joel wasn't lying when he said he could let it go. Not technically. He could let it go.

But he sure as hell wasn't going to. Not for this. No one did this to his girl, his wife. Nor was this Adam going to ever do it again. He'd make sure of that.

The anger and rage was practically radiating off Joel as he walked to the main community building to report for patrol duty. He might have pulled a few strings to ensure that he'd be on duty with a certain someone…but it was worth it.

"Adam, right?" He put a fake smile as the younger man approached and nodded.

"Yep," he even sounded like an asshole, "you must be Miller."

"I am," he agreed and held out his hand, "Joel Miller."

"Nice to meet you-"

"You know what's funny," Joel's grip on his hand was like a vise, "you've already met my wife."

"Your wife?"

"Mhmm," he could see the man squinting as he tried to pull his hand away, "she told me all about it."

"O-oh," he was finally able to wrench his hand free, "what's her name?"

Joel almost hated even just telling him your name but he repeated it just loudly enough for him to hear. Adam nodded, clearly unsure of where this was going, “she was out the other night with some girlfriends. Another of which also happens to be my sister-in-law. She told me you were there with a friend. So.”

Adam’s face paled almost immediately as realization hit him. He knew exactly who you were, who Joel was, and that he knew what had happened.

“Listen, man - I think there was some sort of misunder-”

“Don’t,” Joel grabbed him by the color of his shirt and pulled him close, “don’t fuckin’ lie to me and say it was some sort of misunderstanding. My girl says you made them feel uncomfortable and that you followed her. I’m inclined to believe her - she has no reason to lie. Why would she lie?”

“She’s probably just-”

“I wouldn’t say another word if you know what’s good for you,” Joel’s voice was low and dangerous and he reached into his back pocket to pull out his knife. He held it up to his neck, just against the skin, not enough to break it but enough to provide a stern warning, “you should be glad it was my wife that you dealt with that night and not me. I would not have been so forgiving.”

“Please. I-I’m sorry-”

“Funny,” he smirked at the panicking man, “now you’re sorry. You weren’t so sorry the other night, were you? I saw the bruises on her arm. She asked me to let it go, you know. You’re lucky - after this, I will. But let me make this extremely clear - if I ever see or hear about pulling anything like this again….you won’t live to see another day. If I ever see you near my wife again, you will regret it.”

“Joel, I-”

“I am a killer,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “I ain’t killed anyone in a long time now, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it again. You understand me?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered nervously and Joel couldn’t help but dig the knife ever so slightly into his skin, causing a thin line of blood to bubble up.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, I understand,” and just like that, Joel pushed him away, causing him to stumble over his feet and fall to the ground. Joel offered up a saccharine smile as he wiped the blade clean and stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Good,” he said firmly, “now get out of my sight and don’t let me see you again.”

Adam was gone and out of sight before Joel could say anything else.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Joel Miller,” your hands were on your hips as you stood in the doorway to the kitchen as Joel walked inside the house. He looked at you with a sheepish expression; he was a smart man and he knew exactly what this was about, “what did I say?”

“You said to let it go,” he hung his head as he walked over to you.

“And you did exactly the opposite of what I asked, didn’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” he stated sheepishly. Before he could say anything else, he felt you throw your arms around him and hang onto him like a koala, “baby?”

“I can’t believe you did that for me,” you looked at him incredulously as he couldn’t help but smile at you, “did you really make him piss himself?”

“First of all, how did you hear about that?”

“Jenny who saw it all, who told Tommy, who told Maria, who told Ellie, who told me,” you grinned and he laughed.

“He didn’t quite piss himself but I got the point across,” you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him and you could feel him smiling against your lips, “you’re not mad?”

“I mean, I’m a little annoyed that you didn’t listen to me,” you sighed softly, “but also love the fact that you didn’t listen. You defended me.”

“I would do anything for you,” he took your jaw in his hand and turned your face up to his, “anything. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” you nodded, feeling warmth pool low in your belly, “I would do the same for you.”

“I know,” he kissed you with an intensity that you had practically melting into him, “I love you, baby.”

“I love you,” you made a small sound as he picked you up, “Joel!”

“Let me show you how much.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #pedro pascal #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us

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luvrgreyy · 5 months ago

Text

A PERFECTLY RUINED THING

boyfriend's brother!leon x f!reader

word count: 3.1k summary: leon's attempts to comfort you after a fight with his older brother. masterlist | ko-fi

18+ MDNI. infidelity, one mention of masturbation, age gap(leon is 21, reader is 25), non-con kissing, car sex, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral(r!receiving), praise, soft dom leon.

a/n: not my best work, but alright. this was meant to be a short, self indulgent fic, i dont know how i ended up writing this much. anyway, here's something to keep you guys occupied while i work on a new series im writing :3

leon has always had a thing for you. ever since you started dating his brother a few years ago, he’d always found you attractive. he’s tried to get over you, date other girls, but that doesn’t really seem to work.

his brother was a moron, and he was sure you deserved better. not that leon considered himself any better. it’s wrong, it’s messed up in every possible way, which is why he could never tell his brother how he truly feels.

family is important, and leon wouldn't do anything to risk losing his brother's respect.

but being around you, watching you, it's all too much sometimes. he would often find himself fantasizing about you while jerking off to porn, imagining it was him instead of his brother making out with you, touching you, fucking you.

it used to bother him a lot, feeling like this for someone who was technically off-limits. but lately, with his brother spending lesser time around the house, leon had started to brush off those guilty feelings.

and he began to entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, he could have you for himself one day. the fantasies were harmless, he told himself, as long as they remained just that — fantasies.

leon shakes his head and comes out of his thoughts with a start. he couldn't make out all the words, but he could tell you and his brother were fighting. nothing new there.

he knows he shouldn't care, that it's none of his business, but he can't help but wonder what his brother had said to make you so upset. was he flirting with some girl? did he forget your birthday again? had you finally broken up with him? he felt bad for being somewhat happy at the thought.

until he hears the door slam. he blinks and looks up, listening as the sound echoes through the house. well, so much for staying out of it.

he’s about to get up when he hears your footsteps, and soon you stomp into the living room, face flushed with anger.

"hey, what's wrong?" he asks softly, looking up at you from his place on the couch. you stopped pacing and turn to face him, eyes brimming with tears. "your stupid brothers what’s wrong,”

he can't help it, his jaw twitches at the mention of his brother, but he manages to keep a neutral look otherwise. “what did he do this time?" he asks quietly, standing up. you bite your lip and look away, struggling to find the words.

"i don't know," you finally reply. "he's just— he’s being difficult,” he wants to hug you, to comfort you, but he's hesitant to do so. you’ve just never been that close, so he just stands there awkwardly as you try to speak through the tears.

“i-i’ve tired talking to him, but he never listens. i don’t know what i did, but i know there's something wrong,”

“i’m sorry about him,” it's stupid, he knows his brother is terrible to you, but he couldn't stop myself from making a dig. “but you know you can talk to me, right?”

“i know,” you choke out a sob. “but— i just wanna go home, leon.”

it kills him to see you like this, especially since he knows it's his brother's fault. but he wants you to stay. he doesn't say it, but he hopes, silently, that you'll stay with him instead. “yeah, okay,” he agrees, forcing a smile. “i can do that, i can take you home.” he reaches out and gently wipes away your tears, thumb lingering on your cheek.

“thank you,” you sniff and nod, reaching up to brush his hand away. he lets it linger a moment longer, before reluctantly pulling back.

he knows he should tell you it will all work out, that his brother loves you and that things will be fine... but he can't. because then he'd be lying.

the ride to your house is quiet. he wants to say something, anything, but it seems wrong to talk about anything lighthearted.

when he pulls up to your house, he parks and turns to you. you're staring out the window, silent tears streaming down your cheeks.

"hey," he asks softly. "you okay?"

you look at him then, really look at him, and for a moment, he thinks he sees something in your eyes — a flicker of... something. he doesn't know what it is, and he doesn't bother trying to find out when you reach out for his hand.

he freezes. it's a small point of contact, one he's not ready for.

he tries not to tremble as you hold his hand, but you're so close to him and he can't make himself pull away, so he does the only thing he can think to do — pretend nothing is wrong and and just sit there, praying you don't notice how his breath catches in his throat. praying you can't feel how hard he is.

you just want comfort, he tells himself. don't be weird.

he looks down at your fingers, how small they looked, your soft skin, the way your nails dig lightly into his skin.

"leon?" your voice comes out a small squeak.

"yeah?"

he tries to say something else, but its no use. all he can think about is how close your hand is to his dick. how easy it would be to move it a few inches and have you cupping him. he doesn't do that, of course. that would be messed up. but the thought alone is making him rock hard.

god, he feels like a fucking pervert, crossing his legs to try and hide his boner. you look at him with those big, beautiful eyes, and he nearly melts. he wants nothing more than to kiss you right then and there. but he can't. can he?

"i— uh, thank you."

you withdraw your hand, and the relief he feels is short-lived, because he watches you reach out for the door. he doesn't want you to go. not yet, anyway. "wait," he says, and you pause.

before he can stop himself, his mouth is on yours. it's just a small, chaste kiss, but it's still a massive step. what the hell is wrong with him? you're his brother's girlfriend for fucks sake! but you don't pull away, and he can't bring himself to do the same.

for a moment, he thinks you kiss him back. just for a second. it's hard to tell, since it's so quick, but he could swear he feels your lips moving with his. he pulls back, breathless, eyes wide.

"i'm so sorry," he whispers, knowing it's not enough, but not knowing what else to say. so he just sits there, staring at you, trying not to panic.

he can't think straight. all he can focus on is your lips, how soft they were, the way they moved with his. it was a real kiss. a tentative one, yes, but real. his mind is spinning. what does this mean? does it even mean anything at all? or was it just a momentary lapse in judgment? he knows he shouldn't have done it. he should've let you go, let you walk out of his life for good. but looking at you now, he realizes he'd do it all over again, whatever the consequences are.

this makes him bold. reckless. and he moves in for another kiss, hand cupping your cheek. this time, there's no mistake — you pull him closer, your tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. he can taste you on his lips, like really taste you. it’s incredible.

one hand moves down your side, to rest on your hip. the other cradles your head, fingers threaded through your hair. he pours all his emotion into the kiss — the frustration, the longing, the love he's kept hidden for so long. you taste like toothpaste and happiness, and it's the best thing he's ever experienced.

this goes on for a long time. like, a really long time. long enough that he starts to feel guilty, like he's taking advantage of you or something. but you don't seem to mind. you kiss him back, enthusiastically, and he swallows the small noises you make in your throat.

the kiss finally breaks, and you're panting. he is too. your lips are swollen and glossy, hands on his chest, pushing him away, but only slightly.

he doesn't care anymore. he's past the point of return. "i want you," he whispers, trying to memorize the feel of you. "i want you so bad. please," he begs, the plea raw in his voice. "i'll make it good for you, i promise.”

“leon,” you breathe out his name again. “this.. this isn’t right,”

he knows you’re right. of course you are. but he can't help himself. his desire drowns out whatever sense and reasoning he may still have. you're his brother's girlfriend. it's wrong, it's messed up, it's... “it doesn't feel wrong," he argues softly, thumb brushing against your flushed cheek. "does it?" you don't answer, just shake your head.

next thing he knows, his hand is sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt up with it. he feels a scrap of fabric and the smooth skin it's covering. he stops, hovering just at the edge of decency.

“tell me to stop,” his lips hover just above yours. “tell me to stop, and i will.”

he waits. and waits. and waits. but no words come. you're quiet, neither denying nor confirming, and that's enough for him to take it as a yes. his hand continues up, past your knee, brushing the edge of your panties. he can feel the heat emanating from you, how your body is screaming at him to continue. to keep going. to take what he wants.

and he does. one finger, then two, slip in to push your panties to the side, and he's rewarded with a small gasp.

he shifts his fingers higher, seeking out your clit. he finds it, and rubs gently. you buck, just a little, and he freezes.

"this okay?" he looks at your face, searching for any sign that he should stop.

a tiny nod, almost imperceptible. "yeah," your voice is breathy. "yeah, leon." you grab his wrist, stopping him from retreating. "don't stop." he doesn't.

he goes back to rubbing your clit, fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. one finger slips down to test your entrance. he pushes it inside, just the tip, and you tense. he groans in triumph at the feel of your slick walls, taking it as a sign to pushes further, sinking his finger knuckle deep into your pussy. you mewl, and he nearly comes in his pants.

your hips start to move, trying to fuck his hand, and he's happy to oblige. he adds another finger, hand practically punching into your dripping cunt. you're so wet and tight, so perfect for him.

“get in the back," he hisses through his teeth. "wanna have a taste.”

he doesn’t give you time, roughly shoving you into the backseat, and plopping himself down in a position where you straddle his face while his hands push your thighs apart.

he kneels down, and trails a finger up your inner thigh, finding your panties damp with arousal. he hooks his fingers in the elastic and drags them down, letting your soaked cunt be exposed to the air. he buries his face in your pussy, fingers spreading you apart. "fuck, you smell good," he groans, before closing his lips around your clit and sucking, tongue darting out to lick your juices.

you let out a startled yelp at the suddenness of it all, but he doesn't care. he's too busy breathing in your scent, licking and sucking at your little pussy, fingers digging into your hips as he pushes his tongue as far as it will go. he eats you like you're the last morsel of food on earth, desperate and ravenous.

your juices flood his mouth as he sucks and licks, fucking you with his hand while his mouth eats your pussy. he growls in the back of his throat, loving how you taste. he pulls away for a second, just long enough to yank your panties the rest of the way off, before diving back in. he can hear you whimper and moan, the sounds music to his ears.

the car lurches, and his face is buried in your pussy. he looks up, surprised, as you suddenly buck against him. but he recovers quickly, one hand reaching out to grab your wrist and pull you back down to his mouth, the other hand keeping the first two fingers of his other hand knuckle-deep in your pussy, pumping them slowly.

"i got you," he mouths around your clit, and continues eating you with renewed vigor, as if trying to prove a point. his tongue is fast, slick, and decisive, and he knows it's coming.

"tell me when," he mumbles, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

he feels it. the way you go slack, how your muscles tremble and contract. he's already sucking hard on your clit, lips vacuuming up your little bundle of nerves, trying to suck your orgasm straight into his mouth.

“imma cum, leon, i’m—“ you start, but the words die down in your throat.

your entire body bows back, throat making a sound like a scream that tappers out. he drinks it all in, every single drop of your release coating his lips, tongue, and it dribbles down to his chin.

he pulls back, sitting back on his heels, hands pushing your knees together to keep you from tipping over.

"c'mere," he coos. gently pushing you back onto the car seat, he slots himself between your legs. his cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, and with a curse, he undoes them, freeing his shaft.

he helps you get in position, hands shaking slightly as he lines himself up with your entrance. he's hard, veins bulging along the shaft, the tip leaking precum.

“can i?”

you nod. just once, and it's enough. his hips buck forward, slow and steady, feeling you stretch around him, the intrusion making you wince.

"sorry," he whispers, before pulling back slightly. "’ts okay," you hum in response.

your walls resist, then give, slowly swallowing up his length. but he doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt, hips flush with yours "god, you're tight,” he looks down, watches himself disappear into you, and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

he takes his time, letting you adjust, letting yourself get used to the feeling of him inside you when he starts to move, it's a slow thrust, pulling back almost all the way, then pushing back in, creating a slow rhythm.

he's patient, letting the rhythm build, in and out, in and out, feeling your walls relax around him more and more with each thrust.

his hips rise up, his abs flexing as he pulls back, then lower, feeling you swallow him up again.

"feels so good," he admits, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

his hands land on your hips, fingers digging in, holding you in place as he fucks you, slow and deep, with a pace that's almost lazy.

“leon,” your voice is soft, almost dreamy. “leon,” you repeat his name like a prayer.

“i’m—”

“i know,” he huffs against your lips, feeling his balls drawing up.

your nails rake down his chest. “i’m gonna—“ “cum.” he groans, hips bucking harder, trying to draw it out. your pussy spasms, milking him for all he's worth, and he's powerless to stop it.

he's coming all over your insides. your walls suck him dry, and he slumps forward, forehead pressed against your shoulder, chest heaving.

your hand threads through his hair, holding his head still against your shoulder. he nuzzles into the touch, feeling your warmth, your softness. he's spent. emotionally and physically.

he pulls out slowly, cock slipping free, and a pearly rope of cum dribbles out. he grabs a napkin from the glovebox, and gently wipes your lips clean. he looks over at you, taking in your mussed hair, your flushed cheeks, your half-lidded eyes. you look relaxed. content.

"you alright?" he asks softly.

“mhm,”

he smiles, small and shy. like he didn’t just fuck your brains out. “good.”

he tucks himself back into his pants, zipping up. it takes a bit of effort to extricate himself from the wreckage of the backseat. he turns to you, and just looks. you straighten out your clothes, carefully smoothing down the fabric of your rumpled shirt. he watches as you adjust your skirt, his gaze soft yet intense.

“well, uh,” you pull back, eyes meeting, and you swallow hard. “i should probably go..”

“oh, yeah, of course," he pauses, then adds. “i’ll walk you to your door.”

you climb out of the car, and he follows. the cool night air feels strange on your skin, and it makes your skin shiver. he walks you to your front door, hands shoved deep in his pockets. the walk is silent, but not uncomfortable. you stop at your front door, and you turn to him.

“thank you,” you say softly. “for tonight.” he smiles. and you smile back. and for a second, he thinks of kissing you again. but he doesn't.

"night," he turns to leave, but pauses. "i hope this is the last time i see you.”

as you watch him go, your heart feels full. and weird. you can't stop smiling, even as you go inside and lock the door behind you. you walk to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror. your hair is a mess. your face is flushed.

i guess now you know who the better kennedy is.

#resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon #leon smut #leons enormous cock #younger leon #older reader #re2r leon #re2 remake #smut #kissing #˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆greys fics #luvrgreyy

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