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notjustjavierpena · 8 months ago

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(Mid)summer Loving

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Yes, based on that new picture. I’ll call this my first contribution to getting railed in a sundress season.

Summary: The last two years of being with Joel has transformed the both of you. Mostly him. For the better.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, joel’s kink is being loved and appreciated, long haired joel!!!, healthy joel, established relationship, piv sex, size kink (it's big), rough, loud and desperate sex, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, railed in a sundress season contribution, they are so soft for each other, bit of aftercare.

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988128

(Mid)summer Loving

It happens when you hear him through the crowd of people in the community center. Your head whips in his direction, your eyes settling on the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs at something Tommy has said to him. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs it with slight difficulty because he is still smiling.

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him.

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left.

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same.

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background.

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you.

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him.

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing.

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now.

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable.

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.”

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him.

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants.

You.

He wants you.

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible?

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social.

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment.

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know.

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too.

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again.

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side.

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you.

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?”

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in.

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over.

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high.

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you.

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound.

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so.

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?”

“No?” Your reply is almost a question.

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you.

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time.

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees.

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation.

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight.

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

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elysianightsss · 10 months ago

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Another sweet sweet price thot💋

Okay but let’s talk about Mountain man Price. He retired a few years ago and decided he much prefers the solitude of the beautiful mountains, with the tips of them all covered in snow. He likes the quiet, knowing he won’t run into anyone here. No one from the little town at the bottom of the mountains would be brave enough to hike the mountain trail.

He remembers the day he built his nice log cabin with the help of his trusty lieutenant of course. Simon helped his Captain one last time, before parting ways. Price wanted to be alone, after everything he’d experienced in the military, he wanted it to be just himself and the weather to keep him company.

He’d have the survival skills no doubt about it, but the more time he spent up there the more his social skills began to fade away. He’d have to come down every six months or so to restock his food, he make his trip down the hike trail to the little town at the bottom of the mountains and through the woods.

But the shop workers weren’t his biggest fans. He’d practically clear them out of their stock, the poor little local shop. They didn’t like his attitude either, found him strange and unapproachable. Though that’s exactly what John was going for. The less people that spoke to him, the better.

Until he met you of course.

It was only your second week at your new job, you’d just moved to the little town around a month ago and this was the only job available after some woman called Darlene went of maternity leave.

My gosh the way you’d be so nice to him having no idea the stigma that surrounded him and how suprised he’d be at the kindness you showed him. He’d actually look forward to coming down to the town.

He’d come more often as well, saying he’d ran out of supplies and yet he’d only buy a bag of fruit or some meat. Then he’d start to tidy up his appearance too, trim his over grown beard and moustache back to its former glory. The blush that would spread across your cheeks the first time you see him like that.

Hair trimmed too, you’d be able to see his perfect lips and crooked smile. It provoked a feeling in you that you’d long forgotten. Slowly but surely he’d start trying to flirt. Trying. Though you found it endearing how bad he was at it. Finally though he’d succeeded asking you out on a date and fuck the moment he’d turn up in his dark blue jeans, black shirt and dark brown leather jacket and boots. You swooned.

He had the charm turned on, especially after his phone call with his ex team. They could all hear how nervous their former captain was for this date. It made them very intrigued to meet you one day.

John didn’t miss a beat, almost as if he’d laid this date out like a mission. Going step by step to win your heart. He made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, made you smile until your cheeks ached. Ordered the food and drinks impressively, no umming or stuttering.

He gave you butterflies when he reached over the table to grab your hand in his larger one. The skin was rough and calloused, but it felt amazing against your hand. He loved how soft your skin felt against his. He traced around the palm of your hand with his thick index finger, those gorgeous ocean eyes gazing into your soul.

After dinner, John took you to a local bar that you were pleasantly surprised with. A few drinks later you tipsily confessed how handsome you thought he was. The longer the evening went on, the more longing looks and teasing touches were shared.

The evening ended with the two of you slow dancing until last call. The way your bodies pressed together, the intimacy and warmth. The way he’d always make eye contact, almost as if he was trying to read you. The way he held you so tender yet tight, his large hands on your body. It all just felt so right.

John walked you home, looking so sad when it was time to part ways. “Please, let’s do this again sweetheart.” When your manager Billy had called you that, it made you feel sick. Had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, disgust shivering down your body. But when John said it, damn. Your body shivered in delight, the deep mumble entangled with that delicious accent of his made you gulp back a lump in your throat. You swear your underwear was a little wet too.

You nodded leaning forward to kiss his cheek goodnight, John was quick to take your cheeks into his hands and press his wanting lips against yours. He was hungry and almost vicious when he kissed you, it made you wonder what kind of lover he was like as he pressed you against your front door and kissed you like he’d never get the chance again.

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jasvtsc · 1 month ago

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thirst

he looked like a caveman, that’s for sure.

his hair was a bit longer and his beard was just… huge, going in every direction possible. it was as if he hadn’t shaved in ages—well, and he technically didn’t. after all, he spent years trapped in a deep sleep in a russian lab.

so it wasn’t surprising that he had all these pent-up emotions when he woke up. he was like a bomb, ready to explode at any given moment. literally. you just weren’t sure whether it would be caused by anger, annoyance, stress or even worse—arousal. soldier boy was known not only as america’s hero but also as its sex symbol. even nowadays, women would sigh in amazement at his pictures in museums or just say how they wished they’d been born earlier. and the older ones, some that got to have that experience back in the day, kept marvelling at how amazing he was in bed and how it’d been the best night of their entire life (and all of them, of course, were married). which, of course, ben bragged about cause how else could he not?

and well, he certainly lived up to the expectations.

butcher and hughie left to get some things for him (food and drugs), so you were left alone with soldier boy, to babysit him as a precaution. and to be honest, there wasn’t much babysitting done when he already got you naked on the bed, whimpering like crazy as his head was between your legs.

at this point, you’re not even sure what led to soldier boy eating you out. you were trying to lecture him on some random topic he saw on tv and acted like an ignorant jackass, but then you started arguing and making random bets. suddenly, you felt that he was about to blow something up again, so you just acted out and kissed him.

the rest was history.

he wanted a good fuck and you certainly needed it.

“you taste so good, baby,” he growled between your slick folds, his tongue eagerly lapping all your juices like a man dying of thirst as his long beard was tickling your skin. “i should’ve eaten this pretty pussy hours ago,” he chuckled, his lips now sucking on your clit, stimulating you even more.

you moaned and arched your back, pressing your soaked cunt into his face. you tugged on his hair, trying to get him closer and to your surprise, he didn’t protest—instead, he eagerly dug his head deeper, his tongue flicking over your sensitive bud. you looked down and gasped, seeing his face buried deep between your thighs that he was squeezing tightly, and you just knew that it'd leave some dark marks on your skin.

not that you'd mind.

suddenly, he looked up at you and smiled devilishly, his face glistening with your essence. you let out a needy whine at this sight, bucking your hips towards his face, showing your clear desperation for him to get back to what he started. he only chuckled and licked his lips as his fingers prodded at your entrance, teasing you even more.

"you want to cum, baby? huh? gonna squirt all over my face?"

as if you didn't do that four times already.

a/n: inspired by this ask

#🫧 — kas writes #soldier boy drabble #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #the boys drabble #the boys smut #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles drabble

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 months ago

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casual*

a.k.a. your one-night stand with modern Aemond Targaryen

*18+ minors dnfi

main masterlist

The intimidatingly handsome-as-hell guy sitting all by his lonesome at the bar seems to be on the same wavelength as you.

His gaze has been oscillating between the rim of his pint and you. Your face, your hands, and yes—you're sure you saw it—your ass, too. You squirm in your place, several seats away, but not because his attention's unwanted. These fucking bar stools are just so damn slippery that you feel like your smooth jeans would slide right off, and you would embarrass yourself in front of blondie. Though, his hair veers closer to Santa's snowy beard than Rapunzel's gold locks. How unusual. How strangely attractive.

Silver hair coiffed neatly above his perfect, angular face, those naturally pouted lips, and those eyes—wait—that eye. One seemed to be a prosthetic, but it doesn't diminish his aura. Not even a little. The fucked up voice in your head might even think that it makes him look hotter. More dangerous.

Straight to the depths of hell it is for you.

He throws a shit-eating smirk your way when your eyes meet again, right before taking another swig of his frothy drink. But he doesn't look away this time, holding your gaze as his glass tilts in the air and inevitably finds its way back on the bar's surface.

Oh, he knows he's attractive. Worse, he knows that you know it.

Heat unfurls in your belly from all the eye-fucking, the tension, and from the very real possibility that your own fingers will not be your only source of pleasure for the night, as trusted as they are.

Too bad you just downed the contents of your drink. Or not, because it seems to signal the first switch of the night. Blondie gestures to the bartender, then to you, and before you know it, another one of your drinks materialises in front of you.

"Courtesy of that guy over there, miss."

"Oh. Thank you."

That guy over there, who is no longer over there, takes that as his cue to finally approach you.

"Hi."

"Hello." He sits on the stool next to you, inching it closer as he settles down. He's even prettier up close, damn him. His hair looks like spun threads of silk. His dark blue sweater, his snug black jeans, his lips which are tugging at the corners to form a sheepish smile. "Please don't hate me for this, but I'm about to throw you a line."

You swallow. He can throw you just about whatever he wants, and that's not just the alcohol talking. "Oh?" you half-shrug your fluster away. "I expected as much. Let's hear it."

"Hmm." He glances down, showcasing his remarkably long eyelashes, then back up at you. With his head tilted, he looks slightly menacing, but in a good way. Like he wants to eat you.

Your coworker is about to receive a luxurious gift basket for recommending this bar to you.

His line then goes, "I find it hard to believe that someone as goddamn beautiful as you would be sitting all alone in this bar tonight." His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, then released. "But maybe I should be grateful, because this would mean that you're perhaps single?"

You have to hand it to him. That line would normally be at the same level of poetry as a middle-aged dad's Facebook rant, but from him? From his lips, and with that smooth accent? A fucking Shakespearean sonnet.

Already prematurely swept off your feet, you know you have to up your game. "I'm married actually. Husband's on a business trip. Again. My three kids, bless their hearts, stress the hell out of me so I left them with the nanny and went straight here."

His mouth parts slightly, his brows furrowing. You wink at him and add, "Glad I did."

You watch as his mind whirs, as his eye darts to your obviously bare ring finger. For a smooth talker, he sure takes a moment longer than necessary to keep up with your humour, or maybe you're just that good of a performer.

"You're killing me here, beautiful."

"That's what you deserve for that line. Did you take that right out of your playboy handbook?" you say, laughing softly.

"Excuse me, miss, but I own no handbook of any sort," he responds in a stern manner, but his smirk betrays him. "And you might not believe me, but I don't do this often. I mean, I don't really do this at all."

"What, is that another line? You're on a roll, handsome."

"I mean it. I don't make a habit of approaching pretty girls at bars."

"Why, because they just flock right to you?"

He raises his palms in mock surrender. "Hey, you said it. Not me."

There is a beat of silence as you watch each other, both trying to gauge the stranger sitting close. You decide that he might be more than just a pretty face. He smells immaculate, too.

And, more importantly, he seems kind. You pride yourself in having a knack for these things. Though you hope that knack isn't deliberately fooling you because you want him to get into your pants.

He's the one to break the silence and start the flirtatious interrogation that normally happens before getting right down to business. "So, when you're not busy with your three precious kids—" he says, prompting an eye roll from you. "—what do you get up to? Are you from around here? Do you frequent this bar?"

"Woah. One question at a time."

He leans forward on the counter, until his hand brushes against your forearm. "Just one more question before you begin, and brace yourself, because this is the most important one."

You find it easy to laugh in his company, so you do. "Okay, give it to me."

"Are you sure you can handle it, babe?"

No. Not when he's calling you babe. "Try me."

"What's your favourite colour?"

You learn that his name is Aemond. He's twenty-nine years old, born and raised in London before moving to New York to become the head of the American branch of his father's company. He has two older sisters, one older brother and one younger. His favourite colour is green. He's an Aries. He likes both classic rock and classical music.

And he's a fucking phenomenal kisser.

You spent another hour chatting each other up at the bar, which didn't feel like an hour at all. You could talk to him about practically anything, and you would have, until you both decided that it was time to let your bodies do the talking.

It only took 10 minutes for him to drive you back to his fancy apartment, but that didn't stop him from groaning and mumbling fuck's sake under his breath at each encountered red light.

"Patience," you giggled lightly, but then he turned his lust-clouded gaze to you, and you immediately were on the same page, cursing at stoplights in your mind.

With your back pressed against his bedroom wall, he kisses you with a frenzied hunger that you're sure you have never experienced with any lover. He lifts you up, and you cross your ankles around his waist. Biting his lip, he slowly undoes the buttons of your blouse, marvelling at your exposed chest. You twist an arm behind to unclasp your bra and it falls to the floor.

After a sharp intake of breath, he lowers himself and sucks at your nipple, his tongue padding at your stiffened peak. Your neck cranes upward at the hot sensation, and you grip his locks, and moan, "Fuck yeah, keep going."

He nips and bites at your breasts, leaving a glistening trail of saliva in his wake. "Your tits are so fucking perfect," he praises. "You're perfect."

"Mhmm, yeah," you mewl, reaching for his face. "Come here."

His hand slides to the back of your neck to tilt your head just right, then his mouth is on yours once more. It's unfair, really, how good he is at it, every flick of his tongue intensifying your desire for him.

You let out a wanton, wanting moan when he pulls back suddenly. He smugly chuckles at the sound, and how you instinctively follow his movement, craving more.

Your legs drop from his waist, and you barely catch your balance, breathless and disoriented. "What—" you start, confused, but Aemond steps back just enough to fix you with a searing look.

"Jeans off, baby," he demands. Like he even had to ask. He tilts his head, that insolent smirk playing on his lips again. "Underwear, too. C'mon, now."

Your hands move on their own, fumbling with the button and zipper before pushing the denim down your legs and kicking them to the side. You're grateful you had opted out of wearing skinny jeans, which you would have had to unsexily wiggle out of. You hook your thumbs into your underwear and slide those down too. The air is cool against your naked body, making you shiver slightly, but Aemond's gaze—burning, all-consuming—keeps you rooted to the spot.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his tone dropping into something almost reverent. He drops to his knees in one smooth motion, and the sight alone nearly does you in—this ethereal, sharp-tongued stranger kneeling before you like he's a pilgrim who finally reached a shrine. His hands find your hips as he guides you to balance one leg over his shoulder.

You barely have time to process before his mouth is on your leaking cunt. He doesn't start slow, doesn't give you a chance to ease into the sensation. His tongue is hot and insistent, dragging over your folds with a precision that has your knees buckling almost immediately.

"Fuck," you gasp, your hands flying to his hair for something to hold onto. He holds you steady as he works you over like he's determined to make you unravel completely. And you don't doubt that he will.

The flat of his tongue drags up, circling your most sensitive spot before his lips close around it, sucking lightly. Your head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, a broken moan slipping from your lips as your free leg trembles beneath you.

You can feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, spreading outward like wildfire. His free hand slides up your inner thigh, his fingers pressing into the flesh there, holding you open for him as he works you over like it's his favourite thing to do. Like there’s nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing than ruining you right here, right now.

"Aemond", you gasp, his name falling from your lips unbidden. He groans at the sound, his tongue doubling down, faster, harder, dragging you closer to the edge. You try to fight it—try to hold onto the last scraps of control you have—but he shifts his angle, his nose brushing against your core, and the whole world tips sideways. The coil snaps, and your orgasm crashes out of you. Your body locks up, your pelvis shaking uncontrollably as you cry out, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Aemond doesn't pull away, his tongue easing you through it with slower, lazier strokes.

When you finally slump back against the wall, boneless and dazed, he leans back just enough to look up at you, his face glistening from his nose down to his chin. You're almost certain that you have never seen anything more sensual in your life. He licks his lips, and your eyes automatically follow the path of his tongue—the culprit of your sweet, little death.

"You taste as exquisite as you look," he says.

You know he deserves the sloppiest, most soul-sucking head after what he just put you through, so it's the easiest decision you have ever made to give him just that. Nothing more, nothing less. And anyway, it's for your pleasure too.

You don't relent until his warm, salty cum spills on your tongue, most of it sliding down your throat and the rest shooting out to cover the lower half of your face in milky streams.

The two of you laugh together when his leg gets caught in his trousers as he stumbles out of the rest of his clothes, making him land on his arse at the edge of his bed. The sound rings pleasantly in your ears, and you find yourself needing to hear it more often.

No. You know what this is. If all goes well, then you'll have the memory of this great night to keep.

But Aemond himself is not yours to keep.

Your face must have fallen, because he reaches an arm, coaxing you to him. "Hey. What's going on in that head of yours, love?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, closing the distance between you. He anchors his fingers at your hips and presses a kiss on your lower belly. Everything seems to pause for a moment. You both keep still as he rests his forehead against your stomach, and your fingers gently thread through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"I feel like I've known you for a long time," he murmurs, and you wish you could hate him for not making this easy.

"Is that another—"

"Not a line. I mean every word."

He rises slowly, his hands brushing the curves of your body with an aching tenderness that seems out of place for a night like this. He lays you onto the bed, then reaches in his nightstand drawer for a condom.

You nearly cry out in pleasure when his length first enters you fully, the sensation of him almost too much to bear. His face is lowered so his cheek is touching yours, and you hear every little moan that escapes him as he finds his rhythm. His thrusts are measured, not rushed or frantic. And it feels so damn good.

Aemond talks well, but he fucks even better.

"Faster," you plead.

He pauses and smiles, his lips ghosting over yours. "I'm taking my time, love. I wanna savour you."

His hips roll forward again, his cock sinking into you inch by maddening inch. "Don't wanna lose you, baby," he groans.

Oh, he is not playing fair.

Your hips soon rise instinctively, meeting his slow, deliberate thrusts, the need for more of him pulsing through every inch of you. He notices, his lips curling into a smug smirk.

"Okay, then," he says smoothly. "I'm going to fuck you as hard as I can now. You ready for me, love?"

Your breath catches, your body already trembling beneath him, and all you can do is nod, eyes widening in wonder at his promise.

"Answer me. I need to hear it," he commands.

"Oh, Aemond," you breathe, "what do you think I'm here for?"

His smirk falters for just a second, replaced by something darker. He lets out a low, throaty chuckle, his fingers digging into you. "Careful, love," he warns. "You’re about to find out."

Without another word, he abandons his restraint, and he claims you with a force that leaves you gasping, your spine arching as he delivers on his word. His hips snap against your pelvis, his body practically vibrating over you. He's relentless, just as you wanted, and he has to grip you tightly so he doesn't propel you upward into the headboard.

You feel his lips graze the shell of your ear before biting down, his breath ragged as he pounds his cock into your pussy with a heightened desperation that drags a moan from your throat. "Say you're mine, baby," he actually whimpers. "Say I'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this."

You would tell him anything he wanted. But he doesn't even have to ask for this one, because you wish so badly for it to be the truth. "I'm yours. Only you—aghhh—can fuck me as good as this—uhhhh yeah—Aemond."

He flashes you a boyish grin, and he looks so pure you have to take a mental image of the sight. Lips pulled back to reveal a perfect set of teeth, a sheen of sweat forming by his hairline as he keeps bucking his hips at a breakneck pace, hair unkempt and falling in front of his forehead.

You lose yourselves in each other, your sharp breaths falling in sync.

As before, he latches his mouth wetly over your breast, and you arch into him. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing it in tight, merciless circles that make you scream, "Oh, Aemond!" into the air.

"You like that?"

"Fuck yes."

"You gonna come for me, beautiful?"

Aemond sure has a habit of asking for things that are already guaranteed for him, polite boy that he is.

It doesn't take long before he spills inside you, his body shuddering with the release. The feeling of his cock convulsing deep in your pussy sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you, and you follow him, your walls clenching around him as your own climax hits hard.

He collapses next to you, the weight of the moment settling in as the room grows still. His forehead rests against yours, and there's nothing but the sound of your shared breathing, a calm after the storm.

"Fuck," he breathes, sheer satisfaction audible from his voice. "That was…"

"Yeah. It was..."

"Yeah."

Months pass before you see Aemond again. When you do, it's in another, more crowded bar—a place packed with patrons and full of noise—but his eyes find you immediately. This time, he makes sure to take your number. No disappearing act in the morning, no hasty exit on your part while he sleeps because you're running late to work. He'll be damned if he lets you slip away again.

You both fall into something deeper over time, and three years down the line, you stand in front of family and friends, exchanging vows.

Decades pass, and when your grandkids curiously ask how you two met, Aemond would smile, eyes softening with the memory.

He would say, a quiet laugh escaping him, "I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Shame it took us a few months for our forever to begin."

Vhagar taglist 1 — @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee @peachysunrize (cont. ...)

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #hotd #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader

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transformation4life · 1 month ago

Text

Looking The Part

Jerome wasn't know what he was expecting when he was dragged into attending a costume party in the middle of December. His friend Jake, practically begged him to come and he couldn't say no to his puppy dog eyes. The theme was weird too. "Dress up as the Job you wanted as a kid." For Jerome, he wanted to be a doctor. The thought of saving lives was really appealing to the young child, before reality hit him with all its down and the thoughts of constantly being around dying people became way less appealing once he experienced real life. Even so, he felt obligated to follow the theme and bought some doctor's outfit that even came with some work appropriate hat and shoes off some online store. It was crazy cheap too and here Jeremy was, staring at the uniform on his bed right before he needs to head to the party. "Let's get this over with..." He starts stripping down into just his underwear and starts putting the clothes on.

Jerome slid the pants over his legs, pulled the shirt over his head, put on some bracelets and put the cap on. To his surprise, they were a bit big on him. "I thought I got this in my size... Ugh whatever time to get to the par-" Jerome froze. It felt like his body just stopped moving and it felt like he couldn't move his body at all besides his face. "What the hell?!?!" He said to himself. But that's when the fun began. Jerome felt a quick jolt of pain hitting his entire body as his face scrunched in pain. It subsided eventually and that's when Jerome saw it. Jerome's body was... growing. Jerome could hear the snaps of his bones as he looked to his left arm bulging. growing. becoming much more meatier than it used to be. Now it looked like one thick tree branch with veins visibly covering the arm. He looked to his right and saw that his right arm now mirrored his left. "I-Is this making me muscular? W-Why?" Jerome spoke out. He still couldn't move and the transformation kept going. Jerome's torso underwent its own transformation as any fat on his stomach was evaporated leaving a flat stomach that gained six sexy bulges. Jerome's flat chest was flat no longer as two massive chugs called pecs adorned him now. To top it off, his torso gained a v-shape. Next up was Jerome's lower half as it instantly gained a lot of bulk. His legs becoming thick and beefy and his feet growing a couple sizes larger. It's a good thing he wasn't wearing the shoes yet. The next to last change was Jerome's ass becoming bigger and much more bouncy. What seemed to be the final piece of the transformation was Jerome's face as it became much more Brazilian in appearance while his skin gained a minor tan. The transformation stopped by thickening his vocal cords and letting Jerome free.

Jerome looked down at himself. He couldn't believe his eyes. He just turned into a brazilian stud in mere minutes. "O que havia nestes-" (What was in these-) He put his hand over his month. Did he just speak Portuguese?

"Como vou explicar isso para Jake?" (How am I going to explain this to Jake?) Jerome certainly couldn't go to the party looking like this. But how how would he change back?

But before Jerome could think further, he subconsciously lifted his right arm, flexing it. That instantly gave Jerome a hard on, which in turn made his cock grow inches longer. The fabric on the shirt even started to rip.

"Eu poderia me acostumar com isso..." (I could get used to this…) While pointing at the rip.

After Jerome said this, the final changes began. Small little hairs appeared on Jerome one by one until a thick forest on his torso and pecs. Tattoos above his left pec and left arm sketched themselves onto Jerome and for the piece of resistance, a luscious beard of facial hair grew onto Jerome's face as well as his hair becoming more professional. There even seemed to be some greys sprinkled in, giving him a much more older appearance. And that's when the memories came flooding in. Jerome was no longer jerome, he was Ademir Pereira, a brazilian doctor. He started bodybuilding at a young age and it showed. Years of medical knowledge entered Ademir's mind as his apartment quickly changed into a luxurious house with multiple rooms and his bedroom became much larger to boot. Jerome was all but gone. Ademir settled into reality, looking around his room, wondering why he was in his hospital uniform so late at night, but then he heard his phone ring. He picked it up and saw a text from someone named "Jake" "Hey man, still coming to the party?" Ademir was confused. From what he could string of his limited knowledge of english, he never said he was going to a party with this "Jake". he had an early morning workout before work. He had no time for parties. "eu não falo inglês" (I don't speak english) he typed before putting his phone down again. The phone promptly changed into something much nicer than the dingy one he had before. With that morning workout in mind, Ademir was ready for bed. He threw off his uniform, bouncing his pecs before promptly sleeping.

The next morning at the gym, Ademir was ready to get his workout on. He spotted his workout buddy and waved. "Vamos trabalhar meu amigo!" (Let's get to work my friend!) He said before showing off his pecs to them.

"Nossa, Ademir, com esses peitorais, você realmente precisa de um sutiã!" (Geez Ademir with those pecs you really need a bra.) "Haha! Você realmente acha isso?" (Haha! You really think so?) Ademir laughed with confidence as he took his shirt off.

"Definitivamente. Mas chega de falar disso, vamos colocar seus representantes!" (Definitely. But enough about that let's get your reps in!) His friend said before reaching for his arm.

Ademir nodded, as they got to work on their routines for the day. After a couple hours. Ademir did a good flex in the mirror for all to see. This was the life! But he better get to work soon, those patents need him.

This was Ademir's daily routine. Work hard, workout hard, flex hard. He wouldn't any other life. Not to mention the upkeep on his social media which he also enjoys. Just recently he bounced his pecs to his viewers and they cheered, sending him hundreds of donations. Ademir was happy and that's all the mattered.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #mind change #male transformation #race change #bodybuilder tf #muscle transformation

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punkshort · 1 month ago

Text

Evergreen | Chapter Three: Bargaining

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel are left to deal with the fallout of Sarah discovering your relationship.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, grief, mentions of OC deaths, mostly Joel POV but it swaps back and forth, super soft Joel, heartbreak, grief counseling

WC: 7.4K

Series Masterlist

Joel still smelled your perfume in his beard as he stood outside of Sarah's door, one hand propped on his hip, the other holding himself up against the frame. He stared at the locked door, the sound of some female pop singer blasting angrily through the speakers on her dresser.

This was not how things were supposed to go. This was not how he wanted his daughter to find out.

Even as his fist pummeled loudly against the door, wood rattling in its hinges as he shouted at Sarah to open up, he couldn't get the distressed look on your face out of his mind.

Coward. Asshole.

He had froze. He was too stunned and shocked that Sarah arrived a week early for a visit. He thought he would have had more time to conjure up what he would tell his daughter about the new and exciting woman in his life. The woman who made him happy, who cared for him, the woman he wanted to care for in return.

He vaguely remembered you fixing your bra underneath your shirt, skin red hot with embarrassment as Sarah's eyes bounced back and forth between her father and a much younger woman.

"Who the hell is this?" Sarah had spat with a look of distaste. You smoothed down your hair and looked at Joel, expecting him to say something, but he was still panicking. Immobilized. So you stood and gave her an awkward smile, offering your name and your apologies. His daughter scanned you up and down once and ignored your outstretched hand. Instead, she pinned all her energy and focus on Joel.

"Dad? W-what is this? What's going on?"

You slowly dropped your arm and looked back at Joel, both women waiting for him to act. To fucking do something. When it became clear Joel wasn't making a move and it became too uncomfortable to stand there any longer, you walked to the front door.

That's when he finally blinked and snapped out of it.

"Wait! Where're you goin'?" he had asked as you slipped your sneakers back on.

"Home. You guys should talk," you said without looking up.

"But-"

"It's fine, Joel," you had said once you straightened up. But when he saw the look in your eye, he could tell it was anything but fine. "We'll talk tomorrow. Or... whenever."

His heart lurched out of his chest. It felt like he was being split in two. He didn't want you to go. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to grab onto you, to not let you leave. But when he looked back at Sarah, at the hurt and confusion clouding her face, he knew you were right.

So as much as it killed him, he nodded tightly and softly promised you call you as soon as he could. After what he had expected to be a calm and rational conversation with his daughter. One hour later, and Sarah had yet to say a single word to him. Each passing minute made his blood boil even more.

"Sarah! Open the goddamn door!"

"No!" she shouted back from the other side. Joel groaned and turned around, then leaned up against the wall next to her door and closed his eyes. His patience was wearing thin.

He knew she wouldn't take the news well. Deep down, he always knew. Tommy tried to tell him otherwise, but Joel knew his daughter better than anyone on earth.

And he couldn't really blame her. It had been just the two of them for so long, to invite a new person into the fold was... a lot, to say the least.

"Sarah, will you please just - talk to me?" he yelled over the music.

He tipped his head to the side, waiting for her answer. An answer that never came.

"Sarah?"

"Leave me alone!" she cried out, then a moment later something soft hit the door. Joel imagined her angrily throwing her pillow and he rolled his eyes.

He wanted to argue with her. Wanted to remind her she was an adult now and what she was doing was immature, but he was exhausted. It had been a long day and any other time, he would have been asleep for almost three hours already. He glanced at his watch and pushed off the wall.

"When you're done with your damn tantrum, come find me," he said into the locked door, then trudged down the hall to his room and closed the door.

He collapsed into bed with a deep sigh, the bass from Sarah's room thumping against the walls, the noise matching the pounding headache he was quickly cultivating. With an exasperated groan, he dragged his palms down his face, fingers pressing into his eyes to dull some of the pain for a moment.

What a fucking mess.

He sighed and hauled himself to his feet, forced himself to go to his bathroom, and washed up. He popped two Tylenol, then flicked off the lights before shuffling to bed.

It was almost midnight. He stared at his cell phone, finger hovering over your name. It was late, but as he weighed his options, he decided it would be worse if he didn't call you.

Besides, selfishly... he really needed to hear your voice.

He dialed your number before he could overthink it.

"Hello?"

His chest ached at how tired you sounded.

"Hey."

He waited a beat before taking a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry. 'Bout earlier. She wasn't supposed to come home til next weekend."

He heard some movement on your end, some fabric rustling before you replied.

"It's okay. How - how did it go?"

His eyes drifted towards his closed door, music still thumping loudly from Sarah's room.

"She ain't talkin' to me."

You sighed heavily through the phone and he swallowed.

"She'll come 'round. I think it was just a shock. Never saw me so much as holdin' hands with another woman her whole life, let alone..." he trailed off and nervously scratched his beard.

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, and a feeling of dread washed over him.

"Maybe it's for the best," you said, voice trembling like you were trying to fight the emotion from reaching through the phone.

"W-what'dya mean?" he stammered. Something didn't feel right.

"I mean -" he heard you sniffle and his heart began to race. "Maybe it's good she interrupted us. I mean, I don't mean - shit. Just that - maybe it was a sign, you know?"

Joel shook his head and straightened his spine, phone clutched so tightly in his hand he thought it might splinter.

"No, I don't know. A sign that... what?"

"A sign that..." your voice wobbled clearly now and he closed his eyes. "That we shouldn't be doing this."

"Why? Why would you think that?" he pleaded. His heart sunk in his chest and he could feel the tears burning the backs of his eyes as his world slowly crumbled around him.

"I-I don't know. I don't want to come between you and your daughter, Joel -"

"You ain't," he insisted, "Please don't think that. You ain't comin' between us. She just - she needs some time, is all."

"... and m-maybe I'm not as ready to move on as I thought."

Joel paused. It felt like, for one moment, the world stopped spinning. How could he argue with you about that? As much as it hurt him to hear, as much as the past few weeks told him otherwise, he couldn't tell you how to feel.

"Oh," was all he managed to say.

"I'm sorry," you told him, voice soft and filled with sadness.

Joel sniffed and shook his head. He could feel his throat closing up. His head was still pounding but at least Sarah's music finally fucking stopped.

"Don't be sorry."

There was a long pause after that. A silence filled with despair as Joel struggled to find the right thing to say. His head was spinning. How did everything fall apart so quickly?

"I -" he began, then swallowed the lump in his throat when his voice came out broken. "I can wait. I'll ... I'll wait. Whatever it takes."

"Um," your voice bled through the phone, and this time he could tell for certain you had been silently crying. "It's getting late," you finally said with a shaky breath.

"Oh... okay," he replied thickly as two tears slipped down his cheeks.

"I'll... I'll see you around."

He nodded until he remembered you couldn't see him.

"Yeah. Okay."

The line went dead. Joel stared at his phone in his hand, vision blurring with tears. He tossed it onto the bed next to him and laid down, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut tight, wondering how long it would take for the pain to go away that time.

Coffee didn't touch the migraine he woke up with the following morning. He tossed and turned all night, his muscles aching from the tension riddling his body. If he had to guess, he might have gotten three hours of sleep.

"Thought you told me you were running in the mornings?"

Joel looked up from his spot at the kitchen table, his third cup of coffee growing cold between his hands.

"Didn't feel like it today."

He dropped his gaze back to the table, pain blossoming once again in his chest when he remembered the look on your face, the tone of your voice, the shaky breaths through the phone.

He listened to Sarah move around the kitchen. Pulling a clean mug from the cupboard. Splashing her coffee with a bit of milk. The clink of the spoon around the ceramic.

Joel continued to stare down at his reflection in his coffee when she sat down across from him.

"Do you usually run with her?" Sarah asked, venom lacing her voice. Joel's hackles raised. She was looking for a fight and he was not in the fucking mood.

"No. I go too early," he said through gritted teeth.

Sarah huffed and took a loud slurp from her mug.

"So she just lays in your bed til you get back? Real supportive," she muttered dismissively. Joel's jaw clenched and his fingers wrapped tightly around his coffee.

"Knock it off," he growled. Sarah's eyes flickered up to meet his over the rim of her mug. "You ain't got the first idea what you're talkin' 'bout."

She scowled at him. "Fine. Enlighten me, then. Tell me about her. What does she do?"

Joel took a stiff sip of coffee. "She ain't workin' at the moment. She's been applyin' places."

Sarah gave him a dry laugh and flopped her arms on top of the table, exasperated. "Dad. Come on. You gotta see what I'm seeing, right?"

Joel just shook his head and kept his eyes down, fighting back every instinct to fall into an argument with his daughter.

"Dad," Sarah said, her voice softer when she reached across the table and placed a hand on his arm. "She's young and she doesn't have a job. Do I need to spell it out for you? What she's doing?"

"She ain't doin' anythin'. Leave it alone," he barked before standing up to rinse out his mug. Sarah swiveled around in her chair to watch him at the sink.

"I don't blame you, Dad. This happens all the time. Girls take advantage of men going through a mid-life crisis or whatever-"

"What?" Joel hissed, dropping his mug in the sink so he could look at her. Sarah shrugged.

"You're fifty-one. It's the very definition of mid-life."

"Quit talkin' before you piss me off," he said, turning back to the sink.

"I'm just trying to look out for you!" Sarah protested, standing up so she could join him in the kitchen. "You can't see it but just try to take a second and think: why would a girl that young be into someone your age?"

"She's thirty-one, she's an adult," he replied, aggressively drying his mug with a towel. "And she's got plenty of money. More money than me. She ain't - this ain't - goddamnit," he cursed, recklessly shoving his mug back in the cupboard before turning around and folding his arms across his chest.

"She told you she's got money but she doesn't have a job?" Sarah asked suspiciously. "And how did she acquire this money?"

"She inherited it," Joel told her with a shake of his head. He wasn't even sure why he was entertaining Sarah's ridiculous theory. He knew it wasn't true but it didn't even matter now, anyway.

"Oh, god, Dad," Sarah whined sympathetically. "You didn't seriously believe that, did you? God, she really has done a number on you-"

"Hey!" he said, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer. His face was flushed with anger and his head was still pounding, fueling the storm inside him. Sarah was a good kid. He could count on one hand how many times he had to punish her in her life, so he probably let that particular argument go on longer than he should have, but now he had reached his limit.

"Do I gotta remind you who you're talkin' to? I'm your father. You don't get to speak to me like I'm a goddamn child. I know what I'm doin', and you got no fuckin' clue what's been goin' on 'round here. I'm done talkin' 'bout it."

He brushed past Sarah, leaving her gobsmacked in the middle of the kitchen, eyes trialing after him as he stormed up the stairs to take a shower.

Some distance helped him cool off, but anger still simmered in his veins as he was getting dressed. At the last second, he snatched a pair of running shorts, deciding to go for a run after all. Maybe it would help blow off some steam.

He jogged down the stairs, feet landing a little louder than normal. He almost reached for his phone but then decided against it. The only person he wanted to hear from wouldn't be contacting him, anyway.

"Sarah? I'm goin'-"

Joel stopped short when he entered the living room to find Tommy sitting across from his daughter. It appeared he had interrupted their conversation, and by the looks of it, he could guess it was about him.

"I'm goin' for a run," he finished saying, tone flat.

"Okay," she replied, eyes flickering between the two brothers for a moment. One look at Tommy's face and Joel knew Sarah had filled him in on the past twelve hours. He turned towards the door and bent to tie his sneakers when Tommy stood.

"Hey, uh, sounds like everyone got off on the wrong foot last night," Tommy began. Joel kept his focus pinned on his shoes when his brother asked if he could give you a call to stop by, to maybe start fresh.

"No need. It's over."

Joel straightened up and reached for the door, but Tommy stopped him.

"Over?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose.

"Yep. She called it off. It's done."

Tommy's face fell but Joel didn't see it. Instead, he rushed out the front door before they could see the hurt in his eyes. It was too fresh. He needed some space to think things through. And he really couldn't stomach the pleased look Sarah likely had when she heard the news.

"The hell's gotten into you?" Tommy asked, swirling around once Joel slammed the door shut behind him. "He's finally happy, finally gettin' back out there-"

"With someone twenty years younger than him, uncle Tommy!"

"Gimme a goddamn break, kid!" Tommy huffed, collapsing into the recliner and dragging his palm roughly down his face.

"Why couldn't he go for someone his age? He looks like a- a creep! She's closer to age with me than him!" she protested, but Tommy just shook his head.

"He tell you anythin' 'bout her? How they met? Who she is?"

Sarah slowly shook her head and leaned back into the couch. "Just that she's magically very rich without having a job."

"Yeah, 'cause her fiancé died a year ago. Some hotshot author. She moved down here 'cause he's from Austin, and now she's all alone. They met at that - that group we were tellin' him to go to."

Sarah was silent for a moment, staring down at her lap and picking mindlessly at her chipped nail polish.

"She gave your dad some books for you. For him, too, to read so he had somethin' to share with you." Tommy nodded towards the bookshelf that was adorned with trinkets and framed photos but now housed a stack of familiar looking books.

Sarah stood and tilted her head to the side, reading the titles with a frown.

"I love this series," she said softly, fingertip brushing gently along the binding. "She was married to Daniel Davis?"

"Engaged," Tommy corrected, "but, yeah. Died in that wreck on the forty-five. She was in the car."

Sarah swiveled around in surprise.

"I remember. I was devastated," she murmured, gaze dropping sadly to the floor. "He was supposed to do a bunch of book signings the following week. I was gonna ask Dad to take me."

"She ain't tryin' to take advantage of him," Tommy said once Sarah slumped back into the couch. "They have a lot in common, and she treats him good. Takes care of him. And I think she's the reason he's runnin' and eatin' better, but he won't admit it."

Sarah crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "But why does she have to be so young?"

Tommy looked at his niece for a moment, perplexed.

"Why do you..." then he trailed off when he saw Sarah's eyes flicker over to a photo above the fireplace. One of her, Joel and her mother on Christmas Eve. All fight left his body when he saw the look on her face.

"It ain't really 'bout the age, is it?" he asked softly.

Sarah shot him a look, narrowing her eyes in his direction before stubbornly gazing out the window.

"I ... I don't know."

Tommy pressed his lips into a thin line and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"No one's gonna replace your mom, kid. Y'know that, right?"

Sarah just shrugged and continued to stare blankly out the front window.

Tommy gave her a moment before trying again.

"He didn't have anyone 'cept us for ten years. He's lonely, baby girl. And he found someone who's just as lonely as him. Both of 'em tryin' to - hell, I dunno." Tommy raked his fingers through his hair and sat back with a sigh. "Tryin' to get a second crack at it. It's fuckin' scary, y'know? Took a lot for your dad to put himself out there and take a chance. Was real worried 'bout you, and at the time I didn't get it, but..." He trailed off and swiped his palm over his mouth. "You two've been through somethin' terrible, but so has she. I can't remember the last time I've seen him so happy. They're good for each other."

Sarah's eyes drifted back to his, now misty.

"I thought I was cool with the idea of him moving on," she said quietly. "But when I saw them, I just... it hurt. More than I thought."

Tommy nodded and leaned forward to gently tap on her knee.

"Tell 'em that. And apologize, for Christ's sakes."

Sarah dragged in a shaky breath and nodded before swiping casually at the corner of her eye.

"He probably hates me now. I ruined everything."

Tommy laughed. "He can't ever hate you, and you know it. Couples have bumps in the road. He can fix it. Just - cut him some slack, yeah?"

She gave Tommy a small smile and nodded. "Yeah, alright."

It was almost twenty minutes later when Joel came back from his run, his grey tshirt soaked with sweat. His ankles were already sending jolts of pain up to his knees and he hadn't even taken his sneakers off. He ran too hard, harder than usual. He pushed himself because he was angry and wanted to take his frustration out on the pavement. Now the rest of his afternoon was shaping up to be one filled with discomfort, but he took solace in the fact that it might help distract him.

"Where's your uncle?" Joel panted when he spotted Sarah in the living room, reading a book. He walked past her without waiting for an answer. Joel grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge so he could chug it, too impatient to wait for his glass to fill up from the faucet.

"He left a few minutes ago," she said, trailing into the room after him. He was still greedily drinking down his ice cold water when his eyes locked onto the book in her hand. She noticed and looked down at the cover.

"I love these books."

Joel swiped his mouth with his forearm and nodded.

"I know."

"Did you - are you reading them?" she asked, peering up at him. Joel shrugged and leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Tried to but fantasy ain't exactly my thing. Kept readin' the same page over and over tryin' to figure out what the hell was goin' on."

Sarah grinned and hopped up onto one of the barstools.

"Uncle Tommy told me where you got them," she said, her tone light. "Did you know I wanted to go to one of his book signings? He had a few scheduled right before he died."

Joel froze. His eyes flickered down to the book and back up to his daughter before shaking his head.

"She gave these to you? For free?" Sarah asked, tapping a finger on the cover. Joel nodded and he could feel his shoulders tightening, bracing for another argument.

"Did she tell you this particular set is, like, incredibly rare? I think there's only..." Sarah trailed off and pulled out her phone. She read something on her screen and looked back up at him. "There's less than five hundred with the leather covers. I mean, just one of these would go for a lot of money online."

Joel took a steadying breath and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"She just said she had boxes of books in his office. Didn't know what to do with 'em all. She found out you were a fan and said I could have 'em."

"Not only that," Sarah continued, ignoring him momentarily so she could flip back to the front of the book. She opened it up and lifted it from the table so she could show him the front page. Joel squinted, seeing something written inside, but he couldn't make it out.

"He signed them. He signed them all. This is a small fortune, Dad."

"Don't sell 'em. I'll give you money if you-"

"I wasn't gonna," she said, cutting him off and gently closing the book. "What I'm trying to say is... that was really nice of her. Like, super nice and generous."

Joel swallowed and nodded. "That's her, in a nutshell. Kind, sweet, generous. Caring. You woulda gotten along if you gave her a chance."

Guilt flashed across Sarah's face. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Joel looked confused at first, struggling to keep up with the change of tone. He was unsure how to respond, but luckily, he didn't have to.

"I'm really sorry, Dad. I was talking to uncle Tommy about everything and he made me realize what a jerk I was."

Sarah's lower lip quivered for a moment while Joel remained stock still, waiting for her to continue.

"I guess I thought I was ready to see you with someone else but when I actually saw it with my own eyes, it felt - well, it hurt. And I took it out on you guys. And I'm so, so sorry I ruined this for you."

She dropped her head when tears burned her eyes. Joel took a few steps forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling Sarah into a hug.

"It's alright, baby girl. I understand."

"But it's not alright. I ruined your first relationship in ten years. I'm fucking awful," she sobbed, clutching at his sweat stained shirt.

Joel chuckled sadly and kissed the top of her head.

"I still got you, don't I?"

Sarah leaned back, tears staining her cheeks as she frowned up at him.

"That's not enough! You need someone with you all the time. Someone to care for you when you're sick and someone to watch those shitty fisherman shows you like."

Joel grinned and pinched her chin before taking a step back.

"I'll manage just fine. I gotta shower, then we can do somethin' together. Wanna go to the movies? Or-"

"No, Dad! You need to get her back!" she exclaimed, her hand subconsciously falling to rest on the book. He must have looked conflicted because Sarah slid down from the barstool and darted around the kitchen island to grab his phone from the charger.

"What're you doin'?" he asked, reaching around her and quickly yanking his phone from her hand.

"You gotta try! Please? Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her it wasn't her fault-"

He looked at his phone. No missed calls or texts.

"I don't know..."

"Just try! Call her! Text her! Whatever you do - just please, try. For me?" Sarah begged with watery eyes. Joel sighed and scratched his beard.

"I'll give it a shot. But it wasn't just what happened last night. She said she's havin' mixed feelin's 'bout bein' ready for somethin' new."

Sarah shook her head. "Then change her mind. I want you to be happy, Dad. I want her to be happy."

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.

"Okay. I'm - I'll give her a call."

You sat slumped in your chair next to Ellie, the two of you listening to a regular tell the group about reoccurring nightmares she was having about her sister, who she lost three months prior. Your phone buzzed again in your lap, so you looked down to find yet another text from Joel.

I didn't go to group today cuz I'm trying to give you space but please call me

Ellie watched from the corner of her eye when you slipped your phone into your purse without responding to the message.

"That Joel?"

You nodded and kept your eyes on the speaker.

"Where is he? Late?" Ellie whispered. You shook your head.

"Not coming," you whispered back.

She frowned and sat back in her chair. Something was going on. It was unlike him to not show up and your mood had been shitty all evening.

"Trouble in paradise?" she tried, meaning it as a joke until she saw the way your face pinched and her heart plummeted

"Fuck, I'm sorry. What did he do?" she whispered, then made a face at a woman a few seats down who frowned in her direction.

"Nothing. It was me. I ended it."

"What? Why?" she hissed, blatantly ignoring the looks she was getting for being disruptive.

You just cleared your throat and kept staring straight ahead, patiently waiting for the speaker to finish up. You could feel Ellie's eyes burning holes in the side of your head but you refused to meet her gaze. She would find out the answer to her question soon enough, anyway.

The young woman finished up, stepping away from the front of the room while swiping sadly at the corners of her eyes, then Ryan stood from his chair in the front row and addressed the room.

"Thank you for sharing, Vicky," he said, catching her eye after she sat down with an encouraging smile. He clasped his hands together as he scanned the room. "Is there anybody else who would like to share tonight?"

You bit your lip, heart racing a little when you slowly raised your hand. Ryan noticed the movement and looked slightly surprised, but he recovered well. He extended an arm in your direction and said your name for the group, then stepped to the side. You stood on shaky legs and inched past Ellie, who scrambled to get out of your way. Her wide eyes were glued to your back as you made your way past the rows of folding chairs to stand behind the wobbly podium you were fairly confident was abandoned by a music teacher at some point, then turned to face the group for the very first time.

"Hi," you began softly. You wet your lips nervously as your eyes drifted around the room, taking in the mostly familiar faces. Ryan sat back down in his chair and gave you an encouraging nod. "I lost my fiancé a year ago," you continued. "We were in a car wreck. He was driving. It was dark, we were on our way back from checking out a wedding venue-"

You felt your throat squeeze and you had take a moment. The room was quiet, respectfully and patiently waiting for you to go on.

"A truck hit us. Well, it hit Daniel's side. I was... fine. Mostly. I spent the last year living in our dream house, trying to settle legal issues while also trying to heal." You swallowed, dropping your gaze to your hands folded neatly across the podium. "I don't have anyone here. My family is from Portland and they keep telling me I need to sell the house and move back home. I... I think I've been waiting for a sign, you know? Like a sign to tell me what to do. Go home, or stay in Texas."

Your lower lip trembled when you said, "And then I met someone. Someone who made me happy. Someone who cared for me the same way Daniel cared for me. And I thought I had my sign."

You looked back up and your eyes briefly met Ellie's. Her expression was unreadable, but she was hanging on your every word.

"He's a little older than me. He has a daughter in college," you continued, dragging your eyes away from Ellie. "And he was going to tell her about us when she came home from school for a visit. But..." you trailed off, cheeks burning when you remembered the compromising position Sarah found you in. "She came home a week early to surprise him, I guess, and... well... she didn't exactly have a positive reaction when she walked in our date night."

You cleared your throat and shifted your weight, eager to move past that part of the story.

"The man I've been seeing lost his wife some time ago. His daughter's mother." You intentionally left out that Joel was part of the very same grief counseling group you were addressing, already feeling too exposed and embarrassed as it was. "It was the first time she saw her father with someone other than her mom. I don't blame her one bit," you added, raising your palms slightly in surrender. "But I couldn't help but wonder if I got my sign. If maybe..." you sniffled and dropped your hands back down, twisting your fingers together as you struggled to come up with the right words. "If maybe I was moving on too fast. If maybe I should grieve more." Your eyes flickered up quickly to Ellie when you said quietly, "If maybe I should listen to my parents and move back home."

Ellie stiffened in her chair but otherwise didn't give anything away.

"I feel so selfish," you whispered, staring back down at your hands again. "I already had the love of my life, and it was wonderful. How could I let myself think I deserved to have that again?"

You watched two teardrops fall and splatter across the podium, two perfect circles being absorbed by the wood, joining the countless tears that had been soaked in before you.

"Anyway, that's about it," you said, voice thick as you swiped at your eyes. "I have an appointment next week to meet with a realtor. It's going to be so hard to let go of that house, but I can't keep living there. I see him everywhere and it's just..." you trailed off again and forced your eyes back up. "It's just all too much, I think."

You gave the group a sad smile and stepped away, making to return to your chair when Ryan stood and placed a comforting hand on your arm.

"Hang back for a second after we wrap up, I would really like to talk," he said softly. You nodded and slipped out of his hold, solemnly heading back to your seat and slumping down next to Ellie. You felt like you had run a marathon. Your body was weak and you felt unbelievably tired.

"Dude-"

"I just need a minute," you told her, cutting Ellie off. You knew what she was going to say. She was going to try to convince you to stay and you were so fragile that you just might have let her convince you.

You were the last speaker. Ryan wrapped up the hour with his usual speech and a reminder he is always available to talk before dismissing the group. Everyone stood, hushed voices mingling with the sound of jackets being pulled on and zippers being done up.

"Can we grab a coffee or something?" Ellie tried again when you both stood. You caught Ryan's eye before giving her a tight smile.

"Maybe tomorrow? Ryan asked me to hang back."

She glanced over her shoulder, seeming to consider her options before you laughed softly and poked her in the arm.

"I'm not leaving tonight. I promise, we can talk."

She gave you a half smile before giving you a stern look.

"I'll hold you to it."

With a weak hand salute, you wished her good night, then headed towards the back of the room where Ryan stood by the door talking to an older gentleman holding a cup of coffee. When he spotted you coming, Ryan clapped the man on the shoulder and excused himself.

"Look, I'll get right to the point," he began. His forwardness took you off guard for a second. "You don't talk much here. I've seen you coming back week after week for months. And in my experience, when someone finally speaks up, it's because something is weighing on them so heavily that they have no where else to put it."

You felt frozen, surprised by how quickly he managed to clock you. Then again, it was his job, you supposed. He took your silence as an invitation to continue.

"I'm not sure if you are seeing a therapist but if you aren't, I would really like it if you would consider a few sessions with me." Ryan pulled out a card from his shirt pocket and handed it over. You took it hesitantly.

"I'll even give you the first session on the house. I want to help you work through some of these feelings, and it's totally your choice. But one thing I need to make sure you hear is this: there is no expiration date on grief. And it is completely normal to feel guilty for moving on for the first time, but please, I beg you - do not make any rash decisions until you have had time to properly process everything."

When you dragged your eyes up to meet his, you found nothing but sincerity and kindness staring back at you. Maybe you had been too quick to judge him in the past. He was young, sure, and it was sometimes hard to look past that, but he seemed genuine and caring. Like he really wanted to help people.

"Okay. Yeah. I'll give your office a call," you finally agreed. Ryan smiled, looking relieved.

"Good. There's no need to suffer in silence when there's people around who want to help. And I'm sure I'm not the only one," he added. You couldn't be certain if he was referring to Joel or Ellie. Maybe both. But either way, he wasn't wrong.

You nodded and slipped his card into your purse with the promise again to call before heading back out into the parking lot.

It didn't take much for Ellie to figure out where Joel lived. Given his age, she assumed he would still be the type to have a landline but not only that, he was one of the few remaining people who listed their number and address in the fucking phone book. She gave him points for just listing his name as J. Miller, but she was still shaking her head on the drive over. She couldn't imagine any of her friends putting all their information out in public like that.

"Must be nice being a dude," she muttered under her breath when she pulled up to the curb and cut the engine.

Glancing at the driveway, all she saw was a small red sedan. Joel's truck was nowhere to be found, but she thought maybe it was inside the garage. She pushed the driver's door open and marched up to the front door with a determined look on her face, ready to give Joel a piece of her mind, but when she knocked loudly on the door just to be greeted by a girl her own age, she faltered.

"Can I help you?" the girl asked with a little frown. Ellie squared her jaw and stood up straight.

"Yeah. Is Joel home?"

Now the girl crossed her arms defensively and scowled, immediately picking up on the sharpness in Ellie's voice.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Ellie. We met through a friend," Ellie explained, waving her hand in the air. The grief counseling group wasn't exactly anonymous but she still felt strange broadcasting it, so she chose not to elaborate further. "Something's going on and I need to talk to him. Is he here?"

The other girl still looked suspicious as she eyed Ellie up before finally replying, "No. He's at work but he should be home soon. Can I give him a message?"

Ellie sighed and scratched the back of her neck. She had been so preoccupied with what she was going to say that it didn't even dawn on her who the other girl was until a moment later.

"Wait... are you Joel's daughter?"

She nodded. "Sarah," she offered without extending her hand.

Ellie scoffed and crossed her own arms, mimicking Sarah's posture.

"Oh, so you're the one who caused all this."

Sarah made a face and pushed off the doorframe to stand a little taller.

"Excuse me?"

Then Ellie dropped your name as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and Sarah's face slowly began to soften.

"You ran her out of here last weekend, remember? Now she's talking about moving back to fucking... Portland or wherever. And I need Joel to man the hell up and apologize before she does something stupid."

"I did not run her out of here," Sarah sneered. "I don't know who you think you are but you don't get to come here and-"

"She means a lot to me, okay?" Ellie exclaimed. Her eyes looked a little wild and desperate, causing the words to die on Sarah's tongue. "I can't - she can't leave. I don't have fucking any family and she's really... she's cool." Ellie raked her fingers anxiously through her short hair, heart pounding in her chest at the thought of losing someone close to her again. "She's always there when I need to talk to someone. I know she does the same for your dad. She's a decent person and she's hurting and I need to help make it right."

Sarah cut off Ellie's rambling with her palms held up in the air, signaling for her to stop.

"I apologized to my dad, like, the very next day. He said he would try to get ahold of her. He promised me he would try to fix it. I told him-"

Sarah turned around and bent over to slide on her sneakers. Ellie took a step back, reeling from how quickly the atmosphere between them changed from anger to something else.

"Where are you going?"

"I gotta go find her, don't I? I gotta apologize," Sarah said, grabbing her purse and locking the front door behind her. "What's her address?"

Ellie blinked, pausing for a moment before shaking herself out of her stupor to pull out her phone.

"I only went there once when she gave me an unpublished manuscript written by her dead fiancé," Ellie said before rattling off your address. "It's an old Victorian house and it's got a huge fucking garden out front. Sticks out, you can't miss it."

"Got it, thanks," Sarah mumbled after she tapped it into her phone.

"I have to admit, I really expected this conversation to go differently," Ellie said, following Sarah down the steps of the porch.

"What? You thought I was some cold-hearted bitch who didn't want her own dad to be happy?" Sarah shot back over her shoulder. Ellie shrugged.

"Yeah. Kinda."

"Well, you'd be wrong. I had a shitty first reaction but I think I'm allowed that. I've never seen my dad look twice at a woman that wasn't my mom for my entire life."

Sarah unlocked her car door and tossed her purse inside. She rested one arm on top of the hood and took a deep breath when she turned back to Ellie.

"When I fix this, you're gonna let me borrow that manuscript."

Ellie blinked, then grinned. "Deal."

Sarah hid her own smile and slid into the driver's seat before starting the car and backing out of the driveway. Ellie slowly followed her car down the blacktop, pulling her keys out of her pocket when a horn beeped a friendly little sound just two doors down. Ellie looked up, immediately recognizing Joel's truck. She could see Joel behind the wheel watching Sarah quizzically as she zoomed past him in the opposite direction, then waited until he pulled into his driveway and got out of the car.

"The hell's goin' on? What're you doin' here?" he asked before his door was even open all the way.

"I'm here to knock some sense into you, old man," Ellie said, eyes drifting back towards the street where Sarah just disappeared. "But it turns out, your daughter is handling things for us, instead."

"Get to the point, Ellie," Joel scolded.

"Your girlfriend got up in front of group the other night and said she's gonna move back out west 'cause she feels like she's gotta beat herself up a little more over Daniel's death or something."

Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"What?" he breathed. Panic gripped his throat. He dug his keys into his palm just to ground himself and stop his ears from ringing.

Ellie sighed dramatically. "She thinks she moved on too quickly with you but I personally think she just feels guilty about moving on at all. Then the way Sarah reacted sure as shit didn't help but hopefully she'll set that right-"

"Sarah's goin' over to her house?" Joel clarified in disbelief.

"Yeah. Like you should've done days ago."

"I- I was givin' her space! I was callin' an- and textin' her but she never answered! Goddamnit!"

Joel swiveled on his heel and jumped back into his truck.

"You're going there, too? The entire Miller army?" Ellie asked when Joel backed up past her with his window down.

"I can't let her leave thinkin' we don't want her here," he said, eyes pinned on his review mirror. Ellie jogged to the end of the driveway, watching as Joel backed out and shifted back into drive. His expression was one mixed with fear and determination.

"Hey!" Ellie called, and Joel slowed his truck to look at her. "Don't fuck it up this time, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes and pressed his foot on the gas, peeling down his street and leaving Ellie to slowly climb back into her own car with a triumphant smile.

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kisses4reid · 4 months ago

Text

not our scene | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, - part 2

summary - an undercover mission causes realisations that otherwise would be squashed in denial

genre - fem!shy!reader x spencer, forced/wanted proximity, fake relationship -> real relationship, awkward idiots, fluff

warnings - awkwardness, mentions of trafficking and manipulation, realisations of love

w/c - 1.9k

a/n - second part!!! sorry for the cliffhanger that’s my favourite thing to do NOBODY COME AT ME. maybe third part/epilogue?? who knows. love y’all

The instrumental music that poured from the live band on the elevated stage came to a close, you and Spencer hovering on the opposite side of the expansive floors, discreetly keeping an eye on two large kitchen doors. The room erupted in applause, which you joined into, for the band, the man you assumed to be the main musician stood and bent at the hips with a sly smile - he knew he was good. The room quieted down to a small chatter from the abundance of people that filled the room. Women with large hats, velvet gloves, and bright lips cornered tall men in grey suits (or the other way around) and laughed like they’d known each other for many years. Men with peppering beards whispered to each other before letting out howls and pointing towards women who were not their wives. The wives stood silent.

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking you out of your trance, “He’s been in there for around 10 minutes now. I’m gonna call it in, in case they’ve already got the tracker on him.” You nodded with a tight lipped smile, still recovering from the rollercoaster of emotions that dancing with Spencer had put you through. He glanced at you once more before holding down a button on his cuff and speaking out loud. You nodded along, in case anyone was watching - and also as a kind of self-soothing motion.

You didn’t drink - well, not often. So when a different waiter came up to you both every 10 minutes asking if you’d like a variety of alcohol, you had to kindly decline each time. And each time you became more irritated. People laughed loudly, people danced in quick blurs, people came up to you both and stared at your dress for a little too long. Thankfully, Spencer took your hand (you’re still in love after all) and nodded with a smile that almost made you forget you were on a mission.

The two of you escaped onto a balcony with a cold breeze accompanying the faster music that both of you wanted to avoid. Your night was already over, just as it started. One dance. You scolded yourself for wanting more, a longer night, for Webley to continue manipulating people. But you’ve done your job, you’ve completed your mission, and now you have to go home and act like all of it never happened.

“Great job, the officers have been notified and we’ve got a tracker on him now. You two can leave whenever-“

“I think we’ll stay for a bit.” Spencer spoke up, and it shocked you. It must’ve shocked Morgan too as the line went dead quiet. “Right, Y/n?” He gulped and eyed you with pleads. His tie was slightly askew, the wind flapping his jacket lightly, his eyes reflecting the stars that now hung high in the sky.

“Y-yeah. This party’s actually…” You looked over the over-crowded floor, to your red and sore feet, to the bad alcohol standing on the waiter's trays. But then you looked over to Spencer. His eyes, his hair, his small smile, his red tie. “The party’s actually not that bad.” You say with a smile.

“Okay… don’t stay for too long. We don’t want everyone to be hung over for a flight home tomorrow.”

The balcony was made of white concrete pillars and marble floors, sconces of warm lights and vines of ivy that wrapped around the pillars and balcony like waves of seaweed. It was beautiful, just like the rest of the establishment, it was unfortunate its main use was to take advantage of innocent people. But you weren’t out there to think about that - at least that’s what you assumed. Spencer wouldn’t want to stay to talk about trafficking or crimes surely.

In that moment, even after watching his small smile of excitement that you agreed to stay with him, all you wanted to do was kick off your shoes and take a goddamn breath.

You walked over to the parapet of the balcony and was glad to see the top was a flat slab of concrete, just wide enough for you to pull yourself up and sit down.

You sighed in relief, taking off your heels and letting them fall onto the shiny marble.

Spencer followed your movements, standing next to you and looking out onto the view. City lights and stars blended in with each other from this angle.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently. You smile, “That’s the third time you’ve asked me tonight. Do I look troubled?” He stood for a moment before turning his head towards you, his hair sweeping across his eyebrows in the breeze. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” “Was it really that obvious?” “To me, yes… I think that if I didn’t pretend to enjoy tonight people would’ve been suspicious of us.” You frown slightly, “You didn’t enjoy the night?” “I didn’t enjoy the reason, nor the location. I enjoyed the people though.” He sends you a smile that makes your heart flutter and your cheeks redden. You hope he doesn’t see it in the dim lighting.

Inside, the dance finishes and people clap, and you do too. Spencer glances at your hands and smirks slightly. “You don’t think they’re suspicious now? We danced once, and now we’re out here watching them like weirdos.”

Spencer turned to lean on the balcony and look into the ballroom, shrugging. “We’re two young people in love,” he turned to look at you, eyes warm and deep, “alone time is what we need.”

You bit the inside of your lip and stared at Spencer. His suit, his matching (skewed) tie, his hair and his eyes. He did the same to you, before gulping and looking down at the floor. He bent and picked up your shoes, turning them in his hands and observing. “These are too small for you.” You laugh at the obvious fact, “They’re JJ’s. She’s got the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen.” “You’re only one size above her.” “She wears high heels much more often than I do.” “You swap between sneakers and converse. You’ve only bought new shoes two times since I’ve known you. This is the second time I’ve seen you wear heels, and even then they were practically ballet shoes.” He smiled to himself like it was an inside joke. “Oh…” You looked down at your feet and realised he was exactly right, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your black converse right now.” “Morgan didn’t let me. He said he was pressured to make me look good by all the girls.” He lifted a finger and turned fully towards you, “Did you know that sleeve buttons on suits were created to help doctors who worked in the war keep their sleeves up? Now, they’re a sign of intelligence and wealth. Also, a few weeks ago, you called me a grabologist because of my collection of ties, but did you know that the largest collection of suit ties is owned by a New Zealander woman called Irene Sparks. Now, I think I’d like to oppose that not with my own collection, but with Morgans.”

You smile at the memories of the girls dressing you up, fueling the sisterhood that the childhood version of you missed out on. You thought about Morgan, Hotch and maybe Rossi, and how they were probably dressing him up as well. It was truly a found family, something that you felt you belonged to. They knew your habits, they knew when you were lying, they knew a good portion of your past. And you knew all the same for the rest of them. But Spencer?

Mentally, without realising, you had been creating essays for him since the day you met him. You made journal entries for everyone else, but for Spencer it was books on books of mental notes and facts and aspects of him and his life that you kept in the back of your mind, ready at any point to bring out and use. Why he wears mismatched socks, why he likes purple, why he can’t handle too many people talking at once, why he feels uncomfortable at hospitals, why he hasn’t contacted his father in years. And he knew no doubt even more about you. He had a talent for knowing your emotions and feelings like no one else could, and it made your heart palpitate every time he did it.

“I mean, you’ve seen my collection of ties but jeez, you’d think a guy who mainly wears t-shirts would keep his collection small. You’d like one of his, it's a green that matches that bedside table you painted once. Like those socks you got me last Christmas. But anyways, he somehow had a perfect red to match your… dress. Which by the way, I noticed a lot of people looking at you - and I don’t blame them. I think you look, um, I think you look incredible.” His rambling quietened down for a moment as he tried to avoid eye-contact with you, before he cleared his throat and continued on with his rambling (which mixed with compliments every second sentence).

And suddenly, you realised this was all an excuse. You were in denial, so badly, that you thought of him as a subject of your devotion without stepping back and seeing the real picture.

“Spencer…” You cut him off and he looked up with big eyes, surprised you spoke up. You were the only person that let him ramble, it may have been the only time you stopped him. “Wh- You wanna go home?” He saw your eyes, you looked in pain, in shock, in… “No, Spencer, I… Um.” You pressed your lips together and looked down - were you really going to say this? Were you really going to admit you loved the man in front of you without any evidence that he felt the same way? He was your coworker, your best friend. Everything could be ruined in just a few words. Suddenly, you wanted to take your train of thoughts back, to let him continue on with his rambling - it always calmed you down anyways.

Suddenly, his palm was held out in front of you with a small mint in the middle. You looked up at him and his worried but genuine smile. “Here,” he said softly. You took the mint in your hand and simply stared at it. To be loved, is to be known. “Um, Spencer. I…” His eyes were wanting, curious, they were so goddamn beautiful, “I… I love you.”

His mouth gaped slightly and his cheeks reddened. Spencer gulped and fiddled with his fingers before chuckling nervously, “I was supposed to say it first.” “What?” “I was supposed to say I love you first.” You hopped down from the concrete railing, dress falling to cover your shins again. “I can take it back if you want.” You responded quickly. “No, no don’t take it back, even if you did I don’t think I could mentally accept that you had taken it back.” You covered your mouth with your hand and looked up at him in shock, “So you-” “I love you, too.” He nodded and took your hands from your mouth, holding them in his, “I have since the third week you’ve worked with the BAU.”

“Oh, that’s great um…” You looked down at your intertwined hands and furrowed your eyebrows, “What do we do now?” “We could go to the McDonalds that’s a 10 minutes walk away or, I could kiss you.” He stared into your glistening eyes and wanted to pinch himself to see if this was actually happening. “I don’t-”

“You don’t like McDonalds, sorry, my brain is-”

“Just kiss me.” You replied exasperated.

“Okay.” He nodded and placed his hands on your waist.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502

#criminal minds #spencer reid #cm #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #🍵 —☆ pia’s pages

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archangeldyke-all · 13 days ago

Note

Roach verse idea:

So Sevika needed a raise. Silco needed a Santa for The Last Drop and Jinx.

The solution was obvious.

Now she’s in a hot ass suit, Roach is watching her from the bar whilst Jinx is just side-eyeing her all like ‘I KNOW ITS YOU’ like. Then with a lot of convincing, Jinx tells Santavika what she wants for Christmas.

Now Silco has his list of items and Sevika gets a raise to spoil her wonderful, lovely, beautiful girlfriend. All is well.

fucking hilarious

men and minors dni

all she fucking wanted was a winter bonus.

ever since you came around, the last drop has been getting increasingly festive with each holiday that passes. it's just the kind of person you are, everywhere you go you make people happy. this year, you even managed to convince silco to have a christmas party-- shutting the bar down and decorating it for the evening; a gift exchange planned and cookies baked for the gang.

sevika adores you for it, and for a million other reasons. and she wants to spoil you endlessly. but silco pays like shit, and jinx is always stealing sevika's pocket change before she can stash it in her change jar.

so, she asked for a bonus to close out the year.

she'd say she deserves it. this year alone, she put three competing shimmer operations out of business, managed to rig two piltover elections, and she killed like eight people for silco. or was it nine...?

either fucking way-- sevika's determined to get her money.

unfortunately for her, silco's in his own holiday predicament.

jinx, almost eleven now, has become increasingly suspicious of santa claus. it's not that the girl ever really believed-- but now that she's a sweaty, hormonal tween, she no longer feels comfortable sitting on some old man's lap and whispering all her secret wants in his ear. so, she refused to go to the promenade with silco this year to see santa.

so silco has no idea what to get his daughter for the holiday-- and he's desperate for a clue.

which is how sevika finds herself here, in an itchy white beard and a red suit, glaring at the gang as they laugh at her from her perch in her 'santa seat.'

she's gonna fucking kill silco. after he pays her, too.

"where's that jolly smile, mr. claus?" lock asks, approaching sevika with a grin. she glares up at him.

"i'm not letting you sit in my fuckin' lap."

"relax." lock laughs. he reveals a glass of whiskey from behind his back. sevika sighs in relief, taking the drink from lock. "where's your mrs. claus?"

"upstairs with jinx. the kid's dressing as a christmas tree, or something."

lock cackles.

you and jinx join the party eventually, jinx covered in green tinsel, ornaments braided into her hair. you burst into laughter at the sight of sevika, and she sighs.

"look at you, baby!" you laugh.

sevika grunts. "come sit on my lap before i die of humiliation."

you giggle, happily skipping over to her to wrap your arms around her shoulders. "how'd silco talk you into this?"

"i'm getting a winter bonus." she says. you scoff.

"what the fuck? where's my winter bonus?"

sevika chuckles. "baby, i'm spending the bonus on you."

"well what am i gonna spend on you?!"

sevika darts forward to kiss you, forgetting the beard she's wearing. you both groan and sputter, spitting white hairs out of your mouths.

"alright, santa baby. you stay here. i'll go get us some drinks and send jinx over."

sevika rolls her eyes. "this whole thing is fucking ridiculous. you have to know what she wants, why don't you just tell silco?"

"'course i do, but i also think this whole thing is the funniest thing that's happened this year and it's tradition."

sevika tries her best to act annoyed, but she can't keep from smiling when you shoot her a wink and blow her a kiss as you walk away.

jinx is glaring at sevika the entire time she's in her lap.

"this is fucking stupid." she mumbles. sevika chuckles.

"you're not the one wearing the fake beard. just hurry up and make your old man happy so we can get this night over with."

"fine. this year i want an updated encyclopedia set, a new microscope, and i wanna be able to say 'fuck' around silco." she lists off.

sevika cackles. "alright. i'll see what i can do, kid."

jinx chuckles and tugs on sevika's beard. "thanks old man." she mutters. "aren't you gonna 'ho ho ho?'"

sevika glares at jinx and the girl cackles, scrambling out of her lap before she can grab her.

just as she's about to get up and take off this ridiclious fucking costume, you plop back down in her lap, wearing a new outfit.

sevika's heart soars.

you're wearing a matching santa hat and a little red apron with fuzzy white lining. you're the perfect mrs. clause, and you've brought her whiskey.

"please help me get this beard off so i can kiss you." she whines. you laugh, reaching up to pull the fake beard off her chin. sevika sighs in relief, itching her face before reaching forward and downing her whiskey.

"better?" you ask.

sevika just smiles at you, putting her glass to the side so she can pull you in for a kiss with both hands.

you groan against her lips, flinging your arms around her shoulders and moving to straddle her legs.

across the bar, silco shrieks; scandalized. "you're supposed to sit in santa's lap, not grind on it!"

ran, lock, and deckard erput into cheers at the sight of you two.

jinx ducks behind the bar to grab a glass of ice water to toss on the pair of you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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takami-takami · 4 months ago

Text

You Keep Sawdust for Starlight.

includes— hawks x reader. comfort. minors dni.

warnings— gn!reader.

"I wish you could bring me with you," Keigo whispers.

"You're already with me."

"No— like," he waves away a palm. It pushes the air forcefully around in a small wisp. "Like, I wish you could shrink me down and stuff me into your shirt pocket. Somethin’ real cute like that."

Keigo's lips are pursed when he speaks, boyish and gesticulate. Although his words barely peak over the sound of your breathing, they are enough to startle you from the lullaby daze and candlelit, pillowfort days. Your hand pauses twirling a clump of feathery, dust blonde hair around its index, releasing it gently and opting to gingerly prop up your body behind you.

Your bed sheets are blue and the velvet fabric tickles your palms and fingertips. They're sapphire, splattered by glittered specks sewn in shades of yellow across its surface. Night sky, imitation Van Gogh.

You can vet its authenticity; because unlike its painted namesake, your sheets remain intact. The comforter cradles you both in its arms, the fabric creasing like soft, blue waves, pushing and pulling you in its tides each time you shift beside him.

Your eyes flick and click to watch Keigo's.

He continues staring upwards at the popcorn ceiling as if the divots were countless stars, draped by curtains of black lashes. If tonight were colder, you might catch his breath.

"All those fancy places you go for work, and you wish you could come follow me around," you deadpan, brows stitched.

"Well, yeah." Keigo swallows and his Adam's apple bobs handsomely with each word like a fishing lure. You opt not to bite.

His nails scritch at the scruff of his beard, contemplative with viscous, syrupy thoughts.

“You always seem to be getting yourself into some trouble or another,” Keigo smiles a wet smile at the thought, still gazing up against the popcorn sky.

“People worry about you, you know," he says. "Worry if you’re safe. Worry if you’re you. You know I’ll be the first to tell you that you’re not exactly convincing.”

At that, Keigo folds two calloused hands, one over the other, against his sweater-clad chest, and exhales through his nose as he meets your eyes.

Many moons ago, you might have startled at how wide Keigo’s eyes looked when they reach yours, the black holes at their center swelling and fattening up. Tonight, you let them swallow you without fear of becoming lodged in their throat.

“I’ll think about it,” you sigh.

“I know you always think of me,” he says.

“You did say I’m predictable, didn’t you?”

You press your lips to his cheek, sticky and sweet. Keigo only opens his eyes again once you retreat back to lay beside him.

“Think of me a little while longer,” Keigo says. “And I promise I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #🖋 writing #mha x reader #🍧 sugar

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hwalovs · 27 days ago

Text

Golden and Glowing (M)

Pairing; Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader Word Count; 7.8k Warnings; some (a lot) angst, S M U T T Y SMUT SMUT!, unprotected PiV, put on a dry suit before diving you freaks, some oral (fem receiving) ((i lied its full, fem receiving, diabolical oral)), fingering, dry humping, lots of kissing, overstimulation(?), fabric ripping, Jayce whimpering, Jayce whining, desperation in human form.

Summary; After Jayce comes back, he finds it difficult to face you. Yet, after you meet him in the council room, he can't stop the rush of emotions on seeing your beautiful face, and soft eyes.

A/N; I saw him in the council room in that fuck-ass-fit and KNEW I would be at my keyboard. Also- I've loved Jayce since season one, I saw him and knew he whimpered. i also love his beard and it will NOT stop me from giving him jaw kisses. I will GLADLY kiss against it idGAF!

MINORS DNI!!

THIS IS NOT EDITED! DO NOT REPOST MY WORK!!

The council room was repaired in his absence, even the large doors had been replaced. Though new, it still creaked when you gently shut it. Its latch resonated around the room, and you cursed under your breath, moving into the room with jittering hands and a racing mind.

Mel was the one to tell you that Jayce was back, and waiting in the council room. You didn’t want to go in there, not after the attack, but you swallowed down your anxiety, smiled and bid her a farewell, and faced the dark wood with golden knobs.

For a couple months, you thought he would never come back. Almost coming to terms that he was dead. There was a fleeting moment you thought he abandoned you, but that was thrown out. Jayce would never, ever, abandon you. Or anyone, for the matter. He loved too hard, and lost too easily. He was too determined to a fault, and you saw that when he created Hextech. When hardships came, Jayce was the type to take it by the teeth, see it through to the end with full confidence. He excelled in helping people, finding out what was wrong, and making it better.

Which is what scared you the most when he disappeared. The only way he would truly be gone, is if he was dead. Yet, there was no body. So, you waited.

You look at everything but him first, stalling. How could you be this scared, it was just Jayce. With gritted teeth, and unsteady breathing, you find him in the center of the room, in the same place his trial was all those years ago. He stood tall back then, taking whatever question the council threw at him with full determination he would win, earn his place back in the lab and with hextech.

Your mouth is moving before you can stop it, “your hair is longer.”

Jayce stands different, more tense and strained. Dark colors replace the white, red, and gold entourage he was decorated in by the council. Shaggy hair, scarred arms, hunched posture. It was like seeing a different person standing in front of you. But, you supposedly knew this man.

He slowly turns his body to face you, sharp eyes slowly softening when they meet yours. His shoulders drop, but only a miniscule amount, and his gloved hands itch to feel you.

“Is that a beard?” you smile, tilting your head, walking further into the room, down one of the steps. He stays put, but there's a moment you can see his body pitch forwards to move closer. It's almost nonexistent, but it was there. The light that spills into the room bathes him in a golden hue, his eyes shaded by his hair. His hammer was different, you note, watching as its multicolored metal reflects the light, a kaleidoscope dancing on the desk behind it.

“What’s happened to my golden boy? Should the man of progress be seen with such a rugged image?” Your voice cracks, and heat appears behind your eyes, but you still force a teasing smile. Pulling your hands behind your back, you hope that he didn’t see them shake.

After so long, he was here in front of you. He was looking over you with the desperation of a starved man, his chest slowly beginning to heave. His hammer slides until the metal slams into the ground, the handle slipping from his grasp to slowly fall against the desk. It startled you, watching him move carefully. A predator not wanting to scare his prey.

You almost forgot how big Jayce really was. All shoulders and chest filling your vision. His waist was smaller, and you used to be able to wrap your arms fully around him at night when it was cold, seeking out his warmth. As you look him over, you can see the tremble in his hands, how his shoulders quake in the deep maroon velvet fabric.

Before you can even think, he’s moving closer. Not even looking down at the stairs as he skips them all together, stopping inches away from your face. The light is blocked, and he looks ethereal. A golden hue glows from his body line, giving a halo to a broken angel. Tilting his head slightly to look over your features. His honey colored eyes are shining, red rimmed and swimming with emotions flashing by so fast you can barely pick them out.

Sadness, anger, desperation, happiness, it was hard to tell which one was dominating over the other. Sadness, perhaps. Or maybe it was desperation.

“Are you real?” He sounds more broken than he looks. Voice a whisper in the air between you both and all of a sudden you can feel the tidal wave of emotions that you tried to ignore. The ones you felt when you found out he was gone, that he left you behind, that he didn’t care enough to even tell you where he was going. Your cheeks are suddenly wet, and a hiccup is swallowed when you move and push against him. He takes it, all the punches and shoves you throw against his chest.

“Yes, you idiot,” you shudder, “I’ve been here while you were doing god knows what!”

He can only frown, gloved hands clenching at his sides while looking down at your shaking form. You refuse to look at him now, tears twinkling like fallen stars from your waterline. Shaky hands rush to wipe them away, before you shove him again.

“Where were you, huh? You left me here, alone! How could you do that to me? After everything we’ve done?”

His stomach twists, and he aches to tell you everything. To tell you how he woke up in a storm after touching the anomaly under the Hexgate, how he saw things in the shapes of people. Scuttling across the distorted grass and up broken buildings. He would tell you how he fell into a ravine, breaking his leg and swallowed by the dark. He would tell you how he survived, how the image of the anomaly haunted- haunts him. He’d tell you all with a straight face, that he climbed floating rocks to the top of the Hexgate, and met the same mage he saw as a child, and what he instructed him to do.

He would not fail, he’d say

Yet, he wanted to spare you the pain of knowing what could happen to you, to him, to Piltover and Zaun and the entire world. He stood before you, broken and reformed into a man he almost didn’t recognize. You spoke to him like you always did, how he remembered when he would sit in front of that fire, it still had the same cadence as the one in his mind when he was taking apart his hammer to fasten it to his deformed leg. Your instructions clear on what bolts and panels to take off, what he could use as a strap to hold it all together. You reassured him he would be okay, and reprimanded him for being there in the first place.

Would you still love him, as he is now? He couldn’t hold himself in the same light as the ‘Man of Progress’. What if that’s who you wanted, rather than the broken minded man in front of you. It's what he would think about at night, staring into the storm above as he listened to the water drip into the small, stagnant, puddle beside him. Even when he got back, and stood under the hot water of his first shower in months. All he could do was think of your eyes glaring at him, telling him that he was different, not the same Jayce he disappeared as.

How could he see you like this?

How could you love him like this? Broken mind and body?

Harshly rubbing your eyes, you sigh and look over him. His hands were shaking, jaw clenching and unclenching as tears finally gathered. A frown was wobbling on his face, everything was threatening to boil over. You could see it, that rope inside him unraveling into a tangle of emotions you knew he couldn’t handle.

When you reach up to grasp his face, like you did when he was tired, or when he needed you after another failed experiment, look down at you with tired eyes and a small smile. His beard was scratchy, or akin to scruff than anything. You wanted to feel along it all day, but he flinches, moving his head out of your grasp and you feel the cold truth slam into you from behind. Something had happened to your Jayce, something terrible and a small voice inside told you he would never talk about it.

“Oh, Jayce,” you whisper, arms falling to your sides. Tears spill from his eyes, and he slowly lifts his hands enough to drag his gloves off, trembling. It's a silent cry, droplets falling down his neck to soak into the fabric at his collar. He swallows each sob, each whimper that threatens to spill past his lips. Dropping his gloves to the ground, he softly and slowly grabs your hands, breathing deeply when your skin touches his.

He was cold, you realize. Trembling fingers sliding between yours with a clumsy vigor, dancing up your palms and sliding around your wrists. He slowly drags your hands up, up and up until they settle onto his cheeks. Immediately, your finger splay across his dark beard. They press into his cheeks, feel how his jaw tenses, and as quickly as he started crying, you join him.

You’re not a silent crier, you realize. A sob makes its way past your lips and you drag him forwards until he's crashing into you, his arms moving to grip at the fabric of your shirt. He bends until his forehead is against yours, breathing you in rapidly. He can’t get enough, your perfume swallows him whole and he curses himself for ever forgetting it.

“I’m sorry-” He sobs, his tears mixing with yours. You almost collapse, hearing him so broken, but you shake your head and pull him closer, your lips just grazing his before he sighs and pulls you in deeper.

He tasted like heaven. There's a hint of the sweet candies you and Viktor would buy specifically for him, and under all of it, honey. Yet, there's the undertone of the mint from his toothpaste, the coffee he drank this morning.

The last time you kissed him, he was leaving for the council meeting, trying to strike for peace with Silco and for the petty war between them to be over. He was tired when he left, and Viktor had given you a light kiss to the cheek before they departed, a strained smile on both of their lips as they disappeared behind the lab door.

The kiss he gives you now starts slowly, remembering what the other felt and tasted like. It's all slow touching and even slower kissing, opening back that door you thought you would have had it close forever, close off what it would feel like to have him like this again.

Jayce breathes you in deeply, your taste made his stomach clench in anticipation, or what was to come. Surely, you’d understand, right? He needed you, needed to remind himself that he was alive and you were safe with him.

It devolves, his hands working from your arms to your waist, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss. His hands are shaking as he licks along your bottom lip, desperate for entry.

Giving in easily, you sigh as his arm makes its way around your waist, one of his hands moving to cradle the back of your head while you slide both thumbs under his eyes, subconsciously wiping his tears away. Your tongue twists with his, a fight for dominance he easily loses, allowing you to explore him without restriction.,

He shivers when you bite down on his lip, pulling away to look at you with half-lidded eyes. Pupils blown, he takes a split second to look around the room, before turning back and bending down to lift you from the backs of your thighs. His grip was tight, not allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist like you used to. Yelping, you wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, face nuzzling into his hair while he walks over to the council desk. He sets you down lightly, before grabbing your face to pull you back to him.

He's desperate now, kissing you like it was his last day on earth, and maybe it was, as long as you were going out with him you didn't care. Love was drawn onto your skin by his lips, silent words that soaked through and wrapped around your heart in a symphony of beauty. There was also the lust that followed, crackling and clawing like a desperate creature you both unintentionally created. As he painted you, you’d paint him beautifully as well.

You whimper into him, his teeth dragging across your bottom lip as he pulls back, hands gripping your knees while he slowly makes his way down your neck. Gripping onto his velvet shirt, right where the fabric is folded to his elbows, you try and find purchase before his teeth sink into your skin. It was rough, how his teeth threatened to break through. You knew it would bruise quickly, and you almost smiled at the way his tongue quickly followed in apology.

Lightly, he pulls your knees apart, not forcing, but asking. You oblige quickly, pulling him to step closer while your back arches to accommodate his height. A hand leaves your knee to grasp your neck, pushing his thumb into your pulse point until you tilted your head in obedience. He’s muttering against your skin, words so quiet you couldn’t even what when you tried to.

“What is it, baby?” You ask, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging softly. He whimpers, pulling from under your knee to drag you closer. Your cunt fits snug against him, and he whimpers again, softly grinding against you.

He’s still mumbling, you realize, and pull harder against his hair, dragging his face from your neck. Giving him a soft smile, you lean forwards to kiss him. When he jerks his body close, to meet you halfway, you yank on his hair, and he stills. He watches with bated breath and dark eyes as you slowly lean closer, dragging your lips along his neck until it reaches just below his ear. His skin was hot, pulsing under your lips as you pressed one, two, three light kisses against it.

“I need you to speak clearly, Jayce, can you do that?”

It’s hard to keep yourself together, with him rutting against you like a horny teenager, and his hands gripping your knee and neck in desperation. His eyes clench shut, tilting his head back and against your hand until your fingers splay out in his hair once more.

“I thought about you- everyday-” he begins, eyes opening to look at you in pain. Not the kind of pain you inflict on someone, but of a pain so deep within his bones it shines through his gaze.

“I wanted to be with you so bad- please believe me, I would never leave you voluntarily.”

“Oh, baby, I know,” you coo, releasing his hair to thumb against his cheek, slide the pad against his bottom lip. His breathing is erratic, and his hips have stopped. He looked at you as if you had all the answers, and while you don’t right now, you’d lie through your teeth just for him.

“I’m right here, nothing is going to happen to you.”

He shudders, “I thought you’d never want to see me again, that you’d hate me for being gone-”

“You’re here now, Jayce, that's all that matters to me, okay?”

Nodding, he drags his hands along your skin, until they rested on your waist, fingers twisting and gripping onto your shirt like it was a lifeline.

“I thought I’d never get to touch you again, to have you like this. You look so pretty right now, honey.”

The words travel straight to your gut, a fire that was burning under your skin the longer he held onto you.

It's easy to fall back into the routine of what once was, but you realized that; while before, he needed to be kept in line and put in his place, to scold and tease and taunt. Now, the Jayce in your hands needed you to comfort him. He needed you to remind him that he was real, that you were real and not going anywhere.

“Kiss me, sweet boy.”

He surges forwards, lips crashing against yours while your hands feverishly start unbuttoning his shirt. His bangs tickle your forehead, and he can't stop himself from rutting against you again. He haphazardly undo’s your pants, fingers slipping and after missing a button, he grunts against your lips and grabs the flaps of your pants and yanks them apart, one of the buttons falling to the floor. You laugh, pulling away and smiling up at him. He’s embarrassed, hiding his eyes and pulling you impossibly closer to him by the ripped fabric.

“I-” he whines as he ruts, “I need you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, and he furrowed his eyebrows with a nod, “how do you need me?”

Groaning, he drops his head onto your shoulder, fingers itching to dive into your pants. You quickly grab his wrist before he can, nails pressing into his skin in warning. This time, you try a different approach, trying to get him to talk to you.

“Tell me, Jayce, did you think about me like this?”

“God, yes,” he moans, free arm wrapping around your waist, arching your back. You wrap your arm around his neck for leverage, sighing, “yeah? What about me?”

He shakes his head, a laugh tickling you before he pulls back, “I-” he swallows, “I thought about how you’d cum around my fingers, and on my face-”

“Dirty boy,” you tease, kissing his collar bone. His hips jerk, cock catching along the now open panel of your pants. He hisses, eyes flickering between yours, shining, “I thought about you- you wrapped around me, tight and wet and perfect just for me- you were made for me-”

Letting go of his wrist, you let his hand dive between your legs and into your pants, it's sloppy, the way his hands desperately move to get closer to you, immediately pulling the band of your panties away to sink his fingers into your slick, knocking against your clit once before venturing deeper. Gasping, you grab at the front of his partially open shirt, his tan skin peeking through. His chest heaves as he pulls back up and finds your clit, fingers rough as he circles it.

“You always sound so- fuck-” his fingers move from your clit to your entrance, rubbing against you once to test the tension before sinking a finger inside of you, mouth dropping at how tight you were, “sound so pretty, when you cum-”

“I never thought I’d hear it again,” he sighs, tilting his head. You smile, finally undoing the rest of his shirt and kissing the large expanse of his chest. He sighs, pulling his finger from your tight hole to find your clit again, pulling its hood back with his palm before teasing the sensitive bud. You shudder, forehead falling against his skin, using his closeness, you suck against his chest, leaving red splotches while his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

“Didn’t stop thinking about you- your voice, your eyes, god baby, I’ve missed you so much,” voice breaking at the end, he nuzzles his face into your neck, forcing yours to move from his chest, your cheek resting against his shoulder. “Even-” he swallows, “even you yelling at me, telling me off and how I annoy you.”

He slowly drags his hand away from your cunt, wetness trailing after until he’s wrapping his lips around his finger. A loud moan rumbling his chest, your cunt clenching.

“Never thought I’d taste you again,” Wet fingers wrap around your throat, not tight, just enough to drag your lips back to his as your hands fumble to undo his own pants. Humming, you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself. Sweet, yet a familiar tang. He licks against your lips, into your mouth and suckles on your bottom lip.

“Jay-” you whine, your legs wrapping tightly around him as he punishes you back, your arms frantically moving to support your weight. His tongue licks down the column of your throat, stopping to push up your shirt enough to kiss against your stomach, moving to suck a deep red splotch onto your hip bone, his canines scratching against you. Drool makes its way from the corner of his mouth, and his tongue licks it away. He winces as he drops to one knee, careful of the other. The brace dug into his skin, leaving a bruise in its wake. It was new, a shiny silver metal that contrasted against his black pants. You noticed it, but it didn’t bother you. This was your Jayce, and you love him in any way.

Pulse erratic, you push down your pants the best you could with his weight on you, and you almost smile when his hands join yours, yanking the fabric down your legs until they reach your shoes. Quickly, he discards them, throwing them behind him before stopping abruptly to look over your soft skin.

While to you, he was glowing in the sunlight, golden sun painting him in an ethereal light. To him, you looked akin to a god, the sun almost made you sparkle. He could feel his chest swell, his cheeks hot as his trembling fingers grabbed your shins, bringing one close to lay featherlight kisses. Slowly, he works his way up, eyes never closing, never wanting to miss a single one of your beautiful expressions. The way your eyes blink, your lips part when he reaches your inner thigh, how your hands reach to grasp the closest thing to you for support.

He loves you, unforgivingly, as he bites into the sensitive flesh just before your cunt. It makes your back arch, head falling back as you try to shut your thighs, his hair tickling you, beard scratching against your skin. He grunts, pulling away to lick at the intended mark of his teeth, freezing and holding you open as he gazes at the beauty that is your slick cunt. It shines in the light, beads of it sliding down until it threatens to drop onto the desk below you. He inches forwards, slowly licking against your skin until his tongue parts your folds.

His whole body shivers at your taste, your warmth, your sweet nectar flooding his senses and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The tip of his tongue catches your clit, and he can feel your thighs twitch. Your hand is in his hair, and your eyes lock on his immediately. He almost cums untouched at the blissful smile you give him. You whimper as his tongue runs along your folds harder this time, stopping to give your clit an open mouthed kiss. It throbs under his lips, and he can feel his hands shake.

If this was the last time, he would take his time. He would drag this out until he couldn’t, when the sun rises again tomorrow, when someone inevitably walks in. He didn’t care, he had you in his arms again.

His tongue joins his kiss, sliding to press into you briefly before pulling away to watch the concoction of your slick and his spit slide down. Before it can drip onto the desk, he rushes to lick it away, swallowing it down with a guttural groan you’ve never heard from him. It's lethal, as his hooded eyes flicker over your face before he shuts them completely, diving between your legs and eating you like a man starved.

It's messy, spit unstopped from dripping while his tongue moves against you. He’s trying to taste all of you, all at once. He’ll lick your clit, and then dip down to tongue into your entrance, feel you clench around him before moving back up to suckle. He can feel it drip down to his beard, soaking the hair, but he did nothing to stop it.

“Jayce- wait-” Your pleading, a whimper falling past your lips as you grip onto his hair. Your elbow was screaming in pain as it digs into the wood below you. Yet, what mattered to you most was the starved man between your legs. He ignored you completely, wrapping his arms around your thighs to lock you to him. He quickly shakes his head, tongue calculated as it hones in on a specific pattern on your clit. It feels like heaven and hell all at once. Rapidly, your release is building. It starts as a tickle in your gut, and then festers into a burn. Your muscles start to lock and shake, your lungs seize and before you realize you’re not breathing, he slides a quick hand across your tummy, tapping quickly, bringing you back. You gulp down air, your hips trying to hump into his mouth.

“Please- slow down-” he only groans in response, pulling away and taking a deep breath before going back down. He goes back to flatten his tongue against you, slowly dragging it up before taking your clit between his lips, sucking hard.

Your back arches, thighs shaking and you moan. It almost hurt, how hard he was sucking, his tongue flicking against the bud until he released you and continued circling. You're pulsing beneath him, tears gathering as you drag him closer by the hair. His beard was scratching the sin of your thighs, a welcoming burn.

His fingers soon join his mouth, tips teasing against your entrance before he’s sinking two into you. He doesn’t stop until knuckle deep, twisting his hand palm up and curling his fingers while dragging them out. Your hips trying to get closer, or further away, you didn’t know. The pleasure was immense, heart racing as you let go of his hair to grab the edge of the desk, thighs trying to shut around his head.

He pulls away just enough to look up at you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes pathetic. He’s drunk off your taste, of how wet and tight you are around his fingers. He’s begging you, resting his head against your thigh as his tongue circles your clit.

“Just like that-” you whimper, trying to gulp down enough air, yet still breathless as he nods so obediently. His eyes brighten, watching how your mouth drops open, body tensing. Yet, he knew it wasn’t enough. You were on the brink, teetering on a cliff you didn’t know you’d survive the fall of.

Jayce didn’t give you time to prepare, he moved his fingers faster, curling them against your sweet spot while surging forwards with his mouth to suck hard onto your clit, moaning around you.

Your release hits unexpectedly, a dam breaking in your gut and you slap a hand onto your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. Your slick and cum cover him, a flood of your release dripping down his hand. Your vision is white, sobbing into your palm as your hips shake against his grip. It's electrifying, the warmth that spreads like wildfire through your veins. You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop, or keep going. Yet, he didn’t give you a choice on that either.

He moves his hand faster, tongue flicking against your clit rapidly. It makes your whole body freeze, not knowing what to do. You just came, how could you be so rapidly gearing up to cum again?

While his fingers torment your sweet spot, he pulls back for air, his arm fully enclosing your thigh so his thumb could reach, circling hard and fast. He watches you with wide, desperate eyes. Breathing deeply, licking his cum slicked lips, “One more- please,” he whimpers.

He had to be lying, right? He was so unforgiving with you, your wetness echoing around the room. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, hyperventilating as you felt the build up once more, yet this time, it was faster. Your previous orgasm hadn’t even faded before this one started, It was building into a monsoon of pleasure. It made your ears ring, your eyes shut tightly and whether you liked it or not, you were going to cum again.

“Jayce!-”

“Oh my, god-”

Your ears start to ring, thighs tremble, and Jayce’s mouth is back on you. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure that greets you on the other side. All you can do is face it head on and your orgasm washes over you once more. It was so much more intense than the last one, you swore your legs went numb.

It could’ve been minutes, or seconds, but Jayce’s mouth is back on yours, tongue pushing past your lips and you can taste your own cum. It's filthy, his wet beard against your skin as he pulls you so close your hips hang off the side of the desk. Somehow, he had gotten his pants pushed down to his knees. His hands are desperate as he maneuvers your shaking legs around his hips, shirt pulled up to show the expanse of his stomach.

His cock was throbbing, thick and long with its tip an angry shade of deep red. Pearly pre was leaking down the side, shining against the light as he moves to rub his cockhead against your slick folds. Whimpering, you shudder, legs tightening around his waist as he pushes the tip into you.

“Oh god, I’m not gonna last long-” voice cracking, his hand splaying against the wood to your side, his other looping under your hips to hold you up. Swallowing against a dry throat, you grab onto his forearms, his body pausing.

“My sweet boy,” you whimper, “you need it that bad?”

You always spoke at the most inconvenient times, he thinks. His hips jerk forwards, sinking deeper into you with a whine, shivering at how tight and warm you are. You were always warm, always welcoming him with open arms and a loving smile. He missed you so much, craving for this warmth while next to the fire he made. This is the warmth he wanted when he was shivering, thinking of nothing but you when he was climbing that damn ravine.

He doesn’t think, only slides his hips forwards until his pelvis meets yours, clit throbbing against his skin. He almost reaches down to thumb against it, but decides not to when he feels your walls clench around him like a lifeline. His moan travels through the room, across your skin and wraps around you like a blanket.

“I do,” he says, almost apologetically. Shaky hand leaves the desk to rub the skin of your tummy, before slowly pulling out until just the tip remains, and thrusting back in. The stretch is borderline painful, causing you to whimper. His gaze flickers back up to you, a frown twitching his lips.

“Don't stop,” you whisper, hips pitching upwards, his hand forcing you back down, “keep going, baby.”

Nodding, he breathes deeply before continuing, his hips moving at a continuous rhythm.

Jayce was always careful with you, soft touches and worried eyes always a staple when his cock is inside you. But now, his hand that rests on your tummy is slowly pressing into you. It makes you tighter around him, your cum from before forming a white ring at the base of his cock. He moans at the sight, tilting his head. You would always be perfect for him, cunt sucking him back in when he tries to pull out. Your ankles hook together behind his back, and he closes his eyes to bask in the pleasure while listening to you whimper and moan beneath him.

You watch him intently, feeling his fingers flex against your skin and you try to keep up. His hips wont stop accelerating, skin slapping against skin as his head falls against his chest, eyes opening into slits as he watches his cock disappear into you.

“So good,” he slurs, his shoulders tense as his body slowly pitches forwards until his forehead rests against your chest. With shaking fingers, you move to undo your shirt. Your breasts come free and Jayce immediately starts to suckle on the skin between them, your head thumping against wood, back arching into his mouth. Your nipples harden into buds when the cool air hits them, Jayce groaning before taking one into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it before taking it lightly between his teeth, pulling away with it, and then letting go.

“You’re doing- fuck,” you curse, eyebrows furrowed, “You’re doing so good, sweet boy-”

Nodding, his hips falter as he speeds up his pace, your body jerking up the desk until he growls, grabbing your waist to drag you back. Your hands grab onto his arms, nails threatening to dig into his skin, but you hold back. He’s already gone through so much pain, why inflict it further?

His hips dont stop, though, and you gasp, “wait-”

“I-” he gasps, fingers gripping onto the tops of your thighs, shaking his head as he roughly starts abusing your cunt. The pleasure was almost painful, burning under your skin until you felt it within your bones. “I’m sorry-” He sobs, a tear falling from his eye. Eyes wide, you watch him with parted lips. He was frantic, hands shaking as he kept thrusting erratically. There was no rhythm, just a desperate race to the finish line.

“Jayce-” you whimper, hand pressing against his lower stomach, trying to slow him down but he grabs your wrist, pulling it away. He bring s it up to his mouth, kissing your skin before dragging it to rest above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours. He could feel your cum dripping from his balls, no doubt pooling on the floor between his feet. There's tears gathering in your eyes, that familiar burn flaring in your gut once more. You couldn’t cum again, not after the torment he put you through with his mouth.

“I need you,” he sobs again, looking at you with sparkling eyes and parted, gasping lips, “need you so bad, sweetheart.”

It burns so good, that fire beneath your skin, and you realize that if he keeps going at this pace, you won't have an option but to cum again. Jayce, though, didn’t seem to care. It almost scared you, but his grip on your hand was shaking, and his eyes kept clenching shut with pleasure.

He was pushing through the sting of his brace digging into his leg, of the burn in his thighs. He was rapidly chasing that high he wanted so desperately, forgoing anything else but himself. Jayce was a giver, always making sure you felt good before ever thinking about himself. Yet, now, when your hot, wet, throbbing cunt was wrapped so nicely around his cock, all he could think about was himself.

“Please, please, please,” he begs, words slurring together as he roughly takes what he wants, your tears finally fall from your eyes, and he leans down to kiss them away, kissing down your cheeks until your lips are on his again. He moans against them, biting your lip until you open your mouth to let his tongue in. Yet, this time, he waits. He waits until you move your own, trying to lick into his mouth but he stops you when he wraps his lips around your tongue, sucking desperately onto it. Moaning, you grab his hair, pulling him closer. His chest rests against yours, hot skin against skin, and it forces his pelvis to grind onto your clit. You’re sweating, beads rolling down your back while his skin slides easily along yours. A delicious burn festers, sinking deep into your bones and up your spine until you have to choose but to whimper and pull away from him. Walls fluttering, Jayce bites the skin of your neck, licking against the salty sweat, not slowing down in the slightest until you're pushing your hips up against his desperately and moaning so loudly he wonders for a split second if the people outside could hear you. He didn’t care, not when you clung to him while your pussy was clenching his cock like he was a lifeline.

He feels the flood of your wetness around him, how it leaks down his cock and onto his thighs, but he didn’t care. Pulling away from your neck, he pushes himself up enough for leverage to keep thrusting, trying to find momentum to keep going and find his own unraveling. Your fingers find his cheek, and his eyes find yours again.

You looked beautiful, golden and glowing while you stared up at him with sparkling eyes and bitten lips. His eyes move down your body, finding the deep red splotches that would no doubt bruise in the morning, to your beautiful chest that bounces every time his pelvis meets yours, to the way he was disappearing inside you.

Pinpricks behind his eyes, Jayce paws at you, trying to find purchase when he can feel that pleasure building in his stomach. Your voice is in his ears, comforting him while he rapidly starts to reach his peak. His thigh shakes, stomach clenching, and he desperately hangs onto you.

“(Y/n)-” his voice doesn’t sound like his own, a broken cry that reaches your ears before he sobs, hands grabbing your thighs to wrap them higher on his hips, letting him hit deeper inside you. He was faltering, you realize, his hips stuttering as they met you and in a desperate attempt to help him, you pulled him in each time with your legs. They were burning, shaking under the pleasure of your orgasms, but Jayce needed you, and you would stop at nothing to help him, even if it meant ignoring the spiked pains that came knocking at your door.

You’ve felt overstimulation, but never to this extent. Jayce didn’t give you any room to breathe, thrusting into you so desperately you couldn’t discern what was pain and what was pleasure. All you knew was Jayce. His beautiful eyes that looked at you like you hung the stars, like you were all that mattered, that would get him to the end. Drool dripped from his lips, and he made no attempt to lick it away, it mixed with his beard. You try to pull yourself together, to formulate words from the thick fog that rested behind your eyes. He didn’t look any better, you realize with a smile, that he was so deep within himself it would take a while before he managed to crawl back out. It was only you that flooded his senses. He needed you to guide him, to help him reach this peak he couldn’t seem to find all on his own.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You groan, voice rough, watching as his eyes ignite with lightning, your voice a beacon. He nods, eyes squinting through the pain until he moans, nails digging into your skin, “my good boy?”

He whimpers, tears and spit dripping from his eyes and lips, his body pitches, but he catches himself on the desk. His hair falls into his eyes, and you can finally reach him. Trembling hands cradle his face, wiping away the tears before pulling him closer, licking from just below his bottom lip, to the inside of his mouth and against his own awaiting tongue, swallowing the drool before kissing him gently. When you pull away, he’s gasping, eyes shut tightly while his shoulders tense, he’s going to cum. Teetering on that edge, but a small part of him wishes that it didn’t. He wanted to stay like this for longer, wanted to feel your warmth and your touch and to be reminded that he was home. He was safe with you, no pain or misery could reach him as long as he was in your arms-

“Gonna fill me up, puppy?”

He’s right there, he can feel it threatening to snap. That blissful pleasure that’ll wrap around his bones, make his muscles spasm, make his head swim until he can no longer think of anything at all but your voice in his ears and the sight of you beneath him. There's a ringing, and then his hearing stars muffling until all that surrounds him is the sound of his breathing.

“Oh god,” he whines, mouth dropping open as he dumbly nods against your hand blinded by his own pleasure as his thrusts stutter and he can finally feel that swell in his stomach burst, his cock throbbing as he fills you up with his cum. You moan softly, feeling him jolt and throb. Grip tight, he was whining and sobbing through it, shoulders twitching. His thighs were shaking, threatening to give out from under him if it wasn’t for his hands and leg brace giving him some semblance of support.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, kissing along his jaw and neck as he trembles. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, stopped by your finger and you pulled back with a smile from his neck to push back his damp hair. Half-lidded eyes stare back at you, and you keep your legs tight around his waist while he slowly drops against you, his weight settling onto your body. You heave, hands gripping his trembling shoulders and with a smile you move him until his face is resting against your neck.

Breathing heavily, you can feel him slowly softening inside you, but you make no effort in moving. Your body is buzzing, fueled by the afterglow of pleasure and while you slowly thread your fingers through his hair, Jayce is gripping onto you tightly.

Your fingers scratch against his head, and his body shivers beneath your touch. Slowly, he comes back to reality, opening his honey-colored eyes to look at you in bliss. Not all of his weight was on you, legs still somewhat steady enough. And as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, his fingers move to brush over your cheeks, just under yours eyes. The pads barely touch your lashes, and you smile as he leans down to kiss each cheek, and then your nose, and then your lips. It’s soft, tentative and brief before pulling away. He swallows, wetting his dry throat, and finally speaks after the minutes of silence.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you sigh, smiling brightly, and Jayce can feel that desperation tug at him from the pit of his stomach. He almost died, he almost left you alone in a world that only he seemed to be able to fix.

Slowly, he pushes himself up, watching you wince as he slowly pulls out. A mixture of his and your cum seep from you, spilling onto the desk. He raises an eyebrow, watching it leak from you and after you snap your fingers, he jumps back to reality once more. Pushing yourself up to sit, you look around the floor before spotting your pants, he follows your gaze, and on shaky legs and reaches down to grab them. First, you grab the underwear from the pile, trying to clean up the mess you both made, before sliding your legs into the fabric and pulling them up until you couldn't. He fixes his pants in the process, ignoring the wetness that clings to his skin. He quickly buttons them back, breathing deeply before looking back to you.

Reaching a hand out, you ask Jayce for your help silently, he smiles softly, holding onto your hand while you drop down from the desk, legs almost giving out. Laughing, you both reach down to pull your pants up, forgoing your panties that now sat soiled on the desk. Finally releasing his hand, you lean against the desk and start putting yourself back together. While you button your shirt, he buttons his. When you button your pants, you make a show of trying to hook fabric onto a non-existent button, playfully glaring at him, while he buttons his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers when your laugh fills the room once more.

“You’re buying me new ones,” you scold, pointing a finger at him before brushing down his clothes. Trying to make him presentable to the public once more. His hair is brushed away from his forehead, and when it falls back into place for the third time, you give up with a huff. Stepping back to look him over. His face was flushed, and with burning cheeks you reached out to wipe away the remains of you clinging to his beard. Smiling under your touch, he catches your hand before it falls back to your side, a sad look in his eyes as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. Your other hand joins it, thumb brushing across his wrist and your eyebrows furrow, finally noticing that his cuff is gone, replaced by a webbed design that reflects the unique stone.

“What happened to you, Jayce?”

He doesn't know what to say, letting your finger brush over the now smooth expanse of skin.

“I wanted to come back sooner, but I-” his voice pitches, cracking as he feels that heat behind his eyes again. You shush him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest.

Jayce was no stranger to the feeling of dying. He almost experienced it when he was a boy, trudging through the snow with his mother. He almost experienced it when he was bringing parts back from Zaun, his lab locked and an explosion knocking him against the wall. He felt it when the explosion threw him from his chair in this very council room, when he fell into a deep ravine, breaking his leg and struggling to survive for weeks.

It was after falling into a ravine, breaking his leg, struggling to survive for weeks that he realized how precious this life was. While he was trying so desperately to advance Hextech, to bring an ease to sorrow for other people, he was ignoring the fact that he was alive and breathing. He had you, living and breathing in front of him, and no longer did he want to take that for granted. He wanted you to live the rest of your life with him, safe from the threat he managed to create.

He wouldn’t fail.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis smut #jayce x reader #arcane smut #arcane x reader #angst #fluff #smut #HwaWrites

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Text

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships.

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing.

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel.

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe.

For years they did this until they were gone too.

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time.

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman.

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder.

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance.

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more.

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified.

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you.

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders.

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away.

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind.

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock.

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation.

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you.

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind?

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant.

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back.

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel.

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt.

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all.

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued.

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned.

Nothing.

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins.

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting.

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south.

And then you lock eyes once more.

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself.

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him.

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

“Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.”

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements.

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples.

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?”

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself.

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills.

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear.

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before.

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.”

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind.

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?”

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching.

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly.

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in.

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising.

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave.

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze.

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.”

Your tight arms somewhat loosen.

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships.

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living.

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.”

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back.

He was…asking you?

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.”

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids.

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting?

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling.

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart.

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him.

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still.

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash.

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face.

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel.

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish.

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him.

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck.

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked.

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head.

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand.

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings.

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.”

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.”

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.”

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden.

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment.

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them.

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles.

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.”

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping.

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you.

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you.

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?”

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching.

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch.

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement.

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up.

Feels nice.

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing.

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following.

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist.

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t.

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose.

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.”

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?”

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look.

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.”

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening.

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?”

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does.

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.”

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips.

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different.

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment.

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.”

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship.

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne.

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.”

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.”

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt.

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often.

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle.

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen.

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder.

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.”

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—”

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh.

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…”

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.”

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?”

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat.

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction.

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat.

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

“Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once.

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers.

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure.

A dangerous mix of two different lives.

It couldn’t last.

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