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gretavanlace · 11 months ago

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Sugar II (part 7)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, angst, cheating, choking (barely, and only if you squint) fingering, etc

Hello lovelies! I hope everyone has had a wonderful holiday season and a very merry Christmas (if you celebrate). So sorry for the wait, but I trust you’ll understand…things get so crazy this time of year! Please excuse any mistakes you find, I did some under the weather editing. Xoxo love you all ❤️

True to his word, he was knocking at your metaphorical door the second their brief intermission allowed, and now you find yourself trudging along beside him through a nearly deserted parking lot outside the town cinema that is conveniently attached to the mall.

The mall sees little action these days as it is - throw in the fact that it’s early afternoon smack dab in the middle of the week and you’ve got yourself a recipe for isolation.

Which was exactly the plan all along. It’s a small town, and questions are the last thing you need.

When he’d pulled up in his rental, some luxury sedan with sleek black paint and deeply tinted windows, you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you. How out of place he looked…he would’ve seemed more at home on a tricycle.

Now, after a hug that felt too intimate in the unforgiving glare of the sun, he holds the door open for you, ushering you inside, ever the gentleman, when his phone begins to hum in his pocket.

“Here,” a credit card, black and heavier than standard plastic, slips into your palm as he nods towards the popcorn and candy, “Go wear it out.”

“Trying to get rid of me, Kiszka?” You tease, leaning in conspiratorially, “Am I your dirty little secret?”

With a roll of his eyes, he shuts you down. “Dirty? Yes. Secret? Not so much.”

He tilts his phone to display Josh’s name trilling across the screen. “You’re welcome to say hello, if you’d like. But I honestly detest the thought of sharing you right now. Sounds torturous.”

Your eyes travel over him like he’s a fucking meal. Linen pants cuffed lazily at the ankles to display scuffed and worn boots. Light blue button up, barely buttoned and hardly hiding the softness of his stomach, which you long to gnash your teeth into. Coins and medallions clink about against his chest, locks curling like ribbons along the shoulders of his midnight onyx blazer…no, on this you two can agree, you’d rather not share him either.

“Don’t let him talk so long that I have to miss you.” You smile with a wink that sizzles the blood in his veins as he watches you make your way over to the concession stand.

In keeping with yet another promise, he stands beside you before the popcorn has even been buttered, ready to follow you into whichever darkened room you’ll be inhabiting together for the next couple of hours.

When you fold into your seats, you find yourselves utterly alone.

A half an hour in, and you’re deeply regretting your choice. Something more PG would have been a lifesaver. You should have opted for something animated, for christ’s sake.

Watching them twist through the sheets, his hands dipped into her waist as she rocks above him in the gorgeous, cinematic lighting would normally have no more than a minute effect on you…especially given how little you’ve paid attention to the actual plot.

But he’s so near. You can feel the warmth of his body heat. You can smell that woodsy hint that lilts through his aura, paired with the ghostly remnants of a cigarette he’d swear he never smoked. If you leaned in just a fraction of an inch, your lips could play against the corner of his jaw. And again, you’re alone, so alone, in the cool darkness of this deserted theater.

Watching them this way with him so close has your heart banging about in the cage of your chest like a bird, stunned and frightened. Intense. Inescapable.

It’s the middle of the afternoon. The sun is beating down upon smoldering asphalt just outside these walls, bathing this town, in which you’ve built a life, in blinding light. Outside, it’s just another Wednesday…but here, with him next to you, quiet and concentrating on the two strangers making love on screen, you could be a thousand miles away. An alternate reality where in which only you walk the earth - Jake’s hand in yours as he strolls along beside you.

“Care to share what you’re thinking so hard about?” His question hushes out, though there is no one else around to hear it, but his eyes remain fixed ahead.

“I’m not thinking about anything.” You bristle gently…he knows you far too well for it to ever feel fair.

“I am.” His head tilts towards yours, but still he watches on. “Would you like it if I shared, instead?”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s rude to talk at the movies?” You tease, simply to avoid whatever you know to be coming, “You really are spending too much time with Josh.”

A thought seems to suddenly occur to him, flickering a nearly visible lightbulb above his head. “Do you ever miss the way it used to be? With Josh? Before I came along and fucked everything up?”

His hand, which has been linked loosely with yours since the lights went down, offers a tiny squeeze. A reassurance that whatever the truth is, it will be alright to say it.

“Never.” And that really is the honesty of it all. “I miss the way things were when it was the three of us sometimes…but I think that’s really only because I miss you. I miss him too. But so differently. And I miss Sam and Danny. I miss…” you fall silent, searching for words that won’t come, and finally settle upon, “everything.”

“You don’t have to.” He is still refusing to look at you, though your eyes are heating his cheek with the intensity of your gaze in the dark. “You don’t have to miss anything, anymore. You can come home, baby. You should come home. I want you to come home. I need you to—” his throat catches, and you watch his lips fold in against the vulnerability.

“I am home.” You argue, wishing you could take it back the second you’ve whispered it into existence.

“Why?” Finally, finally, he turns to catch your eye. “Because of him? I’m so sick of hearing about him it isn’t even funny. And not just because I’m jealous - which I most certainly fucking am - but because it’s such bullshit.”

Trying your hardest, you muster a bit of astonished annoyance, though you feel none of it “My life is bullshit?”

His response is matter of fact as he turns his attention back to the couple still feigning ecstasy before you “Yes, it is.”

“That’s real nice, Jake.” Now your irritation feels a bit more concrete. How dare he so nonchalantly sit here in the dark and try to poke holes in what you’ve cultivated in his absence? “What isn’t bullshit, then? Our pretend life that you choose to live inside? Or the one from years ago that you can’t let go of?”

Another squeeze of your hand comes tender and comforting, “I’ll let that slide because I know you don’t mean to be hurtful…and because I know you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you pull away and begin to miss his touch instantly. “I just…I have a fucking life, Jacob. And you seem hell bent on ruining it.”

“Okay,” he nods, turning in to nudge your nose with his own. “Take me home then, Sugar. Parade me through your life. Introduce me to Mr. Wonderful. Show me where you sleep. Where you watch TV with him at night. Where you take your baths, floating in the bubbles until you’re pruny and half-drunk on wine. Show me your backyard. Show me the walls he fucks you up against while you don’t think of me. Show me where you hide away from him at night to whisper sweet things to me…and not so sweet things. Let me meet your cat.”

His mouth is so close to yours you can faintly taste his minty toothpaste, “I don’t have a cat.”

“Alright,” he grins, sly as a snake, cheeks sweeping against yours as they perk with his smile, warm and soft “then just take me home and show me your pussy.”

It’s crass and ridiculous, and you know he’s said it simply to make you laugh…it works.

“So this is it, huh?” He leans forward, peering at your house through the windshield as you coast into the driveway. “No porch. No garden. But I’m going to wager there’s a welcome mat.”

His eyes cut over to you, a wickedly adorable gleam dancing about in them, “There is, isn’t there? How fucking quaint.”

How does he remember that you hate welcome mats? That you find them to be untruthful somehow, because certainly not everyone is welcome…some who find themselves at your doorstep should just go away. And how has he guessed that you do, in fact, have one? That he brought one home not long after you moved in and you hadn’t had the heart to tell him to throw it out?

Once more, you’re reminded of Jake’s uncanny ability to peer inside your head, but you refuse to stoke the fires of his ego. “You promised to behave, Jacob.”

He pops his door open and climbs out with a lazy stretch, “Oh, c’mon pretty girl, don’t tell me you believed that.”

Hand slipping from the steering wheel, you steel yourself with a steadying breath. This was a bad idea. A horrible choice. A disaster gearing up to wreak havoc…but here you are, leading the way with Jake strolling along behind you, taking in the suburban elements of your neighborhood with his hands buried casually in his pockets.

He always looks as though he has nowhere to be and all day to get there. It’s calming. Soothing. Like the invisible hand of a beloved caretaker reminding you that there is time enough to breathe. No reason to rush, it says…that gentle air about him. I don’t mind waiting. Take your time.

As you fit your key into the deadbolt, he resumes his antics, “When will Mr. Wonderful return from sea? Is there a widow’s walk where we might watch for him together on this dreadful day of pining?”

Voice warbling and pitched low, he reaches up and tugs a lock of your hair, goading you like a drunken, English pirate.

“Shut up, Oliver, or I’ll go inside and lock the door behind me.” The hinges squeak open…no turning back now.

“No, you won’t.” He scoffs, laughing lightly at his own nonsense. “Seriously, do I get to size up the competition today?”

You welcome him in, slightly dizzy at the sight of him sauntering inside…you’ve imagined him here so many times. Longed for his penchant for filling up space, fat and full, with his greater than life presence.

He makes you feel small in the most wonderful way; you are bird cupped safe and sound in his palms as he holds you close to his chest, protecting you from the world.

And maybe you should tell him these things…the way he makes you feel. His eyes would turn soft, he might touch your face with his tender fingertips and sigh your name into the room like a wisp of a breeze.

But a glance at the mantel, and the framed picture perched there, sends a tiny rush of guilt surging through your veins and you shake the moment off and instead opt for a stern…

“No, you won’t be sizing anything up today, Jake,” you move about the room to keep his eyes on you rather than in the direction of the mantel. “I’m not sadistic enough to subject him to your gleeful nastiness.”

He laughs like he’s never loved anything more, tipping his head back to expose his gorgeous throat…you yearn to bite it. “Gleeful nastiness? Sugar, you wound me.”

Rather than stride across the room to sink your teeth into him, you cross your arms, disgruntled and annoyed. “You’d have way too much fun being an asshole, and he’d be far too nice to put you in your place.”

That darkens his eyes, and you almost regret it. Almost. “Put me in my place? Are you choosing sides, sweetheart? Because it sounds an awful lot like you are.”

“Maybe I am.”

He’s moving toward you now, and you should back away, you know you should. Instead, your feet shuffle forward.

“Pretend your heart lies with him all you want,” he sweeps his lips over the apple of your cheek, “but I know better, and so do you.”

“Kiss me.” You bite your lip against the plea a second too late.

Those warm eyes of his, like coffee stirred with a splash of cream, flick down at your mouth and back to meet your gaze, and then his answer comes simply and with finality, “No.”

“No?” You’re incredulous, and admittedly stung by his rejection.

“No.” He reiterates, stepping away from you as your hands drop uselessly from his shoulders to your sides. “Take me on the tour, pretty girl. Show me this wonderful life of yours. I simply cannot wait.”

The “tour” he was so eager for is winding down as you steer him down the hall hurriedly, hoping he’ll ignore the door that is cracked and streaming light into the hallway.

Of course, he doesn’t. “What’s the rush, baby?” He smiles, feigning confusion, “What prize hides behind this one? Is this your bedroom?”

Suddenly, there is no space left between your bodies, and his is radiating a possessive heat as he backs you up into the room, guiding you along with a sure and steady arm wrapped around your waist.

“Is this where Mr. Wonderful fucks my girl?”

“Jake,” you’re protesting, but your fingers have curled into his shirt, thumb toying with one of the buttons that has likely never known what it’s like to be fastened. “Stop talking about it.”

He tilts his head in mock confusion, “Why? You like sex, I like sex, let’s talk about it, yeah? Oh, this is it right here, isn’t it? Look at this great big beautiful bed. Did you make it yourself this morning? Are the sheets clean?”

His mouth is at your throat now, licking and sucking between his terrible taunting questions. “If I laid you down right now, would I smell you on them? Would I smell him?”

“Jake, shut up,” you snap, but you’re pulling his lips in closer, hands fisting loosely in his hair.

You expect him to toss you down on the bed. To crawl on top of you. To grab you. To fuck you. To own you on the bed in some misguided show of territorial dominance.

And you expect to let him.

You expect to fight to be on top so that his hair will rest upon your pillow…so tonight you might drift away into a peaceful slumber gifted by the scent of him blurring your senses.

Instead, you find yourself pressed up against the wall, “I won’t have you in that fucking bed, even though I could, if I felt so inclined. I can tell you want it.” He sizes you up while grinding his cock into you with a delicious rhythm that’s got your breath panting out in tiny puffs already. “You do, don’t you, baby? You want me to fuck you in that bed. You want me all over the sheets he sleeps in.”

You’re ashamed, so fucking ashamed…but it’s true.

He’ll go, and you’ll miss him so terribly, and in some sick and horrifically twisted way you want him to spill on to the sheets, to leave his fingerprints on every surface. To lick across the bathroom mirror. To use your hairbrush so that there might be a strand or two of his silken waves left behind. You want him to drink from the milk carton and lounge about on the furniture. To lose the remote between the couch cushions. To tilt all the pictures uneven with his careless touch. You want him everywhere…to leave behind tiny remnants of himself once he’s gone, little pieces to ease your aching heart.

“Tell me, sugar.” He fucks himself against you with quick rolls of his hips until you’re praying his name. “Tell me the truth, baby. Tell me where you want me to give you my cock. I’m so hard for you, sweetheart.”

“In our bed,” it’s a rush of desperation as you clutch at him, dragging him closer to you…but it still isn’t enough, you wish you could crawl inside him. “Fuck me in our bed. Make me cum in our bad. Make me say your name in our bed. Please, jakey, please,”

Ignoring your disgraceful display, he continues to rock into you, gasping into the crook of your neck while his breathless moans tickle their way into your ear, “Does he make you cum in that bed? Does he take care of your pretty cunt the way I do? Does he make you shake and beg for terrible things? Hmm? Are you a good girl for him in that bed? Look at it.”

You shake your head back and forth against the wall, thrusting wildly to meet him. He’s right, he’s so fucking hard.

His palm wraps around your throat, squeezing at the sides, directing your line of sight. “I said fucking look at it. I want your eyes on that bed when I make you cum. I’m gonna make it mine without laying a goddamn finger on it. My bed, and my girl with her pretty wet pussy that belongs to me.”

“Inside,” it’s a rasping, shaking plea, and it should embarrass you and cast your eyes downward in shame…but it doesn’t. You’ve always wanted him this badly, and he knows it as inherently as he remembers the walls of his childhood home. “I need you inside, need your cock.”

“That’s it, fuck doll…” there is a filthy smirk evident in his tone, though his face is once again buried against your neck, “Beg for my cock. Tell me how badly you need it. Ask real sweet, sugar…be my very good girl.”

Your bodies writhe together feverishly until you feel like you might catch fire and burn away into ashes that will singe against his tongue like scorching want “Please, Jakey…please. I think about you all the time. I can’t clear my head, it’s always so full of you. Fuck me, fuck me, please please please…”

A painfully ragged groan rumbles out of him as his mouth, eager and starved, sucks against your throat, “Not gonna fuck you here. Not in this room where you let him touch you, not in this house where you let him love you.”

“Outside,” your teeth clench around the word until your jaw is screaming as loudly as the ache between your legs. “Take me out back, fuck me there…”

At last, his face, so beautifully flushed and dew-kissed, emerges from the crook of your neck, “You want me to take you outside and slide you onto my cock all wet and pretty? Want to let your neighbors hear what a whore you are for me? Let them hear how wet I make your gorgeous cunt? Hmm? Let them hear you whine my fucking name?”

“I don’t care what they hear…” you’re nearly mewling with need, clawing at his shoulders, clutching at his shirt, nearing your end, but so desperate to run from it because you want so much more. You don’t want this to be over without him slipped inside you, hard and hot.

“Look at me.” The insistence in his tone leaves no room for argument and your eyes flutter open to lock in on his.

A breathy, “You’re so beautiful,” trips off your tongue - a reflex that couldn’t be helped if you tried. He’s an evil, diabolical doctor banging a tiny hammer just below your knee cap.

A slow, languid blink is the only indication he gives that he’s even heard you. “You know my face, sugar?”

It’s the most absurd question that has ever been asked of you. Of course you know his face. Sometimes, it seems like you know nothing but his face.

Those sleepy eyes, that seem to see more than anyone has ever seen, down the deep and winding halls within you. His plush lips, full and pink, cruelly perfect, with a Cupid’s bow to rival the angel’s even if you stacked them all together. Rounded tip of his nose, different now, but still constantly luring your kiss. His jaw, so strong at times, so soft at others, but always begging for your tongue to trail along its path…his brow, his eyelashes, the way locks of hair display it all like a gilded edged frame adorning a wall in some ancient, European museum.

Yes, you know his face. You will always know his face. He is true north on your compass. He is the only direction in which your heart will ever willingly travel.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak even as your hips rock against him.

“Good girl,” he presses the softest kiss to your mouth, “I want your eyes on that bed when you cum, but I want my face in your heart, and my name on your pretty pink tongue. We’re gonna fucking erase him, aren’t we?”

Suddenly, you wonder who he means? Does he mean this new rival, who really isn’t his rival at all? Or does he mean Josh, even after all this time? Does he even know which? Do you?

“No, baby…” your voice is but a whimper, and it tugs a growl out of his lungs that makes you weaker still, “I don’t want to cum like this. I need you inside of me. Make me feel good, Jakey…make me whole.”

“Not here,” he shakes his head sternly and you shrink away from his scolding, head resting against the cool wall. “Never here. Not in this house. I hate this fucking house. I want to burn it down and salt the goddamn earth.”

“Give me more,” your fingers are tearing and pulling at him frantically. You need so much from him always, you need his everything.

“I’ll give you more,” his voice sounds feral, grinding and growling like sandpaper…like he is lost and stumbling along far away from himself, as he jerks you away from the wall and slams you up onto your vanity.

Tiny bottles and tubes tumble and spill to the floor, but rather than care, you reach back and blindly sweep the rest away to make room for whatever is about to happen.

“I’ll give you fucking more,” he bites into your throat as though he wants to swallow you down and carry you around inside him. “I’ll give you fucking anything if you’ll just let me. Let me, sugar…fuck, please baby.”

“Just…” you can’t finish your thought…can’t find your mental footing while vibrating with such desperation, so you don’t even try. Instead, you begin fumbling with his belt, but he shoves your hands away.

“I told you,” he grabs hold of your face, a firm yet shaking hand tight around your chin, “Not here. Stop.”

On your fingers march, fighting with leather and metal until his voice, soft and mournful now, guides you out of the haze, “Not here, sugar. Not here.”

Everything slows in a blink, as if fate has adjusted the playback speed, and you find yourself watching with bated, yet quieting breaths as he pops the button on your jeans and lowers the zipper, eyes on your face all the while.

He slips his fingers in slowly, carefully…you are precious and deserving of his care, and he wants you to have it.

“Lean back,” he soothes, the heel of his palm grinding softly against your clit, “Let me take care of my girl.”

You’re prepared to whine and barter, but he shakes his head the moment your lips part.

“Shh, settle down, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” free hand now petting at your face, he offers you the gentlest smile. “You’re so wet, sugar. So warm.”

“Jake,” you’re rocking up to meet him now, slipping into the breathtaking haze of bliss he saves just for you.

“What, pretty girl?” God, the way he’s speaking to you…each word dripping with adoration and awe. Drenched in lust. Positively soaked in love. “Does it feel good?”

“So good,” your eyes are drifting closed now as you wade deeper into the tepid pool of your Jakey. You want to stay forever, to sink into his swirling blue waters until you’re forced to suck him into your lungs and drown.

“Eyes open.” The demand is soft and delicate, like lace drawn across your flushed skin.

You recall his earlier instruction and cast your heated stare at the bed you share with a man you could never exist for the way you live and breathe for Jake, but he shakes his head, “I was wrong…I don’t want that. Look at me, sugar. Right here, look at me.”

How could you ever want to look at anything else? Your gaze locks with his, and in reward, he curls his searching fingers and drags a high pitched moan off the tip of your tongue.

“Good girl, baby…” he nods, dropping his forehead to meet yours “So pretty. Silky little pussy wrapped up snug and tight around me like she never wants me to leave.”

“Don’t,” you’re writhing and grabbing at him now, crawling closer and closer to the edge, “Don’t leave me, Jake.”

His hand trails down from your face to cover your heart, “Is that coming from here, too?”

Watching him like this, your chest feels like it could easily cave in…like it could crumple in on itself - a balled up scrap of cheap aluminum foil crushed inside a fist. He is a sonnet come to life. A haunting song, living and breathing, watching you like you are love incarnate.

Of course it’s coming from your heart. It’s coming from your soul…or perhaps from the soul the two of you sometimes seem to share.

“I don’t know why I keep fighting this,” strangely, tears are burning in your eyes as the white hot band of pleasure stretches tighter still in your belly, “You’re all I want. You’re all I’ve ever fucking wanted,”

Satisfied, the air sighs out of his lungs as his fingers crook just perfectly and unravel you with a jolt. It is such a lazy, undulating ribbon of pleasure, unwinding through your veins like slow heat as you gasp and hush his name.

“Just like that, baby,” he coaxes, sounding far away. “Nice and slow…just like that. Shh, I’m right here. I’ve got you, sugar, I’ve got you.”

Your eyes never stray from his, even when the intensity you find in them threatens to crack your chest wide open, and when you finally come down, that’s how you both stay for so long you can almost believe the rest of the world has fallen away.

When his fingers twitch and you shiver with overstimulation, it breaks the spell and he pulls back… reluctantly sliding slowly from the cashmere grip of your cunt, only to suck those two fingers into his mouth with a muted groan of content.

“Pack a bag, sugar…” his hands cup your cheeks, fingers slick against your face as his nose tips up to meet yours, “Or don’t. We’ll go shopping and I’ll buy you anything and everything you’ve ever needed. Whatever you want, pretty girl…it’s yours.”

“I—“ you can’t seem to think straight.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he’s teasing now, with a barely there smirk taunting his lips, “Let me steal you away and take you home where you belong. I’ll write pretty songs for you, and make love to you every morning until the sun is so envious of us it resents having to rise. Let me build you a house. Let me till a garden for my girl.”

At last, you find your voice, “I have to do this the right way, Jake. His heart deserves care. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I have to. I’m the bad guy, here.”

“No,” that soft, hidden away smile of his clutches at your heart. “I think I’m the bad guy here. I just can’t find a shit to give.”

You’ve righted your disheveled selves and are now attempting to right all the other wrongs, with you stretched out on the rug watching as Jake picks up the tiny bottles and jars that litter the floor, asking after each one…

“Highlighter? What the hell does this do? Are you a book report?” And “How many lip glosses do you even need, sugar? You only have two lips.”

…before carefully placing said product back on the vanity - when, way ahead of schedule, the garage door rumbles to life.

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest, but on his end, Jake’s eyes light up with menacing delight, “Well, what do you know, babe? It seems our dear captain has returned.”

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 8 months ago

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Hard to Shake (M, cold)

Woof, that was too long of a hiatus. I'm back with some Greyson sickfic! In this, Greyson has a one night stand and ends up 'running into' his hookup in a not-so-stellar way. This was a fun write, I'm feeling a little rusty after taking a couple months off writing but I hope you all like it. Please let me know what ya think, good, bad or indifferent! :)

CW: M snz, colds, contagion, coughing, some M/M romance but nothing above PG-13 lol. 5k words (it's a slow burn, shocker, I know)

Hard to Shake

The club was dark, humid, and loud as fuck - just the way he liked it.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Matt said, disappearing into the crowd to push towards the bar without waiting on Greyson’s response. Not that he would have stopped his counterpart; Matt had a boyfriend waiting for him at the end of this black hole of a night. Greyson, alternatively, was on the prowl for a bed, and someone to share it with.

They had begun the night at two pm, just an hour after brunch ended, since the only way to get a proper buzz on a Sunday was to start early as hell. Elijah had closed the restaurant early – “We’ve had ten guests all day. It’s too damn hot for brunch, and I want to go home” – and Mark was currently on a plane home from England after a week spent with family; it was like the universe was begging them to go out.

The restaurant’s reservations had been capped at a tiny number the next two days to prepare for their food writer dinner on Wednesday, and Greyson was so nervous about this career-shaping dinner that he could barely keep himself from lapsing into panic attacks at the slightest provocation; it was Matt who insisted on the bender.

“We haven’t gone on a good one since Mark and I got together,” the sous chef had said after service. “And you need a drink, you're acting like a psycho.”

Greyson, never one to deny himself a good binge drink, had taken the bait and allowed himself to be paraded through the city for the rest of the day. Now, at eleven pm and with Mark back at his and Matt's place safe and sound, Greyson could feel the night coming to a close. Time to round it out with a good old-fashioned one-night-stand.

Without waiting for Matt to return with the drinks, Greyson sashayed onto the dance floor and began grinding on whoever seemed the most into it – he ground on a group of drunk men, twirled between two gorgeous women who laughed giddily through the song, and put his tongue into so many people’s mouths that he lost count. Of course it was fun; it always was. But the hunt for a bed partner had proven, thus far, unsuccessful.

“There you are,” Matt slurred, coming up behind his boss and shoving a whiskey into his hand. “Why do you always run off? I’m about three seconds away from getting you one of those toddler-leash backpacks.”

“Makin’ friends, Matty boy,” Greyson said, chugging his drink and slamming the glass onto the closest table he could find. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of goin’ home to a warm, naked man in our bed.” Greyson elbowed Matt playfully and the younger man rolled his eyes.

“Fair ‘nough,” he said, sipping his drink. “Hey, actually, I saw someone who was exactly your type back near the bar. Talkin’ about food and everything.” Greyson raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and Matt looped his arm into his boss’s and led him back towards the horseshoe-shaped bar. “Let’s see if we can’t get you fucked to sleep.”

Matt pushed the two of them through the crowd, his head on a swivel, until finally he spotted the man he’d been talking about. “There he is,” Matt said, pushing Greyson towards the bar. “Do your thing.”

The sous hadn’t lied; this man was quintessential Greyson’s type. Shorter than his six-foot-three-inches by about half a foot, perfect skin, hair coiffed in a way that just smelled of total pretentious douchebag, and a full blazer and dress pants at the club. Oh yeah, Greyson thought, pulling the elastic out of his sandy curls and shaking them to fall around his shoulders, there’s the rest of my evening.

“Hi,” Greyson said, pushing himself in front of whoever the guy had been talking to before. “Can I buy you a drink?”

***

In his defense, he hadn't known the condition of the man he'd left with until they got to his apartment. The club had been dark; he could barely hear the sound of his own voice, let alone the wheeze of someone else’s. And he’d been really, really drunk.

“Hh-! EISHH-oo! ISHH-oo!” The man – Reed, Greyson had learned his name was – curled into his elbow to sneeze as he pushed open the door to his apartment. “Shit, pardon mbe,” he muttered, clearing his throat and beckoning Greyson in. The chef, blasted as he was, simply ignored Reed’s constant sneezing.

“Now, where were we?” Greyson purred, pawing the back of Reed’s head and pulling it into his own. The two stood in the entry of Reed’s apartment – a truly incredible fifteenth-story one-bedroom in the Upper East Side with its own doorman – making out until Reed had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Shit,” he said again, panting, “sorry. Thought the worst of this fuckin’ cold was behind mbe but – ISHHOO! Snrf. Apparently ndot.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and cringed. “I understand if you don’t want to stay,” he said, giving Greyson an apologetic look.

Greyson remained unfettered. “Reed,” he said, taking a step back towards the other man. “Stop talking. And get in bed.”

Reed’s face colored. He opened his mouth to say something, but Greyson cut him off with another kiss.

“What did I just say?” Greyson asked, taking off his t-shirt and unbuttoning Reed’s expensive-looking button down. “Get in the bed -” - he yanked the shirt off the smaller man and licked him, navel to collar bone, prompting a moan - “- and let me take care of you.”

To his credit, Reed did as he was told. He did as he was told all night long.

***

“Lij, I don’t want to alarm you.”

“Greyson, I don’t want to hear it. Zip it. I’m being so serious right now.”

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Greyson repeated, slamming the rest of the bottle of Pedialyte and holding onto the prep table as if for dear life, “but I think I may be dying. I think I may need you to call me an ambulance.”

Elijah swung his chair around and strode towards the chef. He took the sunglasses Greyson had placed on his face the moment he walked inside the bright kitchen and tossed them across the room. He regarded the chef with an annoyance usually reserved for parents of crying toddlers at Disneyland.

“Your drinking antics, Grey, are what most people would describe as ‘a you problem’. You decide to get unreasonably wasted and then come in to prep one of the biggest dinners of your career? That’s a you problem. I don’t want to hear it. The only thing I want to hear is your knife going into and out of different types of food.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to hear about the incredibly hot guy I hooked up with last night?” Greyson asked, a smile blooming at his lips. Elijah, despite himself, felt his eyebrows raise halfway up his face.

“But you haven’t slept with anyone in months,” he said, annoyed at himself for taking the bait but too curious to stop himself from saying anything. “I thought you were on a self-imposed time-out?”

Greyson shrugged, pushed his hair into a bun at the top of his head, and secured it with an elastic. “I was,” he said. “But - and you’re not going to believe this, but it’s true – I am finally feeling… I dunno. Healed?”

“Healed?” Elijah asked, snorting. “I think you’ve been taking too many hot yoga classes. Like, spiritually healed?”

Greyson tipped his head back and forth, considering. “Kind of,” he said. “Like… ready. Moved on from Collin. Prepared to get back out there for real, not in a self-punishing way.”

Elijah whistled, long and low. “Wow,” he said, patting Greyson’s back. “Well, congrats, man. A little over a year and you’re finally back on your feet. That’s actually quite impressive.”

“Thanks,” Greyson laughed, shoving Elijah playfully. “I was also really drunk and you know nothing stops drunk-Greyson when he decides he’s going to sleep with someone.”

“There it is,” Elijah said, rolling his eyes and laughing. “So… tell me about him. Did you get his name?”

Greyson dead-panned his boss as he pulled knives out of his bag and cracked his neck. “Yes, I got his name, Elijah. That’s what healed people do, they get people’s names before sleeping with them, and I am, as previously stated, healed.”

Elijah flipped the chef off lazily, non-committal. “Well, out with it then,” he said. “What’s his name? Tell me about the night.”

“His name is Reed Parker, and we fucked til the sun came out,” Greyson said simply, laughing at his own gregariousness. He looked up when he realized that Elijah wasn’t laughing – in fact, his face had gone stark-white. “What?”

“Reed Parker?” Elijah asked, pulling out his phone. “You’re sure that’s his name?”

“Umm, according to him at least, yeah,” Greyson said, unwrapping a pan with a cleaned striploin in it. “Why, do you know him?”

“No,” Elijah said, pushing his phone towards Greyson. “But if that’s him, we’re going to know him in two days.”

Greyson looked down at the phone and felt the wave of nausea he’d been holding back all morning wash over him – oh. Oh, no.

Pulled up on Elijah’s phone was an Instagram post from The Foodie Society – a group of well-acclaimed food critics and writers in the city. The group that was hosting a dinner at Elliot’s in two days. The group that would likely be the deciding factor in whether Greyson got nominated for a James Beard award this year.

We are so excited to announce Reed Parker, writer of the extremely popular food blog, ‘Eat Like You Mean It’, as our newest Foodie Society member! Reed has been a prolific writer and food critic in the city for nearly five years, and we are so delighted to have him aboard. Can’t wait to collaborate with you, Reed!

Above the blurb was a photo of – undoubtedly – the man that Greyson had slept with the night before. He looked markedly healthier in the photo, and his hair was a little longer, but there wasn’t any was it wasn’t him. Greyson swallowed hard.

“Oh… shit,” Greyson muttered, lowering himself to the floor. “Oh, no.”

“Maybe he was drunk, too?” Elijah said, the panic clear in his voice. “Maybe he won’t remember?” Elijah kneeled down next to Greyson, trying to console him. “Hey, Grey, it’s alright. Obviously you guys didn’t know who the other one was. It’s not like he’s going to think you slept with him to get the nomination. It was just drunk sex. Right?”

“He gave me an out,” Greyson muttered, shaking his head. He looked up at Elijah, eyes wild. “Maybe he did know, or maybe he figured it out on the walk back to his place, because he gave me a fuckin’ out.”

“What do you mean?” Elijah asked, pulling Greyson back to his feet. The chef stood, but placed his head in his hands and his elbows on the prep table, as if to steady himself.

“He was getting over some sort of sickness, and he said he’d understand if I didn’t want to stay. He basically told me to get out and I just… fuck. I told him I didn’t care, and I stayed the night. Shit. I’m never going to get nominated now. There’s no fucking way.” Greyson rubbed both hands down his face and shook his head in disbelief. “I fucked myself.”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, taking his friend’s chin and lifting it so their eyes met. “You didn’t fuck yourself. Okay? He didn’t know it was you. It was a mistake, and also he’s brand new there, it’s not like he’s THE deciding factor. Just – wait, did you say he was sick?”

Greyson, his chin still in Elijah’s fingers, looked away from his boss with just his eyes. “Uhh… I mean, yeah, kind of, I guess. He had some sort of cold, I think.”

“You purposely slept with someone who was sick three days before this huge dinner?”

“Umm… did I mention I was really drunk?”

Elijah sighed loudly and threw his hands in the air. “Never a dull fuckin’ moment with you, is there?” he mumbled, storming into the office and pillaging through their medicine cabinet. He returned a moment later with Emergen-C and Airborne in his hands. “Take those.”

“Yes, sir,” Greyson muttered, pulling them to his side of the table. “Sorry.”

“I think it’s crazy that out of all the millions of people you probably saw yesterday, the one you just so happened to pick is a food writer who could decide your future fate who also had a fucking cold. There wasn’t a single other person in the city you could sleep with?”

“Apparently not,” Greyson muttered, pouring Emergen-C into his water bottle. Elijah took a deep breath before continuing.

“Let’s just… let’s try to get through the next couple days,” he said, heading back to the office. “I am glad you want to get back out there,” he continued from afar, “just maybe give them a cursory Google before you bang them next time. Okay?”

Greyson, completely deflated, just nodded. He swallowed and thought he could already feel a twinge of a sore throat, which would just figure. His dick had sealed his fate. Fuck.

***

Tuesday, May 12

NEW MESSAGE

Matt

3:53pm

r u almost back??? idk how much longer I can handle them at each others throats.

Mark

3:58pm

On my way back now! Are they at each other’s throats again?? I thought they were over it..

Matt

3:59pm

has elijah ever REALLY been over smthn..? & greyson’s going down fast af so hes pissy.

Mark

4:02pm

It seemed like he was in the downward slide when I left...ugh. ok, I’ll be back in 15!

“We are ndot,” Greyson said from behind his sous chef, “at each other’s throats.”

Matt jumped at the sound of his boss’s voice and quickly clicked his phone screen off. “Don’t read my private texts, Chef, that’s rude.”

Greyson shrugged and pulled a tissue out of the box on the desk next to Matt. “Don’t talk shit about your boss and you don’t have to worry about mbe being ruuhh – huh! Hh...IGTSZHH-ue! Hh-NTSHZH-ue!” Greyson crumpled into the jacket he’d pulled over his chef’s coat to sneeze. His hair fell over his face, blocking the grimace he hid as he sucked in through his nose.

“Bless you, moron,” Elijah called from the dining room. Greyson rolled his eyes so hard he felt it splinter in his head. Matt winced when he saw Greyson shudder with pain, and stood from the desk.

“The prep sheets for tomorrow are all written, Chef, tell me how I can help you,” he said, guiding Greyson into the chair. Greyson allowed himself to be sat down, despite his better judgment.

“I feel pretty good about -”

“You feel pretty good? Is that a joke?” Elijah asked, pushing through the swinging kitchen doors and leaning on the office door frame. Greyson gave his boss the dirtiest look he could muster and turned back to Matt without a word to his boss.

“I feel confident about the first three courses for tomborrow’s dinner, but the steak and dessert I feel like we’re way behind. Plus I have ndo idea how the guys are looking for service tondight, so pick which one of those you’d rather tackle and I’ll – hhuh! Hh...HUHESTZHH-ue! Fuck, snrf.” Greyson grabbed another tissue and blew his nose before finishing. “I’ll do the other onde.”

Matt nodded while Elijah stood wordlessly in the doorway. “I’ll get with the guys and help them with tonight, make sure it goes smooth,” he said. Greyson nodded back and his sous looked away and scurried towards the line. Elijah, in stark contrast, pushed past Greyson and sat at the other end of their shared desk, unwilling to look away from the mess that was the executive chef.

“How ya feeling?” he asked finally. Greyson pulled another tissue out of the box just in time.

“HRTSHH-ue!” he sneezed into the tissue and let a tickling flurry of coughs escape as well. Elijah sighed, looked into the kitchen, and reached past Greyson to shut the door to their office.

“How are you feeling,” he asked again. “Seriously.”

Greyson sighed wheezily and pulled a hand down his face. “Honestly?” he said, looking Elijah in the eye, “like fuckin’ shit.”

Elijah sighed as well. “You seemed okay when you came in this morning,” he said, as though it mattered.

“I felt okay this mborning,” Greyson admitted. “I mean, I felt like it was coming but I definitely didn’t feel this… shitty.” He shrugged. “It just… I don’t kndow. Hit mbe out of nowhere.”

Elijah nodded. “I mean, if you want to leave so you’re good for tomorrow, you know I’ll understand.” Greyson just scoffed.

“I have so mbuch shit to do before tomborrow,” he said, sucking in through his nose and coughing again. “There’s ndo way in hell.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Elijah sighed. “Fuck, Greyson. I’m really sorry.” He looked up at his friend, the true pity evident on his face. “I know how important this dinner is to you. It’s still going to be great, okay? If you need to par it down, do it. It’s not like they know what’s on the menu til tomorrow. I’m cutting off reservations tonight so you can go home early, okay? We’re going to make this work.”

Greyson had to set his jaw to keep from tearing up. “It’s mby own damn fault,” he said. “Ndo need to baby mbe – hh...HTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! NTSHH! Huh! Huhhh-ETSZHHH-uee!” Greyson collapsed into his own lap, lapsed into coughs again. Elijah handed him a water bottle, which he took the cap off of while wiping his nose with the other hand.

“Can we go back to you being a dick to mbe?” Greyson asked, his voice rough. “That I can handle.”

Elijah pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “Sure, Chef. Get your lazy ass up and start prepping,” he joked, pushing Greyson’s arm lightly. “Sitting is for the weak.”

Greyson smirked, an attempt at a laugh that wouldn’t make him cough. “Thanks, Lij,” he said. “Let’s get this stupid fuckigg show on the road.”

***

Course One

Compressed Cantaloupe

tarragon | smoked sea salt | brown butter crumble

Reed sat in the cushy, velvet chair and attempted to make himself comfortable. He hoped beyond hope that this dinner would go as quickly as humanly possible.

After their little rendevouz at the club, of course Reed had looked Greyson up; in this day and age, who wouldn’t look up their previous night’s partner, if only to make sure they weren’t some sort of psycho killer. And after he looked him up, of course he realized that oh. It was that Greyson Abbott. The same one whose food he was about to be poised in front of. The one who he and his fellow writers gathered around this table were tasked with deciding whether or not he was worthy of a Beard nod.

Of course.

Reed shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. The other writers had started talking immediately and, this being his first dinner with them, he was feeling awkward and left out. He really could have used the distraction of talking about their craft, but apparently he would have to earn a word tossed in his direction. This was going to be a long evening.

At least the restaurant is beautiful, Reed thought to himself. He’d never been to Elliot’s before, and now he was kicking himself for it. The wrap-around bar, the view of the park, the chandeliers… everything was gorgeous. He just wished he wasn’t here with these people, under the circumstance that his fling was in the kitchen plating up. That put a bit of a damper on things.

“Good evening,” a husky voice came from the head of the table, and Reed whipped his head to see a gorgeous plate of food placed in front of him, and the absolute god of a man he’d slept with a few days before standing just feet from him. Reed swallowed hard.

“I’mb Greyson,” Greyson said, and Reed immediately clocked the congestion in his voice. So you did give him that cold. Asshole, Reed chided himself. Greyson attempted to clear his throat before continuing.

“If you’ll excuse mby voice, I’mb at the tail end of a cold,” he continued, and Reed felt his face flame. Tail end, he thought. Yeah, sure.

“Our first course is compressed cantaloupe,” Greyson said. “I hope you enjoy. Pardon mbe, I have to get back to screaming at mby cooks.”

The group laughed in earnest as the chef walked away. Reed, too embarrassed to even look at the other writers, just picked up his fork and gathered a bite on it. He stuck it in his mouth and closed his eyes.

Christ, Reed thought, he cooks as well as he fucks.

Course Two

Hamachi

yuzu pearls | grapefruit | coconut crème

“I swear to God, Mbatt, what is goigg on?” Greyson yelled the moment he walked back into the kitchen. “We’re already behind, and none of the hamachi is on the plates yet? Can we please get it the fuck together che – ehh! HhITSZHH-uh! HRITSZHH-ue!”

Greyson yanked his chef’s coat over his nose and mouth and ducked away from the plates. The cooks called, “Bless, Chef,” and Elijah came up behind him with Sudafed – “The good shit, from behind the pharmacist counter,” he’d promised Greyson earlier, when he made an emergency trip to Walgreens for medicine – and popped two into his hand.

“I just took two,” Greyson croaked, sucking in through his nose.

“Well, it sounds like they’ve already worn off,” Elijah countered. Greyson swallowed the pills and coughed. “Is he out there?”

“Of course he’s out there, Lij, did you think he’d cancel because of mbe?” Greyson said, washing his hands and heading towards the pass to place hamachi on plates. “Like you said, hopefully he doesn’t remember.”

“Hard to forget a giant, loud, blonde buffoon who’s sporting the cold you just got over,” Elijah murmured, and Greyson flipped him off. “Just saying,” Elijah said.

“I don’t have timbe to think about him,” Greyson said, swallowing painfully. “I can’t think about anything but this.”

Elijah nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Let me jump in with the pearls.”

Course Three

Lamb Lollipop

harissa | mint chutney | bbq ‘chip’

“Pretty incredible, right?”

These were the first words uttered to Reed all night, said moments after the third course was placed in front of him and seconds after Greyson disappeared back into the kitchen. Reed could see him dip into an elbow to sneeze before he made it back to the kitchen. He cringed; poor guy. This was all his fault.

“Reed?”

The writer who’d spoken to him waved a hand in front of his face to snap him out of his stupor. Reed pulled his head back to the table and smiled. “Really incredible,” he said. “I mean, this guy has talent.”

“For sure,” the other writer said. “I mean, he’s been hoping for a Beard nod for years.”

“Yeah?” Reed asked, hungry for any bit of lore he could get about Greyson. The other writer dug into his lamb as he nodded.

“About five years,” he said. “The menu is deemed as one of the best in the city, and he changes it every single day. I mean, the guy’s an animal.”

Reed nodded slowly. He could only imagine how hard Greyson had worked, how nervous he was, especially with Reed's stupid ass sitting here to judge him. Especially when Greyson was sick as a dog.

“That he is,” Reed said, and he took another incredible bite.

Course Four

Rutabaga Tart

fennel | feta | cured egg yolk

“Matt can put these on the plates, Chef,” Elijah said, putting a hand on Greyson’s back. “Take a quick break before you have to talk to them again. Drink some water. Blow your nose.”

Greyson shook his head, pushed the flop sweat off his forehead. “This is mby shot. These are mby plates,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I’mb here until the end.”

Elijah pressed his lips together and flashed Matt a look. The sous chef just raised his eyebrows and gave a little shrug. Once Greyson was like this… well, there was certainly no arguing with him.

“Okay,” Elijah said. “I’ll make you some tea, then.”

“Thank you, Lij,” Greyson managed, before ducking under the pass to sneeze into the collar of his chef’s coat. “God, fuck, I’mb gonna have to throw this thing away after this.”

“More like burn it,” Matt countered, prompting the first laugh from Greyson all evening.

“Burn it is right,” Greyson said. “HHITSZHH-ue!”

Course Five

Striploin

deconstructed bearnaise | white asparagus | duxelle

The fifth course was placed in front of them, and the writers looked up expectantly at Greyson.

“Forgive mbe,” Greyson said, his voice strained to a whisper. “I’ve yelled mbyself out in the kitchen, so mby number-two will introduce your last two courses.”

The writers tutted or laughed and looked over towards the sous chef – everyone except Reed. Reed was staring at Greyson, hoping he could hear his thoughts. I’m sorry you’re sick. I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

The sous finished the description and the writers began to eat once again. Reed was sure he could hear the younger chef say to Greyson, “Just one more, Chef,” as they walked back to the kitchen.

Reed sighed and took a bite of his steak. He closed his eyes; perfection.

He did not deserve to be here.

Course Six

Matcha Milk Bombe

coffee | pastry crumb

Greyson placed the final pastry onto the final plate and turned away to cough as the servers brought his final plate of food to the critics. He felt like he was attending his own funeral.

“I don’t think I can go out there again, Lij,” Greyson said, shaking his head and crouching down on the ground. “I can’t look at all of themb, I’ve embarrassed myself enough.”

“You haven’t embarrassed yourself at all, Grey,” Elijah promised, pushing Greyson’s sweaty hair out of his face. “But I understand if you’re too exhausted. I’ll go out for the last one, thank them all for being here.”

“Please,” Greyson said. Elijah nodded, stood, and left the kitchen to meet the writers, while Matt nodded towards the office.

“Go,” he said to his boss. “Sit. You did it.”

Greyson shook his head. “Gotta clean mbyself up first,” he said, standing and moving towards the kitchen doors. “I’mb using the damn guest bathroom, fuck those pretentious assholes.”

Matt laughed in earnest. “You’ve earned it for sure, Chef.”

Greyson slipped into the guest bathroom, hoping no one saw him, and locked himself in a stall. Finally, he sat down and let himself go.

“HITSHH-ue!” Greyson sneezed into the open, then quickly grabbed a handful of toilet paper to keep from becoming the restaurant’s biggest biohazard. “HTTSHH! IIITZSCHUE! Huh! Hh…. huh, huhhh… huhhETSZHHH-ue! Huh! HRRRSHHH! Fuuuck mbe.” Greyson blew his nose, beyond exhaustion. He felt like shit. He knew he looked like shit. He’d put out shit food, he’d been in a shit mood… this whole thing was just… shit.

Finally, feeling a little more cleared out, Greyson flushed the toilet paper and unlocked the stall. When he exited, he nearly jumped out of his skin. There, in the doorway, was his fling - Reed.

“Jesus,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his chest. “Give a guy a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Reed shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, then let Greyson by to wash his hands. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Bless you. By the way.”

Greyson huffed out a laugh. “Thangks,” he said, drying his hands. “Sombe cold you’re passing around town. Shouldn’t you be finishing your meal? Or was it so bad you’re here to hock it back up?”

“It was incredible,” Reed said earnestly. “Truly, Greyson. Thank you. I… I’m sorry. For being here, for getting you sick, I – I didn’t know that this place was… um… yours.”

“Mmm, more Elijah’s than mbine,” Greyson mumbled, looking away from Reed’s face. “But, uh… thank you. Glad you enjoyed. Hopefully it's ndot for nothing.”

"I don't think it will be. They all had nothing but good things to say. I'm just the grunt, but I mean...you have my vote. You're... You're incredible," Reed said, the words escaping his mouth before he could even consider what he was saying.

Greyson tried to hide a small smile by looking down. They both stood awkwardly until Greyson cleared his throat. “I, uh… better get back to mby guys,” he said, starting towards the door.

“I had an amazing time the other night,” Reed blurted out suddenly. “I, um… I haven’t stopped thinking about it, actually.”

Greyson smirked, the tension finally broken. “Yeah?” he asked. Reed nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “You’re… you’re hard to shake.”

Greyson took a step closer to Reed, looking him in the eye now. He sniffled, rubbed his nose, and crossed his arms, a smile dancing on his lips. “Who are you, Reed Parker?” he asked. Reed’s face flushed bright red.

“I – I don’t know what you mean. I’m a food writer.”

“Mmm,” Greyson nodded. “Well, Reed the food writer who can’t get mbe out of his mind, at the moment I’m a bit, uh… incapacitated. But,” Greyson pulled a Sharpie out of his coat’s side pocket and grabbed Reed’s hand, “if I’m still rattling around in your brain in a few days… give mbe a call.” Greyson coughed into his shoulder, capped the Sharpie, and gave Reed a little smile.

“I will,” Reed said, biting his cheek. “Thank you. For, um… dinner.”

Greyson paused, thinking, then took a bold step towards Reed, grabbed his chin in his hand, and planted a deep kiss on his lips. “It was my pleasure,” he said, and stepped out of the room.

Reed stood, flushed and breathless, for a moment. The kiss sat, swelling his lips, sweeter than any dessert he’d ever had; he looked at the number on his hand, felt his heart catch in his throat.

Greyson Abbott, he thought, looking towards the bathroom door. Holy shit.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snzblr #snez #male cold #male snz #ooo we have a new character hope you guys are into him bc i have ideas lol #im not a huge fan of the first part of this story but i really like the ending. whatever its fine #we're going with it. idk. i want to post it ive been looking at it for 8 hours so into the ether it goes #happy to be back :)

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agentwhiskeysdarlin · 2 years ago

Text

Reunited

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: TLOU typical violence, mentions of injury, pain medication use, outbreak night events (from readers pov), sorry to the Joel and Tess shippers out there, Sarah’s death, angst but fluff

Word Count: 4k

Author’s Notes: FINALLY BACK!!! This writers block didn’t last nowhere near as long as the last one and it feels good to be typing this right now. I do think in the future I will intentionally take January off to reset and rest my brain. I hope everyone has been well!! This is my first ever Joel fic so please be nice!! Thanks to @clint-aww-no-barton as always! With a new wave of fans coming in if you want to be added (or removed) from my taglist please please let me know!!

ao3 link

The world was so broken. It had been like this for 20 years now, but every single time you moved outside of the walls of a city it hit you all over again. You panted as you moved one foot in front of the other, pain shooting up your left leg with each step. Boston was now maybe a mile away in front of you. You paused, taking it in, before making yourself keep moving. Finally you were in view of guards who came rushing to you, guns drawn as usual.

“I’m not sick,” your voice betrayed you as you raised your arms.

“Any exposed injuries?!” One guard yelled from the distance they kept.

“No,” you spoke shaking your head with your word. “I think my left leg is broken somewhere. I’m not sure. I just know it hurts like hell.”

The guards came to you then, calmly, which was not something you experienced often. You knew all the normal procedures that came next, but you couldn’t care less, you just wanted off your feet. They took you to a room once you crossed the walls, patted you down and scanned you, green shining back into the dim room.

“Well, looks like you’re not sick. I’ll get someone to look at that leg.” One of the guards spoke with a sweeter tone than most.

“Thank you,” your words came out soft and full of exhaustion.

Water and a sandwich was shoved into your hands, which you devoured. The moment you took your last sip of water, a man walked in who was definitely a doctor.

“What did you do to it?” He spoke softly as he moved your leg slightly.

You let out a scream at the pain that shot through you, the guard in the room jumping.

“Do that again and I’ll kick you in the face,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“I do have to do my job,” he snapped back eyeing you with a sharp look.

“I did it after I left the last place I was at. I was being chased by infected and tripped. I was in pain but I had to get up and keep going.”

“Well good news is, it’s not broken but you do have a severe strain, maybe even torn ligaments. I’m going to wrap it up but once you get into a room I want you off it.”

“Yeah like that’s going to happen. We don’t have the luxury of things like resting anymore.”

“You do and will.”

You rolled your eyes but braced yourself as he started to wrap your leg. Your knuckles turned white and you swore you were going to break your teeth as you clenched them through the pain.

“Come on I’ll take you to the apartment building you’ll be staying in,” the guard who had been keeping watch since you got here started to help you from the table.

“Easy easy.”

You wrapped your arm around her and she held you tight against her as the two of you started to walk slowly and carefully. You were mostly silent as she walked you through the city. It all looked the same as the other cities you had lived, in just different faces. Eyes watched you, people paused as you passed by. A new person was in their midst and she was being helped by a guard. Finally the two of you came to the building and slowly made your way up the stairs inside.

“I need a minute,” you panted as you backed yourself up against a wall just inside.

You rested your head back on the wall and closed your eyes, trying to calm your breathing and pounding heart rate. The pain still coursing through you had only slightly subsided thanks to the wrap now on it. You were going to have to find out how to get pain medication around here and soon.

“You think you can move again?” The guard spoke and with your eyes still closed you nodded your head.

The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion. Your eyes opened and before you could even push yourself off the wall you saw him. There was no mistaking him even after all these years. You felt tears spring into your eyes almost too shocked to speak.

“Joel?”

His name came out softer than you wanted but he still stopped dead in his tracks and then turned to you. You could see the hardness like armor around him but his face went from tensed to shocked. His eyes met yours and you could tell he couldn’t find his words. So many emotions came crashing over you and you wanted to fall to the ground, you wanted to cry but more than anything you wanted his arms wrapped around you. To be sure he was real. You pushed yourself off the wall and the two of you stood there for too long just looking at each other. No doubt he was thinking the same as you. Were you dreaming? You knew you weren’t. This was real. After all this time you had found your way back to each other just as you promised that night.

*outbreak night*

You had driven straight to their house. You didn’t even fully have the car in park before you were out of it and running towards it. The neighborhood was already in an uproar, along with the rest of the city and it seemed nightfall was making things worse. You noticed the door open and stopped short, slowly making your way inside.

“Joel?! Sarah?!” You yelled their names but got no responses.

You gulped, feeling your stomach fall, but no you wouldn’t believe the worst, not yet. Then it felt like everything happened at once. You heard a scream, turning and taking off back out of the house in time to see Sarah stunned into stillness as her neighbor went rabid. Just before she lunged at Sarah, before you could jump to her rescue, Tommy’s truck came crashing onto the curb, both men were out and Joel had killed the woman. Everyone seemed to freeze in that moment realizing what was happening was real.

“You killed her…” Sarah let out a sob and Joel was to her in second.

“I know baby girl. I’m so sorry but I had to,” he breathed and then he looked at you. “Are you okay?”

All you could do was nod. Your heart was racing and you could feel the panic creeping up. You looked at Sarah and pushed it down then glanced back at Joel. The two of you communicated silently, that there would be a time to have your own moments later. What mattered now was getting somewhere safe.

“Both of you get in. We gotta go,” Joel spoke suddenly and you all made for the truck.

You slid into the backseat with Sarah who whimpered slightly as she grabbed your arm.

“Hey it’s going to be okay kiddo. Buckle up,” you nodded at the seatbelt on her side.

She buckled and so did you before you had grabbed on to each other once again. You tried to keep her calm as Tommy flew through the streets. Him and Joel kept going back and forth about where to go, which way would be better. Everything seemed a blur. A burning house to your left, a family pleading for help on your right. Every car in Texas on the highway that was your way out. Across a field with a sharp turn only to be met with military. Another jerk to the right and you were heading straight for the city. You could see the flames already licking the sky in the distance. You had no idea what was going to happen or where you were going to go. You held Sarah with a harder grip as Tommy flew into the city. Everything was pure chaos. Other cars flew around you along with people running from other people who seemed to be crazed. They were attacking people, killing then. And then ,moments later the dead got up and took off after more. You watched in pure shock and fear until your head flew forward with a sudden stop.

“Tommy back up!! Back up!!”

Joel was yelling. Tommy was yelling back. Sarah was speaking over them and you sat in silence. You looked behind you as Tommy flew in reverse and was met with a sight that finally made the entire thing click. Airplanes were falling from the sky, they came closer and closer to the ground until one hit and the entire world seemed to explode. You grabbed Sarah moments before something hit the truck and the world went black.

“(Y/N).”

The simple word snapped you back to reality. You gazed into Joel’s eyes and then you were moving to each other. He pulled you into his arms and you wrapped yours tightly around his neck. You buried your face in his shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of him. The tears ran down your face even with you trying so hard to hold them back.

“I can’t believe this,” he spoke softly in your ear. “I…I didn’t…”

“Think I’d ever see you again? I know,” you smiled, with a chuckle of disbelief as you stood back.

His hands came up to your cheeks and his brown eyes searched your face over before making their way down your body. Then he snapped back up and his eyes went to the guard who still stood there, watching the entire thing.

“I’ve got her from here. Thank you,” Joel spoke softly and he had you picked up bridal style in seconds.

“Thank you,” you spoke softly to the guard as she handed your key over. With a soft smile she simply gave you a nod before leaving.

Joel carried you up a few flights of stairs and then gently set you down keeping your weight on him. He dug out a key and unlocked the door and the two you stepped into, what you assumed, was his apartment.

“Let’s get you propped up on the couch and I’ll get you some water and some medicine.”

“You have pain meds?”

“I got plenty of pain meds,” he smirked as he eyed you and carefully lowered you to the couch.

You leaned back letting out a sigh with a slight smile at him. He picked up a pillow and sat it under your leg, earning a hiss from you.

“I’m sorry,” his words were soft.

“It’s okay,” you watched him.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he moved around the apartment. You had waited for this moment for years. You had lost hope too many times to count, thinking he had to be dead or the world was still just too big to find him. When he came back to you his eyes met yours and he smirked his eyebrows pulling together.

“What is it?”

“I just…I never thought I’d find you again. I’m not missing a moment,” you spoke as you took the water and pills from him.

“I…I still can’t really believe you are here. I have to be honest I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. What happened after we…”

“Got separated?” A simple nod from him, as he sat on the coffee table across from you and took your hand. “I’ll be honest I don’t want to talk about that right now. I just…I just need to be. I just need to be with you. I need to know for sure you’re not going to disappear on me again.”

The two of you let out an understanding sigh and Joel nodded. “I understand. We will talk more later.”

He brushed a piece of your hair back behind your ear and his fingers trailed down your cheek gently. Tears welled in your eyes and you forced them to not fall. The two of you just sat there, looking at each other until keys were turning in his lock. You looked from the door, back to him in question.

“We have a lot to talk about. Just…it’s okay.” He rushed the words out, panic clear on his face.

Then a woman was walking through the door. She stopped just inside her eyes glancing from you to Joel and back. Silence filled the room and dread filled you. He had moved on. He had found someone else and now you…you had came all this way for nothing.

“Is this (Y/N)?” She seemed to smile just slightly, the corners of her mouth turning up.

How did she know your name?

“It is. Uh, this is Tess,” he spoke his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tick of his.

“Can we talk Joel?” She spoke before you could even utter a word.

Joel simply nodded and walked behind her into the hallway. You knew you were going to hear every word they said and it made your stomach turn.

“Tess I…she just showed up.”

“Joel don’t it’s okay. I knew this day could always come. It’s always been her and it always will be. Let her stay with you and I’ll take her apartment.”

“Tess…”

“Joel you know I’m right. This…this was two lonely people keeping each other from falling apart. You still talk about her, you still call her name in your sleep. I know you still love her I can see it all over your face. It’s okay. We can still work together, but I understand. If it would have been….” She broke off for a second. “I know you would do the same thing.”

Silence once again and you held your breath.

“You’re right. I…I can’t turn her away. I…”

“I know,” Tess spoke and you heard her kiss him whether on the lips or cheek you had no idea, but even in the moment it still made your stomach drop.

The door opened and the two of them stepped back into the room. You didn’t realize until that moment that you had tears falling down your face.

“I’m sorry,” your voice broke as it whispered the words to the both of them.

“There is nothing for you to be sorry about.” Tess spoke to you and then she took your apartment key, that was sitting on the coffee table, and she was out the door.

It shut behind her and you watched the door for a long moment before you looked at Joel. You didn’t stop the sob that broke from you and your hand covered your mouth. You had just came in and ruined everything he had. You felt sick.

“I am so sorry Joel,” you spoke through the tears.

He physically seemed to fall apart. Tears sprung in his eyes and he was down on his knees by the couch taking your face in his hands.

“No no my sweet girl. There is nothing at all you need to feel sorry about. She was right. We were just keeping each other afloat and she knew if you ever came back to me that it wouldn’t be a decision. It has and always will be you. My love for you has never stopped. I just lost hope.”

The he brought you to his lips and the two of you kissed. You melted into him and nothing else mattered anymore. You were with the man you loved finally. He pulled away, his forehead resting on yours as he wiped away the tears that had fallen.

“Let’s get washed up and I’ll fix us some dinner and then we can get to bed.”

“Sounds perfect,” you only whispered the words too afraid to really speak.

You had no idea how two people separated for so long could simply fall back into line with each other, but it was easy for Joel and yourself. He had washed himself while you rested and then helped you to wash up. He had changed you into some of his clothes, promising to get you some more the next day. Then he fixed food for the two of you while you sat at his small table watching him. You both exchanged mellow stories of your time apart over the meal. Even with the events of the day it felt comfortable, familiar, normal. He helped you to bed and the two of you curled together on the mattress. He pulled you to him kissing the top of your head.

“You want to talk about what happened now?” He spoke after a few moments of silence.

You knew how it felt to wonder what had happened. You revisited that night entirely too often. Trying to figure out exactly what went wrong but the answer was simple. Everything had gone wrong. You had thought you were going to get out, up until the wreck.

*outbreak night*

Your hearing came back first. Everything was muffled but the chaos was still rampant. You could barely hear your name being spoken by more than one person and then Sarah’s name. It was being repeated like a record player and finally you pushed the darkness of unconsciousness away and your eyes fluttered open. You were upside down, asphalt under your back and Tommy’s truck trapping you underneath it. You started to slowly move your limbs making sure nothing was broken. Your arm sent a shooting pain through you and you grit your teeth. At least it wasn’t your legs. You pushed yourself one armed out from under the truck meeting Joel and Sarah on the same side.

“Can you walk baby girl?”

You turned to Joel and Sarah and you glanced over them both. Joel was scratched up, blood coming from various places but all together he looked fine enough. Sarah on the other hand clearly had a twisted ankle. You grimaced at the sight, trying to move your arm. It wasn’t broke or at least not fully but you didn’t bother to keep pushing it. Sarah answered Joel with a no and he had her in his arms in a second. He turned to you glancing you over.

“I’m fine. I think my arm is fucked but I’m okay.”

Joel nodded and then turned to Tommy. Then in a second an ambulance came flying by wrecking Tommy’s truck further and separating the three of you from him.

“I’m alright! Go! I’ll catch up with you!”

“Tommy…”

“Go!”

Without another word the three of you turned and heading down the alley you had been trapped in. You stopped dead in your tracks when the sight in front of you opened up. Joel was next to you looking on in horror. A man was eating another and you gulped before he looked up. His body contorted strangely and then he was up.

“Run,” Joel spoke simply and you took off into a restaurant.

You flew through the place as fast as your legs could carry you, Joel and the sick man behind you. You flew through the place to a field on the other side of the city. Then there was gunfire and the man fell to the ground dead. You paused seeing a solider standing there his weapon lowered. Joel stopped beside you. Joel thanked him and then things seemed to move in slow motion. He spoke into his radio and your stomach fell to your feet. He seemed to argue with someone on the other side, mentioned a child and a woman. He wasn’t winning whatever that argument was and it was clear in his final words. You backed up and Joel glanced at you in confusion but then he seemed to freeze completely as the man brought his gun back up. You had no idea what happened in the next few moments. There was gunfire, you scattered falling to the ground and then there was Tommy in the distance, the solider dead. You slowly got up testing and checking your body. You hadn’t been shot and you let out a breath. You took off toward Joel and that’s when you heard him scream.

“Tommy help me!”

Sarah. No. You stopped just in front of Tommy. Joel held her and she didn’t look back at you. Her eyes were closed. She was gone. You fell to the ground, a sob ripping from you. And then you were crawling to him. You wrapped your arms around the back side of her. Joel and yourself held her as you both cried. Your heart had shattered. A part of you gone. A part of the man you loved gone. You were going to be sick. You turned quickly losing the contents of your stomach into the grass.

“We have to go.” Tommy spoke slowly.

You glanced at him knowing how right he was. You stayed too much longer and you would be dead.

“Joel…Joel he’s right. We have to go. I’m so sorry. I know okay, I know. But they will kill us all if we don’t move.”

You crawled back to Joel and he looked at you, so broken. You pushed away another sob trying to gather yourself for him. One of you had to be strong and in this moment you knew it had to be you. Joel lowered Sarah gently and looked at her. He kissed her forehead and whispered something to her before he gently laid her on the ground. You watched on helplessly. The three of you turned to each other for a moment before you started to once again move.

“Well you know we went to that one town where all that salvage was…”

“Trust me I recall clearly.”

Now you could laugh a bit about it, but at the time you had been so scared. The two of you had gone to look for supplies and a whole pack of infected had found you. The two of you got separated and could never find each other. You remember going your separate ways to try and take care of the infected from each end. The last words Joel had spoken to you were that he would find you. He never did. You had gone running to find him and at first you had thought he was dead. You had checked every single last body in the area before you ducked into a building. You had slipped into a panic attack giving yourself a moment to grieve, to think of what to do next and then you made yourself move.

“I made it out of Kentucky by the end of the week. I stayed in Ohio for several years. I lost hope. I lost myself for a long time. I self isolated and just tried to make it through. Then one day it was like this weird spark sent me forward and I felt more alive that I had in awhile. One morning I woke up and I just left. There was something there that was pulling me here. Now I know…it was you.”

You looked up at him catching his brown eyes already watching you.

“I thought I had lost you forever. I kept pushing, hoping one day I would find you again. That I would fulfill that promise. I felt like a failure because I never held it up.”

“Joel…”

“I got here and I did the same thing you did. I shut down and grieved you. Then one day I got up and made myself move on. I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice say my name.”

“Let’s make a promise to each other,” you sat up gently looking down at him, his fingers brushing at your arm gently.

“Alright,” he smiled, actually smiled, a sight you had not seen in so long.

“Let’s promise to stay together till the end of time. Let’s promise to never ever get separated again.”

“That is a promise I was already planning on keeping.”

Joel’s smile widened and your own grew on your face before he pulled you down, connecting his lips to yours.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl @arcadianempress @discogrrl @immundusspiritu @someplace-darker @thisis-theway @ohpedromypedro @scribbledghost @fioccodineveautunnale @princess-and-pedro @phoenixhalliwell @littlevodka @all-hallows-evie @mack4676 @perropascal @audreyshepbvrn @mswarriorbabe80 @kaqua @novemberrain221

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal fic

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honourablejester · 5 months ago

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Heart: The City Beneath, Character Concept: Dapper Vengeful Detective

(Yes, I am a little bit obsessed with this game at the moment)

There’s a bit in the Heart: The City Beneath book that talks about reflavouring callings to be more specific, and the example it gives is reflavouring ‘Enlightenment’ to be less about the pursuit of an arcane secret and more about vengeance: “For example, if you wanted to make a character who was obsessively seeking revenge against someone who wronged them in the past, you could take the Enlightenment calling and replace the bits that refer to the occult or academics with vigilantism and uncovering the villain’s network of agents.”

Which. The Deadwalker class. Someone who has already died. That, that would be a reason to seek vengeance, no? I came to the Heart, the City Beneath, to track down my murderers.

And. The Deadwalker has a lot of abilities and flavour that lends to a detective sort of character. The Echoes major ability, psychometry, and Last Rites, the ability to interrogate spirits of the recently dead. You could make an absolutely stellar occult detective out of a Deadwalker. So let’s do that! Let’s make a dapper detective haunted by the spectre of their own murder, dirt under their fingernails where they quite literally dug their way out of their own grave, and a grudge beating beneath their breast. Their death whispers in their ear, and they have someone, or several someones, that they would quite like to introduce it to.

I went with a high elf, an Aelfir, because between the masks and the privilege and the hedonism, they give me the perfect ‘victorian spiritualist’, occult detective sort of vibes. A high elf who was murdered, who lost a lot of pretension to the indignity and desolation of clawing their way back to life, and who has come to the city beneath in search of the strange killers who so dramatically opened their eyes.

WHISPER CHARACTER SHEET

Name: Whisper-of-White-Smoke

A slim, cadaverous, dapper-looking elf on a theme of ‘grey’.

Ancestry: Aelfir

“Aelfir benefit from massive privilege; they rule the City Above and lead lives of bizarre luxury in their frozen palace of Amaranth. Some turn away from a life of power to seek meaning in the lawless city below, while others pursue the dark secrets whispered about in perfumed boudoirs.” (Pg. 14)

Being murdered has a way of reordering one’s priorities. There’s something about digging one’s way out of one’s grave that highlights the absurdity and artifice of privilege.

Calling: Enlightenment

“You’re looking for secrets hidden deep within the earth. You know that the Heart holds the answers to all your questions; no matter what it takes, you’ll get them.” (Pg. 18)

I was murdered. Not that unusual, maybe, but it was the way I was murdered. There was something strange about it, not the usual internecine politics of the City Above. I saw enough of my murderers to see the influence of the City Beneath. So. Here I am, in search of answers.

Class: Deadwalker

“But your initial fascination was nothing compared to what happened after you died for the first time. Nothing’s been the same ever since. You didn’t die properly; somehow, through willpower, luck or trickery, you stayed alive. Your tattered soul gives you a near-unique ability to step between the lands of the living and the dead with relative ease. Your constant companion – a spectral manifestation of the death that didn’t take – guards you jealously and whispers secrets from beyond the veil into your ear while you slumber.” (Pg. 32)

There truly is nothing to change your perspective like tearing through the fragile veil of the world and falling through into the desolation underneath. Perhaps, when I find my murderers, I should thank them. If nothing else, the experience has been … enlightening.

Skills: Discern (Enlightenment), Delve (Deadwalker), Hunt (Marked for Death)

Domains: Desolate (Deadwalker), Religion (Last Rites), Warren (Dirt Under the Fingernails)

Equipment: Bootleg Ambrosia (Mend Mind D6, Potent, Expensive), Ritual Blade (Kill D6)

Resources: Bag of interesting teeth (D6, Desolate).

Trinkets: Portable alchemy kit in a leather box (Enlightenment). Bone pipe and the dregs of a poppy dust bag (Aelfir). My brother’s preserved eye in a glass jar (Aelfir).

Abilities:

Core Ability (Enlightenment): UNORTHODOX METHODS. You blend together method and madness in pursuit of your goals. Gain the Discern skill. Once per session, before you roll dice to resolve an action, instead state that your result is a 6. You succeed but take stress.

Core Ability (Deadwalker): DEATH FOLLOWS CLOSE. You never knew anyone could love you as much as your own death. You are followed around by a manifestation of your death that is invisible and intangible to everyone but you – although when you are on the verge of dying, or in places that resonate heavily with death and sorrow, it might be visible to others. The exact appearance of it is up to you. The first time each session you suffer Major Blood, Mind or Fortune fallout, your death manifests to protect you and inflicts D8 stress on whatever caused the fallout.

Core Ability (Deadwalker): ENTER THE GREY. You know the trick of stepping sideways into the Grey: the space between the worlds of the living and the worlds of the dead. Roll Delve+Religion to enact this ritual. It takes around ten minutes of preparation, e.g. donning ritual garb, inhaling sacred smoke, communing with your death and so on. On a success, the smoke clears, and you (and anyone you bring with you) are in the Grey. Within the Grey, the world is a shadowy echo of its living counterpart. Some souls linger here, awaiting their eternal reward, but for the most part it is grim, empty and monochrome. (For more information on travelling and surviving the Grey, see p. 169.) Exiting the Grey is a simple enough task for a Deadwalker and those they ferry across; it’s a Delve+Religion roll for anyone else.

Major Abilities (Deadwalker): ECHOES. You can glimpse the remnants of what has come before. Roll Discern + Domain to witness ghostly recreations of the past in your current location. This will generally show the most interesting or dramatic thing that occured within recent memory.

Minor Abilities (Deadwalker):

DIRT UNDER THE FINGERNAILS. You dug your way out of your own grave. Gain the Warren domain. You can dig through earth and mud with your bare hands as though you had a shovel; your fingernails are always stained with a little soil, and you cannot clean it off.

MARKED FOR DEATH. Your death tells you stories of dark spectres that swarm the land in search of doomed souls. Gain the Hunt skill. In addition, you can mark prey. When you mark prey, you spend ten minutes or so observing your target from hiding and whispering words of death over your weapon. When you hunt prey you have marked, roll with mastery. Your mark endures until your target dies or you mark another creature.

LAST RITES. You know enough about death rituals to be sworn in as a priest in three major faiths. Gain the Religion domain. When you touch the brow of a recently dead person, you can ask their spirit a single question before it fades away.

Calling Story Beats:

Some of the Enlightenment story beats that might be interesting for our dapper, vengeful detective:

“Gain access to knowledge that someone tried to conceal.” “Dissect something or interrogate someone that can shed light on your task.” “Acquire an NPC bond who has access to useful information.” “Sell or sacrifice a D8 or higher resources to secure a secret.” “Put the acquisition of knowledge above preserving the lives of your allies.” “Kill someone who is trying to stop you from claiming knowledge.” “Gain authority within a faction that you can use to learn more about your goal.” “Find a source of knowledge on Tier 3 of the Heart.” “Find the final secret you have so desperately sought and destroy it so no one else can know of it.”

#heart the city beneath #character concepts #deadwalkers #vengeance #occult detectives

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studioninilong · 1 year ago

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Ok so I did this while in #Japan..to boost comm's...then AI all but killed comm's for #artists..so now Imma just print it on #pretty #paper & do #watercolour #flowers or wtv hits me as a FREEBIE for Patrons

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$10 / month

•

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Within the Martial Family there persists a legend...of those who've cultivated their inner strength to the point of near Immortality. This legend, is you. Immortality grants you all the sneaks Studio.Nini can drum up. WIPs, private tutorials, commission requests, project collaborations, physical merch and more. So the Studio Works are largely live projects, I work on EVERYDAY. You'll now have access to those works as i'm working because I'm at this computer for upwards of 12 hours a day...so you won't miss me. As with all other Tiers, this will grow to include MUCH more. Stay Tuned.

#illustration #japan #patreon #dragon #horned girl #commisions open #commission #new artist #freebies #gold

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shibasromoldagehome · 2 years ago

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#old age home #eldercare #shibasram

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stayflh · 9 months ago

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bestprimepgs · 2 years ago

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

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Late in the Night | Part Three

Previous part

Prompt: There’s only one bed (Content Challenge Day 6)

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Rating: PG

Word count: 1914

Warnings: None

Challenge participants: @game-ofthe-company @grunid @themerriweathermage @errruvande @the-reformed-ringwraith @awkwardkindatries

A/n Happy Day 6 of my content challenge! If you like my account, chances are you’ll love the accounts mentioned above! Check them out if you can :) If you want more, you can find the challenge’s masterlist here and my personal masterlist here. Okay, happy reading!

The tavern is warm and a welcome escape from the evening chill. Occupying the common room is a small, though lively, crowd, including Gimli and Boromir, who sit in plushy chairs drinking mead by the fire. The barman eyes the newcomers with a measure of surprise — it’s his second unusual guest of the night. Though the woman is predictably human, the one standing next to her is clearly an elf. The barman marvels at his luck, knowing he will be the talk of the town if he can compile some interesting stories about the elf and the dwarf he met this eve.

The barman waves at the odd couple, and they come to the counter. The three exchange pleasantries, but Legolas and Y/n are careful to be vague about their travel plans. Even though the barman seems innocently curious, one can never be too cautious. The barman inquires about their needs.

“Meals for tonight and tomorrow morning, as well as two rooms — at least one with a fireplace if you’ve got it.” Legolas reaches under his cloak and produces a velvet pouch containing the human currency he brought for the journey.

The barman grimaces. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid there is only one room left. You see, we are a small establishment, and the guests that arrived shortly before you requested separate dwellings.”

With narrowed eyes, Legolas turns to regard a very satisfied-looking human and dwarf. Gimli raises his mug, winking at his elven friend.

“Did they, now,” Legolas murmurs, beginning to guess at his friend’s plan. At his side, he hears Y/n huff in disbelief, obviously having caught on.

To his credit, the barman seems genuinely apologetic. “Yes, I-I’m afraid so, sir. If you like, there is another inn on the other side of town, I could inquire about vacancies there—”

“No, thank you.” Legolas cuts him off, trying to soften his cold tone with a smile. He can’t risk the managers talking and comparing guests before he and his companions are long gone. “We will make do.”

The barman briefly disappears to find the key, and Y/n tries to study Legolas surreptitiously. Unfortunately, he seems to have the same idea about her, and their eyes dart away immediately upon meeting, knowing they’d each been caught.

How awkward.

The barman returns, sliding a smooth silver key into Legolas’ hand, who quickly pays the man. “Would it be too much trouble to have dinner delivered to our room?” Legolas swallows. Our room.

The barman responds favorably, but there is an unmistakable note of disappointment to his tone. No doubt he was looking forward to studying probably the only elf he’s ever seen.

Y/n sneaks a look over to Gimli, who is quite enjoying his mead, and figures that he will give the barman enough entertainment to last a few years.

The pair ascends the stairs, and Y/n notices a pink twinge to Legolas’ cheeks. He stumbles over his words, something quite unusual for him. “I—uh, did not mean to presume. I apologize.”

Y/n shrugs. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s our fault for not asking to arrive first, I guess,” Y/n tries for a laugh, but it’s impossible for Legolas to not notice how she won’t meet his eyes.

He stops on the landing, looking quite pained. He hates the idea of making her uncomfortable. “I will sleep on the floor.”

Y/n takes pity on the poor elf, and puts effort into seeming relaxed. “No, really, it’s okay. It’s no different from lying near each other when we camp, right?”

It is completely different, Legolas thinks, but decides not to share that comment.

They reach the door, and both try to will their nerves away as Legolas turns the key in the lock.

“Oh.” Y/n is pleasantly surprised by the state of the room. “It’s nice.”

Legolas has to agree. The bed—the sole bed—is off the ground and boasts an actual mattress, complete with two fluffy pillows and three blankets. There’s a fireplace, a water basin, a tin tub, two exceptionally large jugs of water, and a changing screen. The presence of these amenities constitutes luxury after their time in the wilderness.

Y/n crosses the threshold first, and Legolas chides his own cowardice. The battlefield gives no fear to him, but sharing a room with the woman he…

Well.

He forces himself to enter the room.

Y/n twists the hem of her tunic in her hands, trying desperately to get through the awkwardness. “Will it bother you if I have a bath?”

Legolas practically catapults himself forward, eager to have a task to busy his mind. “Not at all. I’ll heat the water.” He grabs one of the water-filled jugs, lays it on the grate inside the fireplace, and works to start a fire.

Y/n fiddles with the changing screen, dragging it slightly to the left so it completely shields the length of the tub. Even though the fire is properly kindled, Legolas stays near it, kneeled on the ground, eyes glued to the heating water.

Y/n chances a look at him, and the sight of him brings a small smile to her lips. He’s just so sweet. And though she would never say it out loud, Y/n admits to herself that, if she had to spend the night with any of her companions, Legolas would be her first and only choice.

Y/n busies herself with spot-cleaning their extra clothes until Legolas has the water heated and pours it in the bath.

Are his cheeks red from embarrassment or the heat, she wonders.

“I-I’ll stay near the bed and-and give you your privacy,” he stutters out, looking anywhere but at her.

Definitely embarrassment. Y/n bites back a smile, grabs her washing supplies, and slips behind the changing screen.

She undresses and slides into the water, sighing contentedly at her first encounter with warm water in weeks. Knowing it won’t last long, she works quickly to scrub the dirt from her skin.

Legolas sits on the edge of the bed, trying to distract himself by cleaning their weapons. He doesn’t know whether he should try and converse with her, or ignore her completely, or if he should just run from the room and never come back?

Valar, how this is difficult!

A knock sounds on the door.

“That was fast,” Y/n muses, to which Legolas hums in agreement.

He sheds his cloak and uses it to conceal the weapons, then meets the barman at the door to collect the dinner plates.

Legolas shuts the door with his foot and turns back towards the bed.

And freezes upon realizing the issue.

Y/n is still in the bath.

Legolas exhales, looking down at the plate in his right hand, then to the changing screen, then quickly to the opposite corner of the room, a blush coming to his cheeks once again.

He closes his eyes, drawing in a breath.

You are a prince, he reminds himself. You lead council meetings, command troops, and have the respect of an entire kingdom. Pull yourself together.

Before he can give himself a chance to lose his nerve, he turns on his heel, and marches towards the changing screen.

“Delivery, My Lady.”

The teasing tone in Legolas’ voice catches Y/n off guard, and she releases a startled laugh. He can’t be serious? But she sees the tips of his boots peeking under the edge of the wooden screen, and decides to play along, trusting him to keep his gaze respectful. “You may approach, Good Sir.”

Legolas peeks around the screen, presenting Y/n her plate of food and making a show of keeping his eyes closed.

Y/n giggles, for just a moment forgetting the awkwardness and the insurmountable pressure of the fate of the world on their shoulders. “Such service! Thank you.”

Legolas bows, and returns with his own food to his spot on the bed. As they eat, they trade stories of the time before they knew each other — Y/n being careful to edit any details that would give her non-Arda origins away. When the food is gone and the bathwater runs cold, Y/n dries, dresses in fresh clothing, and folds back the changing screen.

She and Legolas stare at each other, unsure how to proceed.

“Um, is there anything you needed to do before bed?”

“No.” Legolas shakes his head. “You?”

“No.” A pause. “Well, I guess we should go to sleep, unless you wanted a bath?”

“It’s alright, I washed in the stream earlier.”

Y/n shifts on her feet. “Oh. Right. You sure you don’t want something hot?”

Legolas smiles. “Temperature doesn’t affect ellyn the way it does humans.”

Y/n laughs softly at herself, using it as an opportunity to exhale some of the nerves. “Forgot….I’ll just get the candles, then.”

Legolas stands abruptly. “Let me.” Then, his panicked look fades into a teasing smile. “Humans already have terrible eyesight in the daytime, I fear for your safety if I let you stumble around in the dark.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Y/n laughs, crawling onto the side of the bed closest to her. The mattress probably isn’t the softest in the world, but it’s much better than the freezing ground. And the pillow and blankets are a nice touch. Y/n remembers her fluffy bed back home, and finds herself snuggling deeper into the covers, trying to recreate the memory.

The room goes dark, and moments later, Y/n feels the bed dip beside her.

Legolas slides under the covers wordlessly, keeping as far to the edge as he can. His mind runs a million miles a minute, wondering if he’s making her uncomfortable, noticing how nice her hair smells, thinking how he’s going to kill Boromir and Gimli for putting them in this position, and everything in between.

On the other side of the bed, Y/n stares at the wall, unable to calm down enough to sleep. Never in her life has she been so affected by someone else’s presence. It’s just a bed for Pete’s sake, she’s shared plenty of them before!

But she can feel his warmth from across the mattress, can picture how his chest would feel under her cheek, and fights the urge to cuddle in close to him.

Oh how she is going to murder Gimli and Boromir.

Time passes, neither of them knowing how much.

But after a while, Y/n gives voice to the more anxious thoughts in her head, unable to let them go.

“Are you awake?”

Legolas’ voice is soft, barely a whisper in the late night. “Yes.”

Silence, and Legolas wonders if Y/n has fallen asleep. But a few breaths later, she speaks again, this time, with a measure of fear in her voice.

“Do you think we can do it? Destroy the Ring?”

“We will.” His voice is confident, steady, just the reassurance she needs. “No matter the cost, we will see this Evil defeated.”

Y/n sighs, closing her eyes. She gives into the exhaustion in her bones, in her mind, and sinks into dreamless sleep. Legolas follows not long after, allowing himself only the briefest of looks at his slumbering companion. He holds the image of her peaceful face in his mind as he drifts off.

And if they do find themselves cuddled up in the morning, well, no one needs to know.

A/n See you all tomorrow with part four! Likes, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. Also, let me know if you would like a tag!

Tag list: @angelic-kisses13 @lainphotography @anangelwhodidntfall @sheriffgerard @themerriweathermage @k-llama-llama

Next part

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