#nomad call me back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanamiscocksleeve · 2 months ago

Text

When The Snow Melts

Warnings: MDNI, soft sex, virginity loss, angst, and some spoilers for those who aren't familiar with Zayne's lore. A/n: Curiosity got the best of me. I wasn't playing LaDS when the Master of Fate card came out so I went to YouTube and immediately regretted it. Like can this man not catch a break? He sacrifices himself again? I couldn't leave it, so this me, correcting the wrong. A fix-it fic if you will. Because I need Zayne to win, at least once. Also, since Zayne appears according to how MC perceives him, I do believe he will have aged exactly as she has.

The night is bright, and the small cobbled lane you walk on is lit with lamps. The streets are bustling with life. The feeling of excitement, togetherness, and aromatic food graces the air as you wander closer to the town square. Another festival, similar, yet not similar, to the countless ones you’ve seen with your keen eyes.

You’d wanted to be in company, maybe see the world when you were young, and the curse that was also a blessing was granted. Your body, now wispy and weathered from the years spent wandering cannot move as quickly as you used to, the ever-reminding aches in your joints, the beginning of arthritis weighing down in your bones. Yet you still had a zest for life. Because what else could you do but seek, and take in everything that life had to offer? How could you not? Because it was the grace of the god that allowed it and the terrible price that was paid for you to experience it.

It had been decades since you had last seen the god. You had traversed as far as you could, carrying your umbrella with the everlasting snow coating it like wool on a freshly birthed lamb. The things you had witnessed! Ships with sails as tall as oak trees, strangely flavored meats and delectable sweets, festivals where people had danced, music from instruments brought in from faraway strange lands. You had eaten, traveled, danced, and sung, picking up small jobs to afford simple pleasures. You were a quick learner. Once you were a seamstress helping a small garment shop, another time a jewel polisher. You had even worked as an errand maid for an elderly couple who were profuse with their thanks and offered you a roof over your head for a short while. But staying in one place wasn’t an option. You had to keep looking after all. How else would you find him again?

As your feet carried you into the square, a burst of light and color filled your vision. It’s so lively, as the people flock to the different food carts, admiring the small handicraft booths, and singing folk songs well known to all those who grew up in this region. Children joyfully chased each other, dressed warmly in bright clothes. A hint of winter was already in the air. Based on what you had observed, this festival was celebrating the end of the harvest season, probably one of the last for this year until the harsh snowfall of winter faded. The breeze, not quite chilly enough to make you shiver, felt comforting on your face.

You supposed you could work as a midwife again. Midwifery was good work, reliable since winter did not stop the delivery of children into the world. It could also guarantee a place to stay if you played your cards right, though you hated staying in one place. The nomadic lifestyle you had adopted suited you. And the winters made you nostalgic.

It made you long for those days before you had picked up this umbrella and set off to see the world. Of amber eyes flecked with green, like the jars of whiskey at the inns when the early morning sunlight brushes against them, bringing forth colors hidden in the dark glass. Or of soft hands, covered in scars, and whispers in your ear of sleep, of priestesses calling gods down to earth to make love to them. Sometimes the memories consume you to the point of anger. How dare he leave you? With no explanation as to what his blessing was.

You vaguely recall those days, back when your fingers weren’t gnarled and wrinkled, your face unblemished by the years in the sun. All spells have limitations, he had said. But he also said he had taken care to make the spell extra strong since you were particularly clumsy. The snow had to melt sometime…didn’t it?

A drum begins to pound in the distance, and the crowd gathers around the stage that had been set up at the far end of the square. You halt at one of the carts to buy some fried chicken skewers. The vendor looks curiously at your umbrella, something you have grown accustomed to over the years. After all, snow that doesn’t melt was bound to bring questions. You had woven a different story for each city you had passed through, sometimes recycling them when you didn’t have the creativity to spin a new one. Initially hesitant to reveal how the umbrella with the everlasting snow had come into your possession, you had tried to pass it off as a novelty accessory, crafting tales of snowy mountains and how it was all the rage in those areas.

As the years passed by, your tongue had loosened. Or perhaps the indignation of him disappearing had made you reckless. Although you still hadn’t said the full story, you’d managed to finally say it was a blessing from a god, shocking the non-believers by letting them touch the snow, their gasps of awe as the cold, wet, powder clung to their fingers falling satisfyingly on your ears. Tonight, however, you were in no mood to entertain strangers. You smile politely as you hand over your coins to the vendor, take the food, and walk away towards the stage.

The sounds of a flute and an erhu accompany the drum. Elaborately dressed dancers are swirling in coordinated grace on the stage, enacting a scene from an old tale; the common man sending off the goddess of harvest, thanking her for her blessings that year, and praying to the god of winter, that he be merciful to them and allow them to live to see another spring.

You were skeptical if these rituals really worked. The first autumn after you had been gifted the umbrella when the air started to show signs of change, you had danced, danced amongst the trees that were close to shedding their vividly colored leaves of red, mustard, and yellow. You had prayed your heart out, prayed so hard, danced so long that the soles of your shoes had almost worn out. You had danced till you had collapsed with exhaustion, falling asleep on the leafy floor. You had been so sure that it would work, that he would show himself, and when you awoke, it was with a heartrending pang that you realized you were alone. It hadn’t worked. Wherever he was, the god of the snow wasn’t visible to your eyes. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to cry in all those months. Had he really believed this was the better choice? That to leave you behind without telling you what was going to happen to him would make you happier? That was the worst part; not knowing if he was alive, existing somewhere you couldn’t journey to, or if he had given all his power into making the snow that had fueled your existence, and lost himself with it.

The music becomes faster and the dancers move until the stage is a blur of color. The audience claps as their movements become sharp, with an artistic precision that only years of practice could hone. The last note quavers from the flute and rises into the night air. Cheers and whistles erupt all around you. It was a beautiful performance no doubt, but despite finding it captivating, it also left you feeling hollow. Finishing the last of your fried chicken, you begin to wander amongst the townspeople, enquiring about work that could be had for the winter.

By the time the square had cleared up, and the last of the festival-goers had returned home, you had secured a job; a bakery was in desperate need of an extra set of hands. The pay wasn’t much but the woman had offered food and board and you had accepted graciously. As you sit on the stone steps of your latest lodgings, you gaze at the moon.

You want to not blame him, to not feel this heavy weight that you’ve carried inside your chest. You know you should be grateful for his sacrifice which enabled you to see so much of the world, and at the least, you weren’t alone. The incident with the people in your village was a distant memory, replaced with so many more pleasant rememberings. Plucking apples from an orchard with trees growing as far as the eyes could see. The feeling of a newborn baby, screaming with the rage of life and the mother wiping tears of joy while offering you her thanks. The herbalist with his toothless smile as he showed you which plants were medicinal and which were poison as you plucked various flowers and leaves and dug the earth for rhizomes of turmeric and ginger.

You were a well-traveled woman, knowledgeable in all aspects, a rare luxury during this time, you knew. Yet for each memory that stayed clearly in your mind, there was a sense of loss. Everything tied back to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forget him, even in your old age, and even with the passage of time.

The spicy bun the baker had offered you was good. You savored its flavor on your tongue, naming the constellations visible in the sky as you did so, the short astronomy lesson from a young scholar in some past time proving useful. It must be close to midnight based on how still the night is, the whispering rustle of dead leaves as they skitter across the ground audible in the background. With a sigh, you carefully get to your feet, your joints creaking as you rise. As you reach for your umbrella, you pause, fingertips hovering over the handle.

Surely you were imagining it? It must be a trick of the moonlight. The last of the lamps were dying, the faint light casting shadows across the walls of the dwellings. Yet your aged eyes couldn’t shake off the feeling. You stare intently at the umbrella, more so, at the snow perched on its upper slope. A fine sheen of condensation coated the umbrella, surrounding the powdery snow. Had you somehow gotten the umbrella wet? You kneel, observing with fascination as some of the condensation gathers, becoming fat droplets of precipitation, and rolling off the sides.

You’re awestruck. In all your years, the snow had never melted. It had never lessened nor increased but always stayed the same. But now you can see how the powder was turning watery, steadily dripping down into the cold ground. You trace a fingertip on the trails of moisture along the sides of the umbrella, and that’s when you hear it; the unmistakable twang of a guqin.

You had never encountered a guqin again, not since the night he had played one while you danced for him. The unmistakable notes now begin to form a melody. You look out into the empty street and see nothing. But the song was filling your body like the warmth of a fireplace. Your limbs involuntarily stretch out as your eyes close, remembering the movements you had learned so long ago and sworn to never repeat after the failed attempt to call down the god. Your legs feel unsteady, your hands clumsy, a far cry from the controlled accuracy of the stage dancers. Your joints begin to sear as you move, unable to stop the actions. Oh how sweetly the instrument sang to you!

There’s a sharp pain in your heart, not from the ache of moving your tired extremities, but from the grief bottled up, adding on year after year. There’s resentment, but underneath it all, there’s a strong yearning you’re unable to put into words. How do you describe it? The loss of the only person who seemed to understand you, who helped you control your power?

You knew he did something when he placed his spell because, since that day, you hadn’t been able to harness your powers ever again. He had ensured you could live your life as a normal human being. Before knowing him you would have done anything to not have the power. But the cost that came with it was too much to bear. You weren’t alone, yet you were alone. So of all the days, why was the guqin playing now?

Tears roll down your cheeks as you dance, letting loose your sorrow to the crisp night breeze. You feel like each nerve in your body is frayed, all consumed with the bits of memories you had of him. It takes you a moment to realize you’re not dancing anymore. The guqin has stopped playing. You’re standing in a pose, your head lowered, facing the steps you had been sitting on, and the umbrella leaning against them. Shock passes through you.

The umbrella was completely devoid of snow. The only evidence it was there was the puddle of water that had gathered beneath it, muddying the grass.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Your heart skips a beat, then begins to hammer in your chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The deep baritone voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm calls out to you gently. You can’t seem to be able to move.

“It can’t be.” You murmur, gripping your elbows, trying to calm yourself. “It can’t be. I’m dreaming.”

“What are dreams if not another reality?”

It takes all the effort in your body to not collapse to the ground as a sobbing mess. You turn slowly, as though giving the voice a chance to admit it was a figment of your imagination but it doesn’t happen. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him, at last.

His dark hair has tinges of gray in it, and crow’s feet are visible near the corners of his eyes, but the gentle upwards curve of his lips, the broad shoulders, and his pointed chin are all recognizably familiar.

“Zayne?” You let his name fall from your lips, sounding like a strange word, lost to your vocabulary from the years of disuse.

He nods, then stretches out a hand to you. At first, you’re at a loss about what you should do, then, with as much speed as your wizened knees allow, you run to him. He’s solid and grounding, his arms wrapping around you tightly. A brief lick of rage crosses through you, but when you open your mouth to let loose your diatribe, all that comes out is a sob. Your tears flow freely, staining his robes, and you feel his gloved hands gently combing through your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Why not tell me?” Your words are choked, your body shivering as you cry.

Zayne leads you to the steps and helps you sit before occupying the space next to you. He leans you against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as he takes one of your hands between both of his. He sighs deeply and his voice, though calm, is filled with regret as he speaks.

“How could I tell you? What would I have said? How do you tell someone special to you that their life was in danger?”

You blink back tears. “Danger?”

“There was a powerful entity after you. I did what I needed to do to protect you.”

“Why was it after me?”

Zayne pauses, as though considering how to word his response. “It was convinced you would bring about a cataclysm, and the only way to prevent it was to take your life.”

“But… I don’t understand. How did your spell prevent this? Now that it’s worn off, won’t it come after me again?”

“No.” Zayne wraps his arms around you, his body bringing warmth into yours. “Even cataclysms go away if given enough time. But the harder part was figuring out how to suppress your abilities until that time passed.” He sighs deeply, gathering you close. “The spell on the umbrella was the only solution I could think of, without restricting your freedom. Regrettably, sealing your power meant taking away your ability to perceive me. I never intended to make it permanent.”

“Why not tell me?” You repeat the question. Zayne raises an eyebrow.

“If I had told you the spell would wear off, would you have left the mountain?” He brushes your cheek with his thumb as he takes in your face, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I know you. You would have spent all these years in isolation, waiting for me. I didn’t want you to miss the opportunity to live. A normal life seemed like the best option I could give you until enough time had passed.”

You’re silent as you let his words sink into you. After a gap, you whisper, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” His thumb caresses each of your fingertips in turn. “But know that I watched over you every day. I saw the world through your eyes and felt your sense of wonderment in my heart. The day you danced so hard for me that you almost fainted from exhaustion-” Zayne draws in a breath and his voice quivers as he continues. “I was in tears. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you. I was there, separated by a veil, but I felt your pain.”

“That was the year the frost came early.” You recall the memory.

“Indeed. I couldn’t control my grief. I didn’t know how else to let you know I was there, except to cover the world with snow.”

You glance over at the umbrella. “Will you disappear again?”

“Not unless you want me to.” One of his large hands rests on your knee. “I understand I’ve angered you by acting without telling you everything. Is it enough that you don’t want me around?”

You shake your head no. Your momentary anger with him had faded, like the night giving way to the sunrise. “There’s nothing that could keep me from wanting you. I made many acquaintances throughout my life, but the one person’s companionship I yearned for was yours.”

“My beloved snowflake.” Zayne embraces you tenderly. “It was fate that led you to me on the mountain that day. And It was fate that finally broke the spell. We’re all bound by it, even me.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Otherwise, do you think I would have kept you sealed for so long? Even gods must play by fate’s rules.”

Silence falls between you both, the breeze ruffling your clothes. You become acutely aware that he’s gazing at you, and when you turn to look at him, there’s such tenderness in his eyes that it makes you blush, even at this age.

“You’re beautiful,” he utters, tucking strands of stray hair behind your ears. The amber in his eyes glows as you stare back, captivated by how handsome he is. Your memory didn’t do him justice. You cup his cheek.

“Is this our happily ever after?”

“It can be if we choose it to be.”

“I do. Wholeheartedly.”

Sparks fly between you and almost as if the both of you are following a rhythm, your lips find each other in the darkness. It’s odd because, in the passing years, you hadn’t imagined what his lips would feel like against yours. You had fantasized about lying next to him, listening to his heartbeat, about taking long, leisurely strolls while holding hands, and about the possibility of letting him rest on your lap while you played with his thick locks of hair.

Now you’re glad you hadn’t tried to imagine it because the reality was sweeter than any dream you could have conjured, the warmth and softness of his mouth, the taste of his tongue as it slips past your lips, the possessiveness in his grip as he molds your body against his, as though silently claiming you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t ache for him. When he pulls away, there’s desire flickering in the depths of his eyes.

Wordlessly, you take his hands and get to your feet, quietly pulling him inside your new quarters. You’re careful to not wake the baker; it was quite improper to invite a man into your room, but you didn’t care. You lock the door and allow Zayne to sweep you away.

Clothes slide to the floor, a whisper lost to the dark. There’s no shame as you reach for each other, hands relishing the feeling of skin, enjoying the contact between your bodies as he gently pulls you onto the bed. His lips leave trailing kisses on your skin, no longer supple like the young woman you once were, but worthy of being worshipped irrespective. You wonder if this moment would have felt different if you had consummated this relationship when you were younger but realized you had little choice in it. If the Master of Fate couldn’t control when things happened, then what good was it to think about what could have been?

Instead, you focus on him, on his skin flushed with vitality as you nibble his ear, shyly running your tongue down his neck. He suckles at your nipple, and pleasure, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced radiates into every part of your being. You feel his erection graze your belly as he patiently kisses you, moaning into his mouth as his fingers stroke your sex, finding the little knot of nerves that makes you close your eyes in ecstasy.

It’s all slow and unhurried, and when you finally gasp out your climax, he eases his body into yours. There’s pain, but only for the briefest moment, then as your body stretches around him, you feel a powerful sense of intimacy as he thrusts, his movements passionate and loving. He gathers you tightly against him whispering the same thing over and over as he empties himself.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”

A weak ray of sunlight peeks through the window when you wake up, and you panic for a moment when you see the bed is empty.

“I’m here my love.” Zayne’s voice immediately reassures you and you see him stoking the fireplace. The small flames crackle merrily as he makes his way back to bed, pulling you against him and stroking your skin. It had snowed overnight, and the landscape was now unrecognizable, covered in a fresh coat of it.

“It appears grief isn’t the only thing that can cause the god of winter to make it snow,” you tease and Zayne good-naturedly smirks at you.

“Indeed. All thanks to you.”

You giggle, a soft sound that fills him with joy.

“I suppose we’re stuck in this village until winter ends. Makes no sense to wander for now.”

“Agreed. I suppose I can set up shop as a fortune-teller, or maybe as a herbalist.”

“We’ll decide what to do when spring comes.” You settle against his chest, finding comfort in the scent of his skin.

“The snow has to melt sometime. But we’ll survive. Together.”

“Together.” You agree, and lay your lips over his.

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @supernaturalbaesduh @ladyparamount

632 notes · View notes

melzula · 10 months ago

Note

Could you write a Sokka x firebender reader that has the plot of the secret tunnel episode but instead of aang and katara getting stuck together it’s him and reader? :)

Don’t Let the Cave In Get You Down

a/n: got two requests for this sokka storyline and i was very excited to write it! i couldn’t find a way to seamlessly include the fire bending part of the request but i could definitely build on that in another piece. hope you enjoy <3

you met the Gaang when they were passing through a small trading village on the outskirts of the Earth Kingdom

they were low on supplies and in need of a shopping spree, so they stopped at your little food stand in search of fresh fruit and snacks for their travels

you seemed awfully young to have your own business, especially when compared to the other merchants, but you were kind and your prices were affordable

their shopping spree was cut short by the arrival of fire nation soldiers, but you quickly escorted them through the backstreets of the marketplace and helped them evade the soldiers

“That was a close call,” Aang breathed out in relief, “thanks for your help.”

“Those guys are jerks, I couldn’t live with myself if I had just let them capture you.”

“Who are you?” Katara asked in awe.

“My name is y/n, and I’ve been hiding out in this village for about three years now. I escaped from the Fire Nation when I was 12 and never looked back.”

“Wait a minute, Fire Nation?!” Sokka exclaimed before quickly pushing his sister and Aang behind him. Raising his boomerang in a threatening manor, he narrowed his eyes at you. “Is this some kind of trick?! Did you just lure us out here so you could capture Aang and get the reward for yourself?”

“Sokka, you’re being ridiculous!” Katara had scolded angrily, harshly pushing his boomerang away. “She said herself she came here to get away from the Fire Nation, I’m sure she’s just trying to make a better life for herself here and you’re not making that any easier for her by being a jerk!”

“I don’t trust her, Katara!”

You’re a little disheartened by the disdain in his voice when he speaks about you, and despite Katara vouching for you you can see that you’re out of place

“I’m sorry, I’ve made things awkward,” you apologized sheepishly, “I’ll leave you now.”

“Wait!” Aang called, stopping you from going. “If what you said is true then… then I think you should come with us.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Sokka scoffed in disbelief

“If she’s from the Fire Nation then she must have knowledge about the ins and outs of that place. Maybe she can even help me find a fire bending master. We need her help, Sokka.”

Though he was reluctant and very distrusting of you, Sokka realized Aang was right, so he begrudgingly allowed the airbender to welcome you to their team

You agreed to help as much as you can, and the rest was history

From there on out you’re officially a member of Team Avatar, but that doesn’t mean Sokka becomes any more trusting of you

He always keeps a suspicious eye on you, never letting you help with tasks he deems too important to avoid having you “sabotage” the group

His lack of trust in you hurts, you can’t lie about that, but you continue to do what you can to aid the Avatar and his friends and earn their trust

Of course, this all changes when you get to the cave of two lovers

Unlike Sokka, you found Chong and his group of Nomads to be great fun. They’d braided your hair beautifully with flowers from the lake and performed wonderful songs, so despite your predicament you were in a cheerful mood

Being stuck in the cave had put a strain on your group’s mission to make it to Omashu, but you tried to remain hopeful and help as best as you can

Surprisingly, Sokka even puts you in charge of holding one of the torches

“I’m only giving this to you because I know you’re at least smart enough not to waste resources while we’re in here.”

It’s a start

And it’s a good thing he gave you that torch, because it comes in handy when you both end up getting separated from the rest of the group

“This is just great,” Sokka utters sarcastically after several failed attempts to dig through the rock and get back to the others.

“Come on, Sokka, lighten up. We have a torch and your map, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out,” you try to console. “What did Chong say earlier? ‘Don’t let the cave in get you down, Sokka.’”

He’s not amused by your singing

It’s a bit awkward being stuck with the boy who’s been so adamant that you don’t belong despite your best efforts to prove that you can be trusted

You don’t speak much and try to stay out of his way and follow his lead, but the tunnels keep changing and you keep getting lost and your torch is about to burn out, so things are beginning to seem hopeless

“Maybe we should try changing our strategy,” you offer only for Sokka to immediately dismiss you.

“Right, like I’m going to let you lead us through the cave. You’ll probably make us get lost on purpose.”

“You know, if you stopped being so judgmental for a second you’d probably realize that i want to get out of this cave just as much as you do!” You snap irritably, surprising Sokka. you’ve mostly stayed docile to try and keep the peace whenever Sokka accuses you of being untrustworthy, but at this point you’re finally starting to get fed up

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says softly, and this time you’re the one who’s surprised. You never thought he’d actually apologize to you, and it’s a nice feeling. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Well,” you start with a sigh, “maybe the story is right. Maybe if we trust in love, we’ll find our way out of here.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

You simply shrug, prompting Sokka to let out a heavy sigh. Your torch is going to run out soon, and his map isn’t doing anyone any favors. It seems you have no choice

“How exactly do we trust in love?”

“I’m not sure… the only love I know is the love I had from my parents, but I haven’t felt it in so long… I’m not sure I ever will again.”

“…What happened to them?”

“My parents were peasants with nothing but love to give each other. They were poor, but they were happy,” you explain with a faint smile. “My father was a fire bender, but he kept his gift hidden in fear he’d be forced to serve in the Fire Nation army. He didn’t want to leave me or my mother, but our home was attacked, and he had no choice but to bend to protect us. Our lives were saved, but he was taken away.”

Sokka hangs on to your every word, eyes glistening with unshed tears and sympathy. Your story is similar to his own, and he knows what it’s like to lose your family to the Fire Nation. He feels less disdain towards you now, more empathetic. He still isn’t 100% sure how to feel about you, but hearing your story makes you easier to understand now

“My mother knew I’d never be safe or happy if I stayed there, so she arranged for me to be smuggled out of the Fire Nation and brought to the trading village you first met me in. I haven’t seen or heard from her since, and I’m not even sure if she or my father are even alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Sokka utters solemnly. “Katara and I lost our mother to the Fire Nation, and we haven’t seen our father since he left to fight in the war. I know how you feel.”

“I don’t want to be Fire Nation, you know. None of this was a choice, and I understand why you don’t trust me but I’m not like them Sokka. Please believe me.”

“I’m sorry for always giving you such a hard time. It’s just… it’s hard to believe people from the Fire Nation can actually be good. But you’ve proven that you can be trusted over and over again, I was just too blind to see it.”

“Can we start over?” He asks with a sheepish smile, carefully sticking his hand out for you to shake. Instead, you push his hand away and throw your arms around him in a tight embrace.

The force of your hug knocks him back a bit, and though he’s unsure at first, he eventually returns your embrace by carefully wrapping his arms around your figure

The fire of your torch slowly begins to die, but neither of you seem to notice or care as you enjoy your moment together

You expect to be engulfed in darkness when the flame goes out, but instead you’re met with the beautiful shimmers of the crystals that line the roofs of the cave

“It’s so beautiful,” you murmur in awe, your eyes sparkling under the light

“Yeah,” your counterpart utters quietly, but he isn’t looking at the crystals

“Was she always this pretty?” Sokka wondered to himself

Together, you’re eventually able to follow the crystals and make your way out of the cave

And when you leave the cave, hands woven tightly together, you leave as two completely new people

You understand each other now, you trust each other

And your relationship will only continue to grow stronger from then on out

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @chronic-daydreamer @niktwazny303

#wrote this as hcs hope you don’t mind !#also i am back guys #i think #sokka x reader #sokka imagine #atla #atla x reader #sokka

1K notes · View notes

renrooked · 10 months ago

Text

Just Roll With Palestine: Keep the Strike Rolling

Hello, #JustRollWithPalestine has come back to Keep the Strike Rolling from January 26th to February 10th. Participation in any capacity will be rewarded, and there are ways for you to help even if you can't donate!

Link to Google form: HERE

If you have any questions feel free to dm me here or on twitter, as well as the rest of the social media mods on twitter: @organbean @ne0neclipse @tinytiefling_ @RenRooked

Additional mods working on this project:

@grassfur @neptunelogs @reed_you_guess

All necessary links and information are in the Google form, BUT for easier access to links and/or for those who just want to donate links to resources to help out, click keep reading!

To Donate:

Feminine Hygiene Kits for Gaza With the Asad Sisters

Care for Gaza Paypal

Just Roll With Palestine Tiltify (PCRF)

World Central Kitchen

ESIMS for Gaza- Instructions provided NOMAD (iPhone only): https://www.getnomad.app/en/middle-east-eSIM Tutorial on twitter for NOMAD: https://x.com/icarus19897/status/1741297413321637972?s=20 SIMLY (iPhone and Google Play): https://www.simly.io/regional-esim Tutorial on twitter for SIMLY: https://x.com/CharSequence/status/1719283248721702946?s=20

To personally contact your representatives:

Use this template builder to create your own message to your government representative:

To send a prewritten message:

(US):

(AU):

https://apan.org.au/support-south-africas-icj-case/

(CA):

(UK):

https://www.map.org.uk/campaigns/it-is-becoming-impossible-to-sustain-human-life-in-gaza-demand-a-ceasefirenow

#just roll with palestine #jrwp #ceasfire now #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #jrwi #jrwishow

1K notes · View notes

kingkat12 · 4 months ago

Text

fuck you (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, angry sex, oral sex, extremely foul language, angst, toxic relationship, accidental creampie, reader should run

summary: being in a relationship with Roman Godfrey has its perks, but is he really telling the truth?

word count: 5,304

a/n: this is part 2 of long legs (link here), enjoy!! wrote this over a span of three hours because this idea has been stuck in my head lol

I didn’t take Roman for a liar until recently.

Because up until now, everything had been perfect these past few months; I’d spend every Saturday at his place, sleeping next to him, having breakfast with him, and then taking our routine stroll through Clifford Park just for the shits and giggles. I loved that more than anything in the world— At one point, I had to stand on the look-out for park patrols, holding my laugh while he etched our initials into the lamp we had stood beneath that night we became official.

Our time together had been incredible so far. He had taken me out on elaborate dinners, and then refused to let me get out of bed the next morning before twelve because of his new ‘closeness-rule’; “I’m not detaching from you until noon,”

And who was I to say no? Especially not when it felt this good.

Now that I had his undivided attention, was the centre of all his affection and his designated person to call at midnight, I felt like I was floating.

Up until last week.

Roman had showed up on my front door with his signature smirk to pick me up for dinner, dressed in his classic Armani suit, hair styled back. “Ready to go?”

I couldn’t help but smile, getting up on my tippy-toes to kiss his cheek— I was always so damn happy to see him. “Yeah, I just have to grab my shoes. Come in,”

A soft blush became apparent in Roman’s cheeks, stepping into my apartment as I disappeared back into my room. “The place is right around the corner, so don’t stress,”

“Yeah, I know!” I said from the other room, rummaging through my collection of shoes. “We could stay at my place tonight, actually, so we don’t have to grab a cab to yours! Thoughts?”

Roman hummed, leaning against the wall in the hallway. Something told me he wasn’t so into that idea.

I stopped in my tracks, grabbing a pair of shoes before I came back out. "... No?”

Roman ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a slight chuckle. “I don’t know, I just… I like my bed,”

I couldn’t help but feel confused, but I brushed it off— maybe this was just a Roman quirk I hadn’t seen yet? It was probably not that deep. Right? Shrugging, I put on my shoes, grabbing my keys and my purse on the dresser. “Alright...? Cab fare’s on you, then, because I lent the rest of my spare cash to a friend earlier—“

In a swift motion, Roman snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him as I yelped in surprise. He let out a warm chuckle at the look on my face, leaning down to capture my lips in a sweet kiss. “Either we get going now, or I eat you for dinner. I’m fucking starving,”

Giggling, I pulled him in for another kiss. “Fine. I’ll be dessert, then,”

Roman let out a satisfied sigh against my lips, excitement shimmering in his green eyes as he grabbed my hand, leading me out of the apartment.

However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something weird was going on. As he led me through the restaurant with a hand on my back, I realized this was the moment where the wheel in my head had started to turn. Even as we sat down to eat, the question of why he didn’t want to stay over at my place started gnawing at me.

I had all my things at my place— My makeup, my shampoo against frizz, my clothes. I always had to walk around with my stuff if I was planning to sleep over at Roman’s place, feeling a bit like a nomad because... he hadn’t given me a drawer at his place yet.

The mind-wheel continued to turn; why hadn’t he offered me a drawer? We had been official for months. For a man that was so damn adamant about being okay with a committed relationship, the more I thought about it, the more I started to see the cracks in the facade. Was he inadvertently telling me he didn't want to be in a commitment anymore?

Roman’s voice brought me back to reality; “What?”

Fuck. Had I been so swept up in my thoughts? “Pardon?”

“You’re not saying anything,” he said, putting his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

This is where my guilt started gnawing at me as well. Why was I even thinking these thoughts about the sweetest boyfriend I had ever had? “Oh, nothing, just...” And suddenly, it dawned on me that there was one thing that would ease my mind about this issue; “Just wondering if you’d want to meet my friends soon. I’ve met some of yours, but you’ve never met any of mine.”

Roman’s eyes widened slightly— I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t watching his reaction like a hawk. With a chuckle, he pulled away from the table, wrapping his long, slender fingers around the cutlery once more; “I’ve met your friends,”

“Only in passing,” I mumbled, reaching out for my glass of water. “I’d like them to know the man I’ve been talking about for months. And I think you’d like them.”

Roman nodded, turning rather quiet. Something about it made my pulse quicken.

“Okay,” he eventually said. “I’ll meet your girls.”

I let out a shaky breath of relief, sipping my water with a bright smile on my face. Maybe I was just overthinking this, as always? “What do you say about next week?”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And next week rolled along— today was the day. I had told my girls that Roman said yes to meeting them at our favourite bar downtown, and I was now checking my makeup in the elevator up to his penthouse. I couldn’t wait for them to finally get to know the man I was so crazy about, because honestly? I was dead tired of having to defend our relationship to them.

And I also didn’t like that it was starting to sound like they were right about him all along.

As the elevator doors opened and I knocked at the entrance, I held back a jump of excitement— I couldn’t wait. However, my excitement quickly died down when Roman opened the door, dressed in…

A white t-shirt and his pyjama pants?

At first, I let out a short chuckle, leaning up to give him a kiss. “Rome, get dressed! Silly man,” I made my way past him, putting away my stuff on the dresser nearby. “We’re supposed to meet my friends in, like, twenty minutes!”

The sigh Roman let out had my heart dropping in seconds. “Yeah, about that...” Something about the dead expression on his face gave me a hint about his next words; “Is it okay if we take a rain check? I don’t really feel like going anywhere tonight.”

My smile fell. “... Are you serious?”

Roman shrugged, reaching out to pull me into a hug, leaning his head on top of mine. “Well, they’re your friends, I think they’ll be fine if you just show up,"

I didn’t hug him back— I stood still, holding back the urge to push him off of me. “But... you didn't even have work today,”

“So?” Roman kissed the top of my head, stroking through my hair. Was he perhaps hoping that the affection would dull my disappointment? “It’s been a bit of a lazy day, sure. Everyone needs those. But don’t let me stop you from having fun with your friends, you should go!”

I put my hands on his shoulders, prying him off of me. It felt as though my heart had sunk all the way down into my heels. “You... said you’d meet them,”

Had this been any other instance, I wouldn’t have cared— I’d have told him to stay in, that it was okay, but it was really bothering me now. Maybe Roman hadn’t changed after all? Had I deluded myself into thinking he had just for the sake of being with him?

“I know, but we can take it another time. Right?” With a sigh, Roman reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Why are you getting so upset about this?”

No— this was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you really asking me that?”

Roman didn’t even look confused, just... annoyed. “Yeah?”

I had to put a lot of energy into not letting my lower lip give in to a quiver. Standing in front of the man I loved, feeling shut down and upset, I finally let it out; “Do you know I don’t even have a key to your place?”

Roman furrowed his brows, clearly not expecting those words out of my mouth. “What does that have to do with anything?—"

“The one time I left a toothbrush here, you returned it to me!” I balled my fists, hating that this was making me feel like a whiny child. “You don’t want to sleep over at my place, you don’t want to meet my friends, and the one time we ran into your mother, you introduced me as your friend!” Saying it out loud only made it more clear to me. This was not okay, nor was it normal.

Roman’s eye twitched— it was obvious that he didn’t like to be confronted about this head-on. He shook his head, looking further annoyed and uncomfortable as his gaze wandered around the room, refusing to meet mine.

“The only thing that has changed, is that you’re no longer fucking those women with the ridiculously long legs!” I said, feeling my tears press up on me.

This was it for Roman— he groaned, turning to me with a rather angry look on his face; “What the fuck is up with you and your hang-up on the long legs?—“

“Because, Roman, those women were beautiful!” I cried, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “And maybe you’d let them keep their toothbrushes here, because maybe it would be easier for you to embrace someone you think is on your level!”

Seeing the stunned expression on his face, I angrily wiped away the tear that had rolled down my cheek, grabbing my stuff. I reached for the door, taking one last jab before making my leave; “I should’ve left with Peter when I had the chance,”

It was in this moment that Roman put his hand on the door, slamming it shut with all his might. The bang echoed through the apartment, making me jump and look back at him with wide eyes of shock; the look on his face made my heart threaten to beat out of my chest.

Roman’s breath came out in short, ragged motions, chest heaving with anger. The way his eyes widened with fury had me worried, and his lips shut tightly into a line as his jaw clenched— I had to take a step back. I should’ve known better than to provoke a man like this.

“If you need a key to know that I’m crazy about you, then I might have to rethink what I’m doing here with you,” he said, his words coming out like a low growl. “Are you that fucking insecure?”

“You make me insecure!” I let in a big heave of air, flailing my arms around as I tried to find the right words.

“Yeah?” Roman snarked. “Well, if I’m so fucking horrible, maybe you should go back to Peter! Go ahead!”

Had I not been so terrified, I would’ve cried all over again. “Fuck you,”

Roman’s eye twitched once more— “Fuck you, too,”

“Fuck you!” I couldn’t help but grow more and more agitated; I had never been this hurt in my life. “Fuck you and your snoring!”

Roman’s lips parted in confusion, quickly retaliating; “Oh, yeah? Fuck you and your incessant need to be late to everything!”

“Am not!” This was starting to make my blood boil. “Fuck you and your stupid suits!”

Roman seemed to be feeling the same; “Fuck you and your heels!”

“Fuck you and your hair!”

Somehow, I felt like this fight was shifting into something else.

“Yeah? Well, fuck you and your short fuck-me dresses!” Roman took a step away from the door, nearing me with dangerous steps. “That’s just not appropriate to wear in my fucking office!”

It didn’t take long until this had turned into a screaming match. “Fine, I will wear nothing but baggy jeans and enormous sweaters, even during the summer! Would that make you happy, asshole?”

Roman groaned; “You’re such a fucking bitch, do you know that?” he yelled, nearly hovering above me. “Of course it wouldn’t, you know that’s not what I meant!”

“What the fuck do you want me to wear, then?!—“

A beat. “What about nothing?”

It didn’t take long for the both of us to understand what was happening, our eyes widening at the same time as it dawned upon us. It also didn’t take long until I flung myself around his neck, our lips meeting in a fiery, angry kiss. Roman lifted me up in no time, my legs wrapping around him.

“Fuck you,” I breathed in between kisses, feeling my heart beat against his as he carried me further into the apartment.

“Will do,” he said, reaching his bedroom in no time with his long steps. Roman laid me down on the bed, wasting no time crawling on top of me.

I was still unbelievably angry at him— but somehow, those emotions had turned into flashes of passion. Something told me that our relationship wouldn’t last at this rate, and it only made me more desperate for him. With tears in both our eyes, we somehow managed to get out of our clothes in between hungry kisses, not wanting to be apart even for just a second.

I let out a tiny sob as he kissed down my stomach, feeling my anger simmer in my chest, raging through me like a storm. Roman was so damn infuriating, but I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. I really, really didn’t want to let him go— was this how we would end?

My back arched off the bed and I let out a soft gasp as I felt him lick a wet stripe up my sex; somehow, the pleasure was starting to feel like a relief from the tornado of feelings ravaging my insides. Feeling his tongue trace tight circles around my clit was way too damn overwhelming at this moment, making me want to cry out in more ways than one. “Rome—“ I breathed, feeling another sob bubble up in my chest.

However, it quickly died out as he sucked down on my clit, lapping me up, making me feel like I was on the brink of pure ecstasy.

Roman knew how to dull down my brain. He knew, and he knew it very well. Right now, that was more of a blessing than a curse.

“Rome, come back here,” I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his soft hair. “I can’t— I want you close.”

Roman hummed, his wet lips never leaving me as he made his way back up my body with kisses along my stomach, my chest, my collarbones and my neck. “Thought you hated me,”

I looked up at him, meeting his hard gaze as his lips hovered inches above mine. “Not fully,” I whispered, reaching forward to touch his face. Sometimes, it was hard to believe someone so beautiful could be real. “Only a little.” My hands traced his brows, the curve of his nose, the hollow of his cheeks, touching him as though he was made of glass.

And something about my softness seemed to affect Roman— his green eyes rounded out, looking down at me with an unintelligible emotion I hadn’t seen in him before. Leaning back down, he kissed me once more, no longer able to hold back.

With his chest pressed against mine like this, I couldn’t help but feel soothed from the absolute agony coursing through my veins. I was so, so scared that this would be it, that this night would determine whether or not we stayed together or not— and right now, I put away all our differences, all our hiccups, everything that was damn right infuriating about him, because at the end of the day... I loved this man.

And I hated myself for it.

I let out a gasp as he entered me, giving in to a sigh of relief against his lips. Nothing could ever top this feeling, nothing and no one could ever make me feel this good, and I knew it.

“Fuck you,” Roman whispered against my lips, his breathing further challenged by the feeling of being engulfed by my wet heat in this moment, rolling his hips against mine. “Fuck you for driving me crazy like this.”

Feeling his cock deep inside of me like this was enough to make me submit, my fingers going into his hair as I let out a shaky moan. “Fuck you, too,” I wrapped my legs around him, wanting him closer, feeling my breath hitch in my throat as his thrusts soon enough grew more rough.

Roman reached down to grab my hips, making me meet the harshness of his thrusts. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood for being gentle— he wanted to take his anger out on me, and I was going to let him, whether I wanted to or not.

A deeper, darker part of me loved this. Loved this feeling of having no control, knowing I had no say in what he was doing whatsoever. I could only tighten my fist in his hair, holding on as he continuously thrust his cock deep into me, letting out a string of breathy curses and moans.

I could feel my legs getting sore as Roman suddenly said something that made my heart stop; “I love you,” he breathed, his grip on my hips tightening. “Stay with me.”

What? What was going on? I let out a cry, letting my body go limp to take his thrusts. My eyes widened as I realized that in this moment, I suddenly had power over our relationship, probably for the first time ever. I could decide whether or not I wanted to stay— he was begging me.

However, it was incredibly hard to make such an important decision when my legs were trembling and my whole lower body was in a state of the highest euphoric feeling on earth. “Liar,” I eventually said, my anger flaring up again at the memory of the events this past month. “You don’t love me, Rome... A-Aah—“

Angered, Roman pulled out of me without warning, flipping me over on my stomach. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, making me wince, as he used his other hand to prop me up to make it easier for him to enter me again. I let out another cry of both pleasure and anger, grabbing at the bedding beneath me as he spoke; “It’s you... For me, it’s only you... Shit,”

Roman let go of my hair, allowing my body to go limp beneath him. With the little power I had left, I instinctually moved my hips to meet his thrusts, wanting more.

This was possibly the biggest mind-fuck I had ever been through, my brain shutting down as I felt his dick slide in and out of me continuously. My tears continued to press up on my eyes as I felt my orgasm building. “I loved you,” I breathed, feeling his hot, laboured breath against my shoulder and his hair brushing up against the crook of my neck. “I loved you, so, so much…”

It dawned on me that I really, truly did. I had loved him, but I couldn’t love him anymore.

As Roman grabbed my hips, somehow shifting the angle of his thrusts, I let out a cry as he brushed up against my sweet spot— this was enough to drive me over the edge, coming harder than I probably ever had before. I muffled my string of moans against the bedding beneath me, feeling a tear roll down my cheek, completely spent and overwhelmed.

It didn’t take long before Roman came as well, the harshness of his thrusts coming to a halt as he spilled into me. My eyes widened at the feeling— we’d been so swept up in the moment that we forgot about the condom. Fuck.

I heard Roman’s breath hitch as he pulled out of me, taking in the sight of his cum slowly leaking out of me.

It made me shudder— crap. I rolled over on my back, feeling how much my thighs and hips ached. It was a strange feeling, accompanying the satisfaction of post-coital rapture. I also couldn't piece together whether I liked the feeling of his cum seeping out of me or not. Had the relationship not been in this state, I probably would've found it rather... hot.

I watched Roman’s chest raise up and sink, his green eyes meeting mine. None of us knew what to say, the sound of our panting filling the room.

As everything started to dawn on me, I wiped away my remaining tears, sitting up in the bed despite knowing the cum might stain his sheets. Fuck the sheets. “I should go,” I mumbled, not meeting his eyes anymore. “My friends are probably waiting...”

With a sigh, Roman shifted on the bed, laying down next to me. His fingers reached for my arm, hoping to pull me back down and into his embrace. “Stay,”

I looked back at him, unsure what to feel. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say; “No,”

Roman’s expression remained unchanged, possibly expecting that answer. “I’ll go with you, then,”

“No,” I got up, looking for my clothes that had been scattered somewhere on the floor. “I need to go the pharmacy, get a plan B, and then meet my friends. I don’t have time for you anymore.”

That was definitely something he hadn’t expected. Roman sat up, lips parted in confusion as he watched me get dressed; “What is that supposed to mean?”

I felt my lower lip tremble as I got hit with a newfound sense of clarity. “I’m not getting what I want in this relationship. This isn’t good for me. So until you get your priorities straight, I’m leaving you,” As I finished getting dressed, I turned to him. “Thanks for this, Rome... Have a good night.”

Leaving the bedroom with tears in my eyes, I did my best to hold back yet another sob. I quickly put my shoes on, not wanting to waste another second in his ridiculously big penthouse. I wiped away the mascara stains on my cheeks in the hallway mirror when Roman appeared, back in his clothes.

“Just... Let’s talk about this, okay? Let’s not make a rash decision,” he said, nearing me. “We can make this work. Give it some time.”

It was hard to look at him right now, especially when he looked this sexed-up. I didn’t even want to answer him, making my way to the door.

“Come on!” Roman was starting to sound more desperate, reaching out for my wrist. “This can work!—“

I turned around, my gaze hardening. It was so damn hard to resist him, and I needed to get my decision confirmed. “Say it again,” I said, knowing what would ensue.

Confused, Roman’s brows furrowed; “This can work...?”

“No,” This was it. This was the moment. “Tell me you love me, now that we’re not in bed. Mean it.”

Roman froze, and it was clear that his mind was working overtime. I held my breath, hoping that I would be proven wrong, that this was something we could overcome. However, with a shaky breath, Roman let go of my wrist, taking a step back. He lowered his head in newfound shame, giving me a silent approval to leave.

Sighing, I felt as though my heart had broken into a thousand tiny pieces. How was it possible that I had let him disappoint me over and over? “Thought so,” I took one last look at him, feeling a sob build in my throat. “Bye, Roman.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It had been a week since I had seen Roman, and it had been a week of pure agony. I hadn't stopped crying, having to take a week off of work, buying takeaway dinners every day because I didn't have the energy to get out of bed most of the time.

Agony. Pure agony.

Quite frankly, it made me feel ridiculous. I couldn't believe that I had let myself fall apart because of a man. But this wasn't an ordinary man— This was Roman. The previous-love-of-my-life Roman. Man-of-my-dreams Roman. How could I expect myself to be okay after a breakup like that?

Waking up on Saturday was even worse. The day I would usually have to follow his ridiculously cute 'closeness-rule'. The day we would take our stroll in the park.

However, a small voice in my head asked me; why can't you just do that yourself? And that was exactly how I ended up back in Clifford Park under that same lamp as usual. A small part of me hoped he would show up, but another part of me went into a tiny panic over that thought.

I stretched out my hand to let my fingers run over the cold metal where Roman had etched in our initials. In truth, I had found it quite stupid when he had suggested to do it— it was something kids did, teenagers, not grown adults? However, in this moment, I couldn't help but realize how romantic it was. That we were eternally etched onto something, a tiny memory of us and what we used to be.

The lamp was starting to feel like a tombstone for a beloved, and I wiped away the tear that rolled down my cheek, not necessarily loving the thought of crying in public. Forcing myself to leave, I lowered my head as I passed by a man with a rather familiar scent, trying not to think too much about it. But my curiosity got the best of me— I turned around, watching the man in the familiar coat turn back around. Had he looked at me too? Was that who I thought it was?

I immediately sped up. I shouldn't be here.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Another week had almost passed, and I was starting to feel better. I had found out that the ache in my heart could easily be subsided by a glass of wine or a day out with my friends, but nothing could fill the hole Roman had left in my soul.

However, I had hoped that I would feel better about the whole ordeal at this point. Who needed a man that couldn't commit? Definitely not me.

... Definitely not.

It was a Friday now, and I had just gotten off of work. I was getting ready to leave for drinks with my friends once more, seeing as that was the best remedy. And when I heard a knock at my door, I opened it without a second thought— it was probably one of my girlfriends asking to borrow a pair of shoes, as always.

Meaning, when I saw who it was, I completely froze as my lips parted in shock.

There he was; Roman let out a shaky breath as he met my gaze. His hair wasn't styled, lying in soft waves over his forehead, and he had ditched his usual suits for a casual, formal look. Typical Roman— he couldn't even show up looking like a normal human being. Ever.

However, I wasn't about to complain. I held my breath, unsure what to say or do.

And suddenly, he spoke up; “Did you know I failed math class?”

I couldn’t help but let my jaw fall, giving him a look. "... What?” Is this really what he chose to say right now? It was definitely not what I had expected.

Roman shrugged, not meeting my gaze anymore. “I had to redo it over and over again, probably up to three times,” he mumbled, putting his hands into his pockets. "When it comes to important things, I usually fuck it up. Majorly. And it seems to apply with... this as well."

My knuckles were turning white by the sheer force I was holding onto the door. It felt as though I couldn't breathe, turning to stone.

"I'm also bad at sharing," Roman continued, looking up from the floor. "Really bad. And I'm sort of legally not allowed to give out spare keys to anyone, because of security reasons my company has put in place. So I'm sorry that it didn't cross my mind. But, wait, hold on—" He pulled one hand out of his pockets, reaching out his palm to me.

And there it was. A key. With a shaky hand, I took it into mine, trying not to pay too much attention to the feeling of his hand against mine after so much time apart.

Roman let out a relieved sigh, nodding to himself. "The thing about the toothbrush... Fuck, I've been thinking about it endlessly, and I see how it looks now. I genuinely thought you'd probably want it back, it didn't even hit me that you might've wanted a toothbrush at my place, and I have nothing against that. It's... cute, actually,"

I let go of the door with my other hand, putting the keys into my front pocket. I did my best to steady my breathing; I hadn't been this overwhelmed in a while. "Roman, I didn't expect you here—"

"—And the thing about my mother," Roman was practically rambling on at this point. Was he nervous? "She's insane. I don't introduce her to anyone, actually. If she found out we were dating, she'd probably put you through hell and back to see if you'd be the right fit for the 'future of the company', as she says. I wanted to spare you. So, again, sorry. Should've cleared that up."

Another shaky breath escaped me, not knowing what to say.

Roman nodded to himself, glancing around the hallway to check that we were still alone. "And... I freaked out about meeting your friends. I have an inkling that they hate me, which they sort of have all the right to do,"

"Oh, Roman," I took a step forward, mostly out of pure habit. I had to stop myself from reaching up to his face and stroke through his hair. "Why didn't you just... tell me?"

Roman shrugged, looking rather embarrassed. "You didn't tell me that it bothered you,"

I sighed— he was right. "I'm getting a deja vu. I thought we were supposed to better at communicating, now,"

"I know," Without being invited in, Roman stepped into my apartment, checking it out. It was so typical of him to assume that he would be welcome despite our fight, but I couldn't help but find it sort of... attractive. Arrogant man. I closed the door behind us as I watched him, crossing my arms over my chest. It looked like he wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, sticking out his hand to bump the lamp on my ceiling as though he was bored; "Did I ever tell you I love this place?"

Grimacing, I rolled my eyes. The time he didn't want to stay over at my place was still lingering in the back of my mind. "As if,"

"No, I do," He turned to me, a tiny hint of his signature smirk appearing on his lips. "It's just that your bed is ridiculously tiny. Did you ever notice that I'm longer than your bed?"

I scoured my brain for that information, flustered. How was it possible for someone to be so charming? Giving up, I shook my head and admitted defeat. I wasn't going to win this mental battle against myself, and I knew it. I wanted him here, whether I admitted to it or not.

Allowing his smirk to grow, Roman's green eyes shimmered with hope. "It seems this will take a while.... Looks like I might have to spend the night,"

I bit back a smile— bastard.

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #smut #x reader #roman godfrey x reader #corporate!au #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #fanfic #why is roman such an ass #x you #thank god for redemption arcs #toxic love #toxic relationship #angst #angst with a happy ending

462 notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 3 months ago

Text

Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for a long time. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond what you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your fingers over the delicate skin between your wrist and up toward the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your other wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, and I've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

read the next part: TAKING YOU HOME

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#ari levinson #chris evans characters #curtis everett smut #curtis everett #ari levinson smut #curtis everett x reader #ari levinson x reader #female reader #tw: dubcon #tw: dub con #tw: dubious consent #happy birthday siri 2024 #aspen wrote something #obsidian stain and sin

637 notes · View notes