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buttercupblu · 6 months ago

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Satoru's Psyche|Surfacing

"Power dynamics, they're fluid."

Session 1 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Routine patient visit and care performed. Patient is stable, mostly corporative, and only mildly rowdy today. Vitals are clear, appetite is normal, nothing of interest to report other than slightly abnormal behavior resulting in the [REDACTED] incident, pending Nurse deliberation on how to proceed with patient disciplinary action. 📋 Length of Session (w.c): 5.2k out of "we will cross that bridge when we get to it 🤠" 💊Intake Chart (tags): this is a full-blown AU with a slowww build-up, yandere-ish behavior, pet names, angst, compulsive flirter Gojo (he literally cannot help it), mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️doctor's angel’s note: there’s something very, very special about how this story was born. extended author’s note at the end of this chapter if you’re curious|kk I'm done talking - enjoy Satoru’s Psyche. 🎼 Waiting room music: Child's Play|SZA

They all worshipped the strongest.

But no one saw the man; no one noticed the cracks until it was too late.

The first appeared after the Star Plasma Vessel mission—Gojo's near-death experience and first awakening.

Then, it was his best friend, Suguru Geto. His betrayal, death. Murder.

The blood on Gojo's hands left such a deep mark.

Devastation. Irreparable damage.

No matter what Gojo did after that, death followed him like a loyal dog.

And when the final crack happened in the Prison Realm, with no distraction from his own thoughts and burdens and painstakingly harsh reality, Satoru Gojo bent..then snapped.

He can't remember what happened after being unsealed.

All he knew was the blood that came afterward.

Apparently, he went on a rampage, but in his psyche, it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

And he didn't feel guilt—not in the slightest.

They must have gotten what they deserved, right?

The thoughts were deafening.

But Gojo’s natural tendency to play the hero was even louder and got the best of him. The realization of what he’d done was haunting—plaguing and persuading him like a Devil in his ear until he turned himself in to shut the voices the fuck up.

Once again, good ruled over evil and the world was safe.

In Gojo's own sick and twisted way, he had once more saved the day.

And as a thank you? He's here, in a fucking straitjacket, seals all around to make his cursed energy dormant. At least, that's what those old fools believe…

Gojo can't help but scoff, recalling all their nonsense.

“You're unstable. The mind needs to be healed.”

Blah fucking blah. What a load of bullshit.

However, society never took too kindly to a little mass murder, so fine.

Gojo will play nice... for now.

And for the most unexpected reason why.

His grin only deepens, a borderline predatory look as he hears those familiar footsteps.

Ah...how wonderful.

“There you are.”

The man waits by the door, shoulder framing your entrance and leaning on the wall. Welcoming, warm and expectantly, before the locks can disengage.

Like many times before, your eyes meet through the window pane. A dull blue under snowy white lashes, heavy and following yours, but barely piercing the plastic—small and artificial—only a thin layer of careful separation, but you both see right through it. Neutrality on your face but wavering sharpness in your eyes. And a glint in his as the familiar buzz! ushers you into his world.

“How’s my favorite nurse?” he asks like a broken record. All casual-like, as if his arms aren’t meticulously tucked into tight restraints that work hard against his muscled frame. “Missed your favorite psychopath?”

He couldn’t sound more arrogant, but still has to smirk watching you brush past him—expecting nothing less—but feels a different air.

There’s a pep in your step, carrying you into the stark white room and making it impossible to miss the subtle sway of your hips and dangling supply bag on your arm. Naturally fluid as if you’re oblivious to its sensual nature.

Gojo rarely saw you wear any emotion on your sleeve, let alone what he thought was hints of joy, but something was slipping through the cracks.

And what’s that? A slight grin on your face?

What exactly do we have here?

This attitude is foreign. Better than the blank slate or frequent exhaustion you usually walk in with, but this was a side of you that was unfamiliar.

What’s got you in such a mood, he wonders? And what else could it be, if not him?

It’s all because today is an “okay day”. And in places like your ward, “okay” is as good as gold.

Rounds have been fairly simple in the usually chaotic hospital—a small win if you put things in perspective, but it’s enough for you to feel good about it.

Hell, with the way things usually go around here, it feels like Christmas came early and you got just what you wanted.

A big, whopping present called “all of your co-workers showing up to work”. The standard for most workplaces but here, such miracles only exist in your daydreams to get through your usually fucked schedule.

But not today. Today, the angels personally visited your ward to carry your burdens and lighten your load. For the first time in months, you didn’t groan the second you saw your patient roster for the day and instead had to do a doubletake because the list was surprisingly short. Only your regulars sat on it and that could only happen if the ward was fully-staffed.

You thought it was a mistake when you checked the schedule this morning, but no, everyone’s name sat prettily on the sign-in sheet at the front desk—a sight you hadn’t seen since orientation and was confirmed with every familiar and slightly foreign face you passed in the halls.

There were no call-outs, no extra work, and the best part, no unexpected shift changes.

Overtime would not get its hands on you today and the thought alone made you feel lighter because enough time is spent in these melancholy walls as is.

With thoughts on the week’s end, you found yourself drifting through the day on autopilot. Wondering if you should make plans—doubtful you’ll see them through—and time seemed to be flying by with your thoughts. Following the rarely-seen routine you know like the back of your hand helped you blaze through the morning and grow closer to sweet rest for your already aching feet.

Miracles were coming in left and right, proof that today just might be your day. It’s still early, but no one had broken out of their room or flung any property around yet. Guards sit comfy and reclined at their posts, lounging around more than they’re being called, and you haven’t even had to run off to the lockers to change your scrubs that are usually ruined by now. Luck is keeping you high and dry—free from accidents or patient tantrums, both of which are all too common. And always seem to have your name on them.

But the cherry on top, second to none, pièce de résistance.

Is a possibility.

Just the teeniest, tiniest, sliver of a chance…to walk out of these doors early.

Be still your beating heart.

Early release?? Unheard of. You almost skipped through the halls thinking about it. Dreaming of the reclaimed time—the deliciously healthy heap of rest.

With no signs of trouble, aside from forcing yourself to chug a wildly unhealthy energy drink to fight off tendrils of sleep, you just may be in the clear.

Things seem steady in the sleepy ward today. So sure, you’re in a relatively good mood.

But is it good enough to deal with Gojo?

It puzzles you, how he always knows you’re coming before he sees you. How he sort of announces your presence before you get the chance. Like the honor belongs to him.

The psychopath.

Your head tilts at the diagnosis, hearing it come from his lips for the first time. Even if unseriously.

He’s self-aware, at least. Not that the confession makes your visits any easier.

Over time, after working so closely with a personality like Gojo’s, you’ve learned to take everything he says with a grain of salt. Especially when it comes from such shameless lips.

Answering his question with an eye-roll, you set your supplies down to pull out your clipboard and check his vitals. Something that once upon a time made your palms sweat and throat dry, but never showed on your face. You knew what the role required, what it would need for you to survive—intimidation and cowardice were not a part of it—and eventually, after you banged that into your head enough, even if you had to fake it til you made it, you became used to the routine.

As has Gojo, complying with each step on the checklist like it was second nature. Walking over to his favorite spot to be taken care of, the bed. Lifting his tongue to take his temperature. Offering his arm to check his blood pressure. Noting that his eyes aren’t bad today—not needing to wear his blindfold due to the security system. Doing it all without needing you to say a word. All within his control.

But the one thing he can’t get a grip on is how his heart begins to beat. Every time like clockwork the moment you lay a hand on his back to listen to it. Racing in his chest—thumping through your stethoscope—while he wears the calmest face.

Curiosity called you after noticing it a few times once you determined it wasn’t a condition. Guaranteed to start up with the gentlest touch that he was surely used to.

So, what exactly goes on in his mind in these moments? Despite hiding it so well?

What could possibly be making Tokyo’s most unhinged, mass-murderer, so flustered?

You never have much time to think about it because it won’t matter in the next few seconds anyway. Sitting still enough to get through vitals was as serious as Gojo gets, making the quickest part of your visits with him the easiest.

Everything that follows the second you put your kit away is pure…surprise.

“So…are you gonna undo the straps this time, sweet nurse? My arms are sore.”

He pouts. Sweetly. So devilishly charming. As he did so often with a flash of those cerulean, blue eyes that could make and break hearts.

You sigh. One could almost forget that by society’s standards, he’s a “dangerously unstable individual.”

Something you’re acutely aware of. And trained for. Which is why you don’t mind the coquettish jabs he throws your way—and why he keeps on throwing them.

You aren’t aware but these hourly visits, along with his agreement to stay put, are the only reasons why he’s still here despite being Satoru fucking Gojo and simply walking out. It’s not like anyone could stop him if they really wanted to, and he knew that.

Truth is—it pissed Gojo off, being stuck here. Cooperative. It was fucking irritating, to say the least.

He’d rather be tortured than bored and might’ve second-guessed his decision to surrender if he knew the punishment would be…this.

But lo and behold, here you are. Relief in the flesh while he bides his time. One that he wasn’t expecting.

“You sure are possessive today.” You hide a smirk, draping the stethoscope around your neck, his heartbeat returning to normal after losing your touch. “Am I really your favorite?” The leather straps hug his pale skin a bit tightly, but his mobility is good enough to ignore his request to loosen them. That would be suicide.

He tsks, eyes sparkling at your words—a warning glimmer hidden beneath the icy gaze.

Chilling. But the least bit surprising.

Gojo and cattiness go together like love and war—and he wears it with his whole chest.

Even when unprovoked, he’s known for being….testy. Trying his hand again and again until he gets some kind of reaction. Waiting to see what makes someone bite.

But there was something disingenuous about this petty quirk. The repetition and how it seemed to lack a goal. How he seemed almost…desperate for interaction—attention—any attention.

Eventually, once you sat in his face long enough to learn how to disassociate with a straight face, you figured out that he just loves to hear himself talk. Like that one kid in class who’s always inserted themselves into every conversation and made it about them.

He rarely gives you a hard time though—less than most of your other patients in fact—and usually sends more kisses than cuts. Occasionally, when you find them…okay, or tolerable enough, you indulge him and this charade between you two—like the high school crush it resembled. Strict. But harmless.

And you’re only entertaining him now because he’s one of your last patients for the day. A fact not lost on him, but disregarded nonetheless. Even if you were just playing along, he knew there had to be more depth. All the masks in the world couldn’t hide that smile on your face.

His laugh breaks the tension. “I'm a yapper, not a liar...Am I yours?” He raises a brow. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

His low tone carries an unspoken weight. Cryptic. Eerie. Needy. Almost calling you like a possession more frequently than ever.

It isn’t lost on you that his affections have blossomed as you’ve spent more time together. Visits are supposed to be 10, 15 minutes tops—collect vitals, serve meals, give meds, and avoid accidents. But Gojo? He drinks up your time. Going on 30, sometimes 45 minutes of routine maintenance and “extra care”. This wasn’t standard practice, but they didn’t tell you that, among other things when you accepted the position.

Every time you cross Gojo’s threshold, you’re reminded that you’re not actually supposed to be here. You’re just a nurse after all, not a therapist, and lacked the credentials to even begin to handle a patient like Gojo. But in the end, qualifications don’t matter when his staff has a famous history of running away.

A fate shared by his previous nurse and therapist. Both fell victim to Gojo’s whimsical and relentless personality and suffered a mental breakdown from hell before quitting the ward. Capacity for hospitality completely shot, they nailed the coffin shut by ditching the healthcare industry altogether.

And that was after only a few hours.

In the beginning, you had absolutely no faith in yourself. Swore it was a sick joke as you couldn’t begin to fathom why they would even consider you for the job.

You??

Gojo the Psycho’s nurse? It would’ve been easier to turn in your resignation right then to avoid living in hell.

You wondered how your life would change as you got to know the world’s most hated man.

How long you would last—if he would let you.

Anxiety and nausea gnawed at the back of your throat as time grew closer to meeting him. But eventually, after running the scenario in your head a million times over and trying to come up with some sort of plan or plea for your life, the day came, and you stood before the unpredictable man who looked like he saw right through you.

Just the idea of being in Gojo’s presence is enough to let you know it’ll be unnerving.

But the moment was…odd.

Naturally, you wanted rely on book smarts and previous patient experiences to get you through what you knew would be a short and traumatic failed attempt at connection. But then you took a second to really look at Gojo, not study, but a kind of look that catches something…a conflict in his eyes—and instantly knew he was no ordinary patient.

He was something you’d never met before, and any attempts to use a cookie-cutter facade would quickly be chewed up and spat out.

So, you went with your gut—hoping to escape with some remnants of your sanity at least.

Who knew you’d end up surprising not only yourself but also the Director and all the other staff in the ward who watched with held breaths?

Gojo practically welcomed you with open arms. Flashing his pearly whites and dimples in a closed-eyed smile. You could hear a pin drop.

He didn’t bark, he didn’t bite. Only teased, feeding you sultry words with cunning lips until your face visibly flushed with blush. They didn’t warn you about charm. Debatibly the “worst” part about working with the blue-eyed lady-killer. Or that his devilishly handsome face would make you second-guess his sanity and guilt.

But you knew what this was. Or at least what it wasn’t and quickly put on blinders to every distraction he threw. Holding your breath the whole way through and surprising yourself every time you walked out his room. After your trial period had run for a few days with no mishaps—the opposite, really— you were promoted. And given a big, fat new check (certainly not for collateral).

You didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or concern.

Congratulations! You were now in charge of Gojo’s physical AND mental health.

Which meant longer, more thorough visits.

The idea was nerve-racking for weeks, to say the least. And because he has the nerve to be a karate-chopping ‘sorcerer’ or whatever it is that makes the man so dangerous, he needs careful safeguarding. Which means having his very own wing and accommodations in the ward. The only barriers between Gojo and doing whatever the hell he wants is one guard stationed near the entrance and some type of security system they can’t disclose to you. It’s supposed to suppress his abilities or something, you don’t quite understand itself yourself, but most importantly, it keeps him tame.

Still, choosing to grace his space almost daily always feels like tempting a snake.

But somebody has to do it.

And in a way, by his own means, offering a satisfied grin and all, Gojo had chosen you.

Even in the confines of a cell, with seemingly nothing left to live for and no room for emotions, you, this wonder, have managed to catch his eye. In a way that made him want to sink his teeth in and soak up your attention. For reasons you couldn’t be more unsure of.

“It would break my heart if it weren’t true,” he continues, sitting in the only chair in the room, “You’re my entertainment, you know? My doll to play with.”

You scoff, arms folding. The word doll echos in your ear like a chamber. That was a new one.

“You sure talk a lot of game for someone in your situation.”

“I love games.” He leans, eyes drinking in his favorite powdery blue scrubs that hug your frame in an all too professional manner. “Play with me, Nurse.”

Time belonged to Gojo, and he chooses to bide it with a little fun until release—or escape. His ever-changing mind hasn’t decided yet but it was far from a concern. Because the truth of this truce was painfully obvious. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever. And is quick to mention that he’d love to take you with him.

“If you can handle me.” He licks his lip. “Unless I’m too much for you.”

And there it is. That cool smile that sends shivers down spines. Irresistibly stirring your core every time he parts his lips.

You hated it—no one could deny his charm or his intimidating presence. Even in chains, shackled and restrained, he maintains some kind of control: crumbling walls with his charisma, waving around his amorous, overassertive reputation like a big red flag.

But you’ve already proven to not be like the rest, easily swayed or reduced to puddles. Your wall is firm. Solid. He baits you time and time again—a smile here, a sinful gaze there—only to be met with dismissive yawns. Rousing something inside of him that deemed you a challenge. Something worth exploring. You were…difficult.

You’re the one who laughed this time, shaking your head and tucking a hair behind your ear. He oozes confidence from every fiber of his being—and bores you.

“Are you going to tell me what you’d like to lunch today or just keep bothering me?”

And goddammit he has the audacity to grin. To tuck his lip under his teeth slow enough to make you catch it.

Your insolence is adorable, yet maddening; a cocktail he drinks with delight before realizing how much he loves the taste.

You were becoming really good at it, beating up his ego and turning a blind eye to his silly little flirts, but interest never faded from his gaze no matter how careless you seemed. Or were trying to.

He tsks. “C’mon, Nurse. If I can’t have fun here, where can I? Besides,” Sunlight streams in from his barred window as if on cue. “You’re the only thing here worth talking about.”

Butterflies? Knots? Maybe both fill your stomach.

Neither can be good for you in a situation like this.

The dreamy words whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and stroke your ego with a delicate thumb. Soft and gentle—and from a shell of a man.

A good turned evil.

And you don’t have to look too far to remember how he got here—to remember why the enchanting man before you is dressed in heavy white restraints and public enemy number one.

Guilt tugs at you for even joking around with him sometimes. You picture his victims. The lives forever changed. And how he didn’t seem sorry for it.

Besides, even if Gojo wasn’t a basket-case, it’s hard to look past how childish he is anyway—something you heard has always been a part of him. Something you couldn’t imagine dealing with for too long, even casually. It certainly wasn’t your taste, and under different circumstances, you’d no sooner fall for him outside of these walls than you would now.

But above all of the boundaries, restrictions, and pep-talks you give yourself, is the simple fact that you aren’t the day-one nurse he once knew. Now, you have a backbone and don’t hesitate to remind him.

“You’re such a flirt, Patient Gojo.” You make sure to catch his eye when you say it, “But compliments only get you so far.”

Patient.

It hangs in the air. Brisk and stale. A bit sour on the tip of your tongue. And acid in his ears.

With that, Gojo sits back, resting his cheek on a propped-up arm, gaze long and longing. Breathing slow as he thinks and nerves buzz between you two. Then his request comes, simple and direct.

“How about sushi? Raw and fresh.” And a psych ward delicacy.

He’s the only patient in the entire facility with such privilege—envy-worthy and used to his heart’s content. With full-scale unlimited access to all the gourmet treats and fine dining he could ever want, his meals are often better than the ones you bring to work. Gojo is above common hospital dishes, of course, and his indulgent appetite would accept nothing less.

But it wasn’t just about the food, no, negotiating that was too easy and barely worth mentioning.

This is a conveniently constant reminder that he is still capable of influencing things and making decisions with ease, from those he’s allowed to have access to him, down to his choice of meal.

It intrigues you. How he subdues himself to the masses but finds meaning in smaller wins. What he finds significant.

But none of that mattered right now, you’d finally been given an order and another win, even if it felt like pulling teeth. For now, it’s time to feed him and let him believe whatever he wants.

You pick up his tray from this morning, scanning the room to make sure no cutlery or dishes are missing. “Sushi it is,” you wink and call to be let out.

None of his staff are allowed the room key as a preventative measure to keep his chances of escaping to a minimum. As if a door would stop him but a key does exist and you’ve only seen it on the day the Director introduced you two, and it looked nothing like the keys used for other rooms.

When you come back with lunch, Gojo grows curious. Noticing how your body has relaxed over time, getting used to his presence every time you come in. Little nuisances like how you breathe a little easier in his space and sometimes smile with your eyes when he tells a stupid joke. The air is…changing. He wonders just how comfortable have you gotten?

“Finally back? I started to miss you.” It’s light but he can’t possibly resist testing the waters. “Would you like to eat with me, pet?” And it takes everything in you to suppress a visceral reaction.

He’s on a roll with the names today and you wonder what his affections might have been like in his life before. Sure, he’s a talker and a flirt, that much is obvious, but you wonder what his actual love was like? How did he show it if he ever got to? And if so, if he ever left anybody behind?

“You know the procedure, Gojo.” You wait with the tray in hand, brushing the thoughts away. Though the temptation savor what you knew would be premium cuisine begs you to do it, you know better than to start breaking boundaries now.

He deflates, brows furrowing. “Is it…really so necessary?” He knows the answer, of course.

You gesture for him to turn around but he holds your gaze, having a little stare down like he enjoys the silent confrontation. You raise an annoyed brow. “The food’s getting cold,” and tap the tray.

“It’s sushi.”

You huff.

He smirks before finally facing the wall, stilling his body in the tight jacket. When you’re sure he won't move, you set his food to the side and slowly approach to attach him to the latch on the wall.

Skilled fingers reach across his waist and you have to crouch a little to glide the heavy chain towards the loop at his hip. His skin flushes at your warmth, your proximity, as he can’t help but enjoy the intimacy of the routine power shift. Even if it was a sham, it was still one he reluctantly agreed to. To play nice. To be weak.

But this exchange, giving himself over to your authority, was oddly invigorating—like placing himself in his victim’s shoes to get a minuscule taste of his own medicine.

“Well, don’t look so happy about it,” he chuckles. Relief finds your face as you gently tug on the chain to make sure it’s secure, amusing the man towering over you.

The thoroughness is cute, all a part of a job well done and strict boundaries that drive a heavy wedge between you two. But it doesn’t bother Gojo. Because he’s certain, he knows, that your guarded walls will crumble sooner than later. All it takes is patience.

“Remember, Nurse,” he doesn’t turn around, “Power dynamics….they’re fluid.”

And you can almost hear the wink—the implied warning living on his slick tongue that pokes and prods with every interaction and sends heat to your rosy cheeks.

“You have a way with words, Gojo.” Again your eyes roll as you reach for the key to his restraints. The shackles fall to the ground, shrilling in the mostly empty room to allow him to feed himself.

A mix of groans and relief escapes his lips as he relishes the freedom from the stiff leather. He sighs, “Thank you, Nurse.” and rubs his tender wrists before abruptly filling your space. Nearly knocking you off your feet, but stopping just shy of your face. The monstrous chains strain against the wall, playing tug of war with the beast of a man and the florescent lights cast a spotlight on the sudden distance between you two.

You had never been this close.

“But don’t forget, I can turn these roles around. Anytime.”

Twinkles play in his eyes, dazzling you with a shine so bright you can see your reflection. But you also see the unhinged nature behind them just as easily as he sees the quiver of your lip feeling his breath graze the curve of your neck and raise goosebumps on your skin.

This isn’t just idle banter. It’s a stark reminder of Gojo’s capabilities that you had grown comfortable enough to forget. That you thought maybe you had become the exception to.

As he steps back and leans against the wall he could’ve torn down, there’s an unmistakable silence filling with tension. Hot and sharp like pins and needles. But instead of pushing you to run for the hills, to quit while you’re ahead and savor what’s left of the life you know, for once, your unrelenting mind dares to wonder where this twisted ballet will go.

It kills you to admit that their is something interesting about cat-and-mouse game he thinks you’re playing. Just as his affections have grown, your thoughts push you to imagine what could happen if you were actually…caught..

It’s idiotic, you know. You don’t need a sign telling you not to play with your life.

This is Satoru fucking Gojo, for Godsake. The murderer. The villain. A literal stain on the face of humanity.

Forget about what he may have been before. You never saw that Gojo, and he’ll never be seen again.

Your motto has always been that everyone is redeemable—but these types, Gojo’s type, are so beyond saving that it feels more like babysitting than redeeming a mentally unstable murderous toddler who could destroy a city in seconds.

Even for a man who speaks so carelessly, but teases a sugary-sweet tongue, it’s easy to see how and why he ended up here. Life had made him an example.

Proving that too much of a good thing will always spoil.

And as you watch him turn a wink and begin to casually snack on his meal, completely unconcerned with you or your reaction or response, it’s plain to see that his “affections” spare no one. Not even you.

You clear your throat and steady a breath. With the lightest voice you can muster, you remind him, “Empty threats are the best you can do, patient.” And turn to leave.

“I’ll be back later for your bath. Or maybe send someone else. Since you’re so excitable today.”

He pauses. “Oh?”

Is that a challenge?

His laugh echoes around the room like something out of a cartoon, fading away just as quickly as it came. He leans back, hair blending into the wall as he licks bits of rice off his thumbs—gaze sharp despite the jest.

Because the stakes are clear and you’re both aware.

But in case you don’t know the consequences he asks, “Do I seem threatened to you?”

You shift your weight. If Gojo is anything, he’s always playful. The man does not have a serious bone in his body, which makes him damn near intolerable sometimes, but it’s something you’re used to it. But not this tone. This tone has rocks in it, hard and heavy as he calls your bluff.

“Because my threats—,” he continues eating, “—are never empty.” He pops the last roll into his mouth. “You sure you wanna do this?”

There’s no denying the chill running up your spine at those words—playing out like casual banter over lunch instead of the battle royale it was.

As if the question were rhetorical, he adds, “Okay but like,” and coughs up another laugh, as if finding the entire idea ridiculous. “Who’d be dumb enough to replace you?”

To feed or not to feed? Now was a chance to bail out.

“Don’t worry about that.” And you don’t as you call to the guard, hoping to catch your break on time. “Just behave yourself.” Gojo would keep you here playing 20 questions all day if he could.

A bemused smile settles on his face and he shakes his head at your antics.

You were becoming increasingly enjoyable to interact with. And steadily digging yourself into a hole. You’ve been sitting front-row to the darkness within him enough times to be sure it is, in fact, very real, but still it’s impossible to ignore that there’s something driving you to pick up the shovel.

It isn’t just his pretty face and boyish charm. No.

It’s like he wants to get under your skin. In the best way.

Yeahhhh, this death wish is turning you every way but loose.

It’s silly, so stupid to even think about. Giving Gojo a smidge of an inch just because you feel there may be something more. Like there’s depth to his pretty words and clashing ways. Who's to say any of it is “real” anyway? He is insane after all.

Your mind and the door shut behind you, and you turn to peer at him through the small window. A mischievous yet bored look rests on his face.

You think you actually will send someone else. Just to show him what happens when he crosses the line. To reinforce business and boundaries.

You could also use a break yourself—Gojo is starting to feel… claustrophobic these days and if you aren’t careful who knows what could happen.

“Choose wisely,” came his voice from within the room,. “Every move you make counts. And cheating has consequences.” Footsteps approach the door. “You may think tagging out is all it takes to avoid our game, but let me tell you something…” He stops. “...you underestimate how quickly I can escape confinement before I’m noticed.”

And suddenly, this isn’t just a game anymore. And Gojo isn’t just some harmless tease.

Your throat is too tight to swallow and you fidget with your lanyard as if responding to his words.

Of course, he’s capable of breaking free. That’s not what’s worrying. But if it was because of you poking the bear, you trying to get on even ground with him and have the upper hand, would you be responsible if he did?

“No matter where they send you or who they send instead—” And Gojo’s comment makes it crystal clear.

“—I promise you, you’ll end up right back here.”

extended angel's note: first and foremost, just to give credit where credit is due, this is a chatbot i turned into a short story🧍🏾‍♀️. it was actually my first time dicking around with janitor a.i. back in like...april? and i came across this gojo bot with a suuuuper interesting prompt. [all of the prompt idea and calibration credit goes to the original creator.] i didn’t decide to actually get serious and start creating a story until around the end of part 2 - i realized i was having too much fun and was in too deep 🙇🏾‍♀️. SO after my decision to indulge madness, i didn't want to run up 10000 messages on janitor a.i. and decided to create the rest of the story on my own from there. everything after the prompt are my own words and i've had to weave every last bit of part 1 and 2 into a coherent story but everything afterwards is all me.

you can find the chatbot and play around with it yourself here but i strongly recomment doing so after finishing this short - think of it as a choose your own adventure afterwards in case you want my head on a stick after the ending 🤠.

tags list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @blkkizzat @kiwismoother @rune1920 @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @startatdawn @heijihatsutori

@inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk @rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping

@sims-4lifers @bratidol @hyunsuks-beanie @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111

@supsiii @natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko

@strawberrymilkshakes-posts @nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow

#bluuharem #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #Satoru Psyche

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moonlight-prose · 3 months ago

Note

I either want to tend to Gabriel’s wounds or make some with my nails 😏

bound in the strands of permanence

a/n: knowing how intense his battles get when monster hunting, he must be so numb to the pain. because of course he is. it's been centuries of life, countless wounds, and he's unable to stop from wanting that infliction back. but in a different way. i really just word vommitted cause this was meant to be a drabble. my bad.

summary: he walked with monsters in the night, claiming their lives for a vendetta placed upon him by the church. but he found peace in daylight with the touch of your healing hands.

word count: 1.9k+

pairing: gabriel van helsing x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, love, tending to wounds, pain kink, masochism, tw: blood, breeding kink, p in v sex, rough sex, they're unhinged and in love, dirty talk, forever.

Pain was inconsequential in the grand scheme of being God's right hand. Immortality ran through his veins like a poison without an antidote. He couldn't necessarily die. People have tried, monsters have nearly succeeded, but death never asked for him to deign its doorstep.

He was bound to life on a planet riddled with evil—destined to drag each horrid creature to the pits of hell with him.

But pain was a different matter altogether.

After so many wounds, knives, bullets, arrows, he could no longer register the nerves that stretched to and fro beneath his body. They were there. Unmistakable with the phantom aches and near deaths that still plagued his eternal soul. But remembering why they came to be eventually rescinded to the back of his mind—an afterthought to all the detriments of his waking life.

Years went by before he dared to ask someone for help. But a particularly nasty wound to his shoulder was out of reach even for him. Which is how he came to stumble onto your small quarters in the furthest reaches of the Vatican.

There were other healers, other doctors who could have easily stitched up his wound. But you weren't a member of the church.

He found that ironic.

Neither of you mentioned how long it'd been since he stumbled through your doors, shoving a bag of coins into your hand, before falling onto the cleared wooden table meant for patients in the city. Not that either of you couldn't remember it. Two years, three months, and two brand new flesh wounds that barely needed wrapping.

Yet he still came anyway.

"Turn into a beast again?" you questioned, wrapped the cloth tight along his scarred abdomen.

He smiled, shuddering at the icy touch of your hands. "That was one time."

"One time too many."

"And if it hadn't of happened I wouldn't have a reason to come here."

You scoffed, tying the knot painfully, relishing a bit in the harsh grunt he let out. "You don't need a reason to come see me Gabriel."

"It's impolite to knock on a lady's door this late without a reason." He shook his head, unconsciously sliding his hand over yours that remained on his wound. "I'm not one to mistreat a lady."

"I'm hardly that. They won't even let me in the fucking church–"

Sharp eyes dragged up to your face, glaring at the pout in your lips that formed a curse. He may have been a man who found your way of life refreshing, but he was still devoted to the God above. Your mouth curled into a wry smile—hand moving to tip his chin up. To remove his gaze and place it where you wanted him to truly look.

"It's not right how they treat you," he rasped.

The familiar dark cloud of grief began to drip into his iris, shrouding his once sharp gaze that pierced each part of your soul. They called him God's right hand. The man who was sent from the heavens above. You merely thought of him as the man who gripped your heart in an iron fist—reluctant to let you go.

"I'm not one of you."

He sighed. "You could be."

"Only through the binds of marriage would I enter that place and even then, I don't entirely wish to follow rules not made of my own volition."

"Marriage," he mumbled, eyes dropping to the lip you worried between your teeth. "To whom, if I may ask?"

"To no one."

"Why?"

The way he looked at you is what threw you off guard. Intense, without boundaries that may have been set in place for other patients. He weeded out your deepest fears and silently vowed to rip each one apart with his bare hands. Monsters walked beside him in the night, but Gabriel Van Helsing was doomed to wander the daylight alone. Yet he found...he didn't want to anymore.

"If I were to ask..."

Your knees almost buckled - the weight of his inquiry slamming directly into your chest. "Ask me what?"

Gabriel looked at you as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. As if nothing felt more right than the words about to spill from his lips. To be bound to a soul meant permanence in the eyes of his God, and how lovely it might be.

To have someone he could be permanent with.

"To marry me darling."

There remained an answer to this madness. A final solemn vow you might have otherwise been able to say. But his confession hung in the air like a cloud that refused to dissipate with the change in weather. When had he fallen in love? When had he finally relented to the ache that built in his chest?

When did he realize that he came here at night for you and not for his wounds?

You wanted to give him something in return—a promise that could outlast all that threatened to rip him from you.

So you kissed him. You dragged him close—your hand tangling in his hair—and caught his lips in a kiss that damn near threw him off the table. He didn't expect to finally taste you, his heart hammering an unsteady beat in his chest. But he certainly wasn't about to complain. He met your actions in kind, gripping onto the flesh of your hips with a soft groan.

His tongue met yours—hesitance bleeding through each action—and when he found no resistance he finally devoured what he hungered for. Standing to his full height, he licked into your mouth, his hand gripping the back of your neck painfully to keep you close. Neither of you even registered what happened when he crowded you against the heavy wooden door sealed shut with a lock.

"Gabriel," you sighed, bending to let him drag his tongue down your throat.

"Say yes," he growled, rucking up your skirts as you worked the belt of his pants still coated in grime and dust. "Marry me. Be mine forever."

"God above." A gasp tore from your chest when he notched his dripping cock at your entrance.

He held you there, fixing his gaze on your face, even as you tried to drag your hips forward. "Darling."

"I want..."

"What?"

A moan rumbled in his chest when you finally looked at him—the love you kept locked away pouring out into the furrow of your brows. The tears that fell down your cheeks. Hiding it felt pointless at this time. Because you knew your answer, you knew the second he stumbled through your door demanding you help him. You knew it the moment his gaze locked on yours.

Forever would be spent here. In the safety of his hold.

"I'll marry you," you breathed.

There were few times you managed to see this man smile. Once or twice when you told a joke. More often due to the biting pain on his body as you stitched him up—a defense mechanism rather than agonizing grunts he used to give you. And now when your words settled in his mind - solidifying something he wondered about for years.

His lips bloomed into a smile that met his eyes for the very first time. Light practically shone directly from the hazel iris.

You expected him to give you an answer, a shower of words full of love. Instead he sunk into you with a harsh groan, his forehead falling to yours, mouth swallowing the cry that erupted from your chest.

Lovers existed in your life before him—a sprinkle of men who once or twice believed you'd be their wife one day. But none of them compared to the one before you. Gabriel stretched you wide enough to hurt, but he quickly sought out the small bud pulsing for attention—circling it slowly with each shallow thrust.

Your legs shook under the sensations, nails digging into his bare shoulders, and for the first time...he felt pain.

A fractured cry escaped his mouth, finding its way into yours as you sharply cut him to ground yourself. Panic flooded your veins at the thought of hurting him. Only to feel his hips slam into yours, impaling you on his twitching cock spurting precum like a broken faucet.

"Again," he rumbled, pulling out at an achingly slow pace. Only to punch back in and drag out a shout from the depths of your stomach. "Hurt me again."

"But–"

"Do it."

Cutting your nails down his back—blood welling to the surface immediately—you felt his entire body shudder. His head tipping back as he fucked into you fast enough to hurt. There was no rhythm to how he moved. Rutting into you wildly like the beast he once became—his body overwhelmed with a mix of pain and pleasure. Agony merging together with the love he felt for you.

The wet squelch of your cunt swallowing him in with each thrust echoed in the small confines of your room. Each one followed by the loud resounding echo of your moans and his ragged grunts. You felt unhinged. Probably looked like it too.

But pleasure was creeping up on you faster than you could anticipate. Your nails marred his skin with each blinding strike of his cock against your walls. It drowned you. Swallowed you up with the promise to spit you back out later.

You'd never felt so whole before.

"I can feel her begging," he gasped against your lips, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his. "Will you let me?"

"Uh-huh."

He smiled, harsh and unforgiving. "We'll have a little one running around by the time our vows are exchanged mea amor."

His words struck something in your chest—dragging out the darkest secret you kept hidden each time he looked at you. Binding yourself with him through the bonds of marriage was one thing. Having his child remained something else entirely. You almost loathed how much you loved the idea.

"Oh–"

"You'll make me a sinner," he babbled, stimulating your clit until pain began to spark up your spine. "A child before marriage. What will God think?"

"G-Gabriel!" A violent tremble began in your legs, working up your body until he was forced to hold you up with his body weight. "I-I can feel it."

He chuckled, speeding up just enough to push you over the edge. A scream echoing off the stone walls—ringing in his ears as your walls clamped down, a gush of cum coating down to his balls. What he wouldn't give to see that again. Your face screwed up in pleasure, pain bleeding into his body with each scratch of your nails.

"It will simply have to take," he gasped, spilling into you with a cry of his own.

Seconds bled into a minute and yet he couldn't stop cumming. The sticky warmth of it trailed down your legs and dripped onto the floor. And he merely shoved back into your—keeping it from spilling out entirely. Intent on keeping each promise he made.

Kissing your cheeks, he found your lips with a sigh. "Take this."

"What?" you mumbled, vision blurry with tears.

The cold kiss of metal on your finger stirred you back to life. "Until I find a jewel meant to sit on your hand."

His insignia burned through your chest, claiming you under the very name he sought to learn more about. You were to be his. A Van Helsing of your own volition. It should have terrified you.

Yet the fear was nowhere to be found.

"I love you Gabriel. I should have told you years ago..."

With a soft kiss to your forehead, he curled his arms around your back. "Then tell me again tomorrow."

And each day after that.

#van helsing x reader #gabriel van helsing x reader #van helsing x you #van helsing x y/n #van helsing smut #gabriel van helsing smut #van helsing #gabriel van helsing #my writing

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4linos · 1 month ago

Text

after the storm

han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis/request: when jisung lashes out in frustration, the hurt you feel cuts deep. the following morning, he’s full of regret and apologies, but the damage is done. will the two of you be able to find a way to heal together, or has this moment created a rift too large to fix?

wc: 1695

That day had been a storm, a silent, simmering chaos that erupted unexpectedly. It had begun with something small, something you both should have been able to discuss easily: a miscommunication about plans. You had asked Jisung to pick up groceries after work, an easy task that you had agreed upon the night before. But when you called him later to check in, he said he hadn't gone.

The reason?

"I just didn't have the energy, okay?"

It wasn’t the reason that stung; it was the tone. The dismissiveness. The way his voice had hardened, like you were the last person he wanted to talk to. You could hear it in his voice the fatigue, sure but there was something else, too. Something more dismissive, more impatient.

You tried to keep your calm. You asked him why he hadn’t mentioned this earlier, and that’s when it escalated. Jisung snapped at you.

“Why do you always have to make everything a bigger deal? I told you I was tired, and you just can’t let it go, can you?” His voice was sharp now, piercing through the calmness you’d tried to maintain. “You think I don’t have things to do? That I don’t have my own problems? Stop acting like everything’s always about you!”

The words hit you like a slap. It was not just what he said, but how he said it. The unexpected cold. The anger. It wasn't Jisung as you knew him. It wasn't the loving, caring lover who constantly looked to console you when things were tough. You had never seen this side of him before, it was raw, cruel, and unlike the person you loved. You tried to react, defend yourself, and explain that it wasn't about being selfish, but about knowing one another. But Jisung would not hear it. His irritation had gotten out of hand, and before you knew it, you were both screaming at one other, the argument growing into a conflict of hurt feelings. In the end, it was one of those exhausting arguments that left you feeling drained, defeated, like something inside had been broken.

Jisung disappeared off to the bedroom, and you had cuddled up on the couch, letting your tears fall. You were upset. You were hurt. You were mostly confused, though. You weren't expecting this venom, this hardness. You didn't expect him to lash out like that, to treat you as if you were the problem when you were just trying to keep things together.

And now it was the morning after. The house was strangely quiet. You awoke with the impression that yesterday's weight was still bearing down on you. The argument had not been settled, and there was a noticeable gap between you and Jisung, an emotional coldness that neither of you had been able to overcome just yet.

You stumbled into the kitchen, your body still feeling heavy with the aftermath of the fight. The coffee machine hummed in the background, filling the silence with the comforting sound of routine. You tried to go through the motions, hoping that the normalcy of it would ease the tightness in your chest. But the hurt from the night before was still there, lingering in every corner of your mind.

You needed space. You needed time to think.

The coffee began to brew, and as you stood there waiting, your thoughts wandered back to the argument. The way Jisung had raised his voice. The hurt in his eyes when you didn’t immediately understand his frustration. The words he had thrown at you, accusing you of being self-centered, of not caring about how he felt. You knew deep down that he hadn’t meant to hurt you. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Before you could even try to clear your mind, you heard footsteps behind you, and your heart sank.

“Hey, babe,” Jisung’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, like he was afraid to approach you after everything that had happened. He was there, standing right behind you, but there was a distance in his tone. The same distance that had grown between the two of you since yesterday.

You didn’t turn to face him. You couldn’t. Your body still felt heavy with the weight of the argument, and you didn’t know how to process the emotions that were swirling inside you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you focused on the sound of the coffee machine, the clinking of the cup, anything to avoid the rawness of the situation.

Then, without warning, you felt Jisung wrap his arms around you. He was trying to be delicate, to ease the distance between you, but his touch felt strange now. His warmth should have been reassuring, but it merely emphasized the coldness between you. You froze, your body becoming rigid at the contact. He did not seem to notice. Maybe deep down, he did. Maybe that's why he hesitated for a time, his arms tightening around you in an almost desperate cry for forgiveness, connection, and a chance to feel him as he felt you. But you couldn't move. You couldn't respond.

So you turned away from him. You swept past him as if he were not there. You didn't try to hurt him, but it was easier to stay away and protect yourself. The raw vulnerability of being hurt by someone you care about made everything feel overwhelming. You wandered to the living room and sunk onto the couch without saying anything. You didn't want to confront this. You didn't know how to handle it. The argument from yesterday was still vivid in your mind, and despite hearing guilt in his footsteps as he followed you, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

He stood there for a moment, hesitant, before calmly sitting next to you. He took the coffee cup from your hands, his fingers brushing across yours, and then lied down with his head on your lap. It seemed as if he was trying to get closer, to close the emotional gap, but it felt too soon. Too raw. You stared straight ahead, the TV on in the background, but you weren't watching it. The silence between you was suffocating. Your fingers were curled in your lap, but Jisung's presence in your space was undeniable, even if you didn't acknowledge it. His body was close to yours, his chest rising and falling with quiet breaths, but there was no comfort in it.

And then, in the softest voice, Jisung spoke. “I’m sorry… for yesterday. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I didn’t mean what I said. I just… I don’t know. I’ve been so stressed, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

The words hung in the air. You wanted to say something. You wanted to reassure him, but you couldn’t quite shake the sting of what had been said. You didn’t know how to respond to his apology because, even though you knew he was sorry, it didn’t change how his words had made you feel. It didn’t change the hurt that was still fresh in your heart.

Jisung waited, his eyes closed, his hand resting on your knee, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin as if he was asking for your forgiveness without saying a word. The guilt radiated from him, and it made your chest tighten even more. He was sorry. You knew he was. But could you forgive him this easily?

You were silent at first. Instead, you let the tips of your fingers slide through his messy hair. The move was natural, something you would do any other day when the two of you were at ease. However, it felt like a truce, a period of peaceful connection in the midst of everything that just happened. Jisung let out a gentle sigh, his body softening under your touch, as if he had finally relieved some of the tension that had been building up. He nuzzled onto your lap, instinctively seeking the comfort he knew you could give him.

You gently scratched his head, without looking at him, but using your fingers in calm, controlled movements. It wasn't that you didn't care; instead, everything felt so raw. You needed time. You needed him to understand that the apology was only the first step. That rebuilding trust needed more than just words. Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. "I was hurt, Jisung. What you said really stung. You can't just snap at me like that, no matter what's going through your mind. I don't deserve that. I understand you didn't mean it, but it still hurt."

You could feel him flinch slightly beneath your touch, his hand tightening around your leg, but he did not say anything. He did not try to interrupt. He just listened, which was all you needed right now. "But," you said softly, "I accept your apologies. I do. As long as you promise me this will not happen again. We can't keep doing it, Jisung. I can't keep feeling this way every time we fight. We need to figure out a better way to communicate. We need to respect each other, even when times are difficult."

Jisung nodded slowly, his forehead pressing lightly against your leg, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breath, the two of you suspended in this quiet, fragile moment of vulnerability. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let your fingers continue to massage his scalp, letting the weight of his apology settle between you.

“I promise,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll do better. I’ll make sure this never happens again. I love you too much to hurt you like that.”

And, for the first time since yesterday, you were able to relax and breathe a bit easier, knowing that, while the road to recovery would take time, you were both willing to try. You didn't know how things would turn out in the future, but for the time being, you allowed yourself to believe that everything would be okay.

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

💡masterlist request list 💡

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x you #skz imagines #skz x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #han jisung #han jisung angst #han jisung fluff #han jisung x reader #stray kids #skz #kpop #skz fanfic #skz x stay

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cr4yolaas · 11 months ago

Text

second best (pt 2) — iwaizumi hajime

notes: at last, the heavily requested part 2 to this fic !! i really hope it met a lot of your guys’ standards — i tried my best to take as much of your requests into account ^_^ i rlly dislike m the flow of this … but hopefully u guys still enjoy LOL

tags: angst → (bittersweet?) fluff, depressive episode (reader), swearing (once), a longgg process of grief and healing and whatnot, alcoholism (only briefly), roommate! tsukishima, best friend! oikawa, tsukishima does NOT have feelings for you, not proofread and quite long

taglist (incl. everyone who asked for a pt 2 !!): @altumsomnum @gennaray @romanticandupsetting @multi-fandom-fanfic

it was tuesday.

a frigid air pierced your limbs and left you to rot away, with the windows shut tight and the door locked. there was no mistakening the dark bags hanging beneath your eyes or the flakes of skin peeling from your bottom lip, nor the soft pleas of your stomach or the iciness of your fingertips. you basked in eternal slumber and silence and darkness and whatnot, save for the ticks of a clock that was 14 minutes behind and the hum of the air conditioning.

you were not frightened in the slightest. the warning signs plastered on your flesh were no great concern, and you could not fathom the idea of having to function again. it was horribly consuming.

with a groan, you released yourself from bed, your legs trembling under the mere weight of the air. you avoided the collections of trash and clothes splayed across the floor, being careful not to disturb the peace that had formed over the past handful of weeks. the sight of the kitchen was much more refreshing.

you were locked in stasis. contrary to the comfort these walls once provided, they now served as a a form of imprisonment, designed to allow the grief and the sorrow and the anger and the guilt to coalesce and spill over. it was terribly suffocating — you wished to escape.

gently, you poured a cup of water (not that you drank more than a sip, anyways). a thought passed your mind.

you needed to leave.

sendai was a home you could not find solace in anymore. gone was the youth encapsulated in the mountaintops and the hidden pathways and the convenience stores, and no longer could you feel at ease when faced with the neighborhoods you familiarized yourself with as a child.

your new apartment was shared with an old face — one you had only seen glances of in high school, notorious for his glasses and upfront attitude. he bore no hesitance when taking you in. instead, he was grateful for your presence, as if splitting the rent with him had taken off his life’s burden off of his shoulders.

he was quick to set ground rules — laundry days were on saturdays, trash needed to be taken out on sundays, the dish washer had to be clear at the end of the day, all groceries were shared, so on and so forth. you weren’t sure if you could keep up.

it took one week for him to actually conversate.

“why did you come back here?” he questioned, with a tone that implied he knew of you for years upon years (which would be false).

you picked at the skin of your lip. “why do you ask?”

“no reason. just curious.”

in a burst of energy, you recounted the tales of your past life, one of love and youth and joy; of the old apartment, of your past hobbies, of hajime. his gaze was so distant that you weren’t sure if he was listening at all.

in return, he expressed brief apologies and turned the story to himself — he discussed his volleyball career, his teammates, how he felt somewhat disconnected from his high school friends. he did not care to mention the exhaustion riddled into the pores on your face nor the weakness of your voice. that was all you needed. a conversation, not comfort.

only an hour later did he remind you of his name — tsukishima kei — and it was only then that you realized you had moved into an apartment without taking any precautions whatsoever. he laughed when you informed him of the situation.

this was not yet a home, but it was a house. and that was sufficient.

a month had passed before tsukishima forced you to get a job. he was clearly not a fool — at some point (you couldn’t tell when), he realized you were paying off your share of the rent with your life savings, which irked him ever so slightly.

“do you plan on moving out and dying on the streets when you run out?” he complained, despite the concern laced in the fluctuations of his voice.

you began working at his former high school coach’s family store. the owner himself was welcoming — he didn’t question your circumstances nor your physical state, and merely mentioned in passing that he was “given a token of appreciation from a prized student.”

and so began the cycle. on weekday mornings, you would depart for work and tsukishima would leave for practice. occasionally, he would pack you lunch (“only because i had leftovers,” he’d say) or leave a can of coffee on the counter for you. you would work at the register until the amalgamation of students died down, and once you were left with an empty store, you would take a break and go on a walk (as requested by your boss). then, you would return in the afternoon to serve the same population of children, handing them their ice cream and their sandwiches and whatnot. when they all disappeared, the coach would let you free and dismiss you with a “good work today, let’s do it again tomorrow.”

returning home was your favorite part of the schedule. a majority of the time, tsukishima arrived later than you, leaving you to your own time until he came home with dinner and a drink.

it was a monotonous cycle, but enjoyable nonetheless.

“i’m cutting off the beer for a month,” tsukishima exclaimed one warm summer night. you left your room to see him collecting unopened bottles and discarding them in a trash bag with little regard. you could only frown.

“those are all going to waste, we haven’t even opened them,” you groaned.

there was no response from the man as he continued to clear the apartment of any alcohol, akin to a parent cleansing their child’s home. before you could protest any further, he shut the door behind him and the crashing of bottles against one another could be heard beside the building.

tsukishima re-entered the apartment with empty hands and furrowed brows. “what’s up with the shitty face?” you asked from the couch.

he clicked his tongue at your comment and bore no response, instead letting his eyes wander to the screen in front of you. the morning news was playing, as usual. and yet, it was so wrong.

the screen flashed to a familiar face, one clad with a slight grin and sweat spread over his skin. his hair had grown slightly and his complexion had darkened, evidence of his labor. but most of all, he looked happy. his eyes screamed with a passion you hadn’t seen before, and despite his haggard appearance, he seemed to be content.

you did not see tsukishima rushing to turn off the television. you did not see the screen turn black, and you did not hear the noise diminish. you did not see tsukishima’s face adjacent to yours.

“hey. let’s go outside,” he muttered before moving to pull you up and out of the house

a delicate breeze washed over you both. the sun began to kiss you goodbye, and the noon crept up in its wake, leaving both of you in the dark.

“he looked so happy,” you whispered. “i don’t know what i’m doing wrong.”

you watched tsukishima light a cigarette in your peripherals, his lighter evidently battered and marred from heavy use. he made no move to offer one to you. “you’re not doing anything wrong,” he spoke firmly, although you could tell he was struggling to formulate the right combination of words in his head. “he’s just… going along a different path.”

“it should’ve been us on the same path. i feel so stupid. he’s gone on to do such great things, and i… what am i doing?”

tsukishima didn’t push the conversation any further. you were grateful.

a week had passed before tsukishima told you he had gotten you a new job, one deeper in the city. on an early sunday morning, he presented a uniform and badge to you, your name imprinted on both. the effort made you smile.

at some point, a new cycle formed. the museum was a far cry from the run down family store, and tsukishima taught you how to welcome it with an open mind and open arms. he never did mention the exact reason for the new occupation, nor did he tell you why he was so adamant on enforcing routine in your life. nonetheless, you appreciated it.

the mundanity that your new job encapsulated was slightly more enjoyable than that of your former job. exploring the concrete rooms filled with statues and paintings and whatnot was a sufficient way to pass the time. every now and then, you’d catch your roommate detailing a specific sculpture to a curious visitor, the scene contrasting his typical behavior. not that you would ever mention it to him, though.

a new routine was not unwelcome, but it did not feel impactful anymore. you still burned blue in the night, your bones aching with reminiscence over a lost life. your hands and legs still knew tokyo; they still knew the morning commutes and the bustling cafés and the chirping crosswalks and your own home, one that had been so devastatingly haunted by grief. your heart still knew the morning calls and the evening texts and the handfuls upon handfuls of promises made on once solid territory, and yet, you knew to return to it was to betray yourself.

you missed iwaizumi hajime.

rather, you missed the life that you formulated in his presence, opposed to the shambles you had grown comfortable in now that you were back home. tsukishima had carved a clay pot for your worn soul, and yet you could not help but yearn for the comfort and stability and routine you established in a past life.

the soft padding of feet echoed outside your door. soft strings of light streamed under your door as your roommate entered the kitchen, his actions indiscernible as he maneuvered about carefully. you decided to step out to greet him.

a startled tsukishima turned around to face you. “what are you still doing up?” he interrogated, albeit not in offense. “it’s late. we have work tomorrow.”

“but i don’t want to go to work. i want to go home,” you protested. you felt childish all over again — the thirst for selfishness was one that could not escape you, even now. an overwhelming desire to be in control of your own life.

tsukishima furrowed his brows. “to tokyo?” you nodded. “okay… then let’s go to tokyo.” he paid no mind to the slanted smile that transformed your lips, instead opting to turn away and fill up his bottle. “but why?”

“i need to escape,” you sighed, as if releasing a burden that had been lingering for a moment too long. “i need change. i just- i feel so stuck. i need to live.”

he merely hummed in agreement before uttering a comment about your poor sleeping schedule and ushering you back to bed.

tokyo was a city of hopes and dreams and noise. the shift from sendai’s cicada lullabies and whispers in the wind to the incessant chatter and obnoxious roads of the city was significant — any pedestrian would notice the irritation on you and tsukishima’s faces.

the inn he picked was small, yet slightly more comfortable than your current abode. the owners were kind and your neighbors were quiet, save for the occasional drunk couple. it was a life you remembering living, but not one you yearned for any longer.

in the night, you would both visit various attractions and markets and restaurants, with tsukishima insisting on paying for your meals (“as thanks for getting a life,” he argued). for that handful of days, you bore a smile that you weren’t sure would grace your lips ever again, for there was an adolescence in the evening activities that mended the remnants of your spirit. you felt whole.

on the last day, you brought tsukishima to a ramen house nearby the inn and promised to pay for the meal. it was a tuesday, again.

for reasons you could not discover, that appeared to be one of the busiest nights for the establishment — moments after you had settled, a line began to form, and the tables were crowded with families and friend groups and dates alike.

amidst the composition of metropolitans stood a man you wished you didn’t have to see. as if it were punishment, he locked his eyes with yours, the shock in his complimenting your dread.

you watched as he excused himself from his group while ignoring the cheers and shouts about him “shooting his shot.” tsukishima observed in tandem, seemingly reading the situation from a distance despite sitting right across from you.

you noticed the bold athletic trainer embroidered onto his chest, and the fitted red shirt he wore that matched those of his team. beads of sweat compiled on his forehead — you weren’t sure if it was from the density of the room or his exhaustion or anxiety. a small part of you hoped it was the second option.

“hey,” he began. “can- can we speak outside?”

you could not help but oblige.

hajime seemed to have developed an obsession with fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. you noticed the frayed strands on a spot that aligned perfectly with his hand, and you nearly laughed.

he coughed into his fist before rambling. “i’m sorry. i know you definitely don’t want to see me, and it’s not wrong of you at all to feel that way, but i just- i’ve thought about you- no, i think about you every day up until now. i know i don’t deserve you at all, and me being here is probably super upsetting, but-“

“hajime.”

the way you called his name seemed to deteriorate him and his principles. you finally felt otherwise.

“i really, really, didn’t want to see you at all. i don’t even want the thought of you to pass my mind. i’ve built a life outside of you and i’m tired of you interrupting it.” you witnessed his heart, mind, and body freeze simultaneously.

“i- i understand that, i know, i’m sorry. i’ve been- i’ve been reflecting a lot recently and i’ve known i was horribly in the wrong and i’m ashamed to have done nothing about it, and i know this sounds really, really dumb but i wish i had just stayed with you for that extra day because- because i don’t think i can go any longer without you now that i have you here, in front of me. could we- can we at least… keep in touch?” he seemed to speak without limitations, akin to a leaking clay pot. he was distressed, evidently. but you no longer saw his face and thought of guilt and love and yearning; you held no space for him.

you shook your head gently. “hajime, i don’t want you in my life anymore. you achieved your dreams, and i’m working on finding mine. that’s how it was meant to be.”

if not for the small lamp above the two of you, you would not have noticed the tears spilling onto his face. you bore no sympathy — with a goodbye and a small wave, you left him in the alley with a heavy heart and saline tears.

to witness him before you had awakened the truth riddled in your sinew and bloodstream: iwaizumi hajime was no longer a necessity. a truth that had cowered away beneath guilt and fragility and shame had uncovered itself, and for once, you breathed a full breath.

oikawa seemed so vibrant on the other side of your screen, the argentinian sun kissing his skin almost perfectly. “…i miss you lots!! i’ll visit soon, maybe, and we can catch up and maybe go get coffee and then debrief and then…” he trailed off with an aloof grin, his words spilling out from your phone and reverberating around the living room. tsukishima stood in the kitchen, the sound of his deliberate chopping and washing contesting oikawa’s voice. “but anyways, i’ll see you soon! byebye!!”

you waved goodbye and hung up, leaving only the noise of your roommate’s cooking. a loud groan left his lips in the midst of his mixing, followed by a complaint about how irritable your friend’s voice was. you could only laugh.

gentle strings of moonlight spilled into the apartment through the kitchen window, the songs of the evening falling upon both of you and your shared comfort. tomorrow was your off day, granting you both an opportunity for an actual meal. tsukishima (begrudgingly) agreed to make your favorite dish, with the request that you’d make his favorite dessert next week.

“thank you for the meal,” you whispered. tonight would consist of good food and a relaxing night, and tomorrow would entail a day of rest and a weekly reset, along with another call with oikawa. with marred hands and a porcelain heart, you had managed at last to craft a solid life — steady health, steady friends, and a steady routine.

you would no longer be second best to anything, and that was sufficient enough.

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partially-controlled-chaos · 5 months ago

Text

Guilty Pleasures

Pairing: Halsin x GN!Reader Rating: Mature/Explicit (NSFW) Warnings: Male masturbation, sexual fantasies, angst with no real resolution, mutual pining, Halsin not being able to relax and take a break for once in his life. Absolutely NSFW. Maybe kinda sort Sub Halsin? Summary: With the shadow curse and the threat of Ketheric Thorm looming over him, Halsin manages to find a bit of solitude in his tent and indulge in his inner most fantasies. Word Count: 9.7K A/N: I’ve always loved Halsin’s line of “that was something I had dreamed about for some time” after spending his first night with him. So, naturally, you can’t tell me this man absolutely didn’t fantasize about the player while alone in his tent at night. I also want to apologize in advance because I know parts of this feel rushed, but admittedly I've been working this piece for a few months here and there and I'm ready to see it off. I am still pleased with how this turned out, but admittedly isn't my best work out there. I've also developed a cold at the time of proofreading, so I apologize for any errors but I *think* I've gotten them all. Read on AO3 here!

The sharpened steel of a heavy sword clanged to the cobblestones below, the sound resonating through the area, deafening everything to an eerie silence. Halsin stood stone still, his breath coming in heaves as he downed the final foe on the battle field. The shadow-infested husk of a Harper collapsed to the ground at his feet, smoking tendrils dissipating into the air as the essence of what was once a person faded into the darkened sky. Halsin's eyes darted across the landscape, a sudden wave of guilt washing over him as he stared into the never-ending darkness ahead. Bodies, both old and new, littered the streets ahead, having succumbed to the curse that held the land in an ironclad vice for a century.

The feeling of guilt wasn’t new, considering he’d dealt with the pain from the moment the curse was born, but there was something more sinister about seeing the curse firsthand again after so many years away. It seemed hungrier, more vicious even, than he had previously remembered and for the time being, the curse was not ready to be lifted. Thaniel had been plucked from the depths of the Shadowfell and after a fair amount of convincing, Oliver had reunited with his other half. Both were resting safely back at camp, progressing well with healing and mending after being apart for so long, but the threat was certainly far from over.

Halsin stared into the distance, looking past the bodies in the streets and the twisted, knotted roots of corrupted nature that broke through the stones and into buildings, and set his attention on Moonrise Towers. Ketheric Thorm still drew breath and if what Thaniel had said was true, as long as he remained on this mortal plane, the shadow curse would as well. There was some hope that had started blooming within the mind of the druid, knowing that Thaniel was safe and so much progress had been made towards lifting the curse, but admittedly there was still enough darkness in the world that kept him from becoming too hopeful. Ketheric was a formidable foe and defeating him would be no simple task.

He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles almost turning white from the pressure. Knowing that a seemingly invulnerable man lived once again and had power while so many had died in the past century because of his corruption filled Halsin with a burning rage; one that settled in his bones and set his skin ablaze. Ketheric must be stopped, at any costs, and Halsin knew he couldn’t truly rest until Ketheric lay dead at his feet and she sun shined down upon the land once more. Halsin’s gaze lingered on the towers in the distance, looming over the land like a beacon ablaze with pixie-fueled light all while shadows licked at his perimeters.

“Halsin?” A gentle voice pierced through the darkness clouding his thoughts, pulling the veil from his eyes so he could see clearly for the time being. A soft, warm touch to his arm soon followed, cutting through the icy cold that had begun to settle on his skin from the air of the shadow curse. The voice had caught him by surprising, causing the druid to jolt slightly at the touch before regaining composure. He finally tore his eyes from the evil of Moonrise, shifting his eyes downward until your concerned look met his gaze.

“Are you all right?” You asked quietly, your hand still gripping his arm. You scanned over his large frame quickly, scanning for any obvious signs of injury or something life threatening and, much to your joy, found nothing immediately wrong. He fidgeted slightly under your touch, his skin tingling at the contact.

“I am,” he said after clearing this throat, “thank you, my friend.” You nodded slightly, your thumb stroking along the crest of his bicep. Halsin was visibly exhausted, dark circles settling beneath his normally bright eyes, which had dulled the past few days. His mind was elsewhere, distracting him from the battles at hand. Despite having your hand upon him, he felt miles away and untouchable.

Since entering the cursed lands, Halsin had been running double time. He wasted no time in leaving camp to sit by Art Cullagh in Last Light and immediately dove headfirst through a portal to the Shadowfell to find Thaniel. You took note of how he refused to sleep the night after Thaniel had been saved, instead electing to remain up for hours to keep a watchful eye on the boy. He only agreed to leave his side once you had suggested he come with you to find Thaniel’s missing half. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you saw Halsin rest and, considering he was seemingly more on edge the closer you came to confronting Ketheric, you were worried for you companion.

“Come on,” you said after a moment, “let’s head back to camp. I think we could all do with a rest.” You motioned to your companions, who were more than ready to retire for the evening.

Halsin’s gaze shifted towards Moonrise once again, look on his face making it clear he wanted to press forward. You were convinced that he’d march straight into the inner sanctum of the tower right then and there if you let him. Your grip on his arm tightened, your fingers slipping underneath one of the bands that was pulled taught around his bicep before giving it a gentle tug to recapture his attention. You stood on the tips of your toes, your lips hovering closely to his ear as he leaned slightly to accommodate for the difference in height.

“I’m afraid that if we keep going in this state,” you whispered softly, “one of us might actually be carrying Astarion back to camp and I, for one, do not intend to be that pack mule.” Halsin’s lips spread into a smile as he glanced towards the vampire in question, who had seated himself on a fallen piece of stone until the party was ready to move forward once more.

“I fear you may be right.” He replied after a moments thought. Halsin returned his sword to its holster resting on his back, sliding it in place with a soft click. You pulled your fingers from his bracers, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and began the journey back to camp.

As he typically did, Halsin followed in the rear, ensuring that everyone stayed together and did not stray too deeply into the shadows. Despite having the blessing of both the moon goddess and a pixie, he wanted to take no changes in losing those closest to him to the curse; not again. You fell behind slightly, allowing Astarion and Karlach to spearhead the journey home as you took the time to speak with the druid.

“Is something on your mind?” You asked as you walked together, doing your best to match his long strides.

“Ketheric is no ordinary enemy,” he said bluntly, deciding to skip small talk and get to the heart of what was bothering him, “he will not be easily defeated.”

“Nothing with us is ever easy,” you said simply, “but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. I promised you that we’d break the curse. And if defeating Ketheric Thorm is how we do so, then that’s just what we’ll do.” You offered Halsin a gentle smile, which was returned with partial enthusiasm. You knew he was worried, and rightfully so, but you were also confident that at Ketheric would be defeated soon enough. But nothing could be done until everyone, including Halsin, were able to rest.

You and your companions walked the rest of the way to camp in silence and in relative safety, the battles from the day beginning to settle in your bones as your steps eventually slowed the closer you came to camp. By the time you crested the hill that lead to your camp, the sound of children’s laughter filled the air, cutting through the horrific sounds of the shadow curse like a sharpened knife. A smile came to Halsins lips as he watched both Thaniel and Oliver darting around camp, chasing after an excited Scratch with an equally enthusiastic owl bear cub at their heels. Despite their time apart and in the deepest parts of the shadow curse, both boys seemed to be faring well. Seeing them regaining strength brought a sense of happiness to the camp, something that had been sorely missed since entering the shadows.

Halsin stood at the entrance to the camp, simply watching as the boys and animals played in tandem. It was a small sign, but a sign nonetheless that nature had started to heal and had begun lifting the veil of the shadows. You walked to this side quietly, stopping beside him to watch the boys play and laugh with the camp animals as the rest of your companions stopped by their respective tents to unwind for the evening. You glanced up to Halsin, your neck craning to get his face in full view. You slipped your hand around the edge of his, giving him a soft squeeze. After a moment, Halsin pulled his eyes from the scene before him, finally looking down to meet your gaze once more. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, yet the sheer determination to stay awake.

“Why don’t you get some rest? And I mean actual rest, not just a trance.” You asked softly, not wanting to come across as demanding, but firm enough to know you were more than merely suggesting.

Halsin gave a half hearted smile, exhaustion evident on his face as he placed his hand above yours, sandwiching your touch between his battle weary hands. His thumb stroked your knuckle softly, his gaze settling along your slender digits that had wrapped themselves around his hand and gave another reassuring squeeze. His heart fluttered in his chest at your contact, radiating the same calming warmth that had started when you first brushed against his arm. He’d be lying if he said a long nights rest wasn’t calling for him, but he had a duty to uphold before he could indulge his own comfort.

“I must keep watch over Thaniel and Oliver.” He said as he released your hand and pulled his own from your grasp. You scoffed at his reply, almost finding it ridiculous.

“There are seven people in this camp, myself included, that can keep an eye on two children. We can take turns, rotate out if needed.” You offered, hoping he would take your advice and take a night off for once. Instead, he simply shook his head.

“They are my responsibility. They’ve suffered for too long already while I sat back and did nothing. I cannot and I will not fail them now that they are safe.” Halsin was determined to carry on his camp duties as normal, but you were not ready to back down so easily.

“And how do you plan on protecting them if you’re too tired to stand? Just now on the battlefield someone could have come up behind you because you were distracted. Hells, I managed to startle you with a touch.” Your voice was low, but firm. Gods be damned the man before you could be stubborn. His heart was always in the right place, wanting to protect and serve, but his head certainly wasn’t. “Get a bit of sleep. I’ll bring you a fresh bowl of whatever Gale’s managed to make from a couple of fish heads and a few questionable carrots when it’s ready.”

“You don’t have to coddle,” Halsin said firmly, “I will be fine.”

“It’s not coddling if the attention is required.” You shot back quickly, a lick of frustration to your voice, “Would you not do the same for me if the roles were reversed?” Halsin paused at your question, unable to argue your point. Halsin would do anything you asked of him without question. He’d bring you whatever you wanted and offer aid in any way possible.

“When was the last time you allowed someone to take care of you?” Your voice had softened by now, eyes scanning his face as he searched for an answer. Your eyes locked onto his cheek, which had been streaked with blood.

Halsin remained silent, trying to come up with an answer for your inquiry, but continually ending up without a decent answer. It had been quite some time since he’d allowed himself a chance to relax and unwind, let alone be cared for by others. His service was always demanded by others, yet very rarely offered in return. The residents of the Grove always turned to him for strength, to lead them in Silvanus’ path while keeping tempers at bay, more often than not never managing to appease everyone who resided there and often led to resentment in some form. Or those same people were coming to him day and night, asking for healing of wounds that ranged from the smallest of scrapes to the precipice of death, despite having multiple healers in the inner chambers.

He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he gave up control and let someone else take the reigns. He was an Archdruid, a leader, a beacon of light in the darkest of times, but he was also just tired. He admitted to himself that perhaps it would be nice to take a long rest, only awakening when he was ready, and to have you by his side when his slumber ended. To have you seated beside him, a bowl of steaming food in your hands as you offered it to him would be quite the sight. You’d have your usual warm smile across your pretty lips as you sat with him, letting him relax and unwind in your presence. It was a pretty dream indeed.

“You’ll have to let me dote on you one of these days.” You said after a long silence as Halsin had yet to answer your question. You brought your thumb to your lips, swiping your tongue across the pad of the digit quickly until it was lightly damp. Reaching forward, you pressed your palm to Halsin’s cheek and used your now wet thumb to wipe the streak of blood from his skin. You were thankful to not find an injury beneath the blood, but found yourself lingering against his skin, your thumb stroking over his cheekbone. You cared for him, deeply, despite Halsin always finding a way to weave out of your advances. Perhaps you were too forward or perhaps he was simply that consumed with his duties, but either way you craved his attention more and more with each day that passed.

Halsin fought the urge to lean into your embrace, having rejected your advances in the weeks prior during the celebration with the tieflings and not wanting to give mixed signals, but the longer your gentle hand caressed his cheek, the urge became more and more difficult to suppress. Gods how he missed the caring touch of others. It had been too long since the last time he allowed himself the pleasure of sharing company with another, the issue of the curse and the stress of the Grove had made any sort of companionship less than a priority and something he easily could push to the side. However, since being in your company, the ease that he previously had at keeping others at arm length was becoming harder and harder to allow.

It would be an understatement to say he enjoyed your company. Instead, you were someone he had craved. Every moment he spent in your presence was exhilarating, refreshing and addicting at the same time. The sound of your voice was symphonic, the way you managed to find joy even in the bleak lands of late and managed to keep a genuine smile on your face, given the worst of times, was inspiring. He craved your attention and longed for more than just your friendship for quite some time. It was an ache that tunneled deeper in his chest each night when his head went down to rest and the ability to continually push you away was becoming unbearable. The feeling of your skin against his always sent his heart into a whirlwind, fluttering in his chest like a butterfly tumbling in the wind. Halsin wanted so much more with you than mere companionship, but knew that now was not the time nor the place. Too much was at stake to allow himself distractions of the flesh, no matter how desirable they may be. So, as much as it pained him to do so, he walled himself off and pushed you away once more.

“Perhaps another time.” He said simply, almost ready to pull away from your touch. His demeanor was stiff and cold, far from the welcoming aura he normally emitted.

You felt your heart drop, falling heavily into the pit of your stomach. Having realized that perhaps you had been lingering a bit too long, you pulled your hand from his cheek and returned them to yourself, awkwardly picking at your nails as silence between the two of you grew. You desperately tried to hide the feelings in you that were bubbling to the surface; hurt mixed with some sort frustration. Halsin was a tricky one to figure out. He was kind, caring, and truly wonderful company to have, but any sort of affection on your part was always met with the same rejection. Always gentle in nature, of course, but certainly there. You were fond of Halsin, more than just a casual friendship, but you were beginning to realize that maybe your feelings were one sided.

Halsin felt his heart stop upon seeing your reaction. You were quick to try and hide your disappointment, but it still managed to slip through for the briefest of moments. He knew you were fond of him, perhaps in more ways than one, and he would be a fool to deny he felt the same. You were precious to him, more so than any other he’d previously had the privilege of calling friend and confidant, and knowing that he had caused you even the quickest moments of sadness made him feel terrible. He wanted to reach up and take your hands in his and press his lips to your fingers, but you had swatted him away before he had the chance.

“Go on,” you said quietly, motioning in the direction of his distant tent with a few waves of your hand, “get some rest. I’ll keep an eye out for Thaniel and Oliver.” You took a step back, inching back as slowly as you could, waiting for Halsin to do the same. As much as you wanted to break through his exterior and get to the heart of whatever was causing him trouble, you respected his need to be alone, as much as it pained you to be kept at arms length.

With a slight nod of his head, Halsin made his leave, not wishing to turn this into a more serious argument. In his heart, he knew you meant well and also knew that both halves of the land spirit would be safe under your watch. He turned to return to his tent after you had also made your leave, walking to the opposite end of camp with a disheartened sigh. He made the agonizingly long walk from the center of camp to his secluded corner of the area in silence, tugging open the flap to his tent in a fluid motion.

Halsin’s little plot of land in camp was quiet and tucked away from the other tents, offering as much tranquility as the shadow lands would offer, but was admittedly lonely. Despite choosing the spot himself, Halsin had recently begun to regret setting his tent so far from the others. Duty and responsibility came first, so jovial nights around the campfire passing bottles of wine were nothing if not a distraction. Secluding himself would keep him focused on the task at hand and, for now, thankfully keep him out of your sullied gaze.

Halsin stripped himself of his bands and bracers, tossing them into his bed space with a frustrated flick of his wrist. His boots and weapons were left by the entrance, out of the way but close by if they were needed in a hurry. He was frustrated with himself for just how desperately he wanted to be with you but not having the opportunity to do so. It would be a fools dream to think you would still be interested in him once the curse was lifted, considering just how long it would actually take, and now combined with the knowledge that he had wounded your feelings once more. His heart ached at the thought of knowing your delicate heart had been shattered so easily.

He cursed himself as he stepped inside, making sure to close the tent behind him. Halsin stripped himself of his armor, tossing the garments to the side so he could change into his usual night clothes. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, you were correct. Sleep was sorely needed and any sort of apology or resolution to this new problem would need to wait until morning. Halsin was having trouble concentration, not being able to focus on the task at hand. He ran his hands across his face and into his hair, lightly tugging at his scalp in the process.

With a soft sigh, Halsin laid himself on the ground, nestling his frame against the fabric of his bedroll as he settled for the evening. He shifted as he tried to find a comfortable spot, his shoulders rustling against the ground in an attempt to dislodge any loose pebbles or larger rocks that may be in the way. Eventually, he settled into a position that was comfortable enough for the evening, his hands and arms taking their place at his sides and his eyes closed so he could begin drifting off into a trace or, if he was lucky, a few hours of actual sleep. The rhythmic sound of wind rustling in the tree limbs and leave hanging above his tent and the low hum of sounds from the center of the camp should have been enough to lull him into the beginning phases of a trance, yet he found himself awake and unable to sleep.

The usual intrusive thoughts were ever present, of course. The imminent dangers of the shadow curse, making sure Thaniel, and now Oliver, were well and safe, even the mistakes of his past wove their way into his thoughts and sat heavily on his conscious. But tonight they were quieted and offered nothing more than a faint echo in his mind. Instead, his usual thoughts were being drowned out by something much more prominent and enticing to the forefront of his mind; you. Halsin couldn’t deny the impact you had on his thoughts, which had only grown increasingly more frequent and intense as each day passed in your company. Your kindness and eagerness to help others weighed heavily in his mind, but even more so on his heart. To say you were a delight would be doing you a disservice.

And more than anything, Halsin wanted you completely. He wanted to be by your side in the upcoming fight against Ketheric and the Absolute, but he wanted everything else that came with that. He wanted to enjoy your company in a more intimate way; to be the one that kept your bed warm at night, to feel the brush of your lips against his, and the feeling of his body sinking deliciously into yours. He could imagine the tightness you would offer, the loving and welcoming warmth that would take him completely, even the sweet noises he could elect from you with the correct moments. He ached for you and that was a feeling that was growing with each passing second.

His eyes remained open, scanning the canvas ceiling of his simple tent as he allowed his mind to unwind in an attempt to drift off into a peaceful meditation, soon finding that his wandering thoughts found no purchase in their usual subject matter. Lingering regrets concerning Emerald Grove, the dangers ever present in the shadow curse, and now the problem of the growing illithid infection festering deep within Moonrise Towers were long forgotten as he focused on something much more pressing and mind consuming. Halsin was suddenly overtaken with the memory of your hands running along his skin earlier in the evening. He longed to feel your touch again, if even for a just passing second.

Halsin focused his thoughts, doing his best to push you from his mind as he tried to settle for the night. You were right when you said he needed sleep and he tried his best to oblige in your request, but the image of you continued to gnaw on his psyche. You were infectious in that sense; able to burrow into his thoughts just as the tadpole had buried itself in your brain. He couldn’t think normally with you flitting around his thoughts like this, but could only imagine the sweetest and most sinful thoughts he’d had in long while.

Halsin’s eyes closed as he allowed himself to indulge in his fantasy, unable to shake the image of you from his mind. He imagined himself elsewhere. Far away from the shadows, away from the ever pressing darkness and chill the curse offered; a place that was warm and bright, nestled somewhere in a heavily wooded forest. Not the Grove, of course, for it was far too political and too demanding with little care going towards what actually mattered. But instead, he imagined a place where the shadows of the present ceased to exist and land could flourish in harmony and tranquility. Perhaps he was dreaming of a world of fantasy and indulgence, but it was a place that brought him inner peace. A gentle calmness washed over his racing mind, bringing the thrum of his heart to a slow, steady pace as he imagined his own back settling against the form of your body in this fantasy world he had created.

He could almost feel the softness of your body against his back as he reclined against you, his large frame seated perfectly between your legs, his back resting along your chest while his head fit perfectly under your chin. From here, he could imagine himself getting lost in your gentle touches and soft voice. He found himself leaning against you like a drowsy cat in the mid afternoon sun, simply enjoying the warmth of your caresses as your fingers played with his hair, twisting and braiding locks between your fingers with ease. Your cheek rested along the crown of his head, all while soothing his worries with the delightfully gentle sound of your voice. Halsin smiled to himself within the confines of his tent, the image of you being the balm to soothe his restlessness. Instead of sleeping, he simply allowed himself to sink further into his imagination, bringing one of his arms from his side to rest underneath his head, his eyes happily closing as he relaxed into his bedroll once more.

Halsin then imagined your hands cupping his cheeks, mimicking your caress from earlier, your thumbs lightly stroking along his cheek bones with your fingers tracing along his lower lip and chin. You would whisper sweet things against his ear, smiling against the outer shell as your warm breath tickled against his sensitive tips and caused the skin along his neck to prickle. Your plush lips would lightly pepper his cheek with the most tender of kisses, tracing along the shape of his twisting tattoos at a leisurely pace.

The simple thought of having your lips dancing across his skin made his heart flutter in his chest and a light blush to begin forming along his cheeks. He turned his head on his pillow, as if actually giving you access to the tattoo along his neck would somehow manifest you beside him in the tent, but he had gotten too lost in his fantasy to try and rationalize his movements. With his face now turned from the opening of his tent, Halsin’s imagination continued on with his visions, his mind quickly imagining your lips traveling form his cheek to the bright red swirls adorning his neck as the tips of your fingers toyed with the scar that sliced into his lower lip.

As time inched along at a deliciously slow pace, your demeanor changed. Your kisses were more firm now, making proper, lingering contact with his skin with each passing moment. A shudder rippled down the druid’s spine as he imagined your teeth lightly grazing the skin of his throat, quickly soothing it over with a swipe of your tongue. It wasn’t long before your hands left his face, bypassing his neck and resting near the height of his chest, your nails lightly grazing and stroking along his collar bones.

From the darkness of his tent, Halsin’s hand came up to rest atop his chest, faintly feeling his own steady heartbeat underneath his camp shirt as his thumb absentmindedly ran along the ridges of his attire and took note of the stitching and changes in texture, replaying the feelings that had begun to rise in his chest as you lavished his skin with your touch. Kisses soon trailed back up his neck and cheek, until the flat of your front teeth nibbled lightly against his earlobe. Halsin released a soft a gasp at the imagined contact, his shoulders briefly rising from the ground in excitement, only to settle back down once again.

“When was the last time you allowed someone to take care of you?” Your question from earlier in the evening echoed in his mind.

“Far too long.” He whispered on exhale, his voice low and deep as his tongue flicked across his suddenly dry lips.

His hand slid across his chest slowly, feeling his way across his body with no sense of urgency or frenzy, simply savoring the feeling of contact against his body that was now beginning to burn with desire. Although these were typically feelings he would suppress when his mind was muddled with duty and responsibility, he allowed himself a quiet moment to bask in his thoughts. Halsin imagined it was your hand that was roaming along his sternum, trying his best to mimic the softness of your touch and mirror your prior movements. Even though his large, calloused hands were nothing like your much smaller and softer ones, the lust beginning to cloud his senses allowed the illusion in his mind to be enough to satisfy his meandering touch. A shuddered breath escaped his lips as the tips of his fingers lightly ran over one of his now hardened nipples, the bud pressing firmly against the interior of his night shirt.

The sensations cascading over his body were almost electric, given just how long it had been since he’d indulged in a moment of self pleasure, and each touch and swipe of his fingers across his chest sent sharp bolts down his back and the heat that had formed along his cheeks to spread across his throat. Halsin’s hand traveled lower across his torso, pressing more firmly with each movement as he explored the expanse of his pectorals, still fantasizing that it was your hands worshiping his body in such a way; touching and caressing with a gentleness only you possessed, easily undoing his hardened resolve with the faintest tease from your fingertips.

“You’ll have to let me dote on you one of these days.” Your phantom voice whispered against his ear, almost shaking with your own desire as your hands continued to explore his clothed chest.

“Please.” His voice was almost a whine, the long suppressed desperation finally beginning to crack Halsin’s all too serious exterior. He answered honestly, finally letting what he’d wanted to tell you out into the open, even if he was the only one to hear.

Halsin envisioned both of your hands running down the length of his chest, your palms pressed firmly against his camp shirt as you made your teasingly slow descent across his torso. Your hands stopped midway, parting at his middle and moving to his sides before sliding up towards his neck once again. Halsin’s own hands followed suit, mimicking his vision as accurately as possible as the path you had created in his mind continued over and over again, each time reaching just a bit lower than before.

By now, Halsin had gotten lost in his fantasy. His face and neck were now properly flushed, burning with a bright red instead of the light flush just moments prior. His ears burned with excitement and a light layer of sweat had formed along his upper lip, which was occasionally licked away whenever the druid tried to swallow his excitement. A flutter appeared in his chest each time he visualized your form above him, smiling down at him sweetly as your hands continued their exploration of his body. The flutter would skip on occasion if he ever indulged himself enough to imagine you leaning down over once in a while to peck his lips with your own.

Halsin’s thoughts broke momentarily as his fingers brushed along the upper seam of his trousers, making his lower body twitch and buck into the air at the contact. His eyes finally opened as he explored his lower half, glancing down to see that the whole of his now hardened and throbbing cock pressing uncomfortably against the confines of the leather pants. He tentatively ran his palm along the outline of his bulge, feeling how his aching length traveled along his mid thigh and twitched at his touch, stifling a moan at the contact. Halsin’s hand quickly moved to his opposite thigh, squeezing and stroking at the leg of his trousers while taking deep, slow breaths in a quickly failing attempt to take his mind off the intense need to touch himself more. As the throbbing in his cock turned into a much harder pounding, each exhale was met with a low rumble in his chest. His stiffened length strained against his camp clothes, making the sensation borderline painful as he continued his ministrations along his thigh and back towards his lower abdomen.

A wetness began to coat his thigh where the tip of his cock rested, the head weeping early traces of his spend as it ached and begged for another touch. Halsin succumbed to his desires once again, slowly running his hand along his arousal in attempt to soothe the throbbing. This, of course, only encouraged the lust and desire to bloom more, making his trousers more and more uncomfortable the longer he palmed himself. Eventually the sensation was too much to handle, the desire and intense need for friction had grown too strong and there would be no chance of getting a second of rest until Halsin came to a release.

It wasn’t long before Halsin began unlacing the ties that lay at the front of his trousers, his fingers shaking with need and fumbling with the tassels. With a frustrated grunt, he finally managed to roughly pull the opening to his trousers apart, almost ripping the eyelets from the fabric with the force behind the tug. His chest heaved with excitement as the cool air that seeped into his tent made contact with his now fully exposed length, which had already begun dripping his spend in anticipation for a touch.

Pretending it was indeed your hand instead of his, Halsin tentatively reached out and brushed his fingers across his hardened cock, electing a soft groan from the contact. His fingertips danced in the slick that had weeped from his tip and begun dripping down the length of his shaft, coating his fingers until they were well lubricated. He gasped softly at the touches, the feeling almost foreign to him considering just how long it had been since he’d touched himself. His hand eventually wrapped around the base, giving himself a light squeeze and squirming at the wonderfully prickly sensation that settled in his spine.

Your imagined figure hummed softly against his the crown of his head as your cheek settled there once again, nuzzling against him gently while you hand began to slowly stroke along his length. Halsin’s eyes closed again as his hand soon fell into a steady rhythm, pumping leisurely with his hand all while the opposite continued to run along various parts of his body.

“Rest now,” you spoke sweetly to him, your voice soft and low, “I’ll take care of you.” Your thumb circled the tip of his cock, making him squirm against your phantom frame as well as against his bedroll. Halsin fully submitted to his fantasy and desires, his stoic nature dissolving more and more with each passing stroke of his hand.

He felt wonderful, more than he had in quite some time. Stress and duty had weighed so heavily on him for many years, allowing guilt and an untold amount of pent up frustrations to build with no way of release. But now, simply lying alone in his tent and imagining your company in such a way was almost euphoric. The only thing that could have topped the experience would be to actually have you pressed against him. He not only wanted to hear your voice and feel your touch, but he wanted to smell your scent and feel the heat within your own body begin to build. Sharing a bed with you seemed like a distant dream, especially with how he had seemingly hurt you earlier, so dreaming of you seated behind him while stroking his cock would be the closest thing he could have to your companionship for now, if ever.

His thoughts were broken as Halsin could almost feel your lips against his neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses against his skin. He fantasized that you would even latch onto him every once in a while, biting softly and suckling against the flesh of his broad shoulder until haphazardly placed purple bruises began to form. He wanted to feel your arm draped across his opposite shoulder, letting your fingers toy with the hair on his chest that was beginning to crest over with sweat before pressing the whole of your palm flat against him and pull his frame into yours tightly. Perhaps you would even drag those teasingly deft fingertips of yours up his throat and against the bottom of his chin, tilting his head to face yours so you could plant sloppy kisses against his mouth. Your tongue darting across his lips, slipping skillfully into his mouth to lick across his teeth before tangling with his own. All of this happening in tandem with the strokes coming from your opposite hand, which would glide effortlessly and skillfully against his throbbing cock.

You would take your time in his fantasy, having nowhere to be and no mind flayer invasion to stop, giving you plenty of time to explore whatever your tender grasp could reach. Halsin tried to mimic the low, thoughtful pulls of your hand against his cock as best he could, trying to immerse himself as best he could in his thoughts. Pleasant tingles ran across his lower abdomen the further Halsin reached into the opening of his trousers. He continued until a significant portion of his forearm had slipped beneath the fabric, the flaps on the opening of his trousers brushing against his elbow as his hand loosely gripped the base of his cock. His grip tightened as he drug his hand along his length, cupping the head with an almost painful grasp before releasing back down as he returned down again.

Halsin’s legs began to bend at the knee, having previously been laid flat from his attempt to trance, and he placed his feet flat against the ground. The muscles in his thighs began to tighten the longer he stroked his hand along his length, his hips starting to writhe under his ministrations. Halsin ran his thumb over the slicked, weeping tip of his cock, his head arching against the pillow of his bedroll as a desperate groan formed in his chest. The sound caught in his throat, dying down before it could escape his lips, for which he was thankful. In this moment, Halsin didn’t want to be found. Instead, he wanted this moment to last as long as possible, where he could exist in his sinful fantasy until his duties pulled him into the realm of reality once more. He couldn’t afford for a stray cry or moan to slip through the opening of his tent and bring forth the whole of camp to his abode.

It was a selfish thought, but one that the elf embraced with all his might. He wanted, if not needed, this moment of self pleasure. To bring himself to a blissful release with you in the center of his minds eye. There were parts of him that protested and urged himself to stop now, but he carried on, stroking his cock at an increase paced with each moment that passed. Just one moment; one precious, well deserved moment is all he needed to release many weeks worth of pent up frustrations and desires and set his mind right once more.

Halsin’s nails roughly scratched along his chest, digging into the thick fabric of his camp shirt as a wave of ecstasy washed over his belly, making his stroking stutter briefly. His hips lifted from the hard ground, bucking upwards to meet his hand and the mental image of your own. He dreamed of your legs swinging over his hips only to press firmly against his own squirming legs, keeping the thick walls of muscles in place to allow you to continue your stroking and pleasing at your own pace without him interfering, which had significantly increased since his visions first began. It wouldn’t take much to over power you and reverse the roles, given his size. To pin you beneath him and take you properly would be an easy feat, but one he did not want to act on. Instead, deep within the confines of his fantasies, Halsin wanted you to take control and dote on his aching body as you had suggested earlier in the evening.

His heart ached at how badly he wanted you to lead him to orgasm by being the one in power. He had spent the better part of a century leading others and having to be the one to bear the crushing weight of responsibility, even when he didn’t want to. But now, lying on the cold floor of his tent, he relinquished control and let you have your way, even if it was only in his mind.

Your hand had begun to pick up speed, not quite frantic, but much more than the easy pace you had previously set. Although not knowing much about your previous experience with partners in such a situation, simply seeing how skilled you were in battle with a sword as well as how nimble you were in combat told Halsin all he needed to know about how wonderful you were feel. You would be firm in your grasp, yet gentle enough to not cause harm. Your wrist would flick in just the right way so you would tug gently along his cock while allowing him to feel every bit of your fingers and palm as you continued in long, fluid strokes. You were compassionate enough to listen to worries and fears in camp, so there was no doubt that you would listen to his moans and gasps and adjust your pace or grip accordingly; slowing down with a looser grip if he came too close to completion or speeding up with a tighter grasp if he bucked against your hand for more contact. Generous with his pleasure, yet fully in control and taking the weight of responsibly away from him so Halsin could simply enjoy the feelings festering in his body.

His free hand quickly left his chest and clamped into the fabric of his bedroll, his grip hardened and his knuckles white as the string of pleasure that had been woven in his belly was pulled taught, teetering on the precipice of snapping. Halsin’s hips bucked wildly into his hand, taking his pleasure based more on touch than the actual imagine of you in his mind, although that did not deter him from thinking of you. You were there, holding his large frame against yours, pressing his back into your chest firmly as your hand pumped along his throbbing, aching cock as a fevered pace. Your voice was in his ear, panting white hot breaths against his skin as your voice dripped with your own ecstasy. You begged him to release, to spill his seed against your hand and take his pleasure how he wanted. His incredibly hazy mind imagined you coaxing him along, telling him just how desperately you wanted to see and feel his orgasm ripple through this body. How you wanted to feel his tired muscles twitch and shake as he finally released himself for you.

Sweat dripped quickly from his temples, running along his neck where you could so easily lick it up for him if you were actually there in his tent, stroking his cock from behind as you whimpered and whined sweet promises in his ear. You would offer to clean the mess that was made before laying him down and letting him find pleasure within your body. Halsin could practically feel the heat radiating from your body while his mind burned with desire, imagining your own expression to be blissed out and hazy in anticipation of finding your own orgasm simply from witnessing his. He desperately wanted to watch as you unravelled for him, brought to the brink just from how you touched along his body and whispered in his ear.

You would seat yourself nicely atop him, fingers gently clawing down his chest as you sunk down on his cock, your own breath heaving as toyed and teased him. From here, his hands could roam your body as he pleased, touching and caressing every bit of your body. Halsin wanted to run his hand along your stomach and chest, inching upwards until his thumb reached your lips, dampening the digit with a swipe of your tongue in a similar matter to how you had earlier in the evening. He could see your hips rolling against his, head thrown back as you gasped for air, teetering on the edge of being in completely control to losing every bit of sense you had while riding out an orgasm.

The disciplined portion of Halsin’s mind that had yet to be fogged over with desire argued with the fire burning in his belly, causing a battle in his mind over what was morally right and what was physically wrong. He wanted you more than anything he’d wanted in so very long, yet Halsin did feel a twinge of guilt in his self pleasure in knowing it was your image that was bringing him so close to release despite the sadness in your expression only moments prior. What would your reaction be if you could see him now sprawled on his back in the solitude of his tent, arm buried deep in his trousers, palming his strained cock at a fevered pace all while imagining you? He would like to think you were be flattered, but deep down he knew you were would be disappointed, disgusted even. To have the courage to turn you down repeatedly, sending you away from him time and time again, yet thrusting into his hand to your image like an animal in rut would be a slap in the face.

He could feel his pleasure mounting, his cock twitching and throbbing against his hand as his body prepared to spill his seed along his hand and stomach while whimpering your name. A few more strokes would be all he needed to finish, to finally release the built up feelings he’d harbored for so, so long. His legs shook, hips thrusting wildly into the air as his free hand trembled in excitement and small moans slipped into the air. However, the more rational portion of Halsin’s mind finally took control, stopping him before he could finish.

He flipped over quickly, pressing his stomach firmly into the ground beneath him, trapping his violently twitching cock between his body and the fabric of his bedroll, still wrapped tightly by his hand. Halsin’s hips stilled, his head coming to rest atop his free arm as he caught his breath, the closeness to orgasm slowly ebbing away the longer he stilled. Ragged breaths tore from his lungs, panting into his pillow as he released a frustrated shout, letting the fabric beneath him muffle the majority of it. He was frustrated, angry even. He wanted, if not needed, to complete his task and feel an orgasm finally tear through his body, but he couldn’t allow himself to continue.

It would be wrong, he decided, to finish the deed. The urge was only natural, but not like this. He had allowed himself to be distracted enough as it is as well as causing you harm, so he deemed himself unworthy of a wonderful release. It needed to wait until after the curse had been lifted and he had gotten in your good graces again, if possible. As much as he wanted it now, he knew that waiting until things were right would be kinder to his conscious and even more blissful once he could finally release.

Halsin remained in his spot, his breath slowly regaining a normal speed as he allowed his orgasm to ebb away. He could feel the more frequent feelings of frustration begin to fester in his mind once again, his still throbbing cock sitting in his hand certainly didn’t help matters. Neither did the sudden sound of your laughter breaking through the silence of camp, making its way to Halsin’s secluded tent off in the distance. The melodious sound of you enjoying yourself made Halsin grind his hips into his hand, causing him to moan loudly at the feeling. Your laughter had spurred him on once more, the idea that you had found joy once again this evening and possibly not sitting somewhere upset due to his actions brought back the feelings of lust.

Each little snippet of sound he could hear from the far off center of camp made him thrust into his hand even more, particularly if your voice seemed closer than before. Halsin’s breaths had become deeper and heavier with each downward thrust of his hips, the occasional muffled cry coming from his throat if his hips came down at just the right angle. His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his pillow, his nails threatening to rip the material apart the closer he came to his release. His muscles were wound tightly, rippling across his back with each roll of his body against his own hand and into his bedroll. By now the fabric of his camp shirt had been soaked with sweat, the material clinging to his body and creating new sensations across his skin as the friction increased.

Halsin’s fogged mind imagined it was you clinging to him instead, your hands sliding against and caressing his arms and back as you were pressed firmly beneath him. The sweat that rolled lazily down his neck was your tongue lapping at the tender parts of skin and the feeling of his ragged breaths beating against his pillow and recoiling to touch his face instead your own sweet breath panting into his mouth. With eyes shut tightly, Halsin’s hips increased their speed and began audibly slapping against the slick that had coated his hand, letting anyone who came close to his living quarters acutely aware of what his was doing from within the confines of his tent. His moans had become more audible, his senses having long been lost.

Your name tumbled from his lips as his release drew closer, saying it over and over again as if he were begging you to let him finish. Each time he said your name he imagined his own name coming from you, being panted in his ear as he trust into you, your bodies colliding into each other at a fevered pace. He could feel your fingers intertwining with his hair, tugging at his scalp as you moaned and cooed in his ear. Your voice wavered as you whispered for him to release, Halsin imagined you growing closer to your very own peak as you encouraged and begged him to finish for you. And much to his happiness, it was long before he obliged your request.

With a final heavy thrust and one more warbled cry of pleasure, Halsin’s orgasm washed over his body in searing hot waves of pleasure. Halsin’s body stiffened with his orgasm, curling in on himself as his spend finally shot from the tip of his pulsing cock. His grip tightened around his length, feeling each spurt that erupted from his tip land across his hand onto the bedroll beneath him, the occasional rope landing somewhere along his abdomen if his cock twitched at the right time. He let out a gasping breath with each passing release, each one decreasing in intensity as he rode out the last remaining moments of his orgasm.

After the last ropes of his spend were spilled onto the ground beneath him, Halsin took in a final sucking breath, utterly spent and exhausted. The ironclad grip he’d previously had on his pillow finally released, the same hand pushing up his weight so he could sit up and rest on his knees. His opposite hand released his length, now quickly softening as he came down from the high of his orgasm. The druid still struggled to catch his breath, his chest slightly heaving as he wiped his hand clean with the edge of his blanket before resting both hands on his still trembling thighs. He took another deep breath in, his head falling back against his shoulders as his eyes closed until he was facing the ceiling of his tent.

By now, the illusion he had created for himself had faded. Halsin was no longer seated happily in a tender patch of grass nestled between your thighs, but was instead alone and hovering over his bedroll that rested on a rather hard bit of earth. The warmth of the sun kissing his face had been replaced with the coldness of the shadow curse and the darkness of the inside of his tent. The tender caress of your wonderful hands along his body was now nothing more than his own guilt and shame clawing at his heart once again. He heard nothing but howls and screams in the distant shadows instead of the soft, intoxicating sound of your voice against his ear. The heat from his skin was beginning to dissipate as well, allowing the coolness of the night air to lick at his exposed skin.

With a soft sigh, Halsin opened his eyes, disappointed to not be greeted with the image of your face, although not entirely surprised to only be greeted with the tattered fabric of his makeshift home. Despite being still sensitive to the touch, Halsin tucked himself back into the confines of his trousers, lacing the ties on the front with a slight hiss at the contact. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand as he looked at the mess now waiting before him. Not wanting to deal with the aftermath of his self pleasure, Halsin simply rolled his heavily soiled bedroll into a tight bundle, tossing it to the back end of his tent and decided to either clean or dispose of in the morning.

He pulled open the flap of his tent, letting in the last remnants of light from the campfire into his abode as he prepared to finally rest for the evening, the exertion from his orgasm having finally worn him out enough to indulge in a bit of sleep. He shivered at the abrupt feeling of the cool night against the warmth he had created in his tent. The camp had gone quiet, the rest of his companions having seemingly turned in for the night, and the earlier sounds of children laughing and animals barking seemed to be silenced as well. Halsin brushed the straw bits of strained that coated the floor of his tent into a smooth layer so he would have a bit of cushion against his tired bones. He had finished smoothing down the outer edge when something small caught his eye.

Sitting neatly beside his discarded camp gear was a small bowl of stew, still billowing steam from the surface. Halsin simply stared at the bowl, which had been placed on a small saucer with an accompanying spoon and a hearty chunk of bread. It didn’t take much thinking on his part to know you had been the one to leave the bit of supper by his tent, although he couldn’t be quite sure when you had dropped it off. He had admittedly been too caught up in his fantasy to begin to hear you shuffling about outside, which made him question just how much of his guilty pleasure you had heard.

Perhaps you had herd nothing and merely wanted to leave his undisturbed under the pretense he was asleep. However, the much more likely scenario considering just how hot the stew was, was that you had walked up right as he was chanting your name while at the height of his pleasure. He felt an all too familiar heat creep up his neck as he eyed the bowl. He sat back on his knees once more, a light chuckle leaving his lips as he imagined a dozen scenarios he’d be having with you come morning. But for now, Halsin simply took the bowl of stew in hand and ate it quickly, ready to finish his meal and finally take a bit of well deserved rest.

Tag list: @thoughts-of-bear @mothermoth92

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #halsin #daddy halsin #halsin x reader #halsin x gn reader #halsin x gender neutral reader #fan fiction #bg3 fanfiction #halsin smut #maybe sub Halsin

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typicalopposite · 6 days ago

Text

tongue tied

thank you @nine-one-wanton for the title 😂🫶

BuckTommy | E (eh.. maybe M+) | 4859 words

also on ao3!

Mortification…

That still isn’t a strong enough emotion to describe what Buck is feeling at the moment.

He glances down at Tommy and asks if he’s still okay. All Tommy can do is blink in response; once for yes, twice for no. Pretty much any movement causes them both pain… and the humiliation is bad enough without them being overly sore as well.

Tommy slides a gentle hand over Bucks thigh, doing his best to smile up at him. He inhales deeply through his nose and blows it back out, adjusting how he’s sitting on his legs, having to keep himself up high enough so he doesn't accidentally tug on the rings— tangled together and seemingly inseparable.

There’s a knock at the loft’s door, and Buck hears Bobby’s voice yell out to him. He looks down at Tommy and sighs.

This was definitely not how the team was supposed to learn they made up.

****

(Two months earlier)

Tommy sat in a small chair, waiting his turn at the tattoo and piercing parlor. It had been years since Tommy had worn his little hoop earrings in his ears. Yet when he pushed the curved bar through the hole— thinking maybe they would be closed up and he’d have to force them— they just slipped right in.

He considered getting a second hole, maybe. A nose ring. A belly button ring…

Was he being dramatic— I want to feel something beyond the heartache I have caused for myself… so I’m going to go have a needle jabbed through some part of my body— maybe… He would agree, too, that maybe it was a little juvenile… a little petty even, to ultimately settle on a piercing Ev- no… Buck had shown so much interest in. He’d talked about having blowjobs from girls with tongue rings in his “Buck 1.0 days” (whatever that means); he said they were amazing.

So now Tommy would have one, too… and he could give whoever the next guy he hooked up with amazing blow jobs. Take that memory of Buck that just wouldn’t leave! (in reality he knew he was fooling himself… He doubted there would ever be a next guy for him… Buck, however, would probably be getting plenty of better head from people way better than Tommy— whose knees don’t creak and ache after just a few short minutes on them, and who’s jaw hadn’t been shattered and wired shut in his teens so he can only hold it open for so long before it locks up.)

He huffed angrily at the thought of someone else with Buck’s— with Evan's dick sitting heavy on their tongue; thrusting in and out, hitting the back of their throat. Someone else swallowing down every drop of his—

“Sir…” the receptionist said, thankfully interrupting his train of thought before he snapped his phone in half. “You’re up.” Tommy cleared his throat and thanked her, rubbing a hand over the heat climbing up his neck from embarrassment.

He plopped down on the client chair and told the piercer what he wanted. He opted for the clear bar, and he had taken a (much needed) week off work; hopefully it would be healed by then. The woman gave him the instructions: sit up straight, stick out your tongue, please don’t try to grab my wrist. “People do that?” Tommy asked, around the clamp on his tongue, and she gave him an exhausted look. Sorry… he thought but didn’t say.

He stuck his tongue out at himself in the bathroom mirror that night. It was swollen and very sore— it definitely didn’t make him feel better, but hey he’d always wanted to do something drastic. A tongue ring at forty counted… right? Yeah, it counted. He cleaned the piercing and went to bed.

****

(One month earlier)

Buck wasn’t sure if this was just some Buck 1.0.2 phase or a very emotional based impulsive (probably stupid) decision resulting from his still broken heart.

Still he was already there and had already put a deposit down; he might as well, right?

He had come to the parlor alone, because… well, what would anyone he knows say about him doing something like this. Maybe if it was something simple like an ear piercing… or hell, even a tongue piercing. But this— this was not something his pseudo siblings or father figure would be on board tagging along to. Eddie was in El Paso… and he definitely wasn’t about to ask Maddie along.

The receptionist smiled at him, had him sign in, and told him to take a seat.

He was early… Perhaps that had been a bad idea. His knee began to bounce and he fiddled with his fingers anxiously, staring around the parlor at the other clients ahead of him. Some laid back in the chairs getting tattooed— he should have just gotten another tattoo; what was he thinking— others getting any and every part of their body pierced. Most people were quiet. One lady in the back let out a scream so blood curdling Buck was about to get up and leave but—

“Sir! You're up!”

Buck followed the piercer into one of the private rooms. The man was quiet and looked like he might bite Buck’s head off if given the chance. He instructed Buck to lower his pants, his boxers, and sit down on the pad covered seat. He did as he was told, and the seat was tilted back, putting him on full display thanks to the cold room. Why was he even doing this? Just because Tommy had said some guy he talked to before they even knew each other said he might get one? Was Buck really that shallow— that jealous?!

“Alright, man… here we go.”

This was a bad idea.

This was a bad idea..

WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE THINKING!?!

This was so stupid! So bad! Such an impulsive idea!

“And done!”

Buck blinked once… twice… and looked down towards where the man was already slipping his gloves off. He pulled his dick up towards his stomach so he could see the little silver hoop hooked through his frenulum. “Oh,” he said, thanked the guy, paid and went home.

****

(Two days earlier)

Tommy played with the flat top of his tongue ring; he slid it back and forth over his teeth, he pushed the bar out enough to bite down on, all while he tapped on his steering wheel to the beat of a song playing on the radio. He was nervous.

And the thing was… he shouldn’t be.

He was a big brave grown man— capable of doing big brave grown man things… like to have drinks with an ex, whom he’s very much not over. He would be fine.

Except the only spot available was directly beside the Jeep.

“Fucking mother fucker.” Tommy grumbled out loud and turned into the spot hoping that maybe he wouldn’t be—

He was still sitting in the driver seat.

Cock sucking, bitch ass… What kind of god damned luck?!? How could he come to his senses about the meeting and run away now?

He sighed and put the truck in park, then turned to look at him. It was the very first time he’d laid eyes on the man— beyond the pictures and videos he couldn’t bring himself to delete from his phone— since he walked out of the loft.

Evan.

Or… Buck, since he’d decided to go that route and really drive the break up home.

“H- Hey…” Buck said as soon as the both were out of their vehicles. “Thanks for — for the invite.”

Tommy stuffed his hand down in his pockets, and chewed on the flat top to his tongue ring. “Of course,” he finally said. “I, uh… I felt like we really needed to talk about…”

“Everything?” Buck finished.

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded along. “Everything.”

“Okay… well for starters—” Buck wasted no time jumping right in. “Don’t ever call me Buck again.” He stared at Tommy so seriously before his lips twitched up a bit and he added, “please.”

“Noted,” Tommy said and there was a pause like he was waiting for— “Evan…” Tommy added and Evan fully smiled at that; he seemed relieved. “Okay, what else.”

Evan stepped towards him. Tommy had the slightest urge to step back, but even more of one to move closer— to reach out and grab him and cling like his life depended on it. Evan reached for him first. “Don’t ever make a decision like that for me again.” Tommy waited, his eyes searching Evan’s… trying to say without saying how sorry he was. Finally Evan leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Tommy’s. “If I had needed more time to figure myself out… if I wasn’t sure about this— that you were what I wanted. I wouldn’t have just strung you along until I did… okay?”

“Okay.” Tommy wanted to say more. He thought, maybe, he should say more… but his voice was lodged somewhere deep in his throat and all he could focus on was how his lips were tingling from that kiss. Evan, like a damn mind reader, took the moment to lean back in, deepening the kiss and wasting no time slipping his tongue into Tommy’s mouth. He noticed almost immediately.

“You got a tongue piercing?!”

“I— uh, yeah…”

Evan’s eyes lit up mischievously… his breathing hitches then speeds up… he leaned in for another kiss.

****

(One hour earlier)

Buck had been very mature about the fact Tommy now had a tongue ring. In fact… he was so mature about it, that he didn’t suggest they forget the drinks, and their plans to actually talk like level headed adults do… In fact, after just one more kiss— one more quick swipe of his tongue over the flat top of the bar— he pulled away from Tommy completely; minus their hands, which Evan promptly laced together as they walked into the bar.

And they talked.

They actually talked.

They opened up— more than he’d expected them to.

They cried. They laughed. They left a few hours later and were officially back together.

Buck remained mature, and didn’t offer (beg, plead, or bargain) to follow Tommy back to his place, or bring him back to the loft. He allowed the night to end with them parting ways, but with the promise there would be a next time— and plenty of times after that— So Buck was fine with going home alone.

But when Tommy arrived at the loft, a bottle of wine in hand, his curls styled nicely, and wearing the cologne that he knew Buck loved… the maturity went out the window. He tugged him in by the collar and crashed their lips together. Buck had asked him to put a regular bar in, one with the bigger metal ball. Tommy had laughed and made a bitchy little joke but as Buck’s tongue passed over the piercing he let his lips curl up into a pleased smirk to find Tommy had done as he’d asked.

They wasted no time; Tommy’s fingers ran along the hem of Buck’s shirt while Buck hurriedly pushed Tommy’s button-down off of his shoulders. “There’s something you should know…” Buck says as they nearly tripped over each other getting up the stairs, pieces of their outfits falling off every couple steps. He leans in close to Tommy’s ear and whispers, “I got something pierced too…” then he falls back onto the bed, pants and boxers already gone and his cock standing straight up like it’s showing it’s new accessory off.

Tommy’s eyes widen. His brows fly all the way up to his hairline. He crawls onto the bed and takes Buck in his hand, tilting him back to look at the piercing better. “It’s healed, right?” Buck nearly gives himself whiplash nodding. Tommy leans in and flicks the tip of his tongue over the hoop— over the little piece of skin it’s going through— and Buck sucks in a sharp breath. “Good?” Tommy asks.

“Amazing!”

“Okay, great…” Tommy says, then goes back to licking at the piercing and around the head, and down the shaft. All the while Buck is moaning and squirming. It shouldn’t be so over-stimulative but it’s been so long… he hasn’t— not like this— not since Tommy. “Missed you; missed this…” Tommy says between licking down Buck’s cock and sucking the tip into his mouth, which only seems to make it so much more sensitive.

Buck’s toes curl as Tommy takes him all the way down. And, God, how he has missed that. Buck whimpers and lets his hands move up into Tommy’s curls; messing them up, sure, but he doesn’t care. Tommy bobs his head, making sure to flatten his tongue and let the ball rub over Buck with every slide down and back up, and it feels just as amazing as Buck remembered— it feels even better, actually.

Tommy moves Buck’s legs further apart so he can settle on the bed more. He flicks his eyes up to meet Buck’s and smiles around his cock, lining himself up so the ball goes over the hoop. It’s— well it’s mind blowing…

…at first.

Tommy gets a little too into it.

Probably due to the completely wanton noises pouring out of Buck’s mouth. He slides down all the way to the bottom, presses his tongue against the underside so the ball is pressed into the tender skin and starts to slide back up. He reaches the hoop… and somehow the ball just pops through it.

Buck thinks he’s really just thankful Tommy caught the mishap immediately… without trying to pull off— so fucking thankful.

“Uhh…” is all Tommy can manage. He holds himself up with one arm and brings the other up to try to get a finger in his mouth, to the where they are quite literally linked together. He can’t.

And just like that… Buck’s pride in his size disappears.

****

Tommy tries to move his tongue, ever so gently so he doesn't tug at the ring, but it’s useless. He wants to cry. He looks up at Evan… who is looking down at him… and looks terrified, and he can’t shake his head so he just sighs. “You have got to be joking… Tommy, what do we do?!”

Tommy knows what they have to do… and he knows Evan knows what they have to do.

“We can’t! Tommy, Maddie is at work! What if she takes the call?” He waits for a second like he’s expecting Tommy to answer, he can only blink back. “A- And I’m in the 118’s district… oh my god…” Now Evan looks ready to cry, and Tommy can’t even properly hold him about it. He runs his hand up Evan’s side, hoping it does something to soothe him. “Maybe if… if I can just get soft…” he suggests. Tommy shrugs, he doubts it but he doesn’t blame Evan for not wanting to call… this absolute disaster… in.

So they wait.

And wait.

And wait…

Drool starts to pool in Tommy’s mouth and he tries to swallow it as carefully as he can. His throat spasms, and Evan hisses, and Tommy makes a wounded noise by means of apologizing. To make matters worse, not that Evan’s erection had gone down much sitting in Tommy’s mouth… but the tightening of his throat from swallowing definitely didn’t help. They are doomed, he fears.

He looks up at Evan and tries to lighten the mood with a smile, and Evan manages to smile back, before dropping his head to his pillow and letting out a pitiful sob.

Tommy knows they can’t sit here forever. He taps Evan’s leg and points to Evan’s pants that are the closest to the bed. Carefully they shimmy together, over to the edge, until Tommy slides off the bed, stretching out his leg to pull the pants over to him. He sits himself on his legs and pulls out the phone. Evan still seems hesitant so Tommy grunts around him and puts the phone in his hand.

“Okay, fine.”

Thank you, Tommy thinks and sighs. He slowly moves his tongue, still trying to find a way to pop the ball back through the hoop, but it’s just no use. He brings an arm up and uses it to prop up his head, and listens as Evan types in the dreaded numbers.

He puts it on speaker and rests his body back on his free arm. “9-1-1 what is the location of your emergency…” Tommy watches Evan inhale deep and let out a long drawn out sigh. He gives his address, and immediately the dispatcher gasps. “Buck?”

“Hey Josh…”

****

“What's going on, are you okay?” Josh asks, eyes flicking up to look at Maddie who is in the middle of her own call and hasn’t yet heard her brother's name.

“Well… define okay.”

“Do you need medical assistance? I can send your team—”

“No!” Josh’s mouth snaps shut at the urgency in Buck’s voice. “Not— Not them… and Josh… please don’t tell Maddie you’re talking to me.”

Josh glances back up at Maddie, and sighs. “Okay…” he says slowly; quizzically. “So what’s going on?”

“Me and Tommy are stuck… together.” Josh waits for more, but his first panicked thought is that there has been some accident at Buck’s loft.

“A- Are you— either of you hurt?”

“Not… exactly. Just stuck.”

“Like… in the elevator?” Josh pries, since Buck is giving him very little information.

“I wish…” Buck groans, and Josh hears a muffled snort. “No, we're inside my apartment.”

Josh tries to run through where they could be stuck in the small loft… He comes up with nothing, And Buck has gone silent. “Okay, look… I have no idea what’s going on, or how to help you, so I’m going to need you to give me a little more details beyond just ‘We’re stuck’.”

Nothing— Nothing!!— could have prepared Josh for what Buck just blurts out next.

“Tommy’s tongue ring is stuck through my dick ring…”

Of course that’s the moment Maddie decides to look up at him. Her brows furrow and she mouths what’s wrong? Josh is pretty sure he resembles a deer in headlights, and he might have forgotten how to speak beyond a startled, “Oh…”

There’s a pause and Buck speedruns Josh through a quick explanation of what has happened, that Josh can only mmhmm back too, biting his lips between his teeth to stop them from curling upward and trying to figure out exactly how to word this in the notes to whoever he sends to… help. (33 and 40 year old males. No serious injuries. Unable to come to the door… prepare to be scandalized— he doesn’t add that last part)

Maddie is still just staring at him with a progressively getting more worried look. Finally she takes her earpiece off and starts towards him. Shit… he thinks, then quickly sends the 133 with a final note that an ambulance will possibly be needed. “What’s going on, Josh…” Maddie asks, looking at his screen. She immediately recognizes Buck’s address, gasps and grabs Josh's earpiece. “Buck?! Buck, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Josh watches the voice recorder from the call and it doesn’t move. “M- Maddie listen…” he tries, and reaches for the earpiece back; Maddie slaps his hand in return.

Her eyes frantically move over the screen, furrowing as she tries to decipher what the notes could mean. She comes to the unit responding, and scoffs. “Why would you send the 133, Josh… the 118 is closer!” And Josh can do no more than run a hand down his face, and continue to bite back the laugh that has been threatening to break free since Buck explained the actual situation. “Buck I’m sending the 118 to you… everything’s going to be okay.” Her mouth pulls down into a worried frown. “Are you there? Can you please say something…”

****

“Th- Thanks Mads…” is all Buck can think to say.

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he finds Buck's hand to hold it.

“What’s going on…” Maddie continues to press. “Is— is Tommy with you? Is he hurt? Buck, do I need to go there?”

“Please, no!” Buck cries out. “I’m… fine. It’s fine. We’re— we’re fine. R- Right Tommy?” He squeezes his eyes shut realizing Tommy can’t agree.

He does manage a garbled “Uh huh,” though… (To which Buck hears Josh snort then quickly clear his throat.)

“I, uh… I’m gonna hang up now…” Buck says, then before Madie can say anything he adds, “I swear I’m— we’re really okay. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I— I’m sure…” he tells her, hangs up and throws his head back with a loud groan. Tommy sighs around him and moves the hand propping up his head and rubs at his jaw, reminding Buck of the reason Tommy never drags out his blowjobs. “Fuck! Tommy your jaw,” he says, and moves Tommy’s hand to rub over the spot himself. “A- and your knees have to be killing you!” Tommy shrugs and leans his face into Buck’s hand. “Is this at least helping,” he asks; Tommy cocks a brow, and his lips curl up into a smirk. “Oh my god… blink once for yes twice for no,” he groans, laughing only when Tommy blinks once.

Which brings them back to the present. Bobby yells that they are coming in and the only silver lining is that Bobby has a key so they don’t have to break his door in. Something taps Buck’s leg and it’s his phone that Tommy has typed up a message on.

pocket knife. cut off my tongue. I’ll go out the window.

That startles a laugh out of Buck… which is immediately followed by a pained hiss from them both. The front door opens and Buck groans. “Up here…” he says, and they both listen as the entire team— hell it sounds like the entire station— files in.

Tommy whimpers when Chimney calls out, jokingly asking if Buck’s decent, and grabs the blanket to pull over his head.

“Alright Buck what’s… going… on…” Bobby says, first to get up the stairs— his worried look melts away and is replaced by something akin to absolute horror, which Buck 100% gets.

“What on earth…” Hen gawks as she comes up behind Bobby.

Buck feels like his face is about to catch on fire, and Tommy hasn’t moved since covering his head— so he has either convinced himself if he doesn’t move they can’t see him… or he has died.

“Is that Tommy?!” Chimney blurts out, looking around Hen and Bobby, who both slowly turn and look back at him.

Chimney shrugs. “What? I can appreciate nice features without it meaning anything, thank you very much.” He moves past her and gestures at Tommy’s backside. “And when you got it you got it…” Tommy makes a choked off noise— so, at least that means he’s not dead…

“Wait so is it really Tommy?” Ravi calls from the bottom of the stairs. Buck doesn’t answer… which is enough of an answer in and of itself.

Bobby turns back to Buck, rolling his eyes at the others. He sighs. “Okay, what exactly is going on here, Buck.”

Before he can even think up a decent answer, Tommy twitches, stiffens and then pulls his hand up to scratch at his nose. He grunts, and takes a deep breath, and Buck watches in horror as it finally clicks what exactly Tommy is doing under the blanket. “This has got to be a prank,” Hen says, pulling off her glasses and covering her eyes. “Buck… tell me this is a prank.”

Tommy continues to squirm and finally while holding his nose to suppress it, he sneezes. Buck yelps and Tommy mumbles incoherent apologies. The loft falls completely quiet; all eyes are now on him, waiting for an explanation.

His phone rings first, and he expects it to be Maddie… but it’s Eddie— and he doesn’t need to deal with that— so he sends it to voicemail.

Then Tommy’s phone starts to vibrate down stairs. “Ignore it,” Buck instructs when Ravi asks if he wants it brought up to them.

About a second after it stops, Chimney's phone rings and he answers without hesitation, putting it on FaceTime.

“Oh… oh my god!” Eddie gasps. “You two didn’t…” he sounds like he’s crying and sucks in a breath. “You two idiots didn’t… did you?!” Buck glares at Chimney, but he is unfazed, turning the camera for Eddie to see them. “You did!”

“I’m so lost,” Chimney says, looking at Bobby.

Hen is still covering her face and shaking her head.

“These two—”

“Eddie…” Buck pleads— but really… What's the use in hiding details? “Whatever…” he groans and turns his eyes to the ceiling, and Eddie shares what he knows.

And apparently, he knows everything.

So Buck wasn’t the only one who went to Eddie about his impulse body modification. Tommy had told him too— he texted Eddie after learning of his move to El Paso, and it just slid its way into the conversation.

“How did you even find out about this?” Buck groans.

“Josh told me.”

“Oh, but he couldn’t tell us so we knew what we were about to walk in on…” Hen says bitterly.

“And since when do you and Josh talk?” Buck adds.

“That is my business,” Eddie quips back. “You all have fun with… yours.” He wiggles his fingers at them, laughs again, and ends the call.

Chimney and Hen give each other strained looks, both clearly trying to hold it together. Bobby takes a deep breath, resting his hands on his hips and stares down at Buck. “Okay well we— we need to get you two… separated—” His lips tremble and he tries to stop the laugh but it bubbles out anyway. That's all the motive Hen and Chimney need to both double over. Even Ravi is laughing down stairs.

Tommy makes a pained noise and Buck knows he has to be hurting from sitting like this for so long. “Yeah, yeah… laugh it up. Can we please figure out how to actually do that?”

“Well we have to see what we’re dealing with first,” Hen says, grabbing the blanket without warning and lifting it up. “Oh my god…” she nearly chokes, and has to walk down stairs to compose herself.

Yeah mortification was definitely not a strong enough word.

It only takes the team five minutes to get them separated— Buck is sure it will take a lifetime to live it down.

****

“Are you sure you don’t want to go in and get checked out?” Bobby asks; Tommy just shakes his head and puts his hand over Evan’s, where he is holding a frozen bag of peas against his jaw. “Alright,” he gives them both a smile— it looks more uncomfortable than when he was given the medal of valor at the ceremony. “You, uh— you two…” he looks between Tommy and Evan. “Well, I’m glad you… worked things out.”

“That’s one way to describe what happened here tonight,” Chimney says, smiling smugly at the both of them.

Hen comes up beside Tommy and lays a hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s safe to say you can definitely keep up.” Tommy slowly lifts his eyes to her and she can’t hold back the laughter. “Maybe a little too well— you might wanna slow down actually.”

“Uhm, what— what does that mean?” Evan leans in and asks; again… Tommy just shakes his head.

Ravi hands Evan the little baggie the two rings were put in once they were removed. He doesn’t say anything, and just leaves. He pulls the door shut behind him, and then they are left alone, embarrassed, and sore in their respective affected areas.

Evan holds the bag up and sighs. “That was… something.”

“Yeah…” Tommy laughs, finally feeling like he can move his jaw again without it popping. “Next time, maybe we don’t go with the ball and hoop combo.

“N- Next time?” Evan furrows his brow but his lips are already curling up at the corners.

Tommy shrugs and grabs Evan’s hand pulling it to his lips. “If I have learned anything lately… it’s the importance of giving things another chance…”

Evan’s smile widens. “Wow. That was— just wow...” he laughs and pulls Tommy into a kiss; he winces when just the slight movement hurts. “I’m sorry about your jaw, and your knees.”

“I’m sorry about your… frenulum,” Tommy replies and Evan snorts. “Now I can’t finish what I started…”

They both pout at that… for just a moment. “Yeah, b- but… my jaw doesn’t hurt,” Evan says with a suggestive smirk. “And your dick doesn’t hurt…” He bites his lip and tugs on Tommy’s hand to stand him up.

“This is true…” Tommy states.

“So maybe we can finish what we started after all…” Evan leans in and brushes his lips over Tommy’s then turns and heads for the stairs, Tommy right behind him, and the silver hoop and tongue ring left behind on the table for next time.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #118 firefam #body piercing #tongue ring #Uhhm Dick? Ring?#I mean that’s what it is 😅#fix it fic #crack fic #smut crack #smut with plot #idk how to tag this

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 6 months ago

Text

Ride ‘Em, Cowgirl! (Cowboy!Ace x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Ace D. Portgas x Black!Fem!Reader (Strangers to FWBs to Lovers)

Synopsis: As the author of some famous smutty romance novels, you decide to take a vacation in the countryside for a while to get over your breakup and work on your new book but you suffer from writer’s block. However, a meet-cute situation with a sexy farmhand who lives next door might be able to help you kill two birds with one stone.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+; Author!Reader; Cowboy!Ace; Sexual Tension; Highkey Flirting; Tongue Kissing; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Clit Stimulation; Doggystyle; Nipple Piercings; Cowgirl/Riding; Ace Puts His Hat on Your Head While You Take His Big D*ck; Dom!Ace/sub!Reader; Reader Cums 2x; Creampie; Strangers to FWBs to Lovers; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I’ve had a MAJOR cowboy brain rot all summer & decided to write something as the season is ending. I love me some Ace 🥺🥺 him & his big, silly, sexy ass…I miss him. He didn’t d*e in my universe. ENJOY LOVELIES!! 💋💋🫶🏾🫶🏾 -Jazz

**********

While the countryside is beautiful, the absence of reception is not.

You sit in the driver’s seat of your rental, the AC cranked up high though you’re still sweating from anxiety and panic. Your pits are perspiring despite the cute little sundress you threw on to match your sunhat and sunglasses. You felt like a movie star boarding the train here, but now, all of that feeling of glamor is gone.

A thrush forest and fields of land surround you on the dirt road you’ve been driving down for over fifteen minutes now since you got off the train that put you in the countryside. You had originally come out here to indulge in nature, thinking it would help clear your head for your new book and heal your heart over your recent breakup that caused your writer’s block.

You’re a city girl, born and raised miles away from here. Despite your cute little one-bedroom-one-bathroom studio apartment, you get tired of being surrounded by skyrise buildings and smoggy streets when you write. You thought a change of scenery would do you some good, especially to distract you from the sight of the same couch and bed where your ex used to make love to you on.

But now, after seeing nothing but trees, grass, and cows for the past five minutes since you got lost, you’re becoming sick of it. You haven’t seen a single person or building since the train station!

“Dammit,” you huff, begrudgingly tossing your phone into the passenger’s seat with your laptop case and suitcase. You hate getting lost! You must’ve taken a left instead of a right and then steered off the trail your GPS set for you.

You keep the AC and gas running as you get out of the car. The heat immediately slaps you in the face and the sun glares at you, causing you to slide your sunglasses on top of your head used to hold your braids back onto your eyes. You shield the hot rays with your hand and look down the road. Nothing. Not even a barn. You’re completely stranded.

No people. No reception. You were never going to make it to that sweet, quaint little Airbnb you rented. You were scrolling on Booking.com you’ve seen so many commercials for three weeks ago when you came across the little cabin with central air, a wine cellar, and a back patio overlooking a lake. It is only ten miles from town and near some hiking trails for running.

You booked it immediately and spoke to the owner, a sweet Southern widow who let you rent it for the entire week for a cut because of your books. “I love your work!” she gushed over the phone. “I’m so honored you’re choosin’ my little home to help you write a new book! I’ll stack more wine in the cellar just for you!”

You may never get to enjoy that wine, the lake, or some sunbathing on the patio. You lean against your carhood, hopeless and exhausted. Maybe this will be a good inspiration for your book: a city girl gets lost in the countryside and realizes that a change of scenery can’t fix heartbreak. Then she dies of a broken heart (and starvation) in her rental and when someone finally finds her, she’ll be nothing but bones because the cows ate her.

There your whacked-out mind goes. You tilt your head to the sunny, blue sky, hoping God can see you and have mercy on your soul. “God,” you groan. “Please just send me someone.”

“Hey, there!” a sudden cheery, male voice chirps from behind you. You shriek and jump, turning around to face the stranger. “Shit!” you gasp, putting a hand on your jumping heart. “You scared the hell outta me!”

When your heart finally settles down, you realize just how cute the stranger is. He is tall and fit judging by how tight his black V-neck is under his flannel. A cowboy hat hits low on his nest of black curls and an adorable smattering of freckles adorn his cheeks. His jeans are just as tight with a large belt buckle on the front of his leather belt and his cowboy boots are scuffed.

It’s like he stepped out of a girl’s wettest Western dream, especially with the dog tags hanging from his thick neck and the leather bracelet on his wrist. He is hotter than the sun you’re standing in.

“Apologies,” he says, stifling a chuckle with his hands up. “I promise I don’t mean no farm. I just happened to see you just sittin’ here on the road and couldn’t help but wonder if you’re stealin’ my job.” His brown eyes are filled with humor and playfulness.

“Job?” you parrot, confused. “What are you—“

Suddenly, the hot stranger places two fingers on each hand in his mouth and blows a loud, shrill whistle. Immediately, each of the cows grazing in the grass and wandering in the road gather together near him. “C’mon, y’all!” he shouts. “Over here by the pretty truck! Out of the pretty lady’s way!”

You flush at his compliment but don’t focus too much on it. You’re too busy focusing on the cherry red pickup truck with the muddy wheels that you now see some yards behind your rental. How did you not hear him drive up?

The cows follow the cowboy and surround his truck, mooing and chewing. He leaves them there and comes running back to you, panting. “Sorry ‘bout that. Them cows ain’t too bright sometimes. One left the farm down the road and all of ‘em followed, so I got sent out to get ‘em.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, that takes care of one problem. Thanks.”

He raises one eyebrow, curious. “One problem?” he ponders aloud. “Anything I can help you with, miss? Tell me if I’m wrong but ya look kinda…” He pauses, looking for the right word.

“Lost?” you sigh. He sniggers, shaking his head. “Distressed.” You take a moment to think about this. You really shouldn’t tell him since he’s a total stranger despite his cute freckles and eyes that remind you of a puppy’s. “Well, I am,” you sigh. “But nothing I can’t handle. Thank you again, Mr. uh….”

The cowboy smiles brightly at you and it’s like a punch in the face. He is quite handsome. “Ace,” he replies. “Ace D. Portgas. No, ‘Mr’, please. Just Ace.”

He puts out one of his big ringed hands for a shake. You slowly take it in your smaller one, noticing how calloused and rough his palm is…and how warm and strong it is. “Ace then,” you say, quickly pulling away. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N L/N.”

Ace’s eyes fill with recognition immediately at the sound of your name. “The writer?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. You immediately break out into a smile, happy with the recognition. “So you’ve heard of me.”

He nods, shoving a hand in the pocket of his jeans. “Yeah, your stuff is pretty popular with the female population over here. I’ve seen some of your books in the town’s local bookstore before. Where ya from?”

“[City Name],” you reply, beaming from the newfound information You always love to hear about people loving and reading your work. Ace hums, nodding in understanding. “Ah, so you’re a city girl,” he draws, his Southern accent making a big appearance here. It makes something in your stomach grow warm.

You place your hands on your hips, pursing your lips. “Are you about to give me that ‘the country is better than the city’ crap?” you playfully scoff.

Ace gapes at you, playing into your mock disagreement. “What?! No way….except we’ve got better people.” You laugh, giving him that one. “Oh, that I agree with! Everyone here is so nice!”

Literally everyone. The train conductor, the workers at the train station, the nice man who held the door for you…maybe even this sexy cowboy. It must be the clean air and environment without the buildings, hustle, and crowds of people. “So what’s a talented gal like you doin’ all the way down here?” He curiously asks. “Ya got family here?”

Despite your situation, you find yourself enjoying conversing with Ace. It’s easy, unlike with your ex. “I’m writing a new book at the Airbnb I rented…which I’m no closer to getting to ‘cause I can’t follow directions.”

Ace’s smile fades. “Really? Where’s it at? Maybe I can help ya get there.” Your blood pressure rises as your brain begins to go through every possible reason to not give this man the address to your weekend home. “Um….”

Realization flickers in Ace’s eyes and he nods in understanding. “I get it: stranger danger. If ya want, I can tell you the directions and let ya drive off. Promise.” He puts his right hand up as if he’s on the stand at a trial. “I only wanna help a celebrity out.”

His friendly smile and nature seem genuine despite that twist in your stomach telling you differently. However, you don’t hear any warning signs blaring in your head and your gut isn’t giving you that kick of intuition. Throwing caution to the wind, you tell him: “It’s on 21 North Oakwood Lane.”

You watch as Ace’s eyes widen in excitement like a kid on Christmas. “Forreal?! That’s where my farm is at! I bet my neighbor is the one you’re rentin’ from! Mable Chestnut ring any bells?”

Your brain immediately reacts to the Airbnb owner’s name. “Yeah, that’s her!” you exclaim. “You live there too?” He nods, beaming brightly at you. “Yes, ma’am, and you’re a long way away from that, honey. You must’ve taken a wrong turn completely.”

You huff, feeling the stress return. Of course, you took a wrong turn. Unbeknownst to you, Ace feels bad for the pretty woman standing in front of him and instantly wants to make her feel better. So he clears his throat, gaining your attention. “I’ll tell ya what: if you want, I can hop in my pickup truck and lead you to your place. I know these trails like the back of my hand.”

“I’m sure you do,” you reply, laughing slightly. “You’re a cowboy, aren’t you?” His lips twist in a lopsided smirk that makes your insides curl. “Yes, ma’am. That and a farmhand. I wrangle horses, cows, bulls, anythin’ you can think of. My job requires that I know the ins and outs of my town.”

You can tell he’s telling the truth, but the logical part of you is still wary. “I dunno,” you admit, awkwardly playing with the hem of our dress. “I mean, you seem sweet and legit, but I barely know you and—“

“Oh, you found ‘em!” a voice rings out. You turn, seeing a blue truck with a wooden crate stopping next to Ace’s truck. An older couple with silver-white hair and matching boots come sliding out of the front, looking relieved to see their cows. The wife, in her flowery skirt, whistles at the cows. “My precious babies! Get y’all asses on that damn truck!”

She begins berating them as the animals climb up the wooden ramp to the cart, piling in one after the other. Her husband, wearing jeans, flannel, and a cowboy hat, helps her by whistling to them. Once they’re all in, he locks the crate and walks up to Ace with his wife, giving you a hello as they do. “Oh, Ace, what would I do without you?” The wife sighs, taking the young cowboy’s hand in her wrinkled ones. “I’ll have to bake you more of that apple pie to thank you.”

Ace smiles, tipping his hat at them. “It’s no problem, Mr. And Mrs. Phelps. Just doin’ my job.” Mr. Phelps pats him on the back, laughing. “Well, you prove to be fit for your job every time, young man.”

“I’ll deliver the pie tomorrow,” Mrs. Phelps says with a wink. “You still live at 20 Oakwood Lane?” Ace nods and thanks them before the old couple walk back to their truck, get in, and go driving off with their cows in the back.

He turns back to you, a smug smile on his face. With defeat, you give in to his proposal. “Okay, fine,” you sigh. “We’ll try it your way.”

He grins, bowing slightly in thanks, grateful for you putting your trust in him. But it ain’t like you’ve got a choice at this point. But if you had said no, maybe he would’ve called the cops or something to help you. He seems like a genuine, sweet type of man…but then again, you thought the same about your ex before he cheated. “I won’t letcha down, missy. Now let’s getcha to your luxury suite!”

He turns and races off to his truck. As he does, the back of his flannel floats up, giving you a peek of his backside. Your mouth waters at the sight of his plump, firm ass in those jeans. Maybe you will have a nice time here after all.

After getting in your car and following Ace’s truck down the road, he takes you in the right direction that your GPS states. You decided to turn it on just to make sure Ace wasn’t taking you somewhere else. The drive is only eight minutes and finally, trees fall away to a beautiful clearing of brick homes and farms down a dirt road.

You finally come to your Airbnb and it’s just as cute in real life as it was in its photos. The white tiled roof and window outline combined with the buttery yellow color of the outside of the house reminds you of a frosted cake as you park your car in front of it. The house is located on ten acres of land that the owner owns and tends to, including a fruit orchard that you most definitely will enjoy tomorrow.

You go up to the azalea bushes planted at the white picket fence surrounding the cobbled stone walkway and steps. Bending down, you move one of the stones–a gray one shaped like a heart–and take the house key from under it. Ms. Chestnut made sure to tell you where to find it before she left.

Clutching the key to your chest, you turn and find Ace lugging your bags out of the backseat of your car, including your laptop case. As he does, you watch as his arms flex enticingly so. He has taken off his flannel, probably too hot in the afternoon heat to wear even the lightest of long-sleeved tops.

“Aaaand here we are,” he announces, bringing the luggage up to you. You go to take your suitcase, feeling bad for his work. “Oh, you don’t have to—“

“Nonsense! It’s barely heavy for me.” He gives you a wink before nodding at the locked door, looking just as excited as you.

You snort and unlock the door, giving way to a gorgeous living room with hardwood floors and a sunroom that meets an expensive-looking dining room filled with fine China dishes. On the left is an older-looking kitchen with a cartoon cat cuckoo clock and an adorable fruit-shaped cooking set and a washroom that leads outside to the back patio.

Ace whistles approvingly, looking around the house. “Beautiful place. I can see why ya rented here to write your new book. What’s it about, if I may ask?” He runs his boots on the ‘Welcome’ rug at the door before coming in with your luggage. He hands you your laptop before placing your suitcase and bag down gently on the floor.

You don’t know why you tell him, but something inside you tells you that it’s okay to do so: “Heartbreak.”

You watch as the cowboy pauses and then slowly turns to stare at you. You clear your throat to appear neutral and blasè like your past relationship and how it ended don’t still sting. “I didn’t just come here to write,” you explain. “I also came here to clear my head over my recent breakup. Working helps.”

Ace’s expression is unreadable. He stands with his hands in his pockets, his jaw working slightly. You now can see that he’s chewing gum. “Long term?” he asks. You nod, fighting back tears. “Three years.”

Three years of what you thought was the beginning of forever for you. You had met his parents; took trips with him; moved him into your apartment a year after you started dating. It was so nice when he came home to you after his shifts as a lawyer, the both of you snuggling with takeout and puffing on some weed to calm the nerves. You loved those nights with him.

But then those nights became ones of loneliness and suspicion when he wouldn’t come home till the AM. You started fighting and growing more apart until one day, while he was showering, you answered his phone on a call meant for him. Clearly, because the girl on the other line was asking you if you were still on for her place that night thinking you were your man…who apparently wasn’t just your man.

After denying it, he admitted to sleeping with his coworker for two months. “You were so busy with your books!” he had argued. “I needed you too, Y/N!”

Of course, that didn’t fly with you. As a grown-ass man, he was more than capable of communicating with you and never did. So, after three years, you ended your relationship and he moved out within a week. Learning to live without him is more than hard, but you’re learning with every step.

Ace whistles as if winded by your answer. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but one thing I know is that you won’t get no clearin’ your head out in the city. No offense.” He gives you a joking smile that brightens the room. “None taken,” you giggle. “That’s why I came out here.”

He nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “That was a good idea. You may never wanna go home though.” He stands there like a tall, sexy tree you’d like to climb. His personality and energy only make your attraction to him much worse.

You don’t know if he feels the tension in the air too, but his smile fades and his eyes fill with a spark you think you just imagine. Finally, he clears his throat and plasters on a smile. “Well, I’ll leave ya to it then. If you ever need anythin’, just gimme a knock across the way.”

You walk him to the door and he points down the road at a small ranch with a red barn where you hear distant neighing horses. “That little ranch next to the red barn is me,” he explains. You could walk there with how close he is. Knowing that makes your stomach twirl.

All you can do is nod and he bids you farewell before walking down the steps in his boots. You watch him, eyeing his flexing back muscles, suntanned shoulders, and the dusting of freckles on his skin like star constellations. He is almost down the road when you give in to your urges.

“Ace, wait!” you call. He stops, turning to face you. “Do you have a CashApp? Or I can pay you in cash.”

But the cowboy shakes his head, smiling at you. “Keep it,” he says. “Just lookin’ out for a pretty woman.” He tips his hat at you, that spark returning in his eyes. “Enjoy your stay, Y/N.”

Then he turns and walks off, taking that beautiful back and juicy ass with him. You decide right then that you’ll definitely enjoy your stay here with that cowboy being just one knock away.

*********

“Fuck, Y/N, you are soooo lucky!” Nami whines into your ear. “I wish I was laying out in the sun by the wate with my tits out too!”

“My tits aren’t out,” you snort. “I’m just in a bikini top.” You take a sip of your Moscato chilling in a glass of ice cubes and sliced oranges, sighing peacefully at the crisp, fruity taste.

Placing it back on the small table with your laptop, you look down at your phone screen where your beautiful, redheaded friend’s face is. It is the next day of your writer’s vacay and you’re spending it stretched out on the back patio in your bikini and sunglasses, lounging on a beach chair near the lake that sparkles and shimmers in the summer sun.

“That still counts!” Nanami argues. “You’ll get a tan for days! Why couldn’t you take me with you?” You scoff, rolling your eyes behind your ray bans. “Girl, aren’t you on an anniversary trip up in the mountains with your woman? Your Airbnb is just as beautiful as mine, plus you got a great view!”

Nami, your best friend and soulmate, is out in the mountains with her long-term girlfriend and soon-to-be-fiance, Robin who is so beautiful that you swore you had a crush on her when you first met her.

Both, along with a couple of other friends you’ve made over the years, surrounded you with love and support during your breakup. Zoro and Sanji, the married couple you’ve been tight with since you moved into your complex, even told you they’d beat your ex up if you asked them to. Of course, you said no, but you fantasize about it to make you laugh.

“Yeah, but it’s raining here,” Nami sighs, laying back on a pillow. “We’ve been cooped up in the house all day, but we do have a dinner reservation at a five-star restaurant tonight that’ll make up for it. She knows how to make me happy.” She breaks out into a dreamy smile you know all too well about.

“You’re so lucky,” you sigh, envious of your friend’s love. “You guys have been together for a long time though. Five years! That’s crazy!”

Nami nods, still looking in love and happy. “And it takes a lot of work, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. You’ll find that again, too Y/N…with the right person, of course. That scummy ex of yours was just a closed door.”

You peer out over the water, seeing a sliver of Ace’s farm through the thrush, green forest. From this angle, you can see the wagging tails of horses in their shed and hear the crowing of roosters. “I guess,” you sigh.

As if reading your mind, Nami discusses the man who has been on your mind since yesterday. “Well, how ‘bout you do some practice on that cute cowboy you told me about?” she suggestively purrs. “You are there for a week. Why not use it to dust off that–”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you cut her off, putting up a hand. “I’m not having any kind of sex with a stranger, no matter how cute or sweet he is. Besides, I don’t even know how old he is! He could be a fuckin’ teenager for all I know.”

Despite you making logical excuses for not going over to his house and hopping on that man’s dick right now, you still can’t stop yourself from thinking about him. Yesterday afternoon, you went out into town to shop for some cute dresses and groceries for meals (including the wine), thinking this would help distract you from nasty thoughts of him.

But alas, when night fell and you finished your glass of wine and your much-needed blunt to end the evening, your dreams were all about him whispering dirty, sweet nothings to you in his Southern drawl while he bounced you on his cock. You were so pent up that you had to relieve yourself with the toy you packed and then take a cold shower…both did NOTHING to tame you.

You want him bad. You’ve never felt such an attraction to someone before. Not since your ex, anyway. It’s exciting but also alarming. Your plan wasn’t to use a man to get over your breakup or writer’s block. Speaking of which, you haven’t written much of a first draft for your book yet. You most that you’ve gotten is a plot outline and you feel even that is lackluster.

“Well, who is he?” Nami pushes. “You didn’t even tell me his name!” You once again roll your eyes and lower your voice as if the cowboy can hear you over the lake: “It’s Ace D. Portgas.”

Nami’s eyes widen and her jaw drops. “Omigod!” she squeals into your ears, making you jump. “Y/N, I know him! You remember my friend Luffy’s adopted older brother? The one who owns his own farm?”

Your mind traces back to the moment any of this was revealed to you and you realize that it was a year ago during a trip to the zoo where Luffy gushed over the horses and said his brother trains them. “Oh, my God, that’s him?!” you gasp, laughing in disbelief. “The wealthy one? What a small world!”

“Now you have a reason to talk to him, girl!” Nami encourages you. You go over to his place, ask him for a drink, and spend the rest of your trip in his bed…and then you’ll take me on a cruise when he cuffs you.” She winks at you, but you know she’s serious.

“That’s not gonna happen,” you chuckle. “He’s a nice guy, but I didn’t come here to hook up with no cowboy. I came here to relax and write my book.” The redhead pulls a look, rolling her eyes. “And what better way to do all of that than get with a country boy? Besides, that would make for a great story.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you suggestively.

“Whatever,” you scoff as she giggles. “Just go and tell Robin I said hi. And if I do happen to build a relationship with the cowboy, she’ll be the one I take on a cruise.” Nami, with her dramatic ass, gapes at you. “Take that back!”

“Love you, byeeee!” You blow her a kiss before ending the FaceTime call and lowering it facedown on the table to avoid the sun burning the screen. You take another sip of your wine and then hunker back down to your book that you’re no closer to outlining.

So far in the plot, a woman named Suzi has received notice of a house she has inherited from her deceased grandmother whom she realizes has many secrets, including setting her up to marry Johnson, a wealthy owner of a wine garden that her grandma somehow knows.

But all those ideas go down the drain when you happen to look up and see the man who has been haunting your frequent dreams. And he’s shirtless. Though his back is to you, that doesn’t mean Ace’s back doesn’t make your stomach flutter like it’s filled with butterflies. He is busy tending to his horses, filling their drinking station with fresh water and cleaning out bails of old hay. His arm and back muscles flex in the sun that glints off of the sweat dripping off of his tanned skin. “Oh, fuck,” you exhale.

He’s a beautiful, beautiful man. You can almost taste the sweat off of his skin as you lick up his skin and neck. His back is tatted with a purple skull with a bone caught between his teeth. Your body reacts just as your mind does, arousal making you throb. “Dammit,” you sigh, slamming your laptop closed. You definitely can’t write in this condition. This man is making everything too damn hard for you!

Now you know another distraction won’t do anything for you. You need to just swallow your pride and fear of rejection, and just go over there!

To not make it seem like you just came straight out the house to see him, you go inside to strip off your bikini and change into some sneakers, running shorts, and a sports bra that holds up your girls. You take your phone and house key with you before cutting through the woods for a short time towards Ace’s place, lightly jogging as you do. The sun glints through the trees and sweat begins to gather on your forehead and under your boobs.

Finally, you cut through the woods to the front of Ace’s house and nearly scream at the sudden sight of a caramel-colored horse galloping in front of you, nearly knocking you over. “Suzi!” Ace calls. “Dammit, don’t run in the street!” He whistles, causing the horse to stop before she gets any farther away and flips her tail.

You turn, finding the shirtless cowboy standing behind you. You nearly combust at the sight of his cut abs, the silver bars in his pink nipples, and the scattering of tattoos on his skin. One is of a skull engulfed in flames on his shoulder and the others are two names inked across his wrists.

“Oh, hey!” he chirps, looking happy to see you despite your short-circuiting brain. “What a surprise. You decided to take a break to come see little ol’ me?”

He puts his hands on his hips, drawing your eyes to his V-line. “I-I was just takin’ a jog,” you stammer. “And I just wanted to thank you again for helping me yesterday. Sorry I was so hesitant.” Ace looks happy nonetheless and you think you even see his eyes quickly trace over your outfit. “Don’t even apologize. You enjoyin’ yourself so far?”

He snaps at Suzi who comes tottering up to him, her hooves clicking. You nod, admiring the pretty steed. “Yeah, you’ve got a nice little home here. Went out shopping yesterday and did some writing today.”

The cowboy nods, petting Suzi’s side. “Uh-huh, I saw you soakin’ up those rays earlier…n-not that I was starin’ at you! I just happened to look over and see you.” His face grows adorably red at his jumbled words. It only makes him more endearing to you.

“I get it,” you giggle. “I came over to pay you for yesterday, but if you still aren’t gonna take my money, maybe I can pay you back with lunch or a drink?”

The words just slip out, possibly because of how confident you feel over Ace’s blush and nervous blunder. You don’t know what you expect, but definitely not what he says next:

“Oh,” is all he replies with.

The silence that follows makes you want to die. “O-Or not if you’re busy,” you quickly add. “Or if you don’t want to! I just wanted to repay you.” You bite your lip to shut yourself up, feeling as if you never should’ve said anything. That damn Nami! Why did she have to encourage you to do this?

But as luck would have it, Ace agrees. “I was gonna say yes to lunch, but I’m a little booked right now with the farm. I’ve got people tourin’ my place tomorrow, so I need to make sure it sparkles. Does dinner work better for ya?”

The horse’s tail flips as if to say, ‘Say yes, stupid!’ and you nod, speechless. “Dinner sounds great,” you reply, doing your best to not break out into a big, goofy smile. The caramel horse softly winnies and Ace snorts, patting the horse’s behind. “This is Suzi,” he chuckles. “She’s extremely dramatic. I got two other ones at the stable.”

You smile at the horse, admiring the way her blonde mane looks in the sun. “She’s beautiful.” Unbeknownst to you, Ace admires you admiring the horse. “You like horses?” You nod, gently patting Suzi’s soft fur. “Love ‘em. I wanted to be a cowgirl every Halloween.”

“You wanna see the others? I can give ya a tour of the farm, if ya want.”

“Alright, alright, we’re comin’!” he calls. “And these are my Stallions, Sam and Sabo, named after one of my brothers. He lives all the way in London workin’ as an actor.”

“That’s amazing.” “They look like they need a brush, poor things.”

“It’s the heat. They shed a lot in the summer.” “Why don’t you let me?” you ask. “You seem so tired. Don’t worry, I pick up fast.”

“Just slowly brush their sides,” he explains, motioning his hands as an example. “It relaxes them. And don’t worry about scarin’ em; they’re well-behaved and they love attention.” “Hey, there, boy,” you coo. “I’m just gonna brush you.”

“Not bad for a city girl,” he whispers in your ear. “Oh, so you got jokes now,” you scoff. “Well, your horses seem to like me more than their owner. I think that proves I’d make a great cowgirl.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks. “You ever ridden one before?” “Uh…no,” you hesitantly answer. “Not since I was six at a petting zoo.”

Ace gives you a smile full of mirth and trust. “You wanna try now?”

You have no idea what propels you to say yes, but suddenly find yourself standing beside Sabo in the open field while Ace straps a leather saddle on his back. He then turns to you and opens his arms. “I’ll help ya up,” he says, flashing you a smile. “And if ya ever feel uncomfortable, I promise you we’ll cut the ride short.”

“There we go,” he huffs. “Now up I go.” With a grunt, he carefully hoists himself up on Sabo’s back and straddles the seat behind you. You bite your lip at the throb you feel between your thighs at the feeling of his strong arms coming around you to hold onto the reins with you. His thighs and chest brush against your back, the scent of sweat and pine rolling off of him.

“Now, gently tug on the reins twice and click your tongue,” he instructs. Nervously, you do as he says, his presence a comfort for you. You wouldn’t know what to do with this big-ass horse alone. Sabo slowly begins to walk in the field, taking a languid pace that is relaxing and not at all as scary as you thought.

“See?” Ace laughs. “Not bad, right? You can use the reins to steer him or go faster, just like a car. If ya want him to stop, just tug on the reins once. If ya wanna go a little faster, just snap the reins so he’ll totter, like this.”

He helps you give them a slight snap and Sabo picks up the pace. You gasp as you feel his back jump with you and Ace on top, your body instantly tensing.

“Hang on,” he chuckles. “It’ll get a little bumpy.” You side-eye him, your heart about to explode out of your chest. “A little?” you scoff and that makes him laugh even harder.

His thumbs begin to stroke your knuckles, trying to calm you down. “You’re so sense, sweetie,” he coos. “I promise you’re okay. Just enjoy the ride.” His voice is soft and reassuring, only arousing you more.

However, despite the images of him fucking you stupid in your mind, you fight against your visceral reaction to change and relax. “Good, good!” he praises. “You really are a fast learner! Good boy, Sabo! Take us home!”

Sabo turns around and totters back to the farm, bouncing you on top. You giggle, feeling free with the sun and wind in your hair. When Sabo comes to a stop, Ace jumps off first.

He holds out his arms for you and you reach down, clinging yourself to him as he takes you off of the horse. Once your feet are on the ground, you sigh, relieved, but an underwhelming feeling descends upon you at ground level again. It was exciting being on Sabo’s back above ground, but you think most of the thrilling, excited feeling you got was from Ace being so close to you.

“Nicely done, city girl. I knew ya had it in ya to ride a horse.” “Well, it helps when I’ve got a great teacher, country boy,” you giggle, but it comes out way more seductive than you meant it to.

Thank goodness the splashing sounds of the horses slurping down their water stops you because who knows what would’ve happened? “Uh…drink?” he sheepishly asks. “I’ve got fresh lemonade in the fridge.”

But as soon as you’re in the house, Ace suddenly whirls you around to face him and grabs you before his lips finally mesh with yours. You make a small noise of surprise as he twirls you around, but it quickly melts into a soft moan as his soft, juicy lips press against yours. They are just as heavenly as you thought they’d be. The kiss is tentative and careful at first, but the more you press into him, the more passionate and open Ace becomes.

His tongue slowly licks your bottom lip and you part your lips, granting him access. The taste of whiskey on his tongue and the wet, sucking sounds of your heavy makeout make your shorts feel tighter and your nipples hard under your bra. Ace’s hands caress your back while your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer until you’re sharing the same air.

When he pulls away, he is softly panting and his eyes are ablaze. “Sorry,” he pants. “I just couldn’t resist. I’ve been wantin’ to do that since yesterday.”

You smile, leaning in to peck his lips again. You can’t get enough of him now that you’ve had him. “Don’t apologize,” you whisper. “I have, too.” Oh, and have you!

Ace smiles, looking pleased to hear this. You’re just as happy to know that he’s been sweating over you the way you have been for him since yesterday. “You’re here for a week, right?” he huskily asks and you nod, too afraid to speak. You don’t want to ruin this.

His big hands slide down lower and lower until they meet your ass. Finally. “Then if it’s alright with you, darlin’, I’d like to make your first time out in the country one you’ll never forget. If this is just a summer fling to you then that’s cool. I just wanna make you feel good and make ya forget all about that asshole ex of yours back home.”

The passionate promise burning in his eyes is too tempting to resist. You run your hands down his chest, feeling him up and letting him know just how much you want this. “I’d love that,” you purr. “Now kiss me again, cowboy.”

Ace doesn’t need to be told twice. Immediately, his lips sweep yours up again as he grips you to him, his hands caressing your thighs. You’re so deep in his kiss that you barely feel the wall suddenly pressing against your back. You moan as Ace presses himself into you, his hard body like another wall squeezing you between the one behind you. He takes your arms and pins them over your head, stealing the air from your lungs.

He chuckles, smiling against your desperate lips. His hands move unde your thighs and he scoops you up with ease, making you feel oh-so little. He laughs at your little gasp as you find yourself hovering off of the floor in his arms. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he says. “You’ll enjoy this ride. Bedroom?” You nod, wrapping your limbs around him like a koala bear, and away he goes with you in tow, thunking around in his cowboy boots and hat.

You get a tiny tour of his place when he goes upstairs and finally makes it to his bedroom that is filled with sunlight pouring in through the window. “Don’t close the blinds,” you purr as he kicks the door shut with his foot. “I wanna see you in the light.”

He smirks, loving your freakiness. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, tasting your lips once more. “Now if it’s alright with you, I’d like to get these clothes off ya.”

You giggle as he sets you down on the bed before joining you. “The feelin’ is mutual, cowboy,” you sexily reply. “Just leave the hat and boots on…please.” You feel your face grow hot as Ace laughs at your request, taking your chin in his hand. “You’re a freaky one,” he purrs, biting his bottom lip. “I like that. You’re a woman who knows what she wants.”

Of course, you are! Any girl alone with a sexy cowboy would know what they want and right now, you want this man naked and to fuck you dumb. As you share heated, sloppy kisses, you help Ace strip off your bra, kicks, socks, and shorts, leaving you in on your panties. He takes a moment to ogle your body as you stand between his thighs.

“Fuck,” he huffs and you grow hot, realizing that this is the first time you’ve heard him cuss. “You’re a work of art, babydoll…is it okay if I call you that?” If it ain’t your hard nipples that give him a yes, it’s the kiss you give him. “Yes,” you whisper. Yes to everything. Ace grabs you and begins to kiss up your body, gently sucking on your nipples and licking your neck.

“I’m all sweaty,” you whine, slightly self-conscious. The cowboy raises a brow at you as if to say, ‘And?’ before scooping you up into his arms and tossing you onto the bed.

Now on your stomach, Ace takes advantage by bending your knees and hiking your ass up for him. “Stop,” he chortles. “I’m from the South, darlin’. A little sweat don’t mean nothin’ to me…now pipe down and let me enjoy you.”

You’ve never been with a man who loves eating pussy. You’ve never been with a man that eats pussy quite like Ace. But you should’ve known when he finally got your panties down and finally saw your exposed, glistening pussy all for him. “Goddamn,” he exhaled before spreading your asscheeks and giving right into the depths of your cunt.

His first few licks are gentle and slow as he gets to know your body. He asks you what you like and what you dislike. What makes you tick. The fact that he’s so interested in what you want and like makes you even wetter. Once you tell him and he gets right to work, it doesn’t take long for you to melt into the bed as his mouth works your pussy.

You grip the pillow now, your moans, whimpers, and whines falling onto Ace’s ears like a sweet symphony of music. “Ohhh, fuck, Ace!” you sing into the pillow, pushing your ass back into his face. He welcomes you, his hands gripping and smacking each cheek in time with his magical tongue lashes against your clit.

“That’s it, sing for me, darlin’,” he coos into your pussy, his words slightly muffled. “You sound so fuckin’ good.” He then pulls away from your pussy to slide his tongue up to your ass, much to your enjoyment. While he does this, he takes one finger and lightly glides it up and down your slit, sending shivers and sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

“Your ex ever do this for you?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your lowerback. “Did he ever take care of you like this?” He moves down to give an open-mouthed kiss to your pussy, emitting a loud moan from you. “Or this gorgeous girl?” he purrs against your clit. “Tell me.” Gently, his finger begins to prope your hole, sinking into your folds.

You gasp, gripping the pillow. “N-No,” you stammer. Ace makes a noise of approval. “I knew it. This cunt of yers is just too damn wet for me…not that I’m complainin’. You taste so, so good, little darlin’!” His tongue slides down your asscrack to your clit again, sucking on it while he fingers you.

You are a writhing, squirming mess, grinding your hips back into him, riding that wave of pleasure. The more he licks, sucks, and strokes, the more that knot in your core tightens, threatening to snap and cause you to spill all over his tongue. But his ministrations also cause something else: need. A desperate, blinding, unbridled need for him inside of you. “Stop, Ace!” you beg and he does, immediately. “I need you to fuck me. Please! I wanna cum around your cock!”

Ace pauses, taken aback by your request. But then you hear the joyous, thrilling sound of his belt buckle jingling and his zipper coming down. “So naughty,” he chuckles. “How’d you know I like naughty girls? You must’ve come outta my wettest dreams, babydoll.” You feel his cock slide against your slit, warm, hard, and thick.

You both moan as he taps it against your clit, his head nudging against the little bundle of nerves. “And per your request,” he says, laughter in his voice, “I’ll keep the hat and boots on for ya. But I want ya to look at me while I’m inside you, okay?”

Slowly, you turn your head and behold your eyes to the sexy man sporting his cowboy hat, boots, and nipple piercings behind you, his eyes burning with want. Your eyes trail down his abs and V-line to his thick cock and heavy balls that are begging to be tasted. But later. Right now, you need him in you. “Yes, sir,” you purr. “Now please: fuck me.”

Wordlessly, Ace grasps your hip with one hand and fulfills your request by taking his cock and sinking himself inside of you. His head sinking between your soft, wet folds cause you both to gasp, the contact explosively pleasurable. Ace goes slow, filling you to the brim with every slow thrust of his hips. It’s unbearable, almost agonizing how slow he’s moving.

Ace senses your change in demeanor and gently pulls out, leaving only his cockhead in you. “You alright?” he whispers, worried. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf. Do you want me to stop?”

The very thought of losing this feeling makes you desperate. You turn to him, your hair a sexed-out mess and your eyes lidded. “No,” you exhale, giving him a smile. “You’re just goin’ too slow.”

Instantly, all of the worry and uncertainty in Ace’s eyes disappear, replaced with only lust. A slow smirk stretches across his lips at your naughty request. “Well, why didn’t ya say so, darlin’?”

He pushes himself back in and grips your hips before pistoning into you, giving you the deep dick that you’ve been craving for months. A loud whine leaves your lips as he fucks you like you belong to him, causing your body to shake even more and that arch in your back to wobble. “Fuck me back,” he demands, his voice rough and raspy. “Don’t make me do all the work here. Take what you want from me, baby, c’mon.”

You push yourself up on your forearms and push back into him, tossing your ass back into his mind-blowing, bed-shaking, orgasmic thrusts that make you see stars behind your eyelids. Ace’s dick strokes every part of your insides while his hands grip your hip and one of your tits, molding the globe of flesh and teasing the tight nipple between his fingers. “O-Oh, my God!” you moan, your voice bouncing off of the walls. “Yes, Ace, just like that! Fuck me just like that!”

“Like what?” Ace asks, a smile evident in his voice. “Like…this?” He rolls his hips in a way that glides against your G-spot, causing you to damn near scream in pleasure. You just about hit high notes that would put Mariah Carey’s career in the dirt as Ace loops a hand between your thighs to rub your clit. You keep grinding back into him, much to his enjoyment.

He loves watching you move, your body so enticing while you squeeze around him. “God, darlin’,” he groans. “I can’t get enough of these hips. You ride me so well. Can’t wait to see how you ride my cock.”

He leans down to whisper into your ear, still pounding your pussy like it’s his profession. “I bet you’d be so good at it. I bet you’d be my good little cowgirl, wouldn’t cha? Bet you’d make me cum deep inside this pussy.”

His tongue slips against your earlobe as he begins to suck on it. You loop an arm around his neck to bring him close to you, his sweat-sticky body pressed against yours as he ruts into you from behind.

When your orgasm begins to peak, you can’t stop it and you don’t want to. This feels too good.

“F-Fuck, Ace!” you gasp. “I’m gonna…gonna cum!” Ace hums in approval, moving harder and faster, frantically rubbing your clit with his thick fingers. “Do it,” he practically begs. “Cum for me. Give me what I need.”

When you cum, you cum hard. It is so intense that it takes you a minute to make any noise as the rush of pleasure hits you, but once it does, you let out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard yourself make as you gush all around Ace’s cock. He grunts as your pussy hugs him, squeezing him like a vice as you coat his shaft in your cum.

“Thatta girl,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You softly whimper in acknowledgment, gripping the sheets as you ride your orgasm wave.

Once your high fades, Ace quickly pulls out as if you’ve burned him with your pussy, desperate to not cum yet. “Shit,” he hisses. “Look at how messy you made me, baby. You’ve gotta clean it up now.” He sticks his cock, shining in your juices, in your face, a lust-filled expression on his face.

The orgasm has done something to you, turning you into an insatiable, needy little slut. Suddenly feral and in need of him, you swallow his cock and slurp up all of your cum, even taking his balls in your mouth when you can. But when you’re too busy gagging all over his dick, you massage them in one hand with the other plays with his pierced nipples. Ace is enjoying himself immensely. He can’t believe his luck having such a beautiful woman in his bed, let alone a celebrity, sucking him off and teasing his overly-sensitive nipples.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he moans, tilting his head back at the feeling. “You keep doin’ all of that and I’ll cum. I still need more of ya.”

You hum in agreement, slipping off of his cock with a soft pop that your wet lips make. You look up at him through hooded eyes, making him so hard that it becomes painful. “If ya still want another round, I want you to ride me,” he huskily requests. “I wanna see this body bounce on top of me while I finally bust inside of you.”

You shiver, immediately soaked from the idea. Wordlessly, you stand on your knees and brace your hands on his chest before shoving him down onto the bed. He laughs, the sound making your heart melt, but it’s quickly replaced with a desperate moan as you climb on top of him, mounting him like he’s your own personal Stallion…or dildo. He doesn’t seem like he’d protest either.

But as you wrap a hand around his cock and bring it to meet your pussy, he stops you. “Wait, wait,” he protests. You stop, confused, until he takes his hat off and places it on your head. “Now ya look the part,” he comments, making you giggle. “Now ride me like a good little cowgirl.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You come down to take his cock inside of you, drawing a moan out of both of you once your tight, wet walls squeeze around him. Bracing your feet on the bed as you straddle Ace, you place one hand on his chest and slowly begin bouncing, becoming used to how he feels in this position. He is so deep, touching every single part of you, stretching you out more than he did in doggy.

“O-Oh, my Go-o-od!” you gasp, each word punctuated by your bouncing. You tilt your head up to the ceiling as you roll your hips, grinding your clit against Ace’s pelvis. The pleasure makes you throw your head back and your eyes flutter closed, each delicious burst of pleasure taking you on a ride.

Ace is enjoying his ride as well, watching you bounce that perfect pussy and body on his cock. “That’s it, babydoll,” he groans, gripping your hips. Y

ou ride him like he’s stolen, your gorgeous titties jiggling in his face. His hat perched on top of your pretty head is just as yummy–it’s the cherry on top for him. Watching you makes him want to make you yours; make it so no man, whether in the country or city, can ever have you again.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, staring up at your pretty face. All you let out is a pathetic whimper that gives him the urge to burst inside of you. “I know it feels good, darlin’, but I need your words. Tell me how that dick feels.” He begins to rub your clit with his thumb, causing you to let out a loud whine.

“S-so…so good!” you gasp, alternating between bouncing and rolling your hips, giving him more and more of that pussy every single time. “You feel so good, Ace!”

Suddenly feral, the cowboy leans up and swoops you into his arms, pistoning his hips up into yours from below. “Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had,” he pants in your ear, his voice low and tantalizing. “Tell me you love it.”

You’ll tell him whatever he wants to hear if it means he’ll keep doing this to you. “You’re the best, Ace!” you sob, gripping his shoulders. “You’re the fucking best I’ve ever had! I love the way you fuck me!”

That’s all it takes for the cowboy to keep fucking you stupid as you grind into him from above. The both of you fuck each other like you need it, the bed shaking and your moans echoing throughout the room. You kiss sloppily and messily, your tongues swirling with one another as your pussy squelches and gushes around his cock.

When your second orgasm comes, all you can do is let out a sob, your nails skating down Ace’s back and skull tattoo. He gets his nut just after you, letting out a loud “Oh, fuck!” along with a series of porn-worthy moans as he explodes inside of you. You gasp, feeling a gush of warmth flow into you as you cream all over his cock, your cum sliding down his balls that have completely emptied themselves inside of you.

The high is just as intense and as blissful as the first time, especially since Ace is joining you on this ride this time. You both share an exhausted, messy kiss before he exhaustedly falls back against the pillows, breathing heavily. You roll off him and fall beside him on the bed, his hat still on your head.

For a while, you both lie there in silence, panting heavily from the activity. The only sounds in the room are the birds chirping and the horses neighing outside, giving a very peaceful atmosphere after some good sex. Finally, Ace turns over to look at you. “So how ‘bout that dinner date?” he asks.

You burst into laughter and he follows, the both of you in a fit of giggles that feels just as freeing as the sex. “I could use a steak,” you reply once you calm yourself. “My treat.” Ace makes a face like he’s offended by the very idea. “My treat,” he corrects you. “You deserve it for that ride ya just gave me. You certainly knocked my boots.”

He wraps those big arms around you that you happily snuggle into, wrapping your own around him too. You feel so content and safe despite only knowing the man for two days. Maybe this is a sign. “Mine too,” you sigh. “Oh, and just so you know, I’m familiar with one of the names tatted on your wrists: Luffy. I know him.”

You watch as realization dawns in Ace’s eyes at the mention of his brother. “Oh, yeah?” he asks, excited. “You know my kid brother?” You nod, giggling. “He’s told me about you. Said your the brother that’s a cowboy, but I just forgot.”

He lets out a loud, belly laugh that makes you laugh with him, adoring his childlike personality. “Wow, what a small world!” he chuckles. “I guess in a way, maybe we were meant to meet each other.”

Though you wouldn’t have admitted it first, you think the same thing. If this blooms into something more, it could work. You could take the train to see him and vice versa…if he is interested. It isn’t just the sex you enjoy. You also enjoy talking to Ace. You love how he pushes you to try new things and is so in tune with your feelings. Most men aren’t, so whoever raised him did it well.

You also think about how great of a plot this would be in a book…and just like that, you have the sudden inspiration to write a new series filled with action, mystery, thrills, romance, and a lot of steamy sex with a cowboy who may or may not be inspired by the one you’re currently curled up with.

You look up at Ace, your muse, dreamboat, and possible summer-fling-to-not, with the same adoring, satisfied smile he gazes down at you with. “So steak dinner it is then?” he murmurs into your neck.

You nod, snuggling into his shoulder. “After round two,” you purr. “And a snuggle and shower….in either order.” You beam up at him, a hunger for him rising in the pit of your stomach. You don’t want to waste a minute of this week out in the countryside.

Evidently, neither does Ace judging by his hardening dick against your thigh. He takes your wrist and kisses it before rolling on top of you and grinding himself against your core.

“I can do all of that, little darlin’,” he murmurs. “You can even wear my boots this time.”

THE END.

#ace d portgas #ace x black reader #ace x reader #ace x you #my baby daddy fr #one piece smut #one piece x y/n #black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #black writers #cowboy!geto

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hopesworlld · 9 months ago

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belly button piercing with sam monroe !

( swearing, mentions of smoking/weed, finger sucking, mentions of cum )

you had been wanting a belly button piercing for a while but had always held off due to the fear of it hurting, but after smoking with a couple of your friends they had convinced you just to go for it. so here you were heading into sam’s room with a coy smile twisted on your lips, hoodie zipped up.

“sammy,” you called, the boy tilted his head upwards shutting his phone off and grinning widely at you.

“hey, baby,” he said softly, “didn’t know you were stopping by today,” he hums as you walk across the room and crawl onto sam’s bed, dragging yourself up so that you were planted on his lap, tilting your head with a silly smile. “oh, you’re fucked,” he snickered, cupping your cheek, running his thumb along your plush bottom lip.

“nu uh,” you giggled, suckling his thumb between your lips, swirling your tongue around the tip, sam’s eye’s darkened and one of his hands fell to your hips, clutching it tightly.

“oh, you’re not fucked?” sam asked, sinking his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing it against your tongue, a small whimper escaping you. “look at those eyes, baby, all glassy and red, i hope your fucked or it looks like someone’s been playing with you,” he said thoughtfully, hand trailing along to the waist band of your leggings, dipping his fingers down and brushing against the string of your thong.

“huh…” you blinked lazily, mind a little fuzzy from the weed and the feeling of sam’s thumb in your mouth, “no, sammy, no one’s touched me,” you say, words coming out muffled and slurred around the intrusion between your lips.

“yea?” sam whispered, “no one else gets to touch you but me, huh, baby?” he asked with a smile.

“no,” you agreed quickly, “well…” you trailed off and sam paused, slowly dragging his hand from your leggings, hands gripping tightly at the waistband, his thumb slipping from your mouth. “not like that,” you rushed quickly, hands falling to his face, cupping his face hurriedly. “i have a surprise for you,”

“what’s that?” he asked curiously, eyes fixed on your lips that trembled worriedly, you could still see the tension in his shoulders from the terrible way you had started this.

“i didn’t… nothing happened, i just…” you huffed quietly, sucking in a breath and looking down at sam. “i don’t…”

“baby’s all lost on her words,” sam grinned, “look at you, you’re all flushed,”

“you’re not mad at me?” you asked him quickly and sam smiled softly.

“no, baby, of course not i was just teasing you,” he said, leaning up and planting a kiss on your lips, sucking your bottom lip lightly, teeth grazing along the delicate skin there. you whined when he pulled back, giving you one more kiss and laying back. “don’t leave me waiting, honey, what do you have to show me,” he asked and you blinked before nodding.

“okay, i hope you like it,” you say before grabbing the zipper of your hoodie and tugging it down, beneath you were only wearing your crop top that left a clear view of your stomach, and there on your belly button was a pair of glistening gems.

“oh,” sam murmured, hands sliding up on your hips, holding you tightly, “oh, baby,” he said, shifting you so that you were laying back on the bed, he climbed over you so that he was now on top, his gaze fixed on your abdomen.

“you like it?” you asked breathlessly, looking down at him through your lashes.

“baby, i fucking love it,” sam breathed against your stomach, “how long is it until it’s healed?” he questioned curiously.

“a while actually,” you told him, “the woman said it can take up to a year,”

“a year?” sam asked with wide eyes, eyes falling back to the pretty jewellery on your belly bottom, grazing his fingers closer to the flushed red skin there.

“yea,” you said with a small giggle, “but the soreness will be probably gone in a couple weeks,” you tell him and sam nodded, kissing your stomach gently.

“gonna look so pretty when i paint it with my cum,”

“sam!” you cried with a shocked laugh and the boy simply grinned.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

two drabbles in a row with no smut? who am i?

anyways keeping the hoe’s fed while i work on my longer fics, if you want to have any control over that go check out my poll !

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zepskies · 9 months ago

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Wake Me Up - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Thank you so much for your lovely responses on Part 1! Last week's angst was very physical. Now let's get into emotional...

Song Inspo: “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers.

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, PSTD, hurt/comfort, medical trauma and injuries…and a bit of Nurse Benjamin? lol

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 2: “All in Your Eyes”

At first, it was all shapeless color.

It felt like a small eternity before your vision cleared, and you dimly became aware of being in a hospital room. Your steady heartbeat clipped away on the monitor.

You had an IV in your hand and wires suction-cupped to your chest. Your raggedy clothes had been replaced with a blue paper gown, hidden under the blankets keeping you warm.

It was a slow process, and it hurt, but you managed to turn your head. You saw a man sitting in the corner with a laptop balanced on his lap. He typed with two fingers at a time, which reminded you of your grandfather. His brown hair fell over his furrowed brows, but his beard was well-trimmed.

His head soon rose, possibly feeling the weight of your gaze. His eyes widened a fraction, and he hastily closed the laptop and set it down on his seat before he went to you. You frowned when he came to sit at your bedside, and even touched your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. “How’re you feeling?”

You didn’t have the energy to lean away from his hand, but you did give him a look of weary confusion.

“I…I don’t…who are you?” you asked.

His green eyes went blank for a moment. His hand fell from your cheek.

Then he chuckled in disbelief.

“Eyes are barely open, and already you’re fucking around,” he said.

That confused you even more. You were saved from answering, however, when there came a knock at the door. A blonde young woman peeked in. She brightened with a shocked, but happy smile when she saw you were awake.

“Hey! Oh my God, you’re awake,” she whispered in excitement. She went to your bed on the other side and picked up your hand. It took you a moment to remember her name, but you did recognize her.

“A-Annie? What…what happened?” you asked. You didn’t recognize the roughness in your own voice.

Annie shared a sobered look with the man sitting beside you, and she looked down at you again.

“Oh, hun. What do you remember?” she said.

You tried hard to think…but you couldn’t. It was all blurry and muddled in your mind.

Then, it was incredibly painful. A sharp, piercing pain that permeated through your skull and rattled down your spine, waking up the rest of your body in the worst of ways.

You whimpered, and the monitor began to beep more incessantly as your heart rate began to climb. You uttered a cry of pain while you held your aching head. You felt the gauze wrapped across your temples, forehead, and under your chin, half-covering your face.

The man turned to Annie with an angry frown.

“Get the goddamn doctor!” he snapped. But he reached for your closest hand and held it gently. He met your tearful eyes. Part of him didn’t know quite how to comfort you though. His eyes flit over your pained face, the way you were gripping your head with one hand.

He brushed his thumb over the one he held.

“…It’s okay, I got you,” he said eventually. “Just breathe.”

You couldn’t respond. There was too much pain, too much confusion. The last thing you saw was the worry in his eyes, before your head fell back against your pillow.

Your world faded away once again.

Dr. Helen Jeong, the neurologist Grace hired specifically to attend you, had been with you for a while. When she came out, Ben, Annie, your mother Marie, your sister Louisa, and the rest of the team (except for Butcher) were in the waiting room. All of them wanted to hear how you were doing, as well as the doctor’s prognosis.

Ben stood with his arms crossed, and Marie and Louisa followed suit. Technically, Marie was your next of kin, considering you and Ben weren’t married. She was close to tears again, but Louisa was supporting her.

“She’ll need a few more tests to confirm, but it looks like dissociative amnesia,” said Dr. Jeong. “It could be selective. Meaning, she remembers parts of her life, but not others, specifically tied to the past few days and the past year.”

“And me,” said Ben. He was frowning angrily. “Why doesn’t she remember me?”

She gave him a patient look.

“Her skull is fractured, but she’s also gone through an emotional trauma, as well as a physical one," she said. "The memories she’s lost are likely linked to that trauma, and so, her brain is trying to block out anything related to that painful time. It’s the body’s way of coping.”

Somehow, that explanation didn’t make it any better. Something dark and unfamiliar had been churning in Ben’s gut for days, but now he was forced to reckon with it.

It was guilt, and it was eating at his insides, clawing up to his throat. He covered it up with a hot layer of anger.

“Aside from time to heal from her injuries, it’s important that she be taken care of in a familiar, low-stress environment,” said Dr. Jeong. She aimed that last bit at Ben.

“How long until she’s better?” Louisa asked. “Will her memories come back at all?”

Ben shot her a dark look for even asking that question, but the doctor bobbed her head.

“It may take a while. Weeks, or even months, but have patience with her. As she heals, and with therapy, her memories should come back eventually,” she said. She gave Ben in particular a more reassuring glance.

He wasn’t interested in being reassured. He wanted results.

The doctor moved on so she could schedule an MRI for you, among other tests. Annie went over and laid a tentative hand on Ben’s arm. He glared at her touch and slid his gaze over to her.

“Look, we’re here for her…and for you,” she said. Even though she withdrew her hand, she looked sincere. “Whatever she needs, just let us know.”

Hughie was just behind her with a sympathetic look of agreement. M.M., Kimiko, and Frenchie were quietly supportive, if somber. You’d recognized Annie and Hughie earlier, but the others were strangers to you as well—likely because you’d met the other two at Supe Affairs, before you took on one fateful mission that would lead you to Ben. And him to you.

He let out a breath and gave Annie a minimal nod.

She smiled a little, and she and Hughie went back into your room to say goodbye for now. They promised to come back and visit, along with the others.

Meanwhile, Marie and Louisa were talking quietly. Ben’s ears perked up to it.

“I think she should come stay with you, Mom, until she’s better,” Louisa said.

When Ben heard that, he approached them. His darker frown was back in place.

“She’s coming home with me,” he said, in a tone that boded no argument. He should have remembered that your sister was too much like you sometimes. Fucking stubborn.

“If she doesn’t know you, she’s not going to be comfortable with you,” Louisa pointed out.

Marie gave her daughter a look, one that said she could’ve had a little more tact there.

“The best way for her to get her memories back is for her to stay with me, in a familiar place. In her home,” Ben said, his voice terse and shoulders tense.

“But trying to remember is hurting her,” Louisa said. “She needs to heal from her injuries first. And oh, how about this? No one will even tell us how the hell this happened in the first place!”

Ben’s frown deepened. Your younger sister had been warming up to him a bit more since the Christmas holiday you all spent together last month, but it seemed she was just as protective of you as you were of her.

Fine. Ben understood it, but Louisa was just a college student, not even old enough to order a fucking beer. He wouldn’t have this little girl telling him what was best for you.

However, as he glanced at your mother, he also couldn’t bring himself to answer Louisa’s non-question. At least, not with the whole truth.

“It was retaliation,” he replied, “for a supe we put away a while back.”

Louisa sighed heavily. Her lower lip trembled as tears welled up in her eyes, and she bit her lip and shared a look with her mother.

“Why did they want her though?” Louisa asked Ben, sniffling.

He held the tremor of unease deep inside, and he thought fast.

“He had connections in the CIA. She was the only part of the team here at the base, so he singled her out,” he said. The lie rolled off his tongue without much effort, even though part of it did add to the dark churning in his gut. His gaze fell beyond them.

“All of this is a moot fucking point,” he said. “All she needs is my blood, and she’ll be just fine.”

Louisa wiped under her wet eyes and scoffed.

“You think she’s going to accept a blood transfusion from a supe? Look, I’m sorry, but she’s not the person you know right now—”

“All the more reason to fix this sack of bullshit,” Ben snapped.

He turned on his heel and headed for your room. By now, Annie, Hughie, and the rest of them had cleared out. You were dozing, it seemed, but your eyes opened when Ben thundered in, followed closely by Marie and Louisa.

“Ben,” Louisa warned.

“What’s going on?” you asked weakly.

Ben shook his head and went to your bedside. He took up your hand and didn’t notice (or ignored) the apprehension in your eyes.

“Look, I know you think you don’t know me. You’ve been through…a lot,” he said. He paused when he considered the hell you’d probably endured the past few days. His gut began to roil again, but he pushed forward.

“Last year, you got hurt. Bad enough that you were going to need surgery,” he explained. “But I gave you some of my blood, and you healed right up. I’m gonna do the same for you now.”

You saw that he was serious, that he probably believed he was telling the truth. You just didn’t know this man—this supe that they’d told you was actually Soldier Boy. Instinctively you tried to pull your hand out of his grasp.

“No thanks,” you said, trying to hide your nerves. “I think I’m good healing on my own.”

Ben frowned. He held your hand a fraction tighter.

“Look—”

“No, you look,” you said in frustration, and a frisson of wariness. “I know you think I’m your…girlfriend or life partner or whatever the fuck, but I don’t know you.”

Just as the words left your lips, something sharp and painful flashed in your skull.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

“But you do. You fucking know me!” Ben insisted. His grip on your hand tightened enough to make you flinch, a whimper sounding in your throat.

“Hey!” Louisa snapped at him.

“Ben,” Marie said, more gently, but not without urgency.

He realized what he was doing, and he forced himself to relax his grip. He watched you take your hand back and look at him like he was some kind of animal. He also realized then that you were scared. Scared of him.

Fuck me…

By degrees, he relented. Heaving a sigh, he carded a hand through his hair and gave a short nod.

“All right,” he said, and he met your eyes. “I’m, uh…I’m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He held your wary gaze until you nodded in acceptance. He took in your face, bruised, and still stained from the blood that had been cleaned away with antiseptic wipes. Your neck, arms, and chest were the same; your other wounds were stitched up and bandaged.

According to the first doctor who evaluated you after you came out of emergency surgery (Ben had already forgotten the broad’s name), you’d also sustained broken ribs and a fractured cheekbone, aside from your other injuries.

“And…what about the rest of it?” Ben had asked. He spoke alone with the doctor, just outside your room. Marie and Louisa were in there with you now in the ICU.

The doctor shook her head, offering a look of professional reassurance.

“No. There’s no evidence of sexual trauma,” she said.

Ben took that information in with a nod. Inside his chest, however, the clenching around his heart eased a great deal.

But even with that relief, just your battered face, and the way you were looking at him now…it was all too much.

Ben ignored the voice deep inside that said this was what he deserved.

He stood up, and he left you with your family.

While Louisa had to go back to her dorm for school tomorrow, Marie stayed with you that night. You zoned in and out while New Girl played on the little TV on the wall.

Marie caressed your hair gently, though she was mindful of the way most of your head was wrapped after surgery to fix your skull. If only they could fix your mind too.

“That man…” you trailed. “Um, Soldier Boy. All that crazy shit he was saying…was it true?”

Marie gave you a look for your use of language, but she nodded gravely, and with sadness.

“Yes, Ben was telling the truth,” she said. “He’s the one who saved you. Believe me, he’s very upset that you’re hurt like this.”

You tried to process that as you frowned in contemplation. He’d certainly been…pushy. And determined, like he could actually heal you.

It didn’t matter though. You weren’t about to let a supe feed you his blood like a damn vampire, or whatever Compound V-tainted shit he tried to give you. You weren’t Bella Swan, and this wasn’t fucking Twilight.

“Ben” was rough, and demanding, and gave off a real assholish exterior. Just before he left, though, you also saw his upset. He had taken in your injuries like he was angry, just at the state of you. Like he was mad that he hadn’t been able to prevent it.

“I guess he went home,” you said. Marie shook her head.

“No, he’s still here.”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

“He’s in the waiting room downstairs,” she explained. “Grace made sure he had a special pass so he could stay with us in the hospital, just in case…”

“In case of what?” you asked. Marie smiled and continued to brush your hair back.

“In case we need him,” she said. “For protection, he said.”

Her eyes shone with sadness again, like she knew something you didn’t. It made you suspicious, but you were surprised that he was still here, despite what you’d said to him.

…Huh, you thought.

Thanks to the (fucking awesome) power of morphine, you fell asleep shortly after.

A week later, you were still recovering in the hospital. The shitty fact of it was, between the medication for your injuries and the risk of pulling your stitches, you could barely move. Dr. Burke was pleased that you at least had feeling in your extremities. One of her main concerns for you had been mobility issues.

Well, you still had to use a bedpan, and sometimes you missed your mouth when you ate pudding, but at least you could feel your feet.

Marie took the whole work week off from her job in order to stay with you. Louisa visited you every day she could after her classes, but she had a recital coming up, and you didn’t want her to lose focus. You encouraged her to only come if and when she finished getting in all the practice she needed.

And Ben…well, he came often. Mostly when you were sleeping. And every time you woke up, you saw something new from him: a beautiful bouquet of flowers, imported chocolates, a snack from the deli down the street from the hospital, a good breakfast from your favorite café in the city, or even several orders of takeout for you, him, and Marie.

You also noticed how your mother doted on him almost as much as she did on you, offering to grab him cups of coffee, or laying her blanket over him while he napped in the big lounge chair close to your bedside.

The guy just refused to leave. So you didn’t say anything about it. You just watched him whenever you were lucid enough to notice he was there.

As it became easier for you to stay awake, and to observe his quiet, but solid presence, the more your wariness of Ben bled away.

You soon began to realize that you were curious about him. If you really had been with him before, how had you two met? And what had made you get with a supe, let alone the original supe Vought ever introduced to America?

You considered him now while he dozed in that uncomfortable looking chair. His brown locks had once again swept over his brows, almost obscuring his eyes. Part of you itched to lean over and brush it all away from his face. If only you were close enough.

You could admit, if just within the safety of your mind, that he was a damn fine specimen of a man. Between the cut of that bearded jaw, the broadness of his arms and chest, the length of those widespread legs…

“Keep staring at me and you’ll wear a damn hole in my face,” he muttered.

You inhaled sharply, and his eyes cracked open. A small smirk raised his lips in amusement. You smiled as well, more in embarrassment at being caught.

Ben let out a long breath and rolled the cracks out of his neck, confirming your assumption that the chair was even more uncomfortable than it looked. You felt a bit bad for him, that he was putting himself through all that for your sake…for someone who didn’t remember him.

He turned to you in askance. “How’re you holding up?”

You shrugged.

“Okay. Pain meds are finally kicking in, at least for the hour.”

He nodded, dragging a hand over his beard. He knew that you’d eaten lunch with your second dose of the day not too long ago.

“You still hungry?” he asked. “I don’t know how they could give you that shit. What was that, some poor fucking excuse for baby food?”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant,” you agreed, but the doctor had requested something you could easily digest, with all the medication you were on.

Ben shook his head and rocked onto his feet. He’d get you a candy bar or something. He knew Twix was your favorite.

“Um…Ben,” you said, halting his steps. He turned to you with a raise of his brows. You pointed over to the folded quilt at the foot of your bed. Your mom had brought it from home.

“Would you give me that blanket over there?” you asked. “I’m a little cold.”

You’d get it yourself, but it pained you to fold yourself over. Ben was gracious enough to go over and get the blanket for you. He even opened it up and covered your body up to your chest. His face was stoic, more or less, but there was care in his hands. You found yourself staring up at his face. He leaned against the guardrail of your bed and met your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said, in a near whisper. “And, um…my water?”

You pointed to the plastic cup and jug on the rolling tray to his left. He shot you a look, but he did as you asked, pouring some fresh water into the cup and handing it to you. His fingers brushed with yours on the pass, but you tried not to focus on the warmth of his hand. Instead, you took a few sips from the cup and handed it back to him. He set it back on the tray for you.

“What’d I do to get the hot nurse?” you couldn’t help but tease.

Ben’s brows rose again, somewhat incredulous this time. Then, he was unable to restrain a cocky smile.

“Hmm, I’m a let that one go, since you’re laid up,” he said.

His gaze roamed your face. He noted that your purplish bruises were easing up somewhat, to green and yellow. Your lacerations were beginning to heal. And before, where there had been wariness, he now saw curiosity in your eyes.

“Can I ask you something?” you drew enough courage to ask.

His lips twitching to one corner, he lowered the guardrail and sat down on the edge of your bed. He gave you an expectant look. You sucked in a breath to steel yourself.

“How long have we been a…a thing?” you asked, pointing between the both of you.

Ben quirked a brow. “About a year now.”

You nodded, though your eyes were wide in surprise. You actually began to blush.

Ben smirked. He reached for the phone in his pocket and handed it over to you, after scrolling to find his photo album.

“Does that look like we don’t know each other?” he asked.

You shot him a wry glance, but you took the phone and started looking through the album. Many of the pictures that featured both of you looked like ones you’d taken, just from the angle. One picture was rather innocuous of him sitting on a couch, presumably watching TV, while you rested on his shoulder and smiled at the camera. His arm was wrapped around your waist.

Another was of you glaring at him in surprise, mid-bite on a large chili hot dog. He wore a Cheshire grin while leaning in close to your cheek.

There were several more than you flipped through, but each one made you sting with the unfamiliarity of it all. You couldn’t remember any of this, but it was undeniable what you and Ben were to each other.

Then you happened on a picture of just you, fresh out of the shower with a towel barely wrapped around you. You looked annoyed, but by the evidence of your smile, also amused that he’d surprised you with the picture.

Your blush intensified as you scrolled past that one. Then you encountered more pictures of you and him, each position filled with more bare flesh—and even more compromising than the next. You refused to press play on any of the videos.

“Oookay,” you said with a full flush heating your face and neck, and the tips of your ears. You minimized the album and all but tossed the phone back at him.

Ben’s smirk had deepened the longer he watched you peruse through the pictures. Now he chuckled and pocketed his phone.

“Like what you see, huh, sweetheart?” he couldn’t help but tease.

Frankly, you were adorable, getting all embarrassed, crossing your arms and pulling the blanket up to your neck. You shot him a look of warning.

What, you could eye him like a honey-glazed ham, flirt with him even, but you couldn’t take a little on the return side?

Ben chuckled some more and reached for your hand, to uncross your arms. You allowed it with a thinly veiled wariness. You weren’t afraid of him…anymore. But that didn’t mean there was no reason to keep your guard up around this guy.

Meanwhile, Ben actually struggled to figure out what he wanted to say to you. Something that wouldn’t put you off, or come off too strong. This was just too fucking strange…

He met your gaze with a heavy exhale.

“You’re going to be let out of here soon enough,” he said. “You don’t need to be scared of me. I’m not gonna hurt you. Matter of fact, I saved you.”

I’ve saved you more times than I can fucking count at this point, he thought wryly.

You stared back at him in contemplation. He sensed you were listening, really trying to hear him.

“You do care about me, don’t you?” you asked, almost in wonder.

Ben didn’t answer you right away. Your question took him off guard a bit, but he also found himself meeting your gaze.

“I think that’s pretty fucking obvious,” he said. You frowned at him then.

“Not entirely," you said. "Not if you don’t say it, Romeo.”

Ben stilled. Against his will, he remembered the last real words he’d said to you before this nightmare began.

“I love you,” you’d said. He could hear your pretty smile through the phone. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Mhmm,” Ben replied, smiling himself. “I’ll see you soon, baby doll.”

He could also hear your disappointment, there in your brief silence.

“Come on, say it,” you implored.

Ben restrained a sigh. He cast a subtle look from the corner of his eye, watching Butcher, M.M., and Kimiko loading the car with their weapons, along with the supe they’d captured. They were all too close for comfort.

“Say what?” Ben asked, feigning ignorance. Your sigh reached him, stinging him.

“You know exactly what,” you replied.

He knew what you wanted, but he still didn’t give it to you.

He didn’t allow himself.

Now, he brushed a thumb over the back of your hand, and he sighed. Sometimes, regret weighed just as bad as guilt, even if you couldn’t admit to either one.

His gaze now slid up to yours.

“Well, I do… I care about you,” Ben said.

You’re fucking mine, his selfish heart added. He just didn’t think you’d react well to that admission.

“What do you say about coming home with me?” he asked. “I think being around all your stuff will help you…get better.”

You debated his proposition, and you realized his idea made sense. If this man was really your boyfriend, and you’d been living with him for a year…then maybe you could trust him.

Just not entirely.

“I want my mom to come too,” you said.

Ben smiled. It was a small, but true smile, and it took you by surprise. But you only felt your face getting warm again when he pressed his lips to the back of your hand.

“Yeah, she can come help me take care of you, ‘til you’re feeling better,�� he said.

You regarded him for a moment, still wondering if you could trust him. The longer you stared into his eyes, the more you found yourself relenting.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll go with you.”

After you were finally discharged from the hospital, Ben drove you and Marie out of the city to his apartment in Scarsdale. Technically, it was your apartment too.

He promised that it had been fitted with a much better security system, now with motion cameras around the apartment, and sensors on the roof. (You didn’t know that Hughie would have to explain to Ben how all that shit worked on his phone.)

The apartment itself was familiar to you, but it felt fuzzy in your mind. Like you had a dream of being here, living a life that wasn’t yours.

Thanks to the stairs, Ben left your bags at the foot of them, before he carefully maneuvered you into his arms without pressing on any of your stitches. You sucked in a shaky breath and held onto his shoulders, squeezing your eyes tight for a moment as the movement jostled your sense of equilibrium.

“You okay?” he asked. You blinked your eyes open and met his. His brows were furrowed in concern, but it was the intensity of his eyes that stole your breath. Part of you wanted to smile, half out of nerves, but you tempered it.

“Peachy,” you replied.

His lips twitched. He then moved carefully up the stairs.

He set you back down on your feet once he reached the top, at your insistence. Marie came in from behind with her suitcase and your forearm crutch, but Ben still kept a supporting arm around your waist.

“I’ve got it,” you told him, a bit nervous and hasty to escape his hold.

He released you, and reluctantly watched you head further into the apartment on your own two feet (and crutch). You wandered into each room like you were looking for a damn portal into Narnia.

It was hard for Ben to watch you like this. With a sigh, he went back downstairs to grab the rest of your things. He set them down in the living room while you ambled off into the guest room. Marie touched his arm in comfort.

“It’ll be okay, honey,” she said.

She’d developed a soft spot for Ben not too long after meeting him. And though he’d never admitted it, the sentiment was reciprocated.

He didn’t answer her, but after a moment, he nodded. She rubbed his arm with a faint smile and went to check on you.

Marie soon found you in the office you and Ben shared. It didn’t look like he used this room often, while your desk was covered in papers and files. It did, however, smell like his cologne in here.

Or, well, the scent was masculine and woodsy—like sandalwood and spice (and a hint of weed, as evidenced from the ashtray on his desk). You had to assume the scent belonged to him, even though you didn’t think he’d worn cologne at all in the hospital. Or maybe you just inherently recognized it as his.

Huh. Smell is the strongest sense, you mused to yourself.

The thought of you remembering anything at all from what you’d lost had you the slightest bit excited, and nervous. Dr. Jeong said you’d been through a terrible trauma. The evidence of it now littered your body and had nearly broken you. So you were fairly certain that there were things you didn’t want to remember.

The touch of your mother’s hand on your shoulder had you jolting. You breathed in relief when you saw her. Her eyes widened and she held up placating hands.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she said. “You okay?”

You nodded, though you continued to take in your surroundings with a small frown. She helped you sit in one of the office chairs, as your strength was already waning.

“It seems like everything he said was true. It’s just…it’s a lot,” you said.

“Of course it is,” said Marie. “But if it helps, you seemed very happy here. You were just glowing all night with him at the Christmas party.”

Great, yet another event that was entirely blank in your mind. If you couldn’t remember celebrating your favorite holiday, then what was the point? You huffed.

“I just find it hard to believe that I’d end up with a supe,” you admitted. You worked at Supe Affairs for God’s sake.

Marie only laughed and rubbed your back.

“Well, you found a good one,” she said.

A good one, huh? you shook your head in true wonder.

Now that was food for thought.

When you first arrived, Ben had led you to the master bedroom and said it was your room. So why the fuck was he climbing into bed with you?

“Excuse me,” you frowned at him, drawing the blankets closer over your body. You only had on a large shirt over your underwear. It was how you preferred to dress for bed, and it was easier than pulling a pair of shorts over the healing scars on your legs.

Ben had on a gray shirt and some plaid pajama pants. He’d shucked off his old man loafers before making the right side of the bed dip with his weight. He raised a brow at you.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked.

“Going to bed, sweetheart. Been a long fucking week,” he retorted.

“I thought this was my bed,” you said.

“It’s our bed,” he corrected. He grabbed the edge of the blanket to pull some of it towards him, but you pulled it tighter against you.

“Look,” you said flatly. “I agreed to come here and stay with you, but I didn’t agree to this kind of close quarters.”

Ben stared back at you in annoyance and willed his temper not to snap. So fucking what if he shared the bed with you? It was a California king. The odds of your bodies even touching were slim to none.

However, he saw that stubborn look in your eyes. It was all too familiar.

Christ on a cross. He forgot how goddamn difficult you were in the beginning.

And really, you two were at the beginning, all over again. He’d gotten you to trust him, slightly, but he knew the rest would take time.

Is this really fucking worth it? came an insidious thought deep inside. The selfish part that had ruled for most of his life.

Then, he spied the silver Rolex on his nightstand—the one you’d gifted him for Christmas, along with the photo album that you’d put together for him. It included the only pictures he kept of his mother, and new ones you’d made with him. They were pictures you’d collected and captured of your life together so far.

With a deep sigh, Ben wordlessly got out of bed. He grabbed up his pillow and a throw blanket that had slid to the floor, and he made his way to the living room. Marie was taking up the only guest bedroom, so he supposed he was relegated to the couch in his own home. How the fuck did that happen?

He sat down heavily in the middle of the couch and had to take some deep breaths. His head slowly fell into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. With both hands, he tried to rub the exhaustion and frustration from his face.

There were words he couldn’t say. However, within the safety of his mind, he was forced to reckon with it.

This was his fault. He knew it, down to his bones.

It was all really his fucking fault.

He should’ve gotten you a protective security detail from the beginning. He just didn’t think anyone would have the balls to…

Ben breathed past the tightness in his chest that was once again clawing at his throat.

Well, this fucking blows like a cheap whore, he thought.

And as you might expect, he slept fitfully that night.

The next morning, you winced at the ache in your head that was now customary for you. You had practically drowned in this giant-ass bed, but the reality was, you’d barely slept. You just couldn’t get comfortable enough to stay asleep.

You didn’t know if it was because it was an unfamiliar place, or because you now had a lower dose of pain meds than you’d been given in the hospital, or if it was because there was just something missing here.

You sighed and hauled yourself out of bed to freshen up. Really, you should’ve waited for your mother or Ben to help you out of bed, but you weren’t used to being incapacitated like this. And even when you were down, it had been ingrained in you (through your father’s special brand of “parenting”) to play through the pain.

So you grabbed your crutch from beside the bed, and somehow you managed to make it to the bathroom by yourself.

After dressing in sweatpants, a bra, and a tank top, you padded out into the hall. Your mom was still sleeping, but you found Ben in the living room.

He was sprawled out across the couch. Half the covers had slipped off his body and pooled on the floor. Again, you tried not to admire the length and broadness of his form, and the way that shirt stretched across his chest and arms.

His arm was curled across his closed eyes, but he lowered it when he heard you approaching.

His eyes were a bit red and bleary. It didn’t look like he’d slept very well either. You felt bad for that, as you leaned on the back of the couch to greet him.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” you teased him a little. “You slept like shit out here, didn’t you?”

“What was your first damn clue?” he groused. You had a feeling he was grumpy in the morning, regardless of how well he slept.

“Okay, I’m sorry about that,” you said. Even though you had every right to sleep alone, you still felt bad for making him sleep out here. “How about I make us some coffee?”

He nodded with a grunt. You smiled and teetered only slightly on your way to the kitchen. Ben frowned as he realized it.

“You shouldn’t be walking around like that yet,” he called after you.

He forced himself to get off the couch, rolling to his feet. You shot him a stubborn look.

“I’m fine,” you said.

Ben’s frown deepened with annoyance.

…Right. Okay, you weren’t exactly fine.

You were still exhausted. Still felt like utter crap, as stiffness pulled at your muscles and pain at your stitches and broken ribs. And, oh yes, your head was still broken.

But, this was the most mobile you’d been in a few weeks. You were determined to do at least one normal, productive thing today. Even if it was just making coffee, then you were going to count that as a win.

By the time Ben joined you, the coffee was done percolating and you handed him a mug. He took a sip before he remembered to tell you…no cream.

He looked into the mug in wonder. You’d actually made his coffee with sugar, no cream. Just like he liked it.

Noticing the look on his face, you paused.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot to ask how you take it.”

“No,” he said, sitting across from you at the breakfast bar. “It’s just right.”

You blinked in surprise, but then you shrugged and sipped at your own cup of coffee, which had both cream and sugar. While you were preoccupied with brainstorming where to order in for breakfast, Ben allowed himself to smile a little.

You were in there, somewhere.

He just needed to help you come out.

AN: See? I promise, there's hope. 💚

(But there's also still drama ahead...)

Next Time:

“We’re not gonna have this discussion again. You need to fucking eat,” he said. “I could feed you, though I promise you’re not gonna like it.”

His surly, frowning face was annoying you. His deep voice was annoying you. His tall, ridiculous wall-of-man body in your line of vision was annoying you, clothed in a rumpled shirt and the sweatpants he’d slept in.

Everything about him annoyed you right now.

But that could also have something to do with the pounding ache in the back of your skull, radiating forward and between your eyes.

“Bro, I’m on like, three kinds of medication,” you replied in weary irritation. “With what appetite do you expect me to eat?”

Bro? His eyebrow twitched.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD/Series Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

375 notes · View notes

shadowdaddies · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! Can you do an Azriel x fem!Illyrian!tall!reader where they are mates and the bond snapped for her but not for him yet and she doesn’t say anything because of his thing with Elain. They just stay friends. They are spies together and go on a mission and something happens where they have a fight and he leaves her to do the mission alone and she ends up getting kidnapped and tortured. By the time the bat boys find her, her wings had been burned and healed over so they are covered in scars and she was clipped so she can never fly again. And maybe the reader never says Azriel’s name even after centuries of being friends. Just calls him by nicknames but when she’s being tortured that all she’s calling. Ugh my heart. Long request, very angsty with hurt and comfort but a happy ending

I teared up a little bit writing this. What a beautiful request, thank you for sending it in and for being patient through the holidays as I got to it. 💜

In Every Lifetime

Azriel x Reader angst to fluff

Warnings: explicit torture, blood, mentions of death, etc

Your shriek pierced through the air, drowning out the sound of Hybern’s naga-hound as its claws shredded Azriel’s wings. Tears brimming in your eyes, an unknown force propelled you towards him as you cut the hound down with your sword, looking up in search of hazel eyes, only to find them locked on the beautiful Archeron sister in his arms.

The snap in your chest felt nothing like the electric warmth you’d heard of from others. Instead, it was as though someone tore each chord of your heartstrings from your chest as you watched Azriel - your mate - leave Hybern’s camp with Elain in his arms.

Caught up in the stresses and planning of battle, no one paid mind to your solemn mood. No one saw the single tear that tracked down your cheek when you watched Azriel give Truth-Teller to Elain.

When the war ended, your family assumed that your depression was a result of trauma from the battle, and you let them. Months passed in a daze as you forced your body to ignore the call it felt towards Azriel. Your name on his lips, the feel of his hand on your shoulder - any interaction with Azriel was too much for you to bear.

What your family did not miss was how you became a shell of your former self. Nearly a year had passed since the war ended, and you could not look Azriel in the eyes anymore. Couldn’t forget how they looked at Elain, her hand brushing his at family dinners. Your reclusion expanded to the rest of your family, unable to lift your eyes or meet them in conversation at dinners, the pure fear of what you might unleash if you saw Elain’s hand on your mate. You knew that you had no claim over Azriel. He was not even aware of the mating bond, and you couldn’t tell him so long as he cared for Elain.

Heart sinking exceptionally low in your chest, you pushed the food around on your plate as thoughts eddied in your mind, only to be interrupted by Rhysand clearing his throat.

You looked up, violet eyes watching you with poorly veiled concern as he addressed you again. “I said that I need you to join Azriel on a trip to the Autumn Court. Eris believes that Beron may be considering an alliance with Koschei. The two of you will travel there tomorrow night while Eris helps you sneak into Beron’s office for any intel.”

Teeth bit down harshly on your lip, fingers clenching around the fork in your hand as you fought the urge to look at Azriel. With a deep sigh, you managed to meet Rhys’s gaze as you gave him a curt nod.

“Tomorrow night. See you then, shadowsinger,” you nodded to Azriel, shooting up from your seat at the table and excusing yourself without another word.

The next day was spent preparing, mentally and physically, for your trip. You packed your bag with your regular weapons, arming your body for a stealth mission, arming your mind for mental torture. Azriel’s knock sounded on your door right on time, a shaky exhale leaving your lips before you turned the handle.

“Are you ready?” Azriel spoke, voice low and shaky as though he were afraid of your response. You simply nodded, eyes only able to meet the lower half of his face as you attempted a weak smile. With a small sigh, Azriel placed a hand on your arm. You flinched at the touch, missing the silver lining his hazel eyes at your reaction.

Darkness swirled around you, familiar shadows encompassing your forms as Azriel spirited you both away to the Autumn Court. You landed just outside the Forest House, following Azriel as he directed you behind him against the stone wall.

“We should receive a signal from Eris once it’s safe to enter. Just stay close to me, please,” he whispered, pleading in his tone as you once again refused to meet his gaze. With a silent nod, you trailed quietly behind Azriel in the grass, both of you keeping your wings tucked in tight as the shadows covered you from sight of the guards.

An odd, unfamiliar bird call sounded in the distance and you froze, instantly on alert. Azriel, though, visibly relaxed as a small smile graced his full lips. “That’s the signal,” he said, holding out his hand once more as you forced yourself to take it. The warmth of his touch sent your reeling, your only salvation being the onslaught of cold shadows whirling around you once more, carrying you directly to Beron’s office.

“Look around, see if there’s anything in or on Beron’s desk that might show he’s been in communication with Koschei or his allies. I’m going to stand watch outside, see if Eris is able to show with any new information,” Azriel spoke softly, his body tense as he shifted between you and the door.

You nodded dutifully, wasting no time in moving to the desk as you sifted through letters and ledgers. You froze, one parchment catching your eye. “Az, this mentions meeting on a lake-“

The cold steel of a blade at your throat took you by surprise, blood running cold as you took note of the three males surrounding you. The one with his blade to your throat gripped your wing harshly, crumpling the sensitive appendage as you crumpled in his hold with a whimper.

Azriel turned from where he stood in the doorway, jaw going slack as cobalt siphons glared in preparation to fight your captors. A dark laugh sounded behind you as the fragile bones of your wing snapped, shocking pain searing through you as your eyes shot to Azriel’s.

Your world tipped on its axis as you looked into your mate’s hazel eyes for the first time since the bond snapped for you, helplessly watching as Azriel stumbled back in shock and you vanished into thin air in front of him.

You awoke in a dark cellar, the stench of blood and excrement muddying your thoughts as you came to. Cold metal encircled your wrists, a slight tug confirming the heavy iron shackles that held your arms taught above your head.

The taste of iron filled your mouth, red blood coating your tongue as you swiped it along the gash on your busted lip. With a groan, you instinctively moved to stretch your wings, only to feel an excruciating pull against them.

You dared to look up, bile rising in your throat as you took in the sight of your wings nailed to the wall. Spread out on display for your enemies, bleeding from the holes in which iron pierced through them.

“Ah, it’s awake,” a male rumbled as he strode into the room with preternatural grace. You immediately recognized him as one of Lucien and Eris’s brothers - a Lord of the Autumn Court. The two other males you recognized from before flanked him on either side as they stalked towards your limp, bleeding form. “Now we begin.”

Days passed, questions you couldn’t possibly know the answers to being strung at you like arrows to a target. With each failed answer, a slash was delivered to your wings, the once beautiful source of pride for you now a tattered, mangled mess, blood trailing and staining the floor around you.

“I will ask you one last time, where is Gwydion?” the Autumn Lord asked, dagger flipping in his pale hand as amber eyes assessed you.

“Fuck you,” you spat, blood spewing from your mouth at the venomous male. His nostrils flared, anger rolling from him in waves as the hilt of his dagger clanged against the stone above your wing. Gripping your chin, a wicked smile spread across the male’s face as his arm dragged the blade down.

It cut through your wing like butter, your screams only slightly muffled by the tight grip he held on your chin. Azriel’s face flashed in your mind, your bond subconsciously reaching out to your mate as you realized you would never be together in this life.

Vision turned red, thoughts incoherent from the pain as words were uttered in your ear. You could hear the sick satisfaction in his voice as your torturer dragged the blade down your other wing, fully severing it from your body.

With a sickening sound, your wings slumped to the ground beside you only so briefly before they were lifted up and tossed like sacks of flour to the other males. “Pin them up, so it can have a view while it dies,” the red-haired male ordered before leaving the room.

You were soon alone, vision fading into your old wings in front of you, and out as you pictured Azriel’s face. Leaning back against the jagged stumps where your wings once were, you finally allowed the tears to fall. Perhaps it was selfish when your mate loved another, but all you wanted in your last moments was to feel those hands you’d avoided for months, to look in the depths of golden and green eyes and feel comforted knowing you would find him in the next life.

Your eyes drifted shut, the scent of cedar and mist filling your senses as you thanked the Mother for one last moment of comfort before your life ended.

Of course, you wouldn’t find peace in the afterlife either. Bright sun filtered into whatever room you were in, the space horribly similar to your home in Prythian as your head pounded in pain. You dared to open your eyes, and for the first time in nearly a year, smile.

Dark curls fell in front of hazel eyes as they focused on you, chilled mist and cedar giving you a dizzying satisfaction.

“I knew I’d find you in the next life,” you whispered, voice rasp in pain as you looked to Azriel sitting on the bed in front of you.

His brows dipped in confusion, head tilting as a scarred thumb caressed your cheek. “What next life?” he murmured, pain lacing his tone.

Your eyes fluttered shut once more, already tired from the effort of speaking. “In the last life, you loved Elain. But I knew I would find you in the next. I’m your mate in every world, and I’ll wait until you love me back, Az,” you admitted, half-asleep as you melted into the soft cushion under your head.

You heard a gasp, your eyes straining to open as Azriel looked down at you. Tears fell freely down his flushed cheeks, lip wobbling as his hands cupped your face. “I love you. In this life, and every other. I am so, so sorry that I failed you.”

Reaching a hand up to hold his, you savored the warmth against your cheek and smiled. “I will find you in every lifetime, Azriel. Be whatever you need.”

Leaning down, Azriel pressed his forehead to yours as he breathed, “You are all I need. In every lifetime.”

Patting the bed, you urged Azriel into the space next to you, falling asleep in your mate’s arms, filled with a deep peace unlike that which you had ever known.

Part Two

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