#the thing i fail to get across in this piece is all of the framing around esmerelda not returning quasimodo's affections | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thegnomelord · 1 year ago

Note

sof and cute hcs of eldritch reader trying to learn how to people (and maybe some raunchy ones about learning how human "mating" works) hhhhnnnngggh

Imagine Learning To Be Human

CW: SFW and NSFW First TF141 with SFW, then NSFW headcannons, sexting, masturbation, sex toys, morning after (no sex), sexual nudity, nonsexual nudity, implied poly141. GN reader, 500-900 words for each blurb, so somewhere around 5.5k words. Imma be quiet for the next week or so as I prepare for an exam so I'm feeding ya'll :Dd

Imagine SOAP— It's safe to say you're not the best with expressing what you think, especially not in this hollowed out corpse a tiny fraction of your consciousness inhabits. The more you try, the less human your attempts come out, only remembering that humans don't bend that way or don't do something after you've done it. You find yourself gravitating to Soap because he is the opposite of you, so open and responsive like an open book.

Imagine; observing Soap as he tries to piece together the fragments of a bomb, muttering curses under his breath as if the object had just called football 'soccer'. He's so concentrated he forgets the rest of the world exists, oblivious to you sitting across from him. But that's not a problem as it gives you a chance to watch and try to mimic what his face does; the slight hint of teeth as he nibbles on his lip, the furrow of his brows, the tenseness of his jaw pulling on his throat muscles…

You try to mimic every emotion he goes through as he tries and fails and succeeds and fails again to fit the pieces together like a jigsaw, but the hardest one to do is that smile of his. For some reason you just can't get it right, lips pulling back too far, teeth too much on display and brows too furrowed so you end up looking like an old savage.

Then as if to spite you, Soap looks up at you and immediately snorts. "What're yea doin' there Bonnie?" He coughingly laughs as your facial features return to your statue like state.

"Trying to look like you." You huff; at least you can do that correctly.

"Oh, look strapping don't I?" He snorts, doing what Ghost calls 'fishing for compliments' (though you're unsure how one can fish for abstract ideas).

"No more than the rest." You shrug and see him roll his eyes, though the corners of his lips are still quirked up, a hint of teeth on display and vestiges of dimples framing his mouth. "How do I do that?" You ask and motion to his face.

"Do what? Smile?" You snorts, already beckoning you over like you're a dog. "It's easy."

You lean across the table, tilting your head to indicate confusion but leaving your face a blank canvas. It takes all of your presence of mind not to give an earth shattering purr when his hands cup your jaw, distant stars quivering as his blunt nails scratch at your throat for a blissful second.

"Here," His thumbs settle at both corners of your lips, putting gentle pressure until he pushes the flesh back and up in a way that's natural to the skin suit but not you. "There yea go." He grins and pulls his thumbs away after a few moments, grinning when you hold the expression.

"Now yea're as dashing as me." He chuckles and you two must look like utter buffoons just grinning at one another; you wouldn't have it any other way.

Imagine GAZ — You're not exactly alive, technically you're the antithesis to life and existence, so to you, simple rules like eating or sleeping are no more than chalk guidelines after a rainstorm. Gaz doesn't subscribe to this idea, he's always trying to get you to indulge in these human comforts and you always allow him, even if it does include eating more things in a week than most of your kin have consumed in a millennia, if that.

Imagine; wandering the halls on a lazy Sunday morning, no drills to run or missions to prep for, and being drawn to the communal kitchen by the sound of boiling water and banding pans. You find Gaz cooking breakfast for the boys; he's the only one who can cook (according to him) seeing as Price seasons his food with hope, Ghost burns everything into coal and Soap's not allowed into the kitchen after he'd tried to make tea in the microwave (which Gaz had later asked you to exorcise).

"Mornin'." Kyle yawns and smiles at you, dressed in shorts and one of your 'lost' shirts. You do your best to replicate his expression. "Help me, yeah?" He asks and nods his head at what he's cooking.

Your expression falls back to neutral. "You'll need to show me how." You admit as you get next to him.

"Not a problem," He chuckles as he shifts behind you, pressing his chest flush with your back with his hands hovering over yours. You feel his warmth when he rests his head on your shoulder, his hands firm and steady as he shows you how to chop tomatoes and sausages, how to hold the knife correctly and pulling your fingers back when the blade draws too close to the flesh, talking you through it until you can do it on your own.

After that he leaves you to your task as he almost dances around the kitchen, stirring a pot here then putting the kettle on there and so many more little things while you remain where you are because you, by nature, are slow; to adapt, to age, to change.

But you do it for him.

"Those look great." He grins when you're done and then herds you in front of the cooking pans, and you're a little apprehensive about the bubbling oil when he dumps what you'd cut up into the pan. But his warmth is at your back again, steady hands guiding you on how to cook the food without burning your skin and leaving you to it when you catch on.

Then you feel a tug on your shirt, his presence once again next to you, but this time he's holding a piece of sausage on the end of a fork, a hand beneath it so it doesn't drop, "Hey, taste this for me."

You contemplate arguing you can't actually taste food the same way he does, but he gives you a look that has you letting him feed you. Though it tastes no different from everything else, from his hand it may as well be sweeter than ambrosia.

"Tastes good." The way he brightens up at your words makes the food only taste sweeter.

Imagine GHOST —You and him are similar in some ways, you both prefer to stick to what you know, who you know. It's harder for you to contain what you are inside your flesh body when there is so much life around you that every additional heartbeat pulls at the edge of your cold existence. So you stick to close to the people who's warmth has grown so familiar it's indistinguishable from the burning starts making up your real body.

Imagine; attending a celebration held by both TF141 and Los Vaqueros after a mission gone well, loud music and lewd lyrics blaring in your ears as men drink like teenagers at their first frat party. You're in a more secluded part of the bar next to Ghost, both of you nursing drinks while you watch the rest act like fools.

You're a little confused when you see Gaz and Soap move in a strange way, grinding against one another and pressed so close you'd think they're trying to mate, their hands roaming the other's body so roughly you're surprised no pieces of clothing come flying your way.

"Got a free show for my drink." Ghost chuckles next to you.

"What are they doing?" You finally ask when you can't contain your curiosity.

"Dancing." He answers and swallows the last inch of booze in his cup, setting it down on the bar. "For fun." He adds, already expecting the line of questioning, as if that's supposed to make you understand.

"They just look like they're trying to mate." You point out, receiving a long sigh in return.

"How 'bout I just show you." Before you can say anything he nicks the cup of untouched alcohol in your hand and swallows it all down in one go, putting the empty cup next to his before grabbing you by the arm and pulling you outside through the back entrance. You go along with him, but you're confused when you catch Soap's eyes and he wolf whistles at the two of you.

The world outside is calmer than the busy bar, the air much colder; closer to what you are. You turn to him once he lets you go, tilting your head and furrowing your brow to convey confusion. "So…what do I do?"

"Just follow my lead." A gravely chuckle escapes Simon as he closes the distance between you two, his rough hands settling on your waist as he begins to slowly rock both of your bodies along with the music, though his movements are more contained than what you'd seen, a steady push and pull compelling you to follow him.

"Why is this different than what Soap and Gaz were doing?" You ask, clutching his shoulders in return, your forehead almost resting on his chest as you look at your feet so you don't step on his toes.

You feel his chest vibrate as he chuckles, "They set a low bar." He rumbles and his hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up so you two lock eyes, the intensity in his brown irises drowning out the sounds of the bar. "Eyes on me."

You nod. Your eyes stay firmly on him as you sway together to a tune he hums, finding a common ground in the way your cold and his heat mixes together. Above you millions of your eyes peer down at him, for as vast as you are, for this moment your attention is on him.

Imagine PRICE — He can tell how tired you are, not physically but mentally; having to communicate and understand people without the use of a mental link, when even the most complex ideas can be conveyed easily, was starting to fray the edges of your control over your human body. He decided to do something about it.

Imagine; Price taking you and the boys fishing to a remote cabin next to a lake. Knowing you don't sleep he pulls you out by the lake at the ass crack of dawn, having you watch as he sits down on the dock, his pants pulled up to his knees so he can dip his feet in the water while he sets up the fishing rods.

"What are we doing?" You ask but follow his example and sit next to him, the cool water of the lake similar enough to the cold abyss your true body resides to calm your nerves, though you're unsure of what to do when he gives you the fishing rod.

"Fishing." He says as he shows you how to cast out the line. "You look like you need it."

You don't argue with him and just try focusing on fishing, letting him teach you how to watch the line to see when something takes the bait and when to reel it in. You’re unsuccessful your first few attempts, and you have half the mind to just jump in and wrangle the fish in the lake with liquid abyss, but he stops you.

"Catching isn't the point." He says as he smokes his cigar while he takes an old boot off your hook. "It's about relaxing, the fish are just a bonus."

You let out a low sound that vibrates the water, but you settle next to him and cast out the line again. You don’t know how long you sit there next to him, your sides touching with the fishing rod sitting loosely in your hands. After some time you manage to yank out your first fish, and you certainly don't gloat when you pull a few more fish out of the lake while he only pulls out seaweed, but the look of pride in his eyes makes it even better.

Any prospects of catching any more fish are dashed when Gaz and Soap wake up and take running jumps into the lake, scaring all the fish with their splashing. "Like school boys." Price remarks as Ghost comes up to you both, offering beers as he sits down on your other side.

"Summer vacation, captain." Ghost says and slips into the water, and you realize this is calming; in the way you haven't felt before, doing something familiar like watching Soap and Gaz trying to dunk each other in the water but feeling like you’re right there with them, laughing alongside them when Ghost scares the shit out of them by lunging out of the water.

“See sweetheart? ‘S not hard.” Price hums, adjusting his hat though his shoulders are already reddened from sunburns. He offers you his cigar and you accept it, breathing in the nicotine and smoke despite not having lungs or a circulatory system to be affected by it, before you give it back. “Taking it easy is good for you.”

You nod your head, content to sit next to him until something tugs on the line of your forgotten fishing rod and you scramble to reel it in. You give a small grunt as whatever is on the hook struggles, "Yank on it." Price tells you and you do, nearly toppling on your back when you finally win the tug of war. You blink as you look at what you've caught.

A Speedo.

"Well would you look at that." Price chuckles.

Judging by the way Johnny's suddenly bare assed and throwing obscenities in Gaelic your way, you assume that it's his.

“Caught a big one there.” Ghost notes, not yet laughing but his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he slaps Soap's cheeks (of his rear).

He yelps, confident enough to be naked in front of all of you, but not shameless enough to where his cheeks (on his face) don't redden from the way Gaz cackles and wheezes with laughter so loudly he nearly drowns. You give Johnny back his trunks before he can drown Gaz but, maybe you should fish any more.

NSFW:

Imagine SOAP— If anyone ever asks Soap why he would ever send a dick pick to an ancient god, he'll blame anything and everything; on being stood up, on loving himself a little less, on mixing up the numbers, in being black out drunk…

Imagine; him being stone cold sober when the thought invades his mind and he spends the next hour trying to take a good picture: in front of the mirror, on the bed, no clothes, some clothes, the list of positions goes on. He doesn't want to come across like he's compensating by just holding his dick in his hand like some cunt; as silly as it is, he wants the picture to actually tempt you, to make you feel something, though the question of if you even can doesn't cross his mind. He ends up with a picture of him on the bed, the tip of his hard cock peeking out from beneath the band of his boxers.

He won’t admit he holds his breath when he sends the suggestive picture to you alongside a ;) , watching the text bubble appear and disappear multiple times before you just leave him on seen. He deflates and has half the mind to delete the picture and chuck his phone to the other end of his bed but he’s stopped when he gets a message from Price.

‘My office. Now.’

Turns out you were with Price when you saw that photo and without a second thought had shown him it and asked what it meant. Granted Price had seen more than just his dick, but he was less than happy about Johnny sending you unsolicited dick pics.

You quiz Soap for nearly an hour, stone faced and unbothered while he gets redder with every question (what can you send, what not to send, how much to send, etc.) and he gets the impression that's how his ma' felt when she gave him and his sisters 'the talk'. “So, yeah.” He clears his throat, whole face feeling hot. “Don’t do it ‘lest yea’r asked or yea like ‘em.”

Thankfully Price finally lets you go when you’re satisfied with his answers and Soap can’t scamper fast enough out of his office with his whole face in flames.

He deletes the photo soon after but you've already burned it into your memory where it will outlast the stars, and the idea to reciprocate festers in your ageless mind like rot until you find yourself in front of your mirror after a shower. You play with the phone for a long time, snapping a few blurry close up shots of your face while you attempt to change it from the front to the back facing camera.

It takes even longer to figure out what to send as Soap wasn't that clear with his answers. Your siblings give you pointers, and first you attempt to take a picture of your most private part — bones snap as your rib cage splits open into a maw, vines full of eyes wrapping around your ribs like ivy as tendrils of darkness unwind just enough for the anti-light of your very essence sucks up all the light in the room — but the mirror cracks and your phone just shuts off with a pitiful whimper.

After fixing the mirror you end up doing what you do best; you mimic one of the statues you'd seen the Greeks make, the towel wrapped just along the V where your thighs connect to your pelvis, exposed from the waist up with your skin still wet. Your body isn't as demure as the muses that sculptor had used, but you hope Soap will appreciate it as you snap a few more photos and send them to Johnny with the same ;) he'd sent you.

Soap nearly chokes on his spit when he gets the photo, all the blood in his brain flooding south as his eyes rake over every exposed inch of skin, every curve and every dip in the muscles making him drool and cock harden and he's racing to your room before you even have the time to turn your phone off.

Imagine GAZ — For all of your pitfalls and misunderstandings he likes the little hints of inhumanity in your speech, in your mannerisms, in knowing you could be anywhere and anytime but you choose to be next to him. He couldn't imagine himself being enamored with an ant, yet you hang on his every word like he's revealing secrets you don't know, making him feel special; he feels so bad when his thoughts of you stop being innocent.

Imagine; He tries to keep things respectful, but his imagination runs wild when you do the simplest things. Bend down to tie your shoe? He's checking out your arse from the corner of his eyes. Stand behind him? He's suppressing a shiver just imagining your body draped over his in post-coital bliss. Check his skin for injuries? Gaz has to bite his lip to keep from begging you to touch all of him, to explore his body. Work out? Kyle's lucky if he doesn't start drooling imagining going over and licking the sweat off your skin, of feeling your muscles tense beneath his tongue while you continue to work out with him between your legs.

When he can't think of you without popping a boner he ends up having to compromise before the shame eats him whole. He goes on a random porn site; he usually prefers just using his imagination but when his mind keeps circling back to you he has no other option, and his conscience gnaws on him when he ends up finding a porn star with similar features to yours. It's not wrong if he's wanking off to a different person, right?

Heat's already burning in his stomach when he slouches in his chair, his back to his room and one earbud in his ear. Shame continues to eat at him when he's both delighted and disheartened by the fact the porn star sounds nothing like you, that his bones don't shiver like they do when you talk.

He keeps the volume low and instead focuses on rubbing and squeezing his cock the way the porn star does to a second actor, and he can't help imagining what you'd sound like; high pitched and whiny? Husky and low? Completely silent or animalistic? The idea of pulling sounds of pleasure out of your throat has him leaking. His head lolls back and he moans as he squeezes the base of his cock, his eyes open just enough to blur the fine details on the porn star's face so you two become indistinguishable.

His heart stops when you burst through his door, a random question leaving your lips before your ears pick up the moans and slick sounds coming from his direction. You're next to him in an instant, looming over his chair and caging him in with your eyes stuck to the screen. "What are you watching?"

"Get out!" He yelps and tries to push you away but it's like trying to move a mountain.

"Why does that human look like my vessel?" You persist, "And why are you watching humans mating when you told me it's wrong?" You tilt your head, luckily not seeing his hand on his hard cock, the porn reflecting in the blacks of your eyes.

“It’s on the net it’s different! People upload it for others' pleasure and-” He sputters and cuts himself off when he registers your words, freezing in place and that accidentally gets him to squeeze the head of his cock.

Your pupils widen like a cat’s when you hear the little moan escape his chest, your head automatically dropping down to see where his other hand is. "Oh,” is what comes out of your mouth when you see his hard weeping cock. “Can I?” You ask, making an odd motion with your head.

He thinks you're asking to leave and nods. "Yeah-" Gaz wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, his cheeks burning red like he's a lobster in a pot. “-can you pl-please leave-”

He wheezes when your cold hand suddenly wraps around his cock, your hold firm and just at the edge of pain but still making him throb. A few more eyes spread across your skin to see him while you watch the video still playing on his computer, giving his cock a small pump and shaking the stars with your purr when he moans.

"What are-" He neck nearly snaps to look at you, a shiver raking his body and another moan escaping him as you squeeze the head of his cock, your skin like ice yet it makes him burn with arousal.

"Watch." You order and turn his head with your free hand so his eyes are back on the screen. You don't know why he's watching a fake 'you' mate when he could just ask you, but you know one thing; the person on the screen is competition, and by the way you roughly stroke his cock until he's whining and leaking like a tap, Gaz can tell— you don't like competition.

Imagine PRICE — He never imagined he'd need to have 'the talk' with a god; sure, you may understand how sex works, but you're hopeless in understanding the nuances of it all. If someone doesn't directly say 'let's fuck' you assume any touches from them, even groping, is just them being friendly. It makes his blood boil, seeing you be taken advantage of like that.

Imagine; You're in the bar with the boys and Price is a couple of drinks in when he sees being felt up by a stranger and you're oblivious to his advances. A green eyed monster nips at Price's heels and he doesn't notice when he puts himself next to you, 'accidentally' shoving the other guy back with just his bulk. His presence, his demeanor, and the few harsh words spoken in a clipped tone has the other guy scampering off.

He doesn't remember much after that, only the way you'd looked at him — with the intensity of a ravenous void, like he was a bright star you wanted to devour.

What wakes him isn't his clock, but the rays of sunlight gently streaming through the curtains. He groans as he registers the awful ache behind his eyes before he even has a chance to open them. He feels his bed shift and his eyes snap open automatically, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you laying on your side as you stare at him.

"Jesus!" He jumps up, nearly topples over from the sudden vertigo but your steady hand on his shoulder keeps him upright, making him realize he's nude.

"He's not here." You shrug and as you sit up his sheets pool around your waist, making him realize you're naked from the waist up, though he doesn't want to think if you're naked naked. His fists clench when his eyes roam over your exposed body against his will, settling on the various hickeys decorating your shoulders and neck.

His heart sinks. "What…what happened last night?" He asks and doesn't want to know the answer, his stomach churns with shame.

"Oh, uh, you got drunk, I got you home, you started kissing and biting me." You say, tracing the numerous hickeys and indents of his teeth across your human form like they're medals. "Then you pulled me into your bed and wouldn't let me go. Then you passed out." You say as if nothing's wrong, and even if no sex happened it's little consolidation to the fact he took advantage of you.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” He asks as he takes a shaky breath, shoulders hunched up around his ears and eyes downcast, bile burning in his stomach.

"Why would I?" You tilt your head and shift positions to face him fully, the sheets falling away to reveal you are naked naked. "I may not understand you fully, but I would have stopped you if you did something I didn't want."

Price hates himself for how he can't tear his eyes away from your body. "But you let me." He insists and tries to get you to see reason, to be as angry and disgusted with him as he is with himself.

“Yes.” You are growing annoyed as well, silently cursing the frailty of the human mind; things would be easier to explain if you could just use mental communication… “You are less than insects to my kin.” You sigh and move to straddle him before he can get away, pinning him under you. “You are a sun to me.”

Even calling him a sun doesn’t do him justice; suns die out like firecrackers when your immeasurable body passes over them, when you devour them, him, you want to keep, to protect, to wrap in your cold abyss until he’s warm and safe.

He sucks in a breath, the gears in his head turning as he tries to understand. “What?-”

“Can I touch you?” You ask, your hands respectfully on your thighs as if you’re not pinning him in place with your weight. There’s a dark intelligence in your eyes, the same ravenous void staring at him behind the black of your eyes. You are not a child, you are a god.

"Why?" He sucks in a sharp breath as he breathes in your smell, the scent of dying stars and burn ozone tickling his lungs. "You don't have to." He says weakly, because what would anyone, god or not, want with him?

"You left marks on me, I want to do the same." The way you say it makes him think of godhood; not the bleak madness you are, but the type humanity romanticizes. Your lips part as if you're thinking of marking him, bits of oblivion staring back at him from the darkness of your throat when he looks too closely at your mouth.

He submits so fast. "C'mere then," He pulls you close by your head, kissing you like he's trying to steal your ichor, his body burning hot when your hands grip him tight enough to leave moon shaped bruises in his skin — the first of many you intend to give him, until you've marked him as yours and yours alone.

Imagine GHOST — Ghost prefers to show you rather than spend hours trying to explain things to you, he's more stricter with you when you try to do things you're told not to, both for your and everyone's safety. You never do quite learn.

Imagine; Ghost recently confiscated your phone when you tried to see what humans thought about you, or what they imagined you and your kin to be, on a website called 'Rule34'. Ghost had snatched the phone out of your hands before you could even click the link. After a week he gave you the go ahead to take it back, but got called to run a drill so just said to go find it.

Now, you've been told not to go rooting around other people's belongings, but while searching for your phone you'd fallen back into your old habit and snooped around until you found a small box in the bottom of his dresser. Thinking nothing of it you opened it and found…something. A lot of somethings; handcuffs, rope, weird egg shaped thing, a weird tube with a hole in it that squished like a stress toy but had a cunt molded at one end, but what drew your attention — was the dismembered black cock in the middle of the box.

You and all of your kin scratched your collective heads over the thing you now held in your hand, you'd been under the impression humans didn't carry around body parts anymore so you were stumped why Ghost had a dismembered dick and balls in his dresser. Besides the pitch black color and flat base it looked so realistic and the way it flopped when you turned it in your hand made you feel the same way humans did when seeing you.

So you got up and wen to ask Ghost about it, the thing held out in your hand when you found him with the rest of the boys. "Ghost, why do you a have body part in your closet?"

Your question made them all turn to look at you, Ghost made a strange sound like a strangled dog while Gaz and Soap fell over laughing and Price shielded his eyes with the rim of his hat.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He snarls and before you know it he’s stomping over to you and dragging you by the front of your clothes, “What I tell you about snooping?”

“I couldn’t find my phone,” You try to argue but don’t struggle and just let him drag you somewhere like you're a kitten until you find yourself in his room with the door firmly locked behind him.

"Right." His tone makes it sound like he doesn't believe you, his rough hand pushes you down on his bed and he yanks the thing from your hold. “You want to know what this is for?” He asks and holds the the cock with the head pointed at you like a knife.

You nod your head and try to rise up but he pushes you back down, you're not even sure where he gets the handcuffs from but there's cold steel around your wrists before you can notice it. It's his order to "Sit and watch." that actually keeps you down, and you see the corners of his eyes shift to denote a smirk. "Do what you're good at."

You don't blink as you watch him disrobe until he's only wearing his mask, and your surprise is obvious when he sticks the thing on the floor and it stays up right. "This," He growls and sinks to his knees on the floor, a towel under him, "Is a fuckin' dildo." He reaches over and takes a small tube, squirting viscous liquid on his fingers. "You don't ever take it out of my room. Got it."

He leaves no room to argue and you rapidly nod your head. You find yourself breathless as you watch him reach behind himself and you don’t even notice how a bit of your oblivion leaks from your pores and spreads across the ground like spiderwebs, eyes blooming in the small pools all around him so you can see the way he roughly pushes a finger into himself, your hands clenching as his rim flutters around his large fingers.

"What is it for?" You find your voice, the sound ringing like the inside of a dead star the longer you watch him roughly stretch himself, pushing two then three fingers into his ass.

"Fun," He chuckles and feels so powerful when your eyes have all but turned black with hunger you've yet to notice. "It's a toy, for adults." He pulls his fingers out and squirts more liquid on the dildo, before sinking down on the toy in one fluid move that leaves him hissing at the stretch, his rim fluttering around the thick base.

Something about the way the toy is of a similar color to your real body has you wriggling beneath your human skin, the air vibrating as you groan and try to reach out to him, wanting to cover him in your body and have all of him feel all of you.

"No." Just one word has you sitting back on the bed like a dog, a pitiful sound rumbling across the void as you can do nothing but watch. "This is what you get for snooping." He's so smug with the way he has such control over you without even touching you, his thick thighs tensing as he slowly bounces on the dildo, "Now watch. Maybe if you're good I'll let you touch me."

You'll do whatever he says so long as you get to feel him.

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11vr1 · 1 year ago

Text

Still Yours ⭒ Miles Morales

Part one: Been Away

Synopsis › You’re still his. You just need a little reminder.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Reader

Inspo › “Still Yours (feat. Big Sean)” - Bryson Tiller, Big Sean

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, angst, fluff, swearing, Spanish, toxicity, going back to your ex, man has a staring problem, stalking, mentions of violence, manhandling i think?, kissing, terrible grammar, maybe some continuity errors (don’t think about it too hard)

P.S. › I had to write this part on my phone because my house has no wi-fi. Forgive me.

You were a vision as your head threw back in laughter at something your friend said. Absolute perfection in the way your uniform fits in all the right places and the gentle swoop of your edges framing your glowing skin in the harsh fluorescent lighting. It was aggravating. “When did she get that?” Miles’ rich eyes narrowed at you and your group of friends.

His best friend looked up from his phone in your direction. He didn’t need to ask who she was. “Get what?” he sighed, already sensing where this conversation was headed.

“Her lipgloss.” He tilted his head. “It’s Fenty.”

Ganke couldn’t remember when Miles became a makeup enthusiast, but he knew he was a Y/n expert. “And how do you know that?” he asked in disbelief. Their lunch periods had turned into a sort of Y/n watching session since your mysterious separation. He was over it and tired of watching his friend not-so-subtly stare at his not-ex-girlfriend. It was sad and getting a little creepy.

“It’s her favorite brand, but the shade’s darker. She’s never worn it before.” Miles’ food was left untouched, too preoccupied with the sight of you. You must’ve been doing this on purpose, he thought. Sitting directly in his eye line with your annoying ass group of friends. And Drew Harris, Brooklyn Vision’s resident dickhead jock, sat a little too close to you.

Ganke shrugged, turning back to his game. “I don’t know, man. It looks like the one she always wears.”

Miles tore his gaze away to face Ganke. His eyes hardened to an icy glare. “Why do you know what color she usually wears?”

“Chill, dude,” he rolled his eyes. “This break up is actually making you go insane.”

“We didn’t break up,” he snapped, but who was he fooling? Ganke was spot on. Miles was increasingly on edge, waiting. He’d texted and called multiple times since last weekend when finally spoke to you for the first time in weeks. But you didn’t respond or pick up. At this rate you were going to block him…again. Just when he thought everything was piecing itself back together, you slipped away out of his reach.

Ganke stood up with his trash. He had better things to do than watch his best friend run himself to the ground over a girl who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. “Broken up or taking a break, either way you’re miserable. You need to figure your shit out or move on before you burn a hole in the side of her head.”

Miles waved him off, not showing his words struck a chord. Moving on wasn’t an option. You were on his mind twenty four hours a day, seven days a week without fail. The thought of you waiting for him safe and sound kept him alive while he committed every crime in the book. Everything he did was for you, to keep you protected in this twisted city. Nothing was going to ruin his forever, not even you.

⋆

“Why not Drew?” Ellie suddenly asked while they walked the halls away from the cafeteria. You could tell she was enjoying having you back with their friends. “He’s all over you. You guys would be perfect,” she gushed, practically skipping across the tile.

You gave her a stern look, “Ellie.” You hated to burst her bubble, but she was too eager for you to be single. “I’m not interested in Drew Harris.”

“Okay, picky,” she hummed in thought for a moment. “Erik Falls? He’s on the basketball team and I heard he thinks you’re gorgeous,” she tried again. You stopped at Ellie’s locker. You weren’t going to ask where she heard such a rumor or why it seemed she had a mental list of the single male population.

You shook your head. A new relationship was the last thing on your mind. Miles was it for you, the one who made your heart sing, the man who made you believe you could be loved like in the stories. No one could compare, especially not a couple of immature jocks who would eventually become mere blimps in the timeline of your life. If only there wasn't a plot twist. “Despite what you think, I am more than happy being single. A new man is not on my list of priorities.”

“If you say so. You’ve just been so down since…” Ellie’s wide eyes briefly glanced over your shoulder. “I thought you and Miles weren’t together anymore?” her voice lowered to a sharp whisper.

Your response stalled, caught off guard by the question. Did Ellie know you and Miles had spoken? You didn’t want to imagine what kind of hell would be unleashed if she found out. “Of course not,” you forced a laugh. “Why?”

“Don’t look, but he’s at your locker!” she scowled, tossing her books back into her locker. “Don’t worry, girl. I got this.” Ellie pulled the earrings from her lobes along with her stack of bracelets, mumbling something about the “little creep.” She never hid her distaste for Miles, the two bumping heads more than once the duration of your relationship.

Against your better judgment, you looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Miles Morales leaned against your locker like he owned it. With his shirt untucked and tie loosened, he never failed to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

You stopped her before she stalked off in a fury. “Hold on, let me talk to him. I’m sure it’s nothing.” You didn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

Ellie drummed her fingers, lips pursed as she looked between you and the boy over your shoulder, skepticism written all over her face. “Fine, go ahead, Y/n. But I swear if he tries anything, I’m coming for his ass,” she pointed, making sure to shoot him a steely glower.

“I’ll be alright,” you assured her, already walking away.

You finally approached Miles, rolling your eyes at the enigmatic smirk on his lips. “You ignoring me, ma?” He asked, his gaze never leaving your face as you fiddled with the combination on your locker. “I thought we was good.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Miles. I just…” you struggled to explain without sounding like you were in fact avoiding him. Did he really think cornering you in an alley would fix everything? “I still needed a bit of space.”

He was clearly unsatisfied, but held his tongue. Instead he nodded his head. “Let’s take a walk, princesa.”

“I can’t,” you stuttered out, unable to trust yourself around Miles. Ignoring his messages took everything in you, so used to spending hours of your day spamming him with the most trivial things when you weren’t together.

“Yes you can. You have a free period.” Of course he had your schedule memorized. Nothing could get past Miles. He entwined your fingers in his, enveloping you with the rough calluses of his palms and dragging you through the halls without care for the curious stares directed your way.

The usual commotion of the city hit your ears as Miles swung open the rooftop door. Fond memories of your favorite meet up spot came flooding back, the late nights Miles would help you study for a Spanish test or when he simply wanted to sit in silence and bask in your presence. You’d fallen in love here over and over again, the stars and city skyline your only witness.

Miles had yet to release you from his hold, savoring your touch after being starved for so long.

He wasn’t going to let you go, not when you were finally where you belonged. “We need to talk.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” No one wanted to hear those dreaded four words.

Your attempt at humor was not appreciated. His grip squeezed your hands in a gentle, but firm warning. “I’m done playin’ your little games, mami. This back and forth shit ain’t gon’ work. I need you to be straight with me.”

The impending weight of the conversation began to settle on your shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Miles. That I’m totally fine with you being the Prowler and everything can go back to normal?” You avoided his gaze, choosing the cerulean sky knowing his gaze could pull whatever he wanted from you if you dared to stare too long. “You lied to me for the better part of our relationship. Where you go, what you’re doing, who you are and if you’re okay, like really okay. I can’t trust you!”

Too much had been broken for you to go back. And you tried! Lord knows you fucking tried. You hid your tears when Miles missed a date, coming up with some lame excuse. Or the days he’d return and couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. Your mind turned to the worst. Doubt festered where trust should have been. But you held on just as fast as Miles held onto you now.

Now you know the reality and it scared you more than any possibility you came up with.

Miles listened to the cracks in your pretty voice, seeing the damage he caused. He never hated himself more. Ripping out throats and cracking skulls he could stand, but the sight of those crystal tears nearly broke him. “Mi corazón...” A large pad tenderly wiped a droplet from the smoothness of your cheeks. “Lo siento.”

“Say what you have to say, Morales. You can’t keep wasting my time.” You forced yourselves apart to furiously rid the traitorous tears. He didn’t deserve them.

“‘A waste of time?’” he repeated incredulously. Miles grabbed your left wrist, tugging down the sleeves of your navy blazer to reveal the golden bracelet you wore and its various charms. The cursive “M” dangled in your face, mocking you and your devotion to him. “Is that what this is?” He fished the delicate chain from beneath his own uniform where he wore your name closest to his heart. “Are you done with me? Was all this pointless to you, Y/n?” he nearly shouted, doing his best to keep what little composure he had left.

The answer had never been more simple. “No, of course not,” you said. “I don’t regret loving you. I just can’t keep loving half of you when you already have all of me.”

Shock filled the silence between you. “You love me?”

“Yes, dumbass!” You pushed against his chest. He didn’t budge, too stunned to breathe properly. “I know you won’t say it back but I don’t care. You should already know.”

Miles cradled your head and leaned down, your noses touching, sharing the same air. “Say it again,” he ghosted your lips.

Your knees weakened, his heat creating a haze of solely him in your mind. You studied the gentle contours of his face, the fullness of his lips, the healed scar on the edge of his right brow, someone only as close as you could see. An inch was all you needed to think, but you were snatched back. “Miles,” you gasped in surprise, steadying yourself in his arms. Through layers of fabric, you felt the rapid rhythm of Miles' heart and you were positive he could feel yours.

“Dilo de nuevo,” he commanded, pressing your body against his in a vice and yet you were still too far. “Por favor, para mi.”

“I love you,” you began, but Miles cut you off as he eradicated the damned space between you. Your mouth parted, the taste of spice and uniquely him familiar, like loving Miles was a reflex you’d always succumb to.

You relented to your need to breathe, still cradling Miles’ face in your hands. “Te amo también, mi corazón.” You never thought he would return the words and you’ve never been happier to be wrong. “Let me do it right this time. Be mine again. No more secrets, no more lies. Prometo.”

One chance was all Miles needed to gain access to your heart. You should have kept his number blocked, called the police like you threatened to do, but his determination was endless. He wanted you and here you were in his embrace saying, “I’ll always be yours, Miles.” You reached on your toes to steal another kiss, consuming as much of him as you desired. The pink of his tongue peeked out as he licked the sticky glitter from his lips. You moved to wipe the remaining gloss about to apologize before he took your mouth again, his teeth teasing the delicate skin.

“It is new.”

#iivri writes ˚·⊹ ⟢˖∿#Spotify #marvel #spider man: across the spider verse #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #prowler miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fluff #spiderman #fanfic #angst #fluff

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melancholicstation · 1 month ago

Text

Like An American 𓍼 𓇢𓆸

pairing: jack schlossberg x reader

summary: after a treacherous weekend of paddle boarding along the scenic shores of manhattan and viscose shorts that rid up far too high due to the water, you drag your husband to a Hamptons pilates class, and get far more of a workout than you bargained for.

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-vlovesvintage @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

warnings: (tasteful, classy, anaïs nin pilled) smut, 18+ only, implied age gap, soft petting, words of affirmation, soft aftercare, slapping, unprotected intimacy, biting, back rubs

'drive fast, i can almost taste it now,

You apathetically scroll your manicured, chanel hand-creamed ( a gift from jack himself ) hand through instagram reals and shortly abandon that effort as soon as you feel your brain being numbed by the drivel common on instagram at the current impasse. Your attention abandons that activity for a much more fulfilling escape: that of observing your husband of 2 months, jack, setting up a joint pilates appointment for the two of you with the women upfront, dressed in chic linens only truly observed in all their glory on a women summering in amagansett.

L.A., i don't even have to fake it now,

You gather yourself and sway over to the counter and offer to pay, in the effort of lifting your wallet your steel robot keychain sways slightly before resuming its residence resting by your small leather card holder. Jack looks at you, in a passive yet horrified glance and delicately waves your cards away and places a hand by the nape of your neck. Murmuring to "never worry about that sort of thing around him" in his instantly recognisable accent and cadence.

As he resumes his conversation with the girl organising your shared class, jack continually and gently circles the baby hairs at the base of your neck. Some he would perform a zig-zag motion along the base of your scalp, and other's he would gently caress the baby hairs, not failing to continue his trail to the middle of your neck.

You're like so sick, everybody said it,

It may be because of this delightful pseudo scalp-massage that you nearly don't pick up on the blatant flirting coming from the girl across from you, directed at jack. Even in an effort to catch her eyes, hers are completely fixated on that of your husband's, the gall of some people! You see her taking quick clipped glances at his 6.0 frame, dressed in hand-me-downs gifted to him by his great aunt back in the fall of 2019 (is it really classified as "hand-me-downs" if the pieces of old clothing are Loro Piana and Brunello Cucinelli?)

You're way ahead of the trend, ge-get it,

Due to Jack's parentage and familial connections you had always, to ebbing extents, had been a public figure whenever you stepped outside with Jack. Some crazed paparazzi had even papped you guys entering a jazz bar reconstructed from a prohibition speakeasy in the west village in 2019. This caused slight public fan-fare over niche twitter and instagram communities, many likening it to the glossy nineteen-nighties candids of John F. Kennedy Jr and his wife Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy. But as of 2024 being an election year, and an important decade-defining one at that, the interest around Jack had reached an almost fever pitch. Not only did you wake up to a phone-breaking amount of follower requests on instagram since jack's appearance during the democratic national convention, but your once small, curated following on TikTok had blossomed from a petite fig tree, to a unruly and domineering monstera. Despite this you attempted to take this change in your stride and continued business as usual.

Elvis is the best, hell yes,

As the girl confirms your appointment she asks you to wait a few moments in the lounge to allow the instructors time to adequately prepare the room. You both saunter over to a particularly comfortable-looking linen settee in the back of the room, a hand securely placed along your back by jack.

"You know I can't believe you made me sign up for this, i'll be as graceful as a hippo on a ballet barré and you know so!" Jack chuckles out sarcastically, in such a tone that gives away his true ill-advised confidence at mastering the art of pilates. An activity that since your water paddle-boarding escapes around manhattan's greatest shores, you had been dying to have him try his hand at it at least once.

"You shouldn't knock it until you try it, jack. I promise you'll adore it--or you won't and you'll completely resent it until the day you die. It's just a game of chance really." This instigates you into preparing jack for what he's about to walk into, you start with showing him so low-impact pilates videos you'd saved to your camera roll. He replies with boastful comments sliced in with moments of disbelief at how people could contort their own bodies into such positions.

A pilates instructor by the name of Anya, politely tells us that the room is ready and that instructor Zoe is ready to begin the session whenever they are.

The room, being that the property was in the east Hamptons, had gorgeous, sprawling views of the main beach shore line. The studio was surround by white wooden shiplap, adorned with antique yet charming looking prints of deers and lambs frolicking in a garden so beautiful it had to be painted from the depths of an artist's imagination. Before the couple could even take in the beautiful studio, a very upbeat Zoe bounded into the room not unlike to the excitement of a labrador puppy, and before either person knew it the class had commenced.

The duration of the session plays out like a comedy show that not even the great minds of a 2010s snl dream-team cast could think up. Not only did jack multiple times fall of the reformer, but his grunts were reminiscent of a much more intimate activity not commonly done in the presence of a stranger.

The class ended with you feeling refreshed, and jack feeling mildly humiliated--okay considerably humiliated at his lack of an ability to pick up pilates form on command.

As soon as Zoe departed through the double doors to leave you guys to re-coop, you throw yourself onto Jack's reformer and devolve into a fit of laughter. "Yeah--Yeah laugh it up while your husband is severely embarrassed and wounded" Jack says in a tone that betrays the bitter exterior he's putting up. "Oh please Jack the only thing wounded is your ego, your just jealous I was great at paddle-boarding"

"Depends on how you define great" Jack comments laughing, but quickly dies down once you pull his the hair at the base of his neck to halt his teasing of your mediocre, at best, paddle boarding.

You make me crazy, you make me wild,

As a result this causes him to retaliate my gracefully lifting your alo yoga clad body into his arms and onto his lap. From this point of view you observed the way the tank clung to his form, and the scent of his musk inflamed your desires in an almost animalistic, feral fashion. Both of your hips begin to languidly meet his, as his mouth meets yours. Saliva covers the both of your chins, which in any other situation would disturb you both greatly, but in a moment like this it's supremely erotic. Clothing meeting clothing, friction creating more, and more friction. Your knees start to dig into the plush mat of the reformer as jack settles you gently on the seat of the reformer and undresses the lower half of his and carefully slides your pointelle underwear to one side. In any other situation you, as a couple, would be horrified at your shared lack of social decorum: I mean, seriously, you guys are in a pilates studio for christ sake! But at this interim you cannot find it in yourself to quite care, and you've got a sneaking suspicion that neither does Jack.

Just like a baby, spin me 'round like a child,

As Jack leans over to line himself, you crane your tennis necklace clad neck to delicately kiss his cheek. To which he, in return, blushes (and giggles) like a schoolgirl. As he plunges, the shared couple lets out a breath of relief. Breaths of relief that mirror ships docking into a much-loved harbour, marking a safe return. And that's what they were to each other a safe place to return. Apart from small words of encouragement that you were "doing so well for him" and that he gets amazed by how "well you take him every time" Jack eventually stops talking. On your part he may have continued to talk but by then your mind had soon become the consistency of day-old porridge. With your body only seemingly responding to the stimulus brought on by Jack. The pounding, and the sense of completeness and fullness infuriates your head and decimates any other thoughts not relating to the man in front of you.

Be young, be dope, be proud,

Sometimes, you felt perverse when you slept with Jack in this manner, rough and unrelenting, for you imagined that to know yearning for one person as much as you had, that something had to be wrong with you. Something that had to have been corrupted to form such a need for one person's existence. That was only given brief air-time in your mind as you were brought back by the feeling of callous hands grasping your face with the gentleness of a bear that doesn't know the power of it's strength yet---"Are you still with my me my girl?" Jack asks, and slightly slaps the flesh of the side of your behind.

"Yes-yes-Oh God yes" you slur through breathless gasps, like a fish rising to the surface, you feel the unmistakable roll of thunderous pressure and hear Jack encouraging you to "let it all out sweetheart" while caressing your back. And eventually you convulse in his capable, and protective arms. Due to this you quietly lay your head on his chest cocooning yourself in his musk, and watch you favourite expression befall his face. As you feel encompassed by the most delightful warmness, milking him for all he had. In the interim period, waiting for Jack to come down from his high you play with the littered brown hair covering his public bone curling the corse hair. You observe the space where you both meet, and liken it to an image of the sand meeting the ocean. As a result, you don't notice Jack gazing down at you like you're the only other breathing, sentient being on the planet. Your eyes meet and smile bashfully at each other. To break the sexual tension Jack jokes "This has got to cross at least one box of that weird places to have sex bingo we bought, I-I mean surely it has to right?"

"One can dream" you giggle and receive a drawn out kiss from jack as he slides back out.

Jack, being the gentleman that he was raised to be, doesn't let you do anything after such an act, so he cleans you first, then himself in the ensuite attached for those who indented to shower after a lesson, and dresses you back up.

Like an American Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-oh,

As you both walk out, thanking Zoe for her time who was now conversing with the woman at the counter, you finally make eye-contact with the girl flirting with jack earlier. You sense that she may have connected the dots that it wasn't just the pilates class that got you two so worked up after seeing your messily put on clothing, and birds nests of what once was a slick-back bun combined with the sweat pooling around jack's collarbones.

Or maybe, just maybe the walls of the east hampton pilates studio are not as soundproofed as they had brazenly assumed.

Like an American Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-oh.'

the end.

#husband!jack #melancholicstation writes #melancholicstation #Spotify #smut #x reader #rpf #real person fiction #jack schlossberg x reader #jack schlossberg #jack schlossberg fanfiction #kennedy fanfiction #the kennedys #jack schlossberg imagines #kennedy #lana del rey #old money

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leossmoonn · 1 year ago

Note

can you please do a fluff piece where Mike realizes he’s falling in love with the reader? maybe he’s scared at first and doesn’t know how to express himself to the reader (established relationship)? I feel like “labyrinth” by Taylor Swift would best describe what I have in mind! thanks for writing, love your work :)

thank you so much! this was so fun to write. i hope i was able to capture your idea!

————

the first thing mike notices about you is how gentle you are. you aren’t always kind, and you get heated quickly. sometimes you say things you don’t mean or your exhaustion catches up with you, but the way you care and love is gentle.

he sees it in the way you cook dinner for him and abby and bring it all the way from your apartment. he hears it in the way you compliment and gush over him every day. he hears it when you assure him that he’s not a burden and his worries are valid. you show it in the way you massage his shoulders after a hard day of work. you show it in the way you kiss him awake in the mornings you stay over.

mike’s never been in a relationship like this. he can’t confidently say he’s ever been in a relationship period. women aren’t exactly lined up at his door. but when he met you, something just felt different. it truly felt like his whole world flipped upside down.

he’s never had an abundance of affection in his life. not since his brother disappeared. it was almost uncomfortable for him at first. accepting your quick pecks, long hugs, and sweet words was hard for him. he grew to appreciate everything you said and did for him, though. he realized that this is what he’s been missing in his life. your affection is what he’s been craving ever since he was a child.

but knows he can’t give you it back. or more so, he doesn’t know how to. he has all these feelings for you: joy, excitement, intimacy, passion, gratitude, and trust. yet, he doesn’t know how to display them. every word he says comes out in a rush and mumbles. he stutters as he tries to compliment you, his tongue suddenly feeling numb. he’s even afraid to instigate anything having to do with holding you, afraid he’ll somehow break you because you’re so perfect and he’s tainted.

the day he realizes he’s falling in love with you is on a sunday morning. the rain is pouring so hard it wakes mike up. he reaches out to you, only to grip empty sheets. he gets up, putting a pair of sweats on and sees you and abby in the kitchen. you’re coloring with her while sipping some coffee. there are a stack of waffles by you with a glass of orange juice for abby. mike can’t help but smile. if he had a camera, he would take a picture and frame this moment.

“good morning, sleepy head.” you greet him. you get up from your seat, walking over to him and hugging him. “how’d you sleep?”

“good,” he says. he instantly relaxes as you touch him. he leans into your warmth. “did you?”

“i always do when i sleep with you,” you smile. he blushes and smiles bashfully. “i’m glad.”

“i made some breakfast if you’d like some. i made it more for you and i, but abby ate some as well.”

he loves the way you take care of abby like she’s your own. you two got along from the start, which really eased mike’s mind. abby’s a tough cookie to crack, but it doesn’t seem like she’s invincible when it comes to you.

you kiss him on the lips. this kiss is soft and fleeting, but you press into him to make sure he knows it means something. he loves how different your kisses can be.

in front of abby, you kiss him chastely. there’s no need to stick your tongue in his mouth while his baby sister is there. but behind closed doors, you kiss him like you’ve been waiting to for eternity. it’s relieving because that’s how he kisses you, too. those types of kisses are often messy and wet. they usually lead to clothes being strung across the room and grabby hands. when mike’s had a bad day or isn’t feeling well, you kiss him on the forehead. whenever you stay over, you never fail to kiss his cheek before falling asleep in his arms.

“thank you,” mike says. “it smells delicious.”

you two sit down at the table, watching abby color. “is that me?” you ask. “yep,” abby nods. “and is that mike?” you point to a male stick figure.

“no, that’s one of my friends from school. this is mike.” she points to a stick figure with horns on it. you can’t help but laugh.

and god, he loves your laugh. although abby basically called mike the devil, he can’t help but smile. this laugh is your true laugh. it’s loud and drawn out, usually ending with a big sigh. you claim to hate it because you tell him you sound like a clown nose, but he enjoys it.

after eating, you convince abby to shower. now it’s just you and mike. you both get ready for the day, mike getting ready at the speed of light. you’re still picking out your outfit, even though you’re not even sure you will go anywhere important today.

mike just sits and admires you, telling you that everything you put on looks good on you. he knows you hate that answer, but he truly believes it. he loves the way you roll your eyes and start to get whiny after he says that. he loves the way you try so hard to look good, even though you could literally be wearing a trash bag and he’d still find you beautiful. as you scurry through the bedroom, he can’t help but catch onto your perfume and body wash. he loves the way you smell. so clean and fresh, even if you’re sweaty and hot.

“we should go out somewhere,” you suggest. “it’s pouring rain outside,” he chuckles softly.

“we could go grab lunch or dinner. you can wear that new shirt vanessa got you for your birthday.”

“i’m not so sure i like it.”

“oh, stop,” you shake your head. “you look so handsome in that shirt. and plus, it’s like the only nice shirt you have — no offense. you should wear it out. i know i won’t be the only woman staring at you.”

mike’s ears feel hot and a big smile encompasses his face. he loves how confident you are in him. everybody he knows he’s not the worst looking guy, but he doesn’t think he’s someone you stop and stare at because you can’t believe your eyes. he hates his eye bags and his soulless resting face, as abby calls it. he knows he looks angry a lot, mostly because he kind of is. you don’t seem to mind, though, or even notice.

you always want to go out and show him off, telling him how handsome and cute he is. he can’t deny that it makes him feel good. he loves that. he loves everything you do for him. there’s no denying it. he just loves you.

mike twiddles with his fingers and looks down at his lap. the words just repeat in his head.

i’m in love with her. i’m in love with her. i’m in love with her.

he feels his throat constrict and his heart race. everything nasty he’s ever thought about himself rises to the surface. he can’t be in love with you. he doesn’t know what it’s like to love somebody that isn’t a family member, and even then, the way he shows his love to abby is unconventional. all mike knows is how to push people away and pick fights and be alone.

“babe, are you okay?” you ask, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“hm? yeah,” he says, glancing at you.

“you sure? you looked like you were spacing out a little bit.”

“yeah,” he repeats. “i think abby’s done in the shower. i’m going to take one.”

“okay, sure,” you nod. “are you sure you don’t want to go anywhere?”

“um, ask abby. i don’t care,” he mumbles. he hastily grabs clean clothes and walks to the bathroom with his head down. you sigh loudly, racking your brain with what mike could be so upset about. maybe he had a bad dream and he just remembered, or something happened at work and he’s thinking about it?

either way, you feel as though it’s good to let him relax in the shower before pestering him about it. mike has a hard time coming to you with his problems. and not that you need to know every one or fix everything, but you just want him to be able to air it out so he can at least feel better.

most of the day is just you guys relaxing in the house. abby asks if she can go over to a friend’s house because her house is just so boring. you and mike take her and after you drop her off, you both run to the grocery store to pick up things for dinner.

“we should’ve gotten some dessert,” you say as you take the last bite on your plate.

“we can go back now,” mike says. “ah, it’s okay. maybe next time,” you smile.

he nods and picks up your plates, starting to wash them. you turn to face him, looking over him. you can tell his muscles are tense under his shirt. his jaw is clenched, which means he’s thinking about something that’s making him nervous. you can’t stand seeing him look sad anymore.

“hey, baby,” you say softly. you place a hand between his shoulder blades, gently rubbing his back. “you don’t have to do the dishes. we don’t have to be that productive.”

“i know. we aren’t doing much anyways. thought i’d do them before they pile up.”

you smile and peck his cheek. “you’re the perfect man, michael schmidt.”

he sighs and shakes his head. “i’m not.”

“of course you are. why would you think that?”

“because i…” his words falter and now you start to get nervous.

“mike, it’s okay. you can talk to me.”

“it’s stupid and… and just doesn’t make me the kind of guy you think i am.”

you sigh, your breath sounding shaky. “the only way you could not be is… is you killed someone or cheated on me.”

his eyes widen and he shakes his head. “oh my god. no. i haven’t killed anybody, and i would never cheat on you. you don’t understand how lucky i am to have you. and that i… i couldn’t ever think about cheating on you. no matter what state of mind i am in or if you hurt me first. you… you just… you’re everything to me.”

your heart swells and take his hand into yours, forgetting it’s wet from doing the dishes. you both share a small laugh and he dries his hands quickly.

“you’re everything to me, too, mike. and i want you to know that you can talk to me about whatever. i’m not trying to be a fixer, but i want you to know that i can be that person you vent to. i want to be that person. i want to carry your baggage. i want to share your scars. so, you don’t have to tell me what’s been on your mind now, or ever, but just for the future, know that i am here for you.”

he didn’t think he could fall any deeper for you until now.

“i know. i’m afraid i won’t be able to be there for you, though.”

“oh,” you say. “well, that’s okay. we all have times in our lives where —”

“i… i don’t mean emotionally. i mean, i do, but … it’s not easy for me to do what you do.”

you raise a brow. “and what do i do?”

“the way you…” he sighs, feeling so stupid. why can’t he just grow up? he’s not a teenager anymore learning about emotional intelligence.

“mike, go ahead,” you say.

“i… i’m falling in love with you,” he rushes out to where it sounds like i’mfallinginlovewithyou. you can’t help but let your jaw drop. “and i’m afraid that i won’t be able to show it like how you do. you’re so good at it. you’re so good at showing how much you care for me. i’m not the same. i want to be, but i don’t know how to. I’m afraid that you’ll realize that and… and leave me. which i would understand. it’s hard to give and not receive.”

you’re silent for a moment. mike searches your face, feeling like he can’t breathe. your face breaks out in a smile.

little does mike know, he does know how to show he loves and cares for you. you can see it when he reaches for you in his sleep, his hand searching for you even when he’s unconscious. he pulls you in, placing his hand on the small of your back without fail every time. you see it in the way he listens intently to your problems, never trying to provide a solution, only listening because he knows that’s what you need. he shows his love for you by holding your hand or waist in public, always keeping close to you and looking out for anybody threatening.

mike may think all these things he does are small, but you think it equates to what you do, if not more. he may not show it outwardly like you do, but it doesn’t make it any less important or more able.

“mike.” you move closer to him, brining a hand to cup his cheek. “you have no idea how you show your love to me. it doesn’t need to be over the top. the way i show my love for you isn’t over the top. i just think you’re not used to have someone love you, so you think everything i do is special.”

“it is, though,” he insists. “well, i think what you do is special, mike. you don’t need to ever be afraid of me not thinking you don’t love me. cause i know,” you say.

he breathes out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “good. i’m glad.”

“why don’t we go and get some dessert,” you suggest. he nods, “anything you want.” he moves to grab his shoes and coat.

“and mike,” you say, stopping him. he looks up at you, his big brown eyes staring into yours. “in case you couldn’t tell, i’m in love with you, too.”

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x you

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steviewashere · 9 months ago

Text

Perfect Timing

Rating: General CW: References to Sex Tags: Established Relationship, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Marriage Proposals, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Dialogue Heavy

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is having hope for the future together."

💕—————💕

Steve was sitting at the dining table, hands spread out on the surface, staring down at a piece of mail when he heard Eddie clamber through the front door. Based on the string of things being dropped and Eddie not reacting negatively, just sighing a little bit and picking things up, must mean he was having a good day.

It’s funny, Steve thinks, that he knows the way in which Eddie’s emotions express when he comes through the front door of their shared space. They began renting an apartment in Chicago just a year or so after getting together. Tail end of 1986 meant sharing a bed and house by August of 1987. And it’s theirs. Filled with miscellaneous clutter—a bookshelf brimmed with books, coffee table layered with Sports Illustrated and Heavy Metal magazines, dice and keys and Topps baseball cards, and picture frames they dust and drawings from Eddie’s sketchbooks and ‘failed’ art projects of Steve’s that Eddie thought were masterpieces. Point is, they’ve made it their home. And they started their lives with a breath of fresh air.

And now it’s 1995, depending on one another’s reactions, this all may just crumble at their feet.

See, Eddie was out playing a demo tape for a small record company based here in Chicago. A little indie place that’s been looking to expand their music catalogue from contemporary to a broader lick of alternative genres. Which, it turns out, includes thrash and heavy metal. Which, Steve adores, Eddie is amazing at performing.

But, Steve? He’s been anxiously waiting all day for the mail to arrive. Biting down on his fingernails, chewing them up so much they bleed and he has to run his fingertips under lukewarm water. Pacing the carpet of the living room. Pushing down and peering through the eggshell blinds. Biting his fingernails, again. And then it came and now he’s at their dining table and now he’s waiting for Eddie to careen around the corner and kiss his hair and ask in his greeting Steve voice, “What’s this, baby?”

“What’s this, baby?” Steve hears from above him. He jumps a little bit. Maybe he should have put on music or something, try to get himself to stay grounded in the present. “Stevie?” Eddie calls.

“Oh, uh,” Steve stutters. “It’s a letter I got in the mail, but I—I wanna hear about your demo tape.” Eddie gives him a sidelong glance. A little furrow to his eyebrows, a frown. “The letter isn’t anything bad, I read it already. But I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

Eddie hums, nodding in slow understanding. He slides into the dining seat across from Steve. Mirroring his position. Then, he realizes, based on whatever face Steve makes, that it’s only anxiety inducing. He sets his chin in his right palm, stretching the other onto the table for Steve to take. Waiting patiently. And says, when Steve actually grabs back, “It went really well, sweetheart. They offered me a contract.”

“That’s great news, Eds! What did—Did you sign it? Please tell me you signed it.”

Then, Eddie sighs. And Steve shrinks a little. “I did,” he tells slowly, as if testing the words for the first time. “I signed it. They’re keeping me based here. I’ll start recording next Saturday.” He squeezes at Steve’s hand.

“What’s the long face for, then?”

“I’m not making a face,” Eddie feebly argues.

“You are!” And Steve mocks him. Frowning, eyes distant to the surface of the table, bunching his eyebrows impossibly farther down his face. His shoulders slump. “That’s what you did! What happened? Were they pieces of shit to you or something? Did they like—Are they underselling your music prowess or something? Do I need to kick their—“

Eddie chuckles. His laughter like honey. “Babe, breathe for me,” he whispers. “My only issue is that—“ But he cuts himself off there. He leans in across the table. Eyes down at the letter in front of Steve. “That’s a letter from the community college, isn’t it?”

Steve pulls his hands back, laying them palm down on the paper. He swallows thickly. “It is. Why?”

“Did you get in?”

“I’m not telling you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“You telling me determines whether or not I have a genuine problem. So…Did you get into the college that you’ve been looking at forlorn every time we drive by it? Or did you not and I need to go kick some old people ass?” His eyes are large in earnest. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat. His hair curtaining his face, making his facial features impossibly darker, shadowed by something tricky.

Steve chews on his lip. “I got in,” he mutters. “I got into their English literature program. And once I’m done with that, I transfer. And once I transfer, I start classes at a four year. I’ll be studying English literature and secondary education,” he rambles. His fingers tap over the letter. “Is that…Does that ruin your whole music dream? I don’t want to be the reason that you chase something else.”

For a moment, the room goes scary still and silent. Eddie’s facial features soften. And Steve’s heart rabbits against his ribcage. Hard enough that he slides a palm over his t-shirt, massaging at the rapid beating, hoping that he doesn’t have a heart attack on the third floor of their complex. That would suck, he thinks bitterly. And my future would be done for.

He sits back in his chair. Anxiety thrumming under his skin when Eddie still doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at him like he’s…Like he’s planning an entire five lifetimes with Steve. Like he’s about to sweep Steve off his feet, chuck him over the side of their mattress, give him hickeys until he’s a mottled lovesick mess, and then get down on one knee and surrender his heart to Steve’s hands. Like he’s gonna propose something wonderful like marriage. And, maybe, Steve lets himself believe something crazy like that.

“Remember when I told you that I consider marriage as a possibility?” Eddie asks abruptly.

And, goddamnit, if Eddie does something crazy and stupid like propose right now, Steve may just throw up out of excitement. How embarrassing, he thinks. And he chuckles despite that.

“I do,” he finds himself whispering. “What does this—“

“And I considered it with you. And I held you close and you cried against my lips and we made love like we were the only people in the universe? Remember all the times that you’d lay on top of me out of contentment? All the times I’d hold you close to my chest? All the times you kissed over my heart, like it was the only thing keeping us tethered to the moment?”

Nervously, Steve laughs. “Yes, Eddie. Yes, I remember all that. What is your point with—“

“Fucking margarita nights. You’re a sweet drunk, d’you know that? Like almost unbearably sweet.” Eddie scoots his chair around the table. Setting it next to Steve, on his left. And his hands come into Steve’s field of view. Gathering Steve’s palms in his, squeezing and caressing the skin. “All the times in which we thought that this apartment was all that we had.” He shakes his head, smirking, snickering like this intense reaction he’s having is something funny to Steve.

Fact of the matter, Steve is scared shitless right now. What if this is his way of breaking up, he can’t help himself from wondering. Cruel. He swallows against the lump in his throat. Words escaping him.

“I want to marry you so bad,” Eddie swears. “Wanna do the whole ceremony. And the paper signing. And the honeymoon, but in some little cabin on a mountain. Where we load the fireplace with wood and we huddle in for warmth and we sip at rich cups of Uncle Wayne’s hot chocolate. And then, in a few years time, when we’ve financially recovered from the wedding, we’ll buy a house.

“We’ll buy a house and paint it yellow,” he promises. Steve begins to cry, something silent, but can’t pinch his nose to stop himself. “It’ll be yellow because that’s your favorite color. With white shutters. And a big backyard for a dog or two. Wrap around porch so that we can sit and watch the sunrises and sunsets.” He takes a deep breath that sounds a little nasally. “I’ll make you breakfast every morning,” he continues, “serve you a fresh bowl of strawberries, ones that you grow under the big front window of our house. I’ll kiss you all over the face, like I do now, and you’ll grumble that it’s too early and then you’ll smell the bacon and you’ll give me your stupid sleepy smile that makes my heart do funny little flips and you’ll kiss me on the mouth and it’ll be disgusting because you haven’t brushed your teeth.

“And I’ll be a very happy man.” Eddie’s breath trembles in his chest. He swallows hard. Steve wonders if he can hear his own shaky breath. Or if he’s too involved in whatever this is. “I’ll be so happy,” he whispers, “And I’ll find myself thinking, how did I ever get so lucky? But it isn’t luck. And it isn’t fate. It was trauma that forced us together and I’ll laugh about it. But then I’ll sigh because who the fuck cares how we started all of this?

“You’ll be a funky middle school English teacher. With your nicely done hair and a sweater vest and some khakis. I’ll be a musician, hopefully. But, every day you’ll have a small lunch; an orange that I made you peel but I removed the pulp from, a tuna salad sandwich because you’re my fish loving dork, and a bottle of water. I’ll leave you a note everyday telling you how proud I am because I’ve never stopped being proud of you.

“I’m proud of you, Steve, d’you know that? So much.” He laughs wetly. His eyes staring down at their interlocked hands. “All this to say that I’m proud of you. That I’m happy. We’ve got a future, sweetheart. And I want to be your husband. Will you—“ He swallows once more, thick and heavy and almost painful looking. Can love hurt when it’s this sweet?

Eddie finally looks up. His eyes glistening and his cheeks wet and his skin tinted pink. His eyelashes stuck together. Nose dripping only slightly. He’s a messy crier, but Steve doesn’t fare any better. “Will you marry me, Steve? Stay by my side and we’ll accomplish our dreams together?” His voice is soft. Enamored.

Unbelievable, Steve swallows back. Because how did he get somebody like Eddie in his life? How did he manage to find love and have it promised back at him?

“Yes, Eddie,” he gasps out. “God, holy shit.” He drops his hands from Eddie’s hold, instead wrapping them around his torso. Muffled into Eddie’s shoulder, “All this just because I’m finally figuring my shit out? God.”

Eddie cackles, burying his own face in Steve’s hair. They sway a little. “I just—“ Eddie begins whispering. “I don’t know. I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while. Every time seemed right, but this one? Baby, this one was perfect.”

Steve sighs into the embrace. Content to not say anything else. Except, “I’m proud of you, too, honey. I love you so much and I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too, love bug. God, Steve, I love you, too.”

For the first time since 1983, Steve allows himself to truly settle in for a future. A future, he knows, he’ll be especially proud of.

💕—————💕 Fun fact, I accidentally deleted this whole ficlet when I was copying and pasting. Hit the spacebar and watched it disappear in front of my eyes. But I figured out how to get it back, not before almost throwing up on myself out of anger. Love y'all <3

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 12 #fluff #domestic fluff #domestic steddie #<3

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rd0265667 · 2 months ago

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Seulgi x Reader: Dream Girl

Permanent Taglist: @cwpiqwon @justme-idle

A/N: It's fluff I swear

To most people, dreams are like fleeting wisps of fantasy—moments of escape where the laws of reality bend and shift, offering a brief respite from the mundane. They speak of dreams as whimsical adventures, an occasional playground for their subconscious. They speak of dreams with joy, piecing together the intermittent adventures they would concoct in their brains. Their dreams bring them to lands unknown and bring them joys untold. There's a theory that dreams are a glimpse into the lives of your multiversal counterparts, your doppelgangers. Well, if that were true, you pitied the poor fools across the multiverse; your doppelgangers had to be going through hell.

See, while others had dreams, you only had terrors. Nightmares came to haunt you, night after night. It was a rare night to get more than 3 hours of sleep. While it did take some time, you did adapt to it. You didn't enjoy it, but well, beggars and choosers and all that. You set alarms around 2 hours in, hoping that you'd be pulled out of your sleep before any nightmares came. To make up for the lack of sleep, you resorted to snacking constantly and eating small amounts of food to make up for your lack of energy. Naturally, this brought up quite a few other problems. This did come with it's perks, though. As a corporate worker, one doesn't exactly have much personal time for R&R. So in the ungodly hours where everyone you knew slept, you stayed up, binge-watching any content you could find. Kpop, to be exact. You basically just binge-watch K-pop content at night—various shows, music shows, music videos, anything. Not exactly an awe-inspiring or particularly jaw-dropping talent, but well, it had its moments to shine. Particularly, a radio show, where your recognition of Ice Cream Cake within the first second of the song earned you a prize that many others had failed to obtain despite spending thousands on albums. A small intimate fan meet amongst Red Velvet and 100 lucky fans. Maybe your nightmares were actually real life, and life was a dream. Listen, if you could meet Red Velvet, you'd take whatever came with it. It seemed that the powers that be, decided to test that statement, as you excitedly hopped into bed, brimming with anticipation at meeting your idols tomorrow. You always turned your alarm clock on, you always did, right?

As you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a foreign room, framed works of arts lining every square inch of the walls around you. The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering against the walls like malevolent spirits, the only thing keeping you from complete darkness were the candles, desperately flickering as it tried its best to keep the room lit. You stood in the centre of the room, cold sweat pouring down your face, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The air was thick and oppressive, carrying a nauseating stench of decay that made your stomach churn. You knew in your gut that something was wrong. You’ve made it a point to always have your alarm set, and it pulls you out before anything happens right? You couldn’t be that careless right?

Well, you alway enjoyed proving yourself wrong.

Without warning, the walls began to close in, the room shrinking around you. You tried to move, but your feet were rooted to the ground, as if the floor had turned to quicksand, dragging you down. Panic surged through you as the winds grew stronger, extinguishing the candles, and the darkness crept closer, the shadows morphing into monstrous, writhing shapes that seemed to reach out with clawed hands.

A low, guttural whisper echoed, repeating your name over and over, each iteration louder and more insistent, filled with a sinister glee, followed by a loud cackle. You strained to see where it was coming from, but the source remained hidden.

Out of the corner of your eye, a figure emerged from the darkness. It was unfamiliar yet grotesquely horrifying, a twisted amalgamation of nightmares. Its eyes were hollow, pits of endless darkness that swallowed all light. Its mouth stretched into an unnatural grin, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. It reached out with skeletal hands, fingers elongating and curling like the legs of a giant spider.

You tried your best to stay calm. You had enough experiences with nightmares to know that however realistic it felt, it was all fake, and it would be over soon. The walls were almost touching you now, the space so confined you could barely breathe. The figure's icy fingers brushed your face, their touch burning like acid, sending waves of agony through your body. Their whispering voice was right in your ear, speaking in a language you couldn't understand, yet the words filled you with an overwhelming sense of dread and despair.

Breathe, just breathe. It would all be over soon. Just breathe

Just as the walls were about to crush you, everything stopped. The figure vanished, the walls receded, and you were left alone in the now cavernous, empty room. The silence was deafening, but it was short-lived. The ground beneath you began to crack and crumble, and you started to fall into an abyss of endless darkness, the wind howling in your ears as you plummeted into the void.

You reached out, grasping at nothing, feeling the cold, slimy tendrils of something unseen wrapping around your limbs, pulling you deeper. The whispers grew louder, now a cacophony of voices screaming your name, each one more frantic and desperate than the last.

You bolted up from your bed, shirt soaked in sweat, panting heavily as your chest heaved up and down, looking to your phone in regret. You should have just remembered to set that damn alarm. Great Start to the day. At least this one was a tame one.

With your fashion sense limited to dress to impress, and you still being thrown off by that nightmare, you decided to forgo any flashy attire, opting instead for a simple outfit, throwing on a baggy hoodie and some jeans, then heading out to the event. Once you reached the auditorium, you saw quite a large crowd already gathered, some assumedly being dispatched or some fans hoping to get lucky and see the idols in real life. Walking up to the entrance, you were stopped by two security guards, who, after verifying your ticket, quickly ushered you into the venue. Quickly grabbing a seat, you look up to the stage, and immediately you're struck in awe of the sight in front of you. Of course, you had seen them online before, and you had spent countless hours gushing to your friends over how pretty they were, but seeing them in person and so close was a whole different kind of ethereal. And amongst this collage of beauty and almost angelic perfection, one stood out to you. The other members looked good, that you couldn't deny, but Kang Seulgi just had this aura about her, and you found it hard to rip your eyes off of her. You could almost swear she locked eyes with you for a moment. For a moment, that took your mind off that horrible nightmare. Just for a momentAs the event kicked off, you were ushered to the front of the stage, feeling your heartbeat accelerate as you got closer to the stage, clutching the Red Flavour album tight against your chest. Walking up to the first seat, you were greeted with a warm smile by Wendy. You shared a quick conversation with her, talking about how much you loved her music. Catching on to your nervousness, Wendy let out a slight chuckle. "Take a deep breath, What's your name?" Wendy asked "Y/N" You mumbled out, embarrassed at having been caught going into fan mode. "Thank you for all your support, Y/N. I appreciate every one of our fans, and I look forward to releasing more songs for you guys to enjoy!" Wendy replied, motioning to your album, taking the cap off her pen. This continued with the other 3 girls, though the interactions varied, Yeri and Joy being more playful, while Irene, while still interacting, was more laid back, letting you do more of the talking. Finally, you reached the one who you'd been almost bubbling over in excitement to meet. As you reached Seulgi, before you could even say anything, Seulgi looked straight into your eyes. before quickly grabbing you by the hand. "You look tired." Seulgi said, worry evident in her tone. You did try to answer, you really did, but with Seulgi's hand on yours, her eyes locked on yours, your words couldn't leave your throat. "Are you okay Y/N?" Seulgi asked, looking worriedly at you. With a hard gulp, you force yourself to focus, slowly wiggling your hand away from under Seulgi's hand in an attempt to force your brain to rewire itself. Worried, Seulgi looked to her manager in a corner, beckoning her over to bring a bottle of water for you. "Thank you." Was all you could mumble, taking a seat as your eyes darted around wildly, from Seulgi's auburn locks, to her soulful eyes, there really was nowhere you could look without being entranced by her. "Your fatigue, is it a common thing?" Seulgi asked, akin to a therapist or medical professional more than an idol. "Yeah, but it's not a medical condition, it's just, I get nightmares. I don't really get more than 3 hours of sleep a night" You explain, nervously fidgeting, unable to maintain eye contact with her. "Oh, you poor thing, I'm sorry to hear that. How do you even cope with this? Have you talked to anyone about all this?” Seulgi asked, leaning in closer to you.

“I usually listen to Kpop, but sometimes, I’ll just go to the beach near my house and just listen to the waves, maybe have some cookies, it helps. About telling others…I’ve mentioned it, but nobody really takes it seriously. I don’t want to get any special treatment for it either, so I tend not to talk about it unless anybody asks. You must think I’m some kind of weirdo.” You begin to mumble. Who needs nightmares when you have adolescent brats who could make fun of anything? “Nonsense, we all have our own problems, and it’s not like this is within your control. Stay strong, I’m sure there will be someone to help you soon.” Seulgi said, giving you a small smile as she reached out, gently squeezing you on your shoulder. “I’ve tried, Seulgi, it’s been a long time, at some point, you adapt instead of overcome.” You said, downtrodden, the most recent slip up induced nightmare still sending chills down your spine. “I have a good feeling about it. Trust me.” Seulgi said with a smile. It’s a curious thing, this has been said to you multiple times, many many times, parents, teachers, friends who were understanding, therapists, many, many people. And to be frank, after the first 3 or 4 times, you had kind of lost hope. They were just being nice, and you understood that. It’s not like they would say, “You’re stuck with this now, now scram kid, I want to watch Shark Tank.”, so you always took their words at face value, just a wish, and a hope for a better tomorrow. However, now, as you looked into the eyes of Kang Seulgi, international superstar, renowned kpop idol, there was a resolute hope, a belief even that what she said was true. Wow, you thought to yourself. Kang Seulgi was out of this world. The manager whispered to Seulgi, gesturing to the line that had begun to form behind me. “One moment.” Seulgi said to her manager, before Seulgi hastily grabbed your album, signing it. ‘Wishing you all the luck in overcoming your afflictions. I’ll be with you all the way, whether through our music, or in my thoughts. Your Dream girl(and better be your favourite), Kang Seulgi <3)”

“Woah” Is all you could mutter as you crashed onto your bed, reading what Seulgi had written on your album for what had to have been the hundredth time of the day. Or the thousandth, you’d lost track to be very frank. Could there really be a solution to your nightmares? Perhaps, but that was a problem for another day. Now, you sleep. The little sleep you can get anyways. Turning to your side, you set an alarm for 2 hours. Perhaps Seulgi was right, but unfortunately, you weren’t gonna risk another night terror at the assurance from a Kpop idol. Perhaps soon, not now.

As you tucked yourself into your bed, and drifted into your deep sleep, you sat up, hand moving to your phone, shutting the alarm off, before falling back into the bed, in a slumber all the while.

For the second time in as many nights, you sat up, this time finding yourself in a transparent room in the middle of the ocean, waves crashing around you, the symphony of silence chiming in your ears, the only thing audible being the crest and trough of the waves. This was calm. This was great. This was wrong.

You looked around, confusion stirring. Looking at the room, you saw a table with two seats, one seat occupied by a woman, who slowly sipped a cup of water as she admired the sea. Before you could ask anything, the woman spoke. “Do you like this? I scanned your subconscious, and this was an environment you found relaxing.” The woman’s voice was familiar. Too familiar. You recognised that voice. “Seulgi?” You say in disbelief. The woman ignores you, continuing to sip her water, as she beckoned you to a seat opposite of her, across the table

What the hell was going on? Was this a nightmare? This was definitely different from the nightmares you were accustomed to.

“This isn’t a nightmare, that much I can promise you. Trust me 0n this. Take a seat and I’ll explain.” Looking around, you tried to take in as much as you could as you moved to the vacant seat. You somehow overslept again, but instead of a nightmare, you were stuck in something more akin to a dream, with a lady you’d assume was similar to an oneiroi. The lady, who looked exactly like Kang Seulgi. None of this made sense. “I’m not an oneiroi, though I’m impressed you know about oneiroi. And before we go on, yes, I can hear what you’re thinking. Any other questions?” The lady said with a smile, snapping her fingers, a cup full of hot chocolate, your go-to drink by the beach, suddenly appearing in your hand. “What are you? How is this happening?” “Well, before anything, I apologise for taking so long. A peek into your subconscious shows how much suffering you’ve been through. And for your questions, I’m akin to a technician. I’m here to fix your nightmares, but it’s a long job, so while you sleep, instead of nightmares, I’ll be here. I can make this room anything, a batting cage, a movie theatre, whatever you need to relax. And when you wake up, you’ll feel well rested, as if you slept through the entire night.” Looking at her, your mind raced with the possibilities of all that could happen. Was this real? If this was real, it’ll finally be over, the sleepless nights, the 2 hour sleeps, the nightmares. You didn’t know if you could place your full faith in this. Then, your mind instantly bolts to the next question. “Why do you look like Seulgi?” You asked, and just as the woman was about to answer, you raised your hand, the answer seemingly having come to you. Seulgi had left a deep impression on you after that fanmeet, and with all that talk about helping your nightmares go away, all of that must have made your mind associate Seulgi with fixing your nightmares. That made sense. Clearly sensing your thoughts, the woman let out a light giggle. “You’re quick.” She quipped, causing you to shrug. “Well, if I’m to spend my time here with you, what do I call you?” You asked “Whatever you want.” “Would you mind if I called you Seulgi? That’s who you took your likeness from, and I’d probably end up calling you that anyways.” You asked, the woman nodding in agreement. “Alright, Seulgi, how long does this dream last? And can you make this place, like a nice old timey diner.” You asked, Seulgi nodding, snapping her fingers, and just like that, the room around them was morphed into a diner, as you found yourself in a small cubicle in the diner, sitting opposite to Seulgi. In front of you was your favourite food, a good bowl of Jjangmyeon, while Seulgi had a plate of Kimchi Tuna Fried Rice. “See that clock there?” Seulgi gestured to the wall clock, showing 10 minutes left. “Each of these dreams will last 2 hours. You lost some time on this one since I spent some time getting you here. When the time runs out, you’ll wake up at 0700 in this case. You need to spend a minimum of 2 hours here for any work to get done, so do account for it. You’ll have to at least get 4 hours of sleep for the next few months, how many exactly, I can’t be sure.” You nodded in understanding, making a mental note to make sure you changed your sleeping habits. “Seulgi, can I ask a favour of you?” You ask, slowly eating the bowl of Jjangmyeon.

“Shoot.” Seulgi replied. She knew what you were going to ask, but, well, this facilitates human interaction more. “Seeing as I’m going to spend quite a bit of time here, you’re going to be my only companion. For us to hang out, well somewhat normally, considering you’re basically an angel, could you not read my mind? At least that way, I can feel like I’m talking to a friend, and not an omniscient being.” You ask, Seulgi returning a small smile. “Of course. If that’ll help you relax more, by all means.” Seulgi said, before snapping her fingers As the time passed, you began to ask Seulgi questions, to which she answered with an amused smile all the while. “What are you? Are you a figment of my imagination? Or are you some sort of extraterrestrial, or supernatural?” You asked, before hearing a buzz from the clock. Hearing that, Seulgi let out a light giggle. “Oh well, questions for tomorrow night.”

You sat up in shock, finding yourself back in your bed. Wow, this was…wow. It was a foreign feeling but you felt rested, invigorated. You could get used to this.

“You’re looking chipper. What song is that anyways?” Lucy commented, letting out a light snicker as she watched you by the copier, humming a tune while you scanned some documents. “There’s no way you don’t know Cosmic. By Red Velvet? No? That’s kind of disappointing Lucy.” You commented as she shrugged, then rolled her eyes, taking a sip of coffee before heading back to her desk. So this was what working on a full night of sleep feels like. It’s great. Well, as great as working a corporate job can be.

As the night dawned, you laid in your bed once more, about to shut your eyes, just before you felt a wave of insecurity rush over you. What if last night was part of a bigger nightmare, give you a sense of false hope before showing you that rock bottom indeed had a basement? “This isn’t a nightmare, that much I can promise you. Trust me 0n this.” Seulgi, or technically Fake Seulgi’s words echoed in your mind. Could you trust her? Your finger lingered over the alarm app. A few seconds later, you sighed. In for a penny. Setting your phone to the side, you turned your lamp off, going off into sleep.

“Welcome back.” was all you heard, finding yourself in what looked to be a cosy home theatre. Looking around, you saw a widescreen TV, and a small two seater couch. “What’s this?” You ask, looking confusedly at Seulgi, who simply smiled. “Deadpool and Wolverine. I know you’ve been meaning to watch it but you haven’t been able to get tickets for it, so here.” Seulgi says with a smile, patting the seat beside her, two buckets of popcorn in her hands. “Oh, nice.” You say in jubilation. You rush towards the seat, Seulgi handing you the bucket of popcorn, before snapping her fingers, the opening sequence then beginning to play. Everything seemed normal, but all of sudden, you feel a hand slide on your arm, looping around yours, causing you to tense up. What was happening? You turn to your side, seeing Seulgi stare at the screen nonchalantly, as if her arm wasn’t looped around yours. “Everything okay?” Seulgi asked sweetly, in a way that made you almost certain she knew what she was doing. “Fine.” Was all you could say, causing Seulgi to giggle, going back to watching the movie. Would you really make Seulgi so flirty with you in your mind? Would you? Yeh, sounds about right. This was wrong though, and you knew it. Your heart rate accelerated, and you felt a crimson blush across your face. All this, for a fake imagined version of a Kpop idol you could only dream of even watching a movie together. It was wrong, and it had to stop.

Easier said than done, however. Especially when Seulgi looks at you the way she does, trapping you in her dark hazel eyes, showing you universes you had no clue even existed. It also didn’t help how clingy Seulgi was during the movie. Oh well, it’s probably just a one time thing, the next one would probably be the two of you just chatting like a couple of friends. Well, right and wrong.

You guys had many hangouts, but some stuck out more than the rest

In the dimly lit café, the ambiance is warm and inviting. Seulgi is seated at a corner table, her face illuminated by the flickering candlelight. You join her, and she greets you with a smile that seems to light up the entire room.

Seulgi leans in slightly, her voice playful. "I was hoping you'd come by. This place has the best coffee. Have you tried it?"

You smile, feeling a flutter of excitement, before rolling your eyes playfully. “Wow, tooting your own horn huh? Never pegged you for a self indulgent type.” “What can I say? I’m the best.” Seulgi says with a smile, causing you to playfully shove her, laughing at her faux confidence

As the conversation flows, you find yourself drawn to her laughter and the way she engages with you. Her presence makes everything feel more vibrant. She teases you about your taste in books, and you playfully banter back, though you use real life information on Seulgi instead of what you know of this Seulgi.

Another night, the scene shifts to a moonlit park. The path is lined with glowing lanterns, casting a golden light over the surroundings. Seulgi walks beside you, her dress fluttering with the gentle breeze.

Seulgi nudges you playfully as you stroll along the path. “I’ve never understood the hype around night strolls.”

"Have you ever noticed how peaceful everything feels at night? It’s like the world slows down just for us." “Umm, I’m not real? What are you saying?” Seulgi giggles as she playfully flicks you on the forehead, causing you to smile, but also pulling you out of the moment. Your feelings for this Seulgi was undeniable, but how could you feel that way for someone who was nothing more than a spectre of your own imagination? “Are you okay?” Seulgi gently asked, this time more gentle and careful, seeing the change in your demeanour. “Yeh.” You said with a forced smile, continuing to walk through the makeshift park

You talk about everything and nothing as you walk. She shares whimsical stories, and you respond with your own tales, each of you enjoying the other’s company.

Every now and then, she’d glance at you with a soft smile. The way she leaned in slightly when she spoke, or the way she let her fingers graze yours as you walked, created a sense of closeness that was both comforting and disorienting. You found yourself caught between the peace of the moment and the unsettling, terrifying reality of being in love with someone who didn't exist.

In another dream, you find yourselves at a bustling carnival. The air is filled with the sounds of laughter and carnival games. Seulgi is by your side, her eyes bright with excitement.

She tugs you towards a game booth, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Let’s see if you can win me that plush toy! I’m counting on your skills."

You accept the challenge with a grin, the playful competition adding to the joy of the evening. As you win the plush toy and hand it to her, she laughs, her eyes sparkling. "I knew you had it in you!"

“Did you rig the game?” you asked with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at Seulgi.

She grinned mischievously, wrapping her arms around the plush toy. “Who knows? Maybe I just wanted to see you win. Sometimes, a little magic can make things more fun.”

“Thanks for this though.” Seulgi whispered, gesturing to the plush, getting on her tiptoes, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

As you stood stunned, she laughed, laughing as she pulled you to the Ferris wheel

You both ride the Ferris wheel together, sharing a quiet moment as you look out over the carnival below, the lights glimmering from the ground as you sat conflicted, attempting to combat your burgeoning feelings

Another night, you’re in a serene garden at twilight. The air is filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the garden is bathed in a soft, golden light. Seulgi is with you, her presence calming and serene.

You sit on a bench, surrounded by the beauty of the garden. Seulgi turns to you, her voice gentle. "Isn’t it amazing how some places just feel right? Like they were meant to be experienced with someone special."

You nod, feeling the warmth of her presence. "It does feel like that. I’m glad we’re here together."

Seulgi rests her head on your shoulder, allowing your mind to wander far and wild

“This is really nice,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “It feels like the world has slowed down just for us.”

Seulgi tilted her head slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad you think so. Sometimes, it’s these quiet moments that make everything feel right.”

“Thanks for making this for me.” You say

“Anything for you.”

In the next dream, you walk along a starlit beach, the waves gently lapping at the shore. Seulgi walks beside you, her dress flowing with the breeze.

Seulgi picks up a seashell and holds it up to you, her voice soft and playful. "I’ve always liked finding seashells. They make me think of stories and adventures."

“You’ve always?” You ask sceptically

“It’s called small talk genius. Try thinking of topics when you don’t exist.” Seulgi rolled her eyes, sticking her hand out.

You take the seashell from her, admiring its beauty. "You have a way of making even the smallest things feel special."

Seulgi’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and affection. “That’s my job, after all. To make things special, even in dreams.”

As you walk along the beach, you talk about your hopes and dreams, all the while Seulgi looked at you, an undeniable look of adoration, but under the surface, you could sense a small look of apprehension. Oh well, problem for another night.

“What’s this?” You look at the envelope, a SM ent sign on it. Looking at it, you found that you were invited back for another fan sign, in two days, but it was only for one of the five members, and you got Seulgi. Wow, that was trippy. Meet the real Seulgi while you were in love with the fake one. This was going to be, mildly confusing The next night, things were different. Instead of coming into a special hang out/date that Seulgi would create, you found yourself back above the ocean, the same transparent box hovering over the ocean, a big grandfather clock in the corner of the room, ticking backwards from 2 hours. Paying it no mind, you move to find Seulgi, who was sitting at the same table as the first night. “Hey Seulgi, what’s with the sudden nostalgia trip?” You ask, letting out a small chuckle, going to sit opposite a rather uncomfortable looking Seulgi, who looked deep in thought. “Seul?” You prod lightly, seemingly pulling her out of her deep thought. “Hmm? Oh yeah, you know, I ran out of ideas.” She quickly sipped her cup of water, trying to force a smile. “Is everything okay?” You ask, slightly suspicious. Between the apprehension of the previous night, and her clear unhappiness here, something was off. “No, nothing, sorry, just, had a lot on my mind, with my upcoming schedules and p-” Seulgi was clearly stressed, and your eyebrow creased in confusion. “You have a schedule? What for? You’re a, well, I still don’t know what you are, but I didn’t think you’d have a schedule.” You ask. “Forget I said anything, what do you want to do? I’m out of ideas unfortunately.” Seulgi shrugs. “Hmm, maybe Karaoke?” You suggest, it was a fun way to pass time, and if this Seulgi was anything like the real Seulgi, you knew you were in for a vocal masterclass. “As you wish.” Seulgi theatrically bowed, snapping her fingers, a karaoke machine and a TV appearing before them. For the next hour and a half, you and Seulgi had a blast, going through the greatest hits, your uninspiring vocals being blanketed by a snap of a finger, granting you passable vocals for the next 2 hours. One song in particular, ironically a Red Velvet Song, Psycho, Seulgi shined and sang that song as if it was composed for her. “Wow, that was…amazing.” “Of course, I’m your dream girl.” She said, winking, causing you to smile, but also tilt your head in confusion. That sounded familiar. “Hey! It’s your turn.” Seulgi called out, handing you the mic. As you scrolled through the music list, your finger hovers over a certain Elvis song. You hesitated playing this song. You had come to terms with your crush on someone who didn’t actually exist. The Portuguese called it Saudade, the haunting desire for an imaginary love. It wasn’t right, but it was inevitable. Night after night of what were effectively dates, it was nigh impossible to not catch feelings for her, not only because she looks like Seulgi, but because of her playful and cheerful personality, a beacon and light for you. She was your salvation.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you.” You sing, locking eyes with Seulgi, who seemed to understand what was going on As you continued to sing, Seulgi’s gaze never left yours, softening as you got lost in her eyes as she swam in the galaxies of yours. The song reaches it’s end, and, nothing. Silence. The two of you sit in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. You knew, the both of you had a choice to make, and it was evident on Seulgi’s face, that she was conflicted. The two of you begin to talk at the same time, causing yet another pause in the conversation. “You go.” You say, allowing Seulgi to go first. She nervously gulps, before starting to talk. “Y/N, I want you to know that I’ve really enjoyed the past two months.” Had it really been two months already? Wow, time flies huh. “Y/N. I know we have something, there’s something between us that I can’t explain, but…” Seulgi paused, and you felt your heart jump from your chest. Of course, what did you expect? This was obviously never going to work out, who could love y- “No, Y/N, it’s not that.” Seulgi suddenly said, causing you to weakly force a smile. “What did I say about peeking about my mind Seulgi?” You say, causing Seulgi to grimace. “It’s involuntary…I can’t turn it off today.” Seulgi says, causing to look at her in confusion. What’s so special about today? “It’s the last day, Y/N. My work here is done, no more nightmares, everything is fixed up, but…that means this too is done. All of it. The 2 hour meetings nightly, the carnivals, the parks. All of it. I’m really sorry.” Seulgi says, causing you to reel back in shock. You didn’t know these dreams would end. Maybe you did, but you just never acknowledged it. Looking hurriedly at the clock, you see the hour hand disappeared, the minute hand too, you only had 20 seconds left. You didn’t have time. Looking hurriedly at Seulgi, you found yourself unable to say a word, instead, you placed your lips on hers, pulling her into an embrace, stealing the last moments of, everything.

“No!” You sit up in your bed, cold sweat, as if you had a nightmare the same way you did before A sigh, you walk to the kitchen island, having to brew your own hot chocolate. As you sit at the island, your mind is in turmoil. That kiss solidified only one thing, and that was that you had fallen in love. And the person you loved was gone. As you slowly sipped your beverage, you notice the ticket for the fanmeet on the island. A last look at your lost love. It was all you had left.

Everything seemed the exact same, the same ball room, the same guards, it all felt cookie cutter, but good. That was good. You needed some familiarity to get your head on straight. The time passed in a flash, and before you knew it, you saw her. Kang Seulgi, the real one, walking into the room, her eyes looking at you, lighting up in recognition. Probably from the previous fan meet, you muse. You were a unique personality. Time went on, and the people ahead of you trickled away, all until you found yourself in front of her. “Y/N. Right?” Seulgi asked, looking to her manager, snapping her fingers to get the manager’s attention, then pointing to you. “Yeh, from the previous fanmeet. The one with the nightmares.” You say, seeing the manager come with a cup, steam forming above. “How’ve you been?” Seulgi asked “Better, the nightmares are gone, and that’s thanks to you.” You say with a small smile, taking the cup from the manager. Hot Chocolate. “Oh, that’s great, but why thank me? All I did was wish you the best.” As the time you had spent with her began to flood your mind, you felt yourself begin to tear up, everything you had been through with her, the love you had for her, all overwhelming you. “Are you okay?” Seulgi asked, quickly leaning toward you, her hand almost cupping your face, before quickly moving down to your shoulder. “Yeh, I’m fine, just, thank you for everything. You don’t understand how much you helped me through my problems, I love…everything you’ve done for me, and I just wanted you to know that. I’m sorry if I seem a little weird, I have to go now.” You quickly turn around, wanting to quickly walk away. Walk away before you break down in that chair, before you tell her that you loved her. “Y/N?” Seulgi called out, causing you to halt. Shutting your eyes tightly, you try to put on a brave face, turning around to face Seulgi, who had a small smile, and a familiar glint. “I didn’t think you were weird, and for what it’s worth, I really enjoyed our kiss.”

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ianthine-ichor · 10 months ago

Text

I had an ask for this story but it was sadly eaten by the Tumblr gods 😔

So for the anon who asked for John Price x Reader who comes to him years later after a bad breakup because they are in danger, this one's for you!

John Price x Reader ~ All I Have is You

Summary: You come running back to John years after a nasty break-up in hopes of finding some help out of a horrible situation.

Word count:: 6.5k

Tw in tags

John's life could never be simple. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many loose ends he pulled together by the skin of his teeth. There always managed to be something he let lay dormant, something he let fall to the wayside just long enough for it to maybe even slip his mind. And damn near every time it did, it came back with a vengeance.

However, of all the things he knew would come back to haunt him, you were what he expected least of all.

He had believed you a long dead part of his life, a piece of himself better numbed in alcohol than thought about. A face he'd spent endless nights trying to forget the smile of, endless partners failing to take your stead. He'd long since conceded to that aspect of himself being buried, hardly remedied by the ‘I love you’ that would fall from whoever had been his most recent escape from the icy cold of his bed.

But then, on a day like any other in this silent little place he'd given up trying to make feel like any sort of home, he'd opened the door to your unmistakable features.

He didn't know what to feel in the years of silence that seemed to pass. His mind and muscles tore themselves apart trying to find what reaction seemed appropriate. A part of himself didn't believe it, a similar part almost reached out to hold you, and another felt infuriated. He wasn't sure if it was because even so close you felt like light years away or if it was because he wanted to slam the door in your face for daring to ever come back. And for a moment, however small, he seriously considered the latter of the two.

But then you spoke. And suddenly whatever amount of spine had led him to the thought melted like butter.

“I need to talk. I know I have no right to ask but…” you paused, your voice softer than he thinks he's ever heard you speak. There might have even been a quiver in it, but he could hardly believe such a sound could come from the person who had once held together his broken pieces like you'd been solving him your entire life.

“I need your help” your chin raises and you meet his gaze, his skin flashing with the familiarity in how your eyes narrowed and your face snarled. It's hard to take your attempt at strength seriously with how feigned of an attempt it was. He says nothing and just the same he watches as you crumble. Your eyes avert, your hands twitch, your body leans away from him.

He hardly recognizes you.

But he steps aside all the same, a nod inviting you in as he keeps his vow of silence. You almost hesitate, but step in soon enough. Like a long lost ritual you kick your shoes off at the door, hanging your jacket and bristling as the light cold leaves your skin. He notes how you don't let him out of your sight but he can't tell why your eyes burn as much as they do.

Eventually he leads you to the kitchen. He wonders if you notice the empty frames. He wonders if you even care to look.

Like some twisted version of an old dream, you take your spot at the table where you used to sit. And before he even realizes what he's doing he's perking coffee, his eyes turning to you.

“Coffee?” He asks, but he isn't even sure why he does. Looking at you would be enough of an answer. You looked like you hadn't slept in months. You nod anyway.

He pretends to forget how you make your coffee. Out of spite? Anger? Frustration? It doesn't matter. He simply couldn't find the energy to put into someone whose presence made his heart find an old pace that left him biting his tongue at the bittersweet taste. Either way you get your coffee and he somehow finds the energy to sit across from you.

“You wanted to speak. Speak” his words come out harsher than he means them yet he doesn't find regret settling in his chest. Only minor annoyance as he watches you almost recoil from him, your drink pulled to your chest. Your eyes seem to search around for a moment, as if the words you needed so badly to speak would simply appear in front of you. He remembers how he used to find it sweet and can only react by biting his tongue harder.

“You haven't changed much” you begin. He can't help the grimace he shows as the annoyance in his chest grows. He catches how you straighten up under it.

“And you have” he answers back. You say nothing for a long moment and he isn't sure if he offended you or not. But he watches as you take a deep breath, your face hardening in a way he doesn't like.

“I know this isn't exactly…great for you. But it isn't for me either-”

“Why’d you leave?” the words slip out of his mouth before they had even been a thought in his head. Yet where he expected a look of anger or annoyance of your own, you only pause. And soon after, your look manages to grow colder.

“Because you didn't love me anymore” you answer back succinctly, calmly. He feels rage bloom in his chest at the words.

“Bullshit” he mutters through gritted teeth. He doesn't catch the sudden grip you hold on your cup and the way you slightly shake. But other than that you don't break.

“I must have phrased that wrong” there's a tone in your voice, an inflection of something horrible on your tongue.

“You did a piss poor job of making me feel like I was anything other than your fucking bed warmer” your words fall like acid on him. They soak through his marrow and into his bloodstream and become him. And his body rejects it just as quickly.

“You knew the type’a job I had when you met me” his voice is low and restrained as he tries to hold himself back

“It had nothing to do with your work-”

“Well what the bloody hell did it have to do with then!?” He stands, his hands slamming on the table as you immediately flinch away.

“Sit-!” You yell almost instinctively, the only thing he catches is the sudden terror in your tone. You take a stilted breath before speaking again.

“Sit down…please” your voice is much calmer but it does a horrible job at hiding the hitch in your voice or how your subtle shaking suddenly isn't so subtle. The strange demeanor stuns him for a moment, long enough for his flash of frustration to cool back to a simmer. There's a horrible feeling that crawls up his spine at your reaction, this gnawing, biting disgust that rips through him in a way he can't quite explain. He listens despite its elusive source or how he hates the way your eyes are locked on his every movement.

A horrible quiet passes that only further smothers the flames that had grown in his chest. You both hardly took any sips of your coffee as you seemed focused on your breathing and he was focused on loosening the sudden tightness of his muscles. Soon enough he spoke again, though he wasn't about to attempt that conversation again, as unsatisfied as he was by your answer.

“Why are you here?” He asks and this time he finds that his voice is weaker than he'd have liked it; betraying the words that he had meant to sting.

Yet despite that, he watches as your breath pauses and your grip tightens. How had you managed to grow even more tense?

“I don't have anyone else left” you answered, your eyes finally missing him, flickering away for what was barely a single moment. In spite of how hard he fought against it the painful beating in his chest left him worried. He tried not to show it. He hoped he hid it well enough for you not to notice.

The silence seemed to get to you. That or his stare had. Either way you continued.

“I just need somewhere to stay. Just a few months. I’ll figure it out by then and be gone. Just long enough to get some cash together” you try to explain and finally he spots something familiar in you. But it is not a part of you he once knew that he sees. No, he spots something else.

“You’re running from something” he interjects at his realization, your movements freezing at his accusation. You don't seem shocked so much as worried. He hated that you would ever even try to hide the fact from him.

“Yeah um…I am- but it's- it's complicated okay? I just need somewhere to stay-”

“Is it someone?” He questioned, your words lips closing into quiet once more. It stings a strange part of his soul that you seemed so unwilling to tell him outright.

“...It doesn't matter” you finally speak and he hides how his fists tighten. He hates that he cares at all. He hates that he can't help it.

Your plea for shelter lingers in the air for moments longer than either of you cared for. You couldn't handle the quiet of that for long.

“I don't have much, but I'll give you what I can. I'll get a job and pay you back I-”

“No” he shut you down immediately. Your face fell, the desperation of your gaze fixed on him.

“You can stay and I don't need your money” he clarifies and despite the lack of smile, your relief is more than visible.

“Thank you. I promise I'll be gone as quickly as I can get everything in order” you try to instill any sort of confidence that you would be of little bother, that he would hardly notice you here at all.

He couldn't help but feel his stomach fall to his feet at the words.

The first month you stayed had been…surreal, to say the least. For the most part the two of you did pretty well with avoiding each other. For moments of the day he would even wonder if that had been some weird fever dream. You? At his door? After so long? It all just felt so strange. Stranger yet that the circumstances were all but ideal. He thought about asking further, about pushing for what it was that led you here and why you had even been running in the first place. But he found that his tongue nearly died in his mouth every time he saw you around. It almost didn't feel real.

And despite the cold that still ran up his spine, the emptiness that found refuge in his chest, the blood that sat heavy in his veins; despite it all…

You still felt like home.

Yet you were still so far out of reach. Words seemed like complicated equations, conversations like rocket science. His words never left the way he wanted them to, his tone always the wrong amount of harsh. And with the way your eyes tracked his presence when he was around, almost unwavering from him…it all just felt so hard to explain. Something had changed, of course it had. It had been years since you two had last seen each other and it had hardly ended on good terms. Still, there was something so wrong here. Something in the way you ever so slightly leaned from him, or the way your eyes flickered to the closest door, or how it all seemed so familiar in a way that wasn't like home. In a way that was more like the warzones he'd grown so accustomed to.

And he could just see it, that fight in your eyes. That twitchiness that you had never had around him before. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Why. Why. Why. Why. What were you fighting and why did it almost feel like it was him?

It was horrible, the way that question had finally been answered.

The front door had slammed open, startling him from the dinner he had been making and setting every one of his senses aflame. It slammed shut before he had even made it to the hall and when he had he could hardly bring himself to swallow the scene.

You stood pushing on the door like it would hold damn near the whole world at bay. With how violently you were shaking he almost wished it would. Your hiccups and sniffles filled the air as you tried and failed about a hundred times to turn the lock. Your clothes were disheveled, your jacket gone and your shirt caked in dirt and…

No, no that wasn't…

“Y/n?” He hardly even remembered opening his mouth before your name fell out. Quiet and worried in a way he hadn't meant to show.

When your head snapped to him all of his insides twisted in a sickly mess. Features he remembered days of leaving soft kisses on were now warped by deep bruises and bleeding wounds. Your eyes wide and glossy, your skin a mix of blood and tears. Your breath had hitched as if any movement would turn him against you. He couldn't help but feel worse at the notion. He moves. Just one simple step closer.

And suddenly it's as if a dam breaks. Your murmuring words he can't understand, a panic on your face he hadn't seen in all of the time he's known you. You yell and thrash and he can't tell if you even know what you're doing, he can't tell if you even see him anymore. His body almost acts on instinct as he quickly grabs the nearest cloth near him before making his way to you. He places the cloth in your hand, your body flinching in a way that makes him hesitate a moment before he guides you to cover your bleeding nose.

“You gotta breathe” he mutters, no longer attempting to cover the look of confused worry that covers him. You seem to try, but a bloody nose makes that a little difficult. In the meantime he guides you to the bathroom, sitting you down as he fishes out a medkit. You stop talking altogether at that point, going eerily silent.

And it stays that way as he wipes away the blood and around deeply forming bruises. It stays as he cleans the wounds and makes sure your nose isn't broken. It stays when the peroxide hits your skin and when the bandages cover them. It's a horrible, false silence. A silence so loud his ears ring, though that could have just as well been the adrenaline leaving his veins. For a while he's fine with it, for a while it's better than the terror-filled panic, for a while it's better than the way you stared and twitched and sobbed.

But then you get a look in your eye. A dangerous look. A look he's seen too many times in his line of work. And suddenly the quiet isn't so safe anymore.

“Still with me there?” He asks in an attempt to gain your attention. To his relief your eyes flick to him and nod. He doesn't quite like how quickly they had turned cold again. In fact he's sure he hates it.

“What happened?” He finally asks and watches how the distant look in your eyes dissolves. Your lips quiver as you try desperately to hold onto a calm that wasn't coming. Your hands grip tightly onto a bloodied paper towel in your hands.

“I-” your voice cracks and you clear your throat. Your eyes avoid him like a simple glance would kill you.

“It's complicated I-” the panic in your voice rises again.

“I have to go- John I have to go-”

“Now hold on” his hand lands on yours, your body tensing under his touch. He can't help but feel sickened at the thought of you scared of him.

“Whatever happened, I promise it's safe, alright? No one's getting in here. You're safe. Just…” he pauses for a moment, his eyes showing his hesitation before he, as gently as he's ever done anything in his life, he places your hand to his chest. Your fingers flatten against him, familiar and comforting, as he lets out a deep breath.

“Just breathe” he almost pleads, something he finds himself regretting almost immediately. Yet despite feeling that he was doing a horrible job, it seemed to calm you all the same. Much to his relief you managed a few deep breaths, your hand still pressed on his heartbeat that he forced to slow.

He is surprised, after all of this, to hear a faint laugh fall from your lips. Quiet and saddened yes, but a laugh nonetheless. And he couldn't have felt more ridiculous than at that moment.

“What?” Or perhaps it seems he could, his dumbfoundedness not hidden in the tone of his voice. It isn't hard for you to wipe the smile from your face, if it had even really been a smile at all.

“Nothing I just…I remember when I had to do this for you” your tone is bittersweet.

“I never thought I'd be on the other side” your voice is breathless and strained, a certain feeling behind it he couldn't quite place. He finds himself snickering along as the once painful memory hits him. He would agree. He never imagined someone strong enough to pull him back to reality could ever need him to do the same.

“Yeah…world's got a fucked up way of making circles” he replies and you give a half-hearted attempt at agreement. And it seems that a moment too soon you pull away and he feels almost as if you take his heartbeat with you.

“Yeah…Yeah, it does…” you murmur, a sentiment far too true found in the quiet whisper. There is almost silence until you speak again.

“I'm sorry” the apology falls in a way not meant to ever leave you. The sound was as sorrowful as seeing a bird stripped of its wings. An act against nature, a horrible twisting of what should be.

“I’m sorry” you break again, though this time you don't shatter so much as you crumble. And he knows then that those words aren't for him. That he hated how they sounded coming from you, how they weren't what he wanted, how he could only wish you'd take them back so that he didn't have to feel the hole in his chest trying to carve its way through his skin.

And how useless he felt then, sat in front of your broken state knowing that you had once done the same with him. How utterly and completely he knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe this looming, horrible terror that was held so deep in your eyes he could only see a warped reflection of himself in them.

And he simply couldn't handle it. He felt weak, hopeless, useless. But what was there to do? He had never seen you so truly pained, he had only ever known the other side of this situation.

So he did the only thing he could. He pulled you close, slow and cautious, before the both of you crashed into one another. Hands that had twitched at his mere presence now held him as tightly as the shirt on his back. As if, should you let go, you'd be cast adrift again into the crimson rapids. And he could only hold just as tightly, hoping that if he just held on tight enough that the falling parts of you would stay, that he might save even a single piece from the agony you were lost in a sea of.

You two stayed like that for a long while, hardly caring about that time that passed. At some point, so overtaken by the exhaustion of your endless bouts of tears and the near-death experience you'd just endured, you'd passed out in his arms.

And like some cruel twisting of a memory he held dear, he carried you to bed. He tried not to glance too much at your features, the cuts and bruises sending sickening waves through him, as he laid you down. He took a shaky breath as he covered you in a blanket, taking care to be quiet as he left the room.

In the absence of your presence there was only rage.

A fire unlike any he had felt struck him like lightning, a burning hatred at who could have ever done this to you. His feet moved but his mind was preoccupied with who and why and- god why didn't you just tell him what happened? What could have ever led to this?! What had you done? Who had you upset?

The thoughts plagued his mind as he set up his spot on the couch. Yet when the pillows had been laid and the blanket placed, he could not find it in himself to rest. He could only pace and snarl and burn with such a horrible feeling. How dare they. How dare they. How could anyone do this to you? To his-...

It was only those final words that managed to slow his thoughts, a sinking feeling resting in his chest.

Not his. You were not his. Not for a long while, not anymore…

But there was no hiding the fire in his skin. No denying how deeply he held you, how desperately he wished to never let go again. He could only curse whatever higher power could hear him. Curse them for ever doing this to either of you. Of ever letting him know your name.

It was a horrible pain to want so desperately to have you back, but there was no pain worse than you returning in broken pieces. Worse yet to know that, maybe, had he done things differently, you might not have left his arms to shatter against a world he could have protected you from. To know that he failed.

He lit a cigar with a shaky hand. He knew then that there would be no sleeping tonight.

Your eyes were heavy as they opened, protesting against your attempts to wake up. You thought, in your groggy state, that it might be better to never open them again, to give in to what they demanded from you. To close them a final time.

But it was only a passing thought in your utterly exhausted state. A whisper held at the back of your mind just waiting for the moment that it might scream itself into existence. But not today. Not now, at least.

And so you forced them open, a groan halfheartedly falling from your lips as you pushed away the comfort of infinite dark. You managed enough strength to sit up, regretting it almost immediately when a dull pain burned your side. You would have been confused, maybe even a little worried, if not for the returning throbs of the many cuts along your face and arms that swiftly and brutally remind you of yesterday.

So close. You had been so close to the end. You were lucky to have made it out alive. It was honestly a miracle you had.

Cornered, like an animal. You remembered the feeling well. Trapped right where you didn't want to be. It was like he could smell your terror as he bared his wolfish teeth in the warm street light. A wicked smile, one that scorched itself into an unhealthy scar upon you. Never to be forgotten, a thing of nightmares.

You had run as far as you could go, lungs empty and feet sore, your hands covered in the warmth of your own blood as you tried to hold even just a part of yourself together, to manage to escape through the skin of your teeth once more. You had done it before, but a second time was surely a test of fate.

You had been lucky, then, that a bus was passing by. It shouldn't have been there so late so far out of town. But by some higher being or just through the world's sick way of fucking with you it was. You had never been so relieved to be met with headlights in your life; you practically screamed in relief as you waved it down. Your hunter was as scared as a doe in them, slithering off into the shadows like the coward you knew him as. The driver, a woman in her forties, looked horrified at the state of you. But you had brushed off her panic and worry and told her to simply drive. You were thankful the bus was empty. You couldn't have handled anyone else's questions in your utter panic.

You had only been a five-minute drive from salvation, from the home you had long since abandoned, only to return to in your time of need. Five minutes.

He must have known. Someone might have told him or you might have mentioned John in one of your many pain-filled benders. It didn't matter. He knew where you were, and it seemed his patience had only grown thinner. You were sure now that he would not stop with breaking you under his iron grip, but utterly destroying you.

All at once these thoughts hit you, flooding your mind with panic and worry. You're breathing shallowed as your mind falls down this path, stopping only when the end of the memory comes to mind.

John…

You tried to move him from your mind, to rid yourself of the sinking feeling that came when you thought of how quickly he had jumped to help you, even after years of silence and weeks of ignoring each other. You try not to think of his attempts at gentle touch, calloused battle-worn hands not quite built for the kindness he was showing. You remove from your mind how he held your hand to him, how it seemed like no time had passed from when you left with how quickly he knew what would truly calm you. And most of all, you try to remove the feeling of his arms around you, desperate and worried and familiar and home. You try, as little as that means nowadays.

You deduce that sitting in silence isn't the best way to distract you from these things, and so you finally stand from the bed, noting only then that you don't remember falling asleep here. But you let that slip your mind as well. You prefer the static buzz of being busy over thinking too much about any of this. It only made things harder.

So your feet moved without you, intimately familiar with the halls and doors and light switches. After all, it had been your home, once upon a lifetime ago.

You hardly stagger as you make your way to the kitchen, accustomed to the constant lull of pain in the back of your mind. A whisper of its own, and one you realized it better to ignore.

You are close to allowing the static buzz to take over, close to numbing and leaving your brain on autopilot. Close to the preferable numbness. So very close. But upon taking a step into the kitchen, you are met with a sight so twistedly familiar you are shocked back into yourself.

John sat at the table, two plates laid out and coffee poured. A quaint scene, an old one. A memory from a different time, faded and aged and different in ways that leave you sick. Because he didn't stare with the complete adoration of a man in love, nor did his eyes avert, distracted and tired, as they had on the day you had left him here. But instead they tear through you. Locked on you the second you entered. It amazed you how his eyes of crystal blue, so similar to that of a frozen storm, could burn through you so easily.

You think for a moment that this is it. That he's going to kick you out with only a final meal and that you are going to be thrown to the starved wolf you knew lurked just outside. You prepared yourself to plead, to apologize, to ask for any bit of mercy he might show you. After all, you had lost your dignity a long time ago, and it wouldn't be the first time you had begged for your life.

But then, as if the elements of himself collided, the fire in his eyes cooled to a warm glow. Soft and familiar and warm, warm, warm.

You almost wished then that he'd return to his fiery glare.

“Sit, love” It isn't a command as much as a quiet plea, his voice is soft and calm and maybe even worried, a rare combination for him. It's a sound so foreign now that you almost don't trust it. His expression falls further as you hesitate.

“I just wanna talk” he tried to explain, to give you any reason to trust him. It works, though only barely. You take a hesitant seat across from him.

The smell of the food hits your nose and only then do you realize you hadn't eaten last night. The waft of coffee only seems to make things worse as it reminds you of how tired you are.

“We can eat first” you can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but either way you take the opportunity. You were too weak to deny how much you needed this right now. You would regret it later, you were sure, but for right now you would allow yourself this small indulgence.

And so it was quiet, absent the sound of forks hitting plates. Quiet in a way that you weren't sure if you liked or despised. You wondered if it even mattered.

It was a few bites in and halfway through your coffee that he spoke again.

“I saw a butterfly this morning” his words cut the silence in a way that baffles you out of the static once more. Out of your head and your thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest.

“Oh?” You respond almost too naturally, almost too much like you used to. If it weren't for the heaviness in your voice, you might have even forgotten that this wasn't like it used to be.

“Yeah. Should’ve seen it. It had all your favorite colors” his words are almost light in spite of the tense atmosphere and, despite it all, it manages the smallest smile from you.

“I’m sure it was beautiful” you reply and watch as the look on his face changes. You can't quite read it, a strange softness is all you can take from it. But there never fails to be that lingering sadness there. That worry. That pain you can't quite bring yourself to address. And so you look away, your eyes turned down to your food once more.

The silence that follows threatens to suffocate the two of you, drown you in this horrible replication of better times, and punish you for daring to seek even this small comfort. And so, knowing that there is only one way this will go, he finally asks.

“What happened last night?” You feel your throat tighten almost immediately, not daring to pick up your fork when the weight of that question falls atop you. You find it hard to give him an answer, let alone one that might satisfy him.

“I…It’s…” you struggle and hope that maybe you might just disappear, that maybe all of this was some horrible nightmare you'd wake from. But as seconds passed it became clear it wasn't. Clearer still that you had to give him an answer after what he'd seen.

“It's complicated” you try to explain but you knew the moment the words fell that they wouldn't be enough. You think that maybe he'll be angry at this, that he'll slam the table like he had before and demand a better explanation. But a glance shows that his expression only deepens in its worry.

“Then explain it to me” he pleads once more. It was a rare day he ever pleaded, begged, or even so much as asked for something. Rarer yet that it's genuine. Your mouth goes dry and silence remains. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

“Love-” his hand reached for yours and the contact shocks every nerve in your body. You flinch away from him, regretting it a moment later when his worry turns to pain on his face. He retracts his hand with the most hesitance you've ever seen from him; a man so usually sure of himself.

“I just need to know what's happening. I-...” he falters, another rare sight. He takes a shaky breath.

“I won't hurt you” those words come out stronger than the rest, as truthful as he could have possibly made them. And, despite its softness, it seems to tear apart the very walls you had built to keep you safe.

But safe from what, exactly? When the wolf lays outside, and this place is your final sanctuary, what does that make him? You weren't quite sure, but somehow you knew that whatever this was, it felt…well it felt familiar at least. A devil you knew well enough to find some comfort in the warmth of.

Your head turns away, arms held against you in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself. You think, for a moment, that you might run from here. That you might leave everything behind in the wake of the words that threaten to leave your tongue.

But he wants the truth. And who are you to deny him it? It couldn't make things much worse than they already are.

“Where do you even want me to start?” You ask him, voice hollow and cold and empty. There was no more of yourself to give than a story. You wondered if the sacrifice would even matter.

“Wherever you need to” he answers back, his shoulders squared: tense. You had half a mind to comfort him, but you doubt it would've helped. So, with a deep breath that does very little to calm your nerves, you finally answer him.

“When I left I didn't want to start over, but I didn't want to see you again either. So I moved a few towns over” you started, your voice detached from yourself, like it came from someone else entirely.

“A few months later I met someone. He had been so kind at first. Loving, attentive. He made me feel like I existed in the world again. Made me feel wanted” your words murmur and a snarl forms, even talking about it makes you sick.

“I was stupid, blinded, didn't pay attention. Didn't care, really…” you pause, your hands indenting into your skin as if to keep you where you sat, as if to stop you from fading from here.

“I married him” your words come out much more mournful than you mean to, your snarl nothing more than a quivered lip now. You had married that monster.

You didn't have to glance at John to know the look on his face. Anger, rage, a twisted form of jealousy. It was a knife to his back, you imagine, that you might have married another man before he had ever put a ring on your finger. But you weren't quite sure you cared anymore. After all, it wasn't you who had been so cold to him those final days you were together.

“I didn't realize who he was until then. He'd always been…rough. Arrogant, quick-tempered, prone to violence. But I guess I just thought that he wouldn't ever treat me like that. That I was different. That he loved me” your words shake and you do your best to pull those broken strings together. To steel yourself. To not be so pathetic.

“I was wrong…” you allow yourself the pain of those three words and in so scar your heart further as you admit it. He had never loved you.

“I tried to get away, I tried to start over again, but he wouldn't let me leave. I can't get a job without him finding me, can't get a place to stay, can't start over. I thought maybe if I came here, maybe if my name wasn't on anything, maybe if I was careful enough then I could figure it out…I was wrong about that too” you curse yourself when tears sting at you. You do your best to hide it, to disappear in front of his own eyes. But there was only so much you could do. Hiding from him had never been your strong suit.

John feels…well he doesn't quite know. A mixture of everything horrible, he thinks. He can't stand how your eyes avoid him as the words fall, how with each passing word he can only find regret. Regret that he hadn't held you closer, that he hadn't kept you safe. And he hates that the consequences don't fall to him, that he wasn't the one burned, that instead he watches you crumble and break and shatter. He had loved you, he had always loved you. That hole in his heart, that void you filled. Ripped from him and torn apart as swiftly as a flower in a stormy ocean. He hardly had the mind to blame you anymore, hardly had the heart to. He could do nothing but blame himself and the cruel creature he could hardly call human. The one who had dared to lay a finger on you. The one he could imagine tearing apart with his bare hands.

There are questions that circle his brain, words that travel from the top of his head and almost meet his tongue. ‘What’s his name?’ ‘Where can I find him?’ ‘How long had this been happening?’ ‘Why hadn't you said something sooner?’

He lets out a shallow breath, his eyes closing in thought for only a short moment before he stands. The sound of the chair startles you into watching him once more. His steps are slow, and deliberate, as they make their way towards you. You lean away for a moment, as you had since you'd gotten here, but it calms as you watch him. His movement is predictable; safe.

And soon, just as slow and just as softly, his hands fall on your face as they had hundreds of times before. Calloused but warm, a softness he only ever found with you. He is gentle along your bruises, careful with them. You can't look from him now, eyes searing through him. But he had nothing to hide, and so he stared back.

“We're gonna figure this out” he speaks to you, words like comforting slashes against your soul in how they tear your emotions from you. Your attempts to hide were all but vain now, tears falling freely and only barely held from a sob. Your breaths shake as your eyes close into the comfort, hands falling onto his as if he might just slip away. He presses a kiss, hesitant yet desperate against the crown of your head.

“He ain't ever hurting you again” his words are a promise as he mumbles them against your skin before placing his head against yours. You make no attempt to pull away, instead finding that a broken smile falls on your lips, one of utter relief. Somehow you find a will to speak.

“I missed you”

Potential part two? Maybe? Probably? Definitely?

#call of duty x reader #john price x reader #gender neutral reader #tw: violence #tw: mentions of depressive and suicidal thoughts #tw: heavily implied domestic abuse #tw: blood #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #john price #john price mw2 #john price mw2 x reader #cod x reader #cod mw3 #captain price #call of duty

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velvetcloxds · 2 years ago

Note

looking for somebody- send me a gif of a character and I'll write a little baby blurb for it

LIPGLOSS | C.S.

word count: 0.9k

warnings: age gap, as always, reader who wears makeup?

summary: you always forget your stuff in charlie's car, but he doesn't mind all that much since it's a good excuse to get some extra kisses before you go

You made it halfway to the door when you realized your lips were uncharacteristically dry, the pause in your steps making Charlie frown from across the parking lot where he was watching and waiting for you to go inside. He wasn't all that fond of his current spot in the first place, he was too far from the door and he didn't like it at all, having to shift around slightly from where he leaned back against the car to see you and he raised a brow when you turned around and started marching right back towards him.

"What's wrong?" he was straight to the point when you were close enough to hear him, adjusting the tote back on your shoulder, regretting that extra book you forced in there now that your quick walk into work would be repeated more than once, Charlie noticed, not even thinking before taking it from you, looking into it with hidden judgment as he saw how much you had in there.

"Nothing's wrong," you smiled, scrunching your nose at his raised brow, gently forcing him to scoot up and away from the door so that you could open it, missing the little loving look of exasperation as he looked around the parking lot and then stole a glance at his watch, he didn't want you to be late. "Forgot my lipgloss," you explained from inside the car, knee digging into his seat as he tried and failed not to steal a glance at the sight in front of him, you looking into the little mirror to apply the sticky goo.

He was always intrigued by that little gesture, amused by the focused look on your face, the little pout to make the job easier, or even the little head movements to move closer and further from the mirror- it was the cutest thing in the world, he'd decided, though that changed daily with you.

"Take it with you," Charlie suggested, hand coming up to cover the frame of the door where you'd move your head through to make sure you didn't bump in. "I'm sure you can find room in here somewhere," you breathed a scoff at that, taking your bag from his hand and throwing the lipgloss right back into the little cup holder by the gearshift.

"I'll lose it if I take it with me," you explained to him and his hand found your waist before he could think about it, lips tilting just slightly, it was considered a smile by his standards. "At least here I'll know it's safe, got a whole policeman to protect it," he hummed, it was a lovely sound, one of your favourites, it forced you to steal a quick kiss from him, thumb instantly coming up to wipe away your gloss from his lips.

"I'm going to bring you lunch," you wanted to object, reminding him that you did in fact pack something to eat later, but then again, you knew it didn't count as lunch for him. "I'll stop by the diner, get you some pie, know you've been craving some," it was a sickeningly sweet offer, you'd mentioned you craving something sweet last night, he was getting ready for bed and you were sure he wasn't listening but then again, Charlie always pays attention when it's you.

"Will you get yourself a piece too? Stay here and eat with me?" he was considering it, didn't know if he'd have time with everything going on in town as of late, but he knew he couldn't say no to you, you knew too.

"I will," he was the one to steal a kiss, right on your forehead, gently guiding you away from the car, telling you it was time to go, and even if you didn't want to, you knew you should. "Have a good day, sweetheart."

"You too, bear, I'll see you later," you were walking backward, he absolutely hated it, instinctively moving forward with every step you took back, wanting to be able to catch you just in case. "Don't lose my lipgloss."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

#charlie swan #charlie swan x reader #charlie swan x you #charlie swan x yn #charlie swan fluff #charlie swan blurb #charlie swan one shot #charlie swan drabble #charlie swan fanfiction #monique's writing events #right where queue left me

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emisprocrastinatingbywriting · 8 months ago

Text

Alone and Forsaken

Chapter 5 Summary:

You wake the next morning to find Joel gone, your heat now lighting up every nerve ending in your body. Meanwhile Joel, sent into a frenzy by your unexpected visitor, works to fortify your position. After slicing his hand on a piece of barbed wire, he returns to the cabin only to be met with a sight that has his knees weak. Can Joel keep his distance?

Warnings: Bad dreams, brief mentions of past abuse/violence, reader has a fucked up past y'all, heats, hurt/comfort, and SMUT, sooo much smut (Minors, DNI please)

A/N: Howdy y'all! I hope all of you have had an amazing week :) Things are heating up (no pun intended) between you and Joel. But first, a nightmare about reader's time in the pit. As always, take care of yourself first! Trigger warning for the dream but you can scroll through the first bit if that bothers you. Moving forward, major smuttyness brought to you by yours truly, enjoy!

Chapter 5/20

Chapter 5: Hunger

“You know, your mother has been worried sick about you for the past two months.”

The light that framed Josiah’s figure was blinding and you squinted at him as your eyes struggled to adjust to the light. The room that they had been keeping you in was windowless and dark, with cement walls being your only company aside from the guards for the past few weeks. Or was it months? The days blurred together as you wasted away in the pit, the cold hard floor soothing your aching bruises as you tried to keep a hold of your sanity.

“I guess I should have expected as much, the guards told me that you haven’t been answering their questions no matter what… techniques they use,” he mused, moving forwards into the cell.

You scooted back, trying to put as much distance between you as you could. Your back hit the wall and you wrapped your arms around your knees, watching as Josiah crouched down in front of you. His pale blue eyes raked over your figure, a look of disgust turning down the corners of his mouth. Josiah sighed, shaking his head before grabbing your face. His bloated fingers pinched your chin and you tried not to wince, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing that you were uncomfortable.

“When I took you and your mother in, I had believed you to be a little angel. You were always so sweet as a little girl but the second you presented, I knew that you would be trouble. Always sneaking off with that other omega, defying your mother and I and speaking out of turn,” he tsks, pinching your face until you groaned in pain.

Josiah let go of your face, pushing your head back so that it smacked against the concrete behind you. A sharp crack of pain made tears begin to form on your lash line, and you tried your hardest not to let them fall as he sneered at you. Josiah stood, towering over you for a moment before moving back to lean against the wall across from you.

“You know what I said to myself the last time you gave me cheek? I said, Josiah, that girl needs an alpha. A strong one like yourself to keep her in line, someone who keeps the faith and does not spare the rod. Lord knows she needs a good whooping every now and again,” Josiah said.

A laugh came out of your mouth before you could stop it, the sound broken and hollow from the dryness burning your throat. After the physical punishments had failed, the guards had begun to starve you out. You didn’t even remember the last time you had anything in your system but you knew it was too long as your stomach pinched itself and grumbled for food.

Josiah cocked an eyebrow at you, glaring down at you before he said, “You will be mated to Paul. He will keep you in line and get you back to the Lord’s embrace. That is not up for discussion. The only question is when. If you give up everyone who helped you leave, then I will let you go back to your husband and the two of you can solidify the bond as God intended.”

“He is not my fucking husband, I never said yes at that stupid ceremony,” you seethed.

“No, but I did, and I am your father. Omegas don’t get a say, you know that. Now, I’ve talked to Paul and luckily he’s willing to forget your little runaway act. He said he would chalk it up to typical hysteria and let it go, as long as you humble yourself and be the good little wife that you were made to be,” Josiah said calmly, barely acknowledging your outburst.

“I. Am. Not. Your. Property,” you said, ennunciating each word as you scowled at your stepfather.

Josiah laughed, reaching back and knocking at the wall behind him. A group of guards crowded the doorway and looked towards him, clearly waiting for some sort of instruction.

“Oh I know you aren’t my property anymore, you’re a married woman now. But unfortunately for you, sweet daughter, your husband has been wronged. You owe him a debt, and you disappeared before he could collect. Now, it’s my job as leader in our community to right wrongs, which means sometimes I have to remind people of their place,” he spat before turning and murmuring something to the men in the doorway.

Two of the guards moved forward and grasped your arms, dragging you upwards as you thrashed. Josiah just stood there chuckling as the guards struggled to keep you from getting away.

“Don’t worry, you’ll learn soon enough,” he said before he focused on the guards trying to wrangle you, “Throw her in the sweatbox, see if that jogs her memory at all.”

“NO!,” you screamed as they yanked you down the hall, tears pouring down your cheeks at the thought of the cursed space.

The sweatbox was infamous within the community, tales from those that survived it becoming a powerful deterrent for everyone else. After being thrown into it three times since your capture, you understood why. Unbearably hot and cramped, the tiny room felt like you were confined on the surface of the sun. You begged the guards through your sobs, remembering the smell of your depleted body and how you had to sit in your own filth for days before they dragged you back to your cell. The guards paid no attention to your cries, barely even looking at you as they shoved you into the room.

“PLEASE! NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!,” you screamed.

You pounded on the metal door, feeling claustrophobic already in the room that gave you just enough space to sit with your knees folded into your chest. Sweat had already begun to trickle down your back from the heat. You jolted back, the peephole suddenly being ripped open. Josiah’s eyes met yours from the outside, his gaze unwavering and cold.

“I hope you confess your sins soon child, before Paul comes to me to inquire about a new mate,” he snapped.

“Please,” you begged, all of the fight in you depleted from fear.

“Repent or he’ll have no use for you. Sinful omegas beget sinful pups, you’d be wise to remember that. I’d hate to have to comfort your mother because your husband decided he wanted a more… accommodating wife,” Josiah warned, his voice low and daunting.

Before you could respond to his threat, he slammed the peephole shut, leaving you blind in the dark heat once more.

A gasp escaped your lips as you shot up, sweat pouring down your face as your damp clothes clung to your frame. Your eyes wheeled around the room as you tried to remember where you were. Bookshelves, carvings, a guitar, the worn sofa and throw blankets. You sighed as you remembered that you were with Joel, you were safe. Josiah was dead and Paul? Well, hopefully he was dead too.

You wiped your brow, the sweat still dripping from your hairline and you tried to calm your racing heart. Standing, you started towards the bedroom in search of Joel but a sharp pang from your core had you dropping down to your knees in front of the couch. You whined, clutching your stomach as a bright and pulsing ache screamed at you from your core.

“Joel?,” you croaked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

No answer.

Where was he? You tried to call out again but another wave hit you, forcing wetness to drip down your quaking thighs. You looked down and groaned, realizing what was causing the storm brewing under your thin shorts.

“JOEL?!,” you cried out more urgently, now needing him for an entirely different reason.

When no answer arrived, you braced yourself on the couch before stumbling into the bedroom in search of him. Leaning into the wall for support, you inched towards the door as waves of slick soaked through your bottoms. Finally making it, you pushed the door open only to be met with the smell of something sharp and sterile. You stood in the doorway, bewildered at the smell of cleaning products.

And then it all came back to you.

The man grabbing you, the struggle, breaking away and throwing the vase in his direction, ripping at his hair as he tried to push his grimy hands up Joel’s shirt, being dragged down the hallway as you wailed and fought, him climbing on top of you and you beating at his chest as panic overwhelmed you, him raising his hand to slap you before he was torn away.

You stared at the floor, remembering how Joel had defended you. You listened when he instructed you to go, but you had only made it about halfway down the hall before you stopped. A sense of protectiveness had shot through you, what if Joel needed your help? What if the man got the jump on him? You had turned on your heel and crept back into the room just in time to watch Joel snap the neck of your attacker. You hated to admit it, but as you watched his hulking frame tower over the other alpha, a twinge of desire had sparked from your core before you remembered the ordeal that you had just been through.

Now, with the body gone and nothing left behind besides the stinging scent of lemon, the memory made you feel weak. Joel had protected you, he had provided, he had even comforted you afterwards and covered you in his own scent. You groaned at the thought, forcing yourself towards the bed. Flopping down, you expected to be greeted by the usual aroma of Joel only to find clean sheets devoid of the alpha.

You cried out, shoving your face into the covers and trying to find any trace of him, but it became clear that he had stripped the bed after disposing of the intruder. Your core burned, sending painful jolts of desire as panic began to needle its way into your chest.

Moving on autopilot, you ripped open the door to the closet. Stooping down, you collected all of the stolen clothes that you had been hiding from Joel. You shoved your face into the worn fabric, whining at the smell before dumping them on the bed. Tearing into the living room, you collected everything you could, bringing back every blanket or pillow that smelled even remotely like him. You even snagged the bath towel that hung in the bathroom for your pile. Semi-satisfied, you went to work, adjusting the items just so before your instincts signaled that the nest was complete.

You sighed, feeling slightly less panicked but still nervous at Joel’s absence. You wondered briefly if you should go find him but the jolts coming from your soaking folds were enough to dissuade you of the notion. Instead you crawled into the center, cocooning yourself in Joel’s musk as a fresh wave of slick had you shimmying out of your clothes and flinging them to the floor.

Grabbing at one of his well worn flannels, you breathed in his scent before shoving it in between your legs. Any sense of shame long since gone, you keened as your pulsing clit rubbed against the harsh fabric. You thought of Joel cutting the wood, of him providing for you so well, of him towering over the man, of him sucking at your neck, of him calling you his. You rocked your hips against the flannel, your clit catching on it and sending sparks up your spine as you tried to imagine it was Joel that you were rubbing yourself against.

As you ground your hips down hard, with thoughts of Joel swirling through your mind and your heat growing in intensity, you tried hard not to let his absence worry you. Instead you focused on the friction building and the pleasant smell that overwhelmed your frantic senses.

- Joel -

“Fuck,” Joel hissed, a sharp sting erupting from his hand as he caught his flesh on the wire.

Holding it up to examine, Joel watched as his blood began to trickle from his rough palm down to his rolled up sleeve. He cussed again, sighing as he tore a strip from the t-shirt hidden under his sweater. As Joel wrapped up his fist, he took a moment to focus on his breathing. Trying to calm his pounding heart, he tried not to think of what was waiting for him back at the cabin.

Joel had woken that morning confused. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept without having his cruel memories jerk him back to consciousness. He had slept peacefully for the first time in a very long time, but his neck was fucking killing him. He groaned, cursing himself for getting so old. Lifting his head from the soft pillow that cradled his face, Joel propped himself up on his elbows.

It took him a moment longer to notice you as his eyes adjusted to the early morning light that poured in from the windows, but then he did. His breath caught in his throat as he hovered over your sleeping form, watching your calm face and how your skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat. Looking down, Joel’s eyes widened as he realized where his face had been buried. A drool mark darkened the fabric across your chest, and he groaned as the fragrant air tickled his nose. Peppermint and lavender made his mouth water and his cock stir to life.

Joel suddenly became very aware of how close he was to you. Your legs framed his hips, one hand loosely grasping the curls on the back of his head and the other laid upon his shoulder. He could feel the twitching in his pants responding to the feeling of your heated core against him, the wet fabric staining his jeans. It took everything in him to keep himself from grinding up against you.

Joel imagined the gasp he would pull from your mouth as the seam of his jeans brushed against your throbbing clit. He imagined the way your eyes would blink open, squinting from the sun for a moment before zeroing in on him. He imagined grinding down against you once more, just to hear you moan, before capturing your soft lips. He - Fuck.

Hips jerking back, Joel broke himself from the fantasies that were making his dick throb and leak into his jeans. He needed to get it together before he worked himself into a rut, your fever already clawing into the base of his being and drawing out his most primal instincts.

As easily as he could, Joel extradited himself from your embrace. Stopping only momentarily to cover your sleeping body in a blanket, he moved forward and kissed your forehead. He gasped softly as he pulled away, an unfamiliar feeling wrapping around his heart but he shook it off, trying to push it as far from his mind as he could as he stood up.

Quietly as he could, Joel had cleared the corpse and any proof that it had ever existed away from the cabin. He had worked diligently, almost growling at the memory as he covered the floor in harsh chemicals to pull the scent of your attacker from the wood grain. The contractor in him was shouting at him not to pour the scented cleaner over the finished wood but he ignored it.

After finishing, he debated on what to do next. He stood over the couch for a moment, watching you sleep as he weighed his options. On one hand, he could crawl back over you and nuzzle himself into your sleeping form. He was sure that you would welcome him. On the other, a creeping sense of danger was making bile rise in his throat. He needed to keep you safe.

Joel had left you, his need to keep you safe overwhelming the confusing emotions that you were eliciting from him. Taking into the surrounding trees, he moved quickly, setting up new traps and fencing around the cabin. He prayed that you wouldn’t go wandering off anytime soon, dreading having to unravel you from chicken wire.

With his hand throbbing and sweat covering his body, Joel knew it was time to go back. Turning back, he tried to go through every scenario in his head. You would be awake, it was too late in the morning for you to be still asleep. The thought of facing you made him attempt to slow his pace, but his nerves ensured that he reached the steps in record time. Joel stood at the front door for a moment, trying to steel himself before opening it. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his good hand momentarily before turning the handle.

- You -

A fire raged in between your legs, tears flowing down your flushed face as your rutted against Joel’s towel. Leaning forward, you buried your face into the fabric surrounding you, huffing at the smell of him. Your hips worked frantically, whining as the rough fabric scratched at your swollen nub. Heat gathered at your center, pulling everything tight before a weak pulse of pleasure inched its way out of your glistening folds.

Slick covering your thighs, you cried out in frustration. The smell of the absent alpha surrounded you, driving you into a frenzy. The towel that you rubbed yourself against was a poor excuse for the man who plagued your mind. The heat returned immediately, the pain making you grasp at the walls of your makeshift nest and whimper.

“Jooooel,” you sobbed, a fresh wave of tears accompanying the slick pouring from in between your legs.

“Christ darling.”

You gasped, scrambling to turn and face the gravelly voice. Flipping around, you moaned at the sight of him.

Joel’s cheeks were bright red, sweat made his t-shirt cling to his chest, and his hands were clenched at his sides. You watched as he gulped, his gaze finding yours momentarily before raking down your naked body. You should be embarrassed, but as you watched how his eyes turned black as he watched your breasts heave from exertion and how he licked his lips at the drops of slick rolling down your thighs, you felt a boost of confidence surge through you. The way he looked at you made you feel wanted, sexy even, something you had never felt before.

“Joel, please,” you called to him softly, a coy smile gracing your lips as you crawled towards the edge of the bed to meet him.

You rose and placed your hands against his chest, leaning into him. Joel stood there motionless as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, clearly warring with himself as you wrapped your arms around his neck. With you scratching at the nape of it, he closed his eyes momentarily and let out a low moan. Hands twitching at his sides, he sighed before snapping them back open. Joel’s gaze was pleading as your face inched towards his. You stopped inches away from his lips, doubt creeping up through the tension that crackled in the stifling air. The doubt didn’t last long as Joel surprised you by surging forward.

A soft noise came from you as Joel crashed his lips against yours in a soft yet determined kiss. His hands came up, one cradling the back of your neck and the other yanking your hips against his. You moaned into Joel’s mouth and he took the opportunity to tease your tongue with his own. Burning desire made your thighs shake as you clawed at the hem of his shirt.

Breaking away momentarily, Joel ripped his shirt off before picking you up off of the bed. You yelped, giggling before your eyes rolled into the back of your head. A pathetic whimper crawled out of your throat as Joel began to mouth at your neck, the hardness of his length pressing against your bare core as he carried you over to the dresser. Placing you on top of it, Joel broke away again.

Whining, you tried to capture his lips again but he pulled you back with the grip he had on the back of your neck.

“I need you to tell me that you want this baby, I need you to tell me now. ‘Cuz once I start,” Joel groaned, leaning forward to whisper in your ear, “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

Your thighs clamped against his hips, bucking up to grind yourself against the harsh denim. Eyes rolling back, your nails dug into Joel’s shoulders as he sucked angry marks into your sensitive skin. You tried to muster up a coherent response but all that came out of your mouth was something between a wail and a shout.

Joel chuckled darkly, moving his head back to hold your face in one of his large palms. With his breath fanning over you and scarred chest on full display, you whined as his other hand moved down the length of your shuddering form. You carded your fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest, absentmindedly tracing over a random scar that formed an angry line as he rubbed soothing circles into your hips and thighs. He caught your hand with his own, making you meet his piercing gaze. A shudder ran down your spine from the way he looked at you. The name for that look rattled around your brain as Joel pulled your hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it gently. You gasped as you watched him place it over his thundering heart.

“Tell me darling, please. I can’t - you need to tell me that you want me. Please, I need to know that I can have ya,” Joel begged, the desperation in his voice making you dizzy.

Gripping the back of his neck, you pulled him closer and kissed him hard. A soft hum came from him, his lips moving in tandem with yours as you tried to meld your bodies together. Ankles locking behind his back, you dug your heels into him to pull his hips into your own. This kiss was different, longing rolled off of the both of you like waves and crashed together as hands and mouths explored one another.

You leaned back to catch your breath, watching as the string of spit that connected you stretched and broke. Eyes meeting once more, you suddenly couldn’t wait any longer. You needed him. You’ve needed him since the first day you met him. Hell, maybe you had always needed him, but that was too much to think about right now. Not as your abdomen cramped and a heat like no other screamed at you to rip open the rough denim that pushed against you.

“Please alpha, I need you to fill me up. Make me yours Joel, please, please, please,” you cried as your shaky hands tried and failed to unbutton his jeans.

Joel let out a feral moan before he launched himself towards you. Desperate now, Joel kissed you passionately, his teeth clacking against yours as he devoured you. He nibbled on your bottom lip before delving his tongue in to taste you, making your head spin and body ache with desire. Sucking on your tongue, Joel reached up to cup one of your breasts in his hand. He pinched your nipple between his fingers, rolling the nub and hardening it.

Panting, you broke away to whine, “Please Joel.”

He hummed, leaning forward to kiss your neck once more before trailing his lips down your body. His mustache prickled your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake as he moved to wrap his lips around the opposite nipple. You cried out and flung your hands up to pull at his locks, eliciting a devastating moan from him. His other hand came up to play with your other breast as he sucked and bit at your now reddened nub. Joel kept up his attention on your breasts for what felt like ages as you begged. He laughed softly as you thrashed below him, letting up only to switch sides. Tears had begun to fall from your eyes, your frustration making you wiggle so much that the dresser knocked into the wall behind you. Joel chuckled again before pulling back to look at you properly.

“You’re some squirrelly today darling,” he drawled, playing with the curls that covered your mound as you arched into him, “Something on your mind?”

You whined and bucked, a frustrated noise leaving your lips as you playfully smacked his shoulder. Joel chuckled darkly, kissing your cheek sweetly before picking you up once more and tossing you on the bed. You flopped against it ungracefully, sitting up only to be knocked over as he grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. Shivering as Joel stood over you, his eyes feasted on your vulnerable state. You gulped, beginning to feel self conscious at his primal gaze.

“So fucking beautiful baby,” Joel breathed, moving to hover over you before leaning down and trailing his lips across your heated skin.

He kissed over the scars and stretch marks, admiring the patch of hair above your seam for a moment before he pressed his nose into the curls and breathed in, moaning loudly as he rested his cheek against your thigh. Whining again, you begged him to crawl back up your body but he stayed put. Instead, you felt him pry your damp legs apart.

“W-what are you doing?,” you asked through a gasping breath, hands clutching the sheets below you.

“M’gonna make you feel good darling, get you all nice and ready for me,” he said softly before he leaned forward and licked a long stripe up your seam.

A garbled, “Joel!,” left your mouth as he shoved his face into your core.

Stubble chafing the inside of your thighs, you writhed on the bed as Joel’s long strokes had you pulsating. Feeling you grow impatient, he switched to calculated flicks, making your clit jump and a garbled moan bounce off the walls. Your mind was completely blank, the only coherent thought that you had was Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel…

He was ravenous, sucking on your throbbing nub before moving down to shove his tongue into your core. You felt him crook his tongue inside of you, lapping up the slick that poured out of you. Hands flying to his hair, you shouted his name as he moved up again to suck at your clit, his fingers moving to breach your entrance.

“J-Joel - AH! Oh my god, please Joel. I - fuuuuck,” you wailed as he slid one, then two fingers inside of you.

You had never been so full in your entire life. You had never been filled, period. Always nervous to try, warnings about purity haunting you even during the heights of your heats, you had satisfied yourself by grinding against whatever pillow or blanket you could find. Now, with two of Joel’s thick fingers pumping inside of your hole, and his mouth sucking and flicking at your clit, you felt a blinding pressure building embarrassingly fast.

Nervous of the intense feeling building inside of you, you tried to scooch your hips back on the bed but Joel’s free arm clamped down over your mid section. Now, with his forearm pressing against your abdomen and his relentless pace doing wonders on your aching core, you had no choice but to feel the entirety of the pleasure that Joel was ripping from you.

“C’mon baby, make that pussy cry for me, I know you can. You want to be a good girl for me, right sweetheart?,” Joel asked sweetly, his words making your head spin as his fingers picked up their pace inside of you.

“Fuuuck yes, I wanna be good. I’ll be so good for you Joel. Please, please, please,” you sobbed, hips twitching with the pressure building inside of you, begging to be released.

Joel’s fingers hooked against your walls, the calloused pads of his fingertips rubbing over a devastating spot inside of you that had you practically convulsing on the bed. Your heart rate sped up, blood pumping in your ears so loud that you could barely hear his response.

“Good girl, now cum for me darling,” Joel said sternly, the tone of his voice making something inside of you melt as he lowered his mouth back down and sucked your clit hard.

You wailed, hands pushing Joel’s skull into your center and heels digging into his back as you trembled. You barreled towards the precipice, letting yourself be overcome by Joel as you gushed around his digits. Babbling nonsense at him, you gasped and squeezed his fingers. Pleasure rocked through you, fraying all of the nerve endings in your body as Joel fucked you through it. His pace never faltering, he kept his mouth and fingers going even after the last contraction had weakly clutched him. Suddenly feeling the overstimulation, you whined and pushed at his head, trying to wiggle out from under his strong hold.

“Quit it, I ain’t done,” Joel growled, his voice muffled as he spoke into your folds.

The switch in Joel’s demeanor had your head spinning. He had always been so gentle with you, a true southern gentleman. Now, with his fingers pistoning roughly inside of your core, the wet sound of his hand smacking against your center echoing throughout the room, his presence was menacing. It only made you want him more.

Any protest that you had soon vanished from your mind as Joel doubled down on his efforts. He sucked your poor clit in between his lips again, batting it with his tongue as he slid a third finger into you. You yelped at the sudden fullness, lungs fighting for air as your second orgasm barreled towards you. Black dots filled your vision as you tore at his scalp, worrying for a moment about hurting him before a feral noise sent vibrations through your pussy.

“Fuuuck, Joooooel. Oh my - I fucking lo - oh my goood,” you moaned.

Joel hummed, the vibrations of it buzzing against your clit and sending you flying off the deep end. You gasped, throwing your head back as your core locked his fingers in place, squeezing them almost painfully as ecstasy had you twisting in his grasp. You could hear him groan as more slick soaked his face, Joel slurping it up and prolonging the blinding pleasure that had you mumbling nonsense.

Finally slowing, Joel carefully pulled his fingers from your core as you hissed. Bringing them up to his face, your eyes followed his movements as he separated them to watch the strings of arousal gleam in the daylight. His eyes met yours, a smirk forming on his face before he sucked his glistening fingers into his mouth. You gasped at the sight, having never seen anything like it. Moaning at the taste, Joel’s eyes raked over you as you laid panting and naked in front him.

Weakly, you reached a hand out to him and he took it in his larger one, kissing the back of it sweetly before crawling up your body. With his lips kissing up your sternum, the heat was back now despite your two previous releases. Your hips bucked into him as he ran his teeth across the sensitive skin below your ear. Joel moaned at the friction, grinding his hips down into yours as he teased your gland. You wordlessly willed him to bite down, to seal the claim he already had over you, but he refrained.

“Never thought I’d have ya like this darling. So sweet, so smart, so soft, and all fucking mine,” he mumbled, bruising your neck with his teeth.

“Y-your, m’yours Joel. Please, I’ve never had someone like this. I-I-I need you, please, I need you to fuck me,” you begged, finally managing to shove his pants down his hips and gasping as his hard cock sprung from its confines.

As you reached to grab it, Joel grabbed your hand and your eyes flicked up to meet his own. You whined, wanting to feel the warm length that pulsed against your slicked thigh. You were not an expert by any means, but you knew Joel was fucking huge and it made your mouth water. Pretty and thick, with veins running down the sides, a trimmed patch of curly hair gathering at the base, and a glob of precum pearling at his reddened tip, you needed to touch him. You fought against Joel’s hold on your hand but he demanded your attention.

Joel’s chest heaved and you could tell he was fighting against his own instincts by stopping, but he pushed through, gripping your face and looking deep into your eyes. You stared back at him in confusion, frustrated as you wondered what the hold up was.

“Darling is this - have you never, uh… What do you mean you ain’t never had someone like this?,” Joel asked through panting breaths, the hair on his chest brushing up against your sensitive nipples.

“Because I haven’t. I was with everyone at camp and then I was on the run, now m’here. Never wanted anyone before, never needed anybody before you,” you whispered, suddenly feeling shy as his eyes widened at your admission.

“Shit,” Joel swore, blanching as he rolled off of you.

“W-what?,” you croaked, eyes watering as he distanced himself from you again.

You hauled yourself up and slid into his lap, chasing him without even thinking about it. Joel cursed, his bare cock now seated in between your folds as he tried to keep your hips from moving against his painfully hard cock. You whined, weakly shifting to try and spark some sort of friction between you as he hissed through his teeth.

“Darling, f-fuck, I wouldn’t of done it like that if - oh sweet Jesus,” Joel groaned as you managed to rip one of his trembling hands off of your hips.

Determined, you held his hand above his head as you rubbed your soaking seam against him, moaning as your clit caught on the tip of his dick. A fresh wave of slick coated him as you moved, helping you grind into Joel as he bit his bottom lip to keep his moans from spilling out.

“I need you Joel. M’yours. Fuuuck, and you’re mine. This is all fucking mine, nobody else’s,” you growled, shocking the both of you as a wave of possessiveness washed over you.

Something clicked in Joel’s brain as the words tumbled from your lips. Finally having enough, Joel flipped you on to your back and loomed over you. Pools of black boring into your soul, your walls fluttered against the emptiness his fingers left behind. As Joel watched your pussy twitch, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head before he came to a decision.

“If you want me to stop, you tell me. If I’m hurting ya, you fucking tell me. Got it?,” Joel said seriously, making sure that your eyes met as he said it.

Nodding before he had even stopped talking, you locked your ankles behind his back as he hiked your legs over his hips, bodies unbearably closer now. Joel leaned down, lips ghosting over yours as the need for him to fill you had you squirming against the solid wall of his chest.

“Say it baby,” he chided gently.

“Please Joel, I need you,” you whispered as your noses brushed against each other, his honeyed tone making your heart flutter.

Joel kissed you fiercely and let one hand move down to run his fingers through your slit. He gathered up all the slick he could before he used it to pump himself, spreading your arousal up and down the length of him. He finally broke the intoxicating kiss, panting as he pressed himself against your opening, carefully pushing himself in the first few inches. Sweat began to form at your hairline as your body struggled to accommodate his size. Not only was Joel long but he was thick, your body fought against the intrusion as you winced. Joel grunted, clearly struggling as you squeezed him like a vice.

“Fuck darling, you gotta - shit - you gotta relax and let me in,” Joel hissed, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep himself still.

You nodded, moaning as he moved to capture your lips once more. As soft lips moved against yours and tongues mingled, you forgot about the heavy weight of his cock inside of you. With you distracted by his passionate kiss, Joel was able to slide in a few more inches. More slick came to greet him as your hole stretched and your fingernails left angry red lines down his back. Feeling emboldened by your response, Joel pushed through the last bit of resistance, sliding home and nestling himself in the cradle of your hips.

“Fuck you’re so tight, fucking choking my cock darling. Jesus, little pussy’s so wet,” Joel whined unabashedly in your ear.

You moaned, not used to Joel being so vocal. It was driving you crazy. His dirty words, mixed with the feeling of him carving out a space for himself inside you, had you nearing your end already. Mind long gone, you keened and tried to fuck yourself on him, pathetic little jolts to your hips making him gasp and groan.

“Please fuck me Joel. I can take it, I swear. I’ll be good, I’m your good girl, I’m - oh!,” you cried out as Joel threw your legs over his shoulders, moving himself back carefully before thrusting forward again.

His pace was slow but his thrusts hard, knocking the breath out of you each time. You choked on a whimper as he pressed forward and bumped against something that had a fresh wave of tears streaming down your face. Joel leaned forward, getting impossibly deeper as the curls at the base of his dick tickled your clit. Leaning forward, he kissed the tears on your cheeks, cooing softly as you hiccuped and whined.

“Aw, my sweet girl, d’you like that? Like my cock stretching you out? Bet you won’t want another after this, ain’t nobody else gonna fuck you like this baby. Christ, do you hear her soaking for me? She’s fucking crying for my cock, isn’t she? Shi-i-t,” Joel growled, his hips picking up the pace slightly.

You grabbed at his hair, his neck, his shoulders, anything to keep you grounded as you begged him for more. Joel gave you a devilish smile, making you squeak as his hips started slamming into you. Strings of your arousal dripped down Joel’s balls and soaked the hair on his thighs, making the curls glisten as he sucked at your neck again. Joel tore animalistic cries out of you as he pounded into your weeping hole, claiming you with each hard thrust.

“Pleeease,” you pleaded, not even sure what you were pleading for as you weakly tried to meet his thrusts.

Joel huffed a laugh through his moans, hips working double time as he felt your pussy begin to flutter around him.

“What baby? Tell me what you want,” he crooned, moving one hand to brush through the cute patch of hair covering your mound, finding your clit and pressing down on it harshly with his thumb.

Legs shaking and eyes watering, you locked eyes with Joel before you cried out, “You daddy, I want you!”

Joel’s pace slowed for a second as he took in what you said. Freezing, you wondered if you had crossed some sort of line. You weren’t even sure where that had come from, but it just seemed so right in the moment. An apology on the tip of your tongue, you were surprised by a primal growl rumbling out of Joel, making your already pulverized insides turn to mush as he pulled himself up on his knees. He moved you up on his lap as you helplessly wrapped your weakened arms around his neck once more.

Faces pressed against one another, panting mouths sharing air and his cock almost unbearably deep, Joel grabbed your hips and began fucking you up and down on him. He speared into you so deep that you screamed, breath catching in your throat as he worked your limp body into a frenzy. Pleas, cries, and the slick sound of him moving inside of you filled the air. All of your senses were overwhelmed with Joel as panting mouths mashed into each other, lips greedily moving in tandem before breaking away again for air. The room spun as his heavy balls slapped against your ass, Joel moving faster and harder as your walls sucked him in.

You were shocked at his strength. Joel effortlessly moved your body up and down his throbbing cock with one hand clutching your hip, the other moving to strum at your oversensitive clit. You squeaked, unable to do anything but hold on for dear life as he effortlessly dragged you closer and closer to your peak.

“Say it again baby, whose pussy is this? Who gets to fuck you like this? Fuck, you’re too good for daddy sweet girl. Such a pretty thing, so smart, so strong, smell so fucking good. God - shit - say it please,” Joel moaned as he pressed into your clit harder.

“Yours! D-daddy, I’m yours. Please, I can’t. Oh my fucking g- daddy please!,” you screamed, walls beginning to squeeze him brutally.

Joel hissed, keeping up his pace as he kissed at every bit of skin his lips could reach, beginning to ramble as he neared his end.

“S’right baby, daddy’s pussy, nobody else’s. M’yours too, fuck - anything you want from me is yours, just fucking stay, please fucking stay with me baby. I can’t lose - PLEASE baby, fuck, I need you to stay.”

The desperation in his voice had you reaching out to grip his neck, bringing him down to meet your lips in a kiss filled promise. As you poured everything you had into the kiss, you felt something nudging at the outside of your hole. You gasped, looking down to see his knot forming and begging to be jammed into you. With your orgasm making your walls start to tighten around his cock, you were suddenly desperate for it. You ground yourself against his knot and Joel moaned as it began to tease your entrance.

“F-fuck, you don’t have t- ah, oh shit,” Joel stuttered, his resolve breaking as your walls twitched against the base of it.

“Knot me alpha. Shit - need you to fill me up so that I can feel you for days. Please daddy,” you begged, shattering any reservation in Joel’s mind.

A grunt left Joel as he heeded your request, shoving himself forward. You cried out as you felt his thick knot lock the two of you together, pleasure boiling over as his cock began to twitch inside of you. Waves after waves crashed through both of you, walls contracting against his throbbing knot, each slight movement triggering another devastating round of ecstasy. You felt him spurting thick loads of cum inside of you, soothing the need that had been burning inside of you since waking up. Everytime you thought that he was done, a slight movement or twitch from one of you would have Joel crying out as he released again.

You could feel your belly bloating from the mess he made inside of you. You tried to calm yourself, sensing that Joel was getting overstimulated as he tensed and shook but you couldn’t stop the way your walls clamped around him. Another orgasm had your vision blacking out around the edges, your voice hoarse as you called his name. Joel gasped, holding you close and pressing his face into your chest as his cock painfully released into you again and again and again.

Finally spent, Joel carefully lowered you onto the bed. Groaning, Joel collapsed on top of you. The weight of his body was warm and comforting, pulling a purring noise from the back of your throat. He hummed, rubbing his face against the valley of your breasts as you began to play with his hair. With the heat satiated at last, you giggled at the feeling of his whiskers tickling your damp skin. Joel’s head popped up, pools of melted chocolate studying the lines on your face as you laughed.

“What’s so funny baby?,” Joel asked, a grin evident in his voice.

You settled, letting out a few more giggles before glancing down at his relaxed face, pushing his curls from his forehead as you smiled at him.

“Nothing daddy, m’just happy,” you said softly.

Joel barked out a laugh, groaning as the movement had his cock weakly twitching again. He shook his head, kissing his way up from between your breasts. He pressed his lips against yours softly, humming at the intimacy before pulling back and grinning down at you.

“Daddy huh?,” Joel teased, watching as your cheeks reddened and you whacked his shoulder again.

“You didn’t seem to mind,” you grumbled, looking away from him to study the wall in embarrassment.

He laughed again, leaning forward and pressing soft kisses across your chest, neck, and face as you squealed and giggled. Joel kept kissing you until you were out of breath from laughter and pleading for him stop his sweet torture until he finally relented. Panting, you met his eyes once more as he looked at you with a softness that had butterflies erupting in your belly. A giddiness bubbled up to the surface and you bit your lip, suddenly feeling girlish and shy as Joel looked at you like you were the only person in the world. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead, pulling back and clearing the loose strands that stuck to your forehead off of your sweaty face.

It was then that you noticed the poor excuse for a bandage that was wrapped around his palm, the center of it red with dried blood. You whined, panicking as you brought it up to your face to examine. Joel shushed you, shaking his head before you could get too worked up.

“S’okay darling, I just sliced it when I was putting up some wire. Nothing to be worried about, I swear. Barely felt it,” he crooned, watching as you leaned forward and kissed the dark stain.

“Why don’t you let me help next time?,” you asked, letting him go back to fixing your wild strands.

He chuckled, “You really want to help me with choring that bad? It’s boring stuff. I wouldn’t want you to feel like you HAD to.”

You whined, huffing impatiently at him as you rolled your eyes, “I’ve been bored Joel. I’m going nuts in here doing nothing all day. I would LOVE to help you with your ‘choring’.”

The last part made him snort as you tried (and failed) to mimic his deep twang. You giggled back at him, bodies brushing up against each other as the feeling of joy radiated off the pair of you. He watched you with a grin, noticing the way your nose scrunched up as you threw your head back in laughter. Joel grunted as your laughter made you clench around him, suddenly remembering that he was inside of you still.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? M’sorry if I did. I was trying so hard to stay gentle but fuck baby, you don’t know how hard its been for me to stay away from ya,” Joel asked, his concern cutting through the sweet moment.

You kissed the hand that fussed over your messy hair, lips touching the bandage once more before you said, “Joel, you didn’t hurt me. That was everything I could have asked for. I’ve never felt so… wanted. Nobody’s ever made me feel like that.”

Joel tsked, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath about how stupid every alpha in your life had been up until this point, how you were the prettiest damn thing he had ever saw, how he had no fucking clue how he got so lucky. A softer laugh tumbled out of you, breaking him from his reverie and making him smile.

“Why’d you stay away?,” you asked softly, thumb gliding over the stubble on his cheeks.

A sigh left Joel’s mouth and he looked down, his knot now deflated enough that he could ease himself out of your puffy folds. You whined, panic popping the bubble of comfort that had cradled you moments before. You were terrified that he was going to get up and leave you there. Trying not to cry, you cursed yourself for ruining the moment. He hushed you as you gripped his forearms, trying to assure you as he pulled away.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby. I just need to clean you up and get something to fill that belly of yours. You need to eat before the heat comes back. Gotta keep your strength up for when my rut hits, reckon you’re gonna rip it out of me soon. Can already feel it coming,” he said carefully, massaging your sore hips as he inched off of the bed.

You nodded, sniffling and whimpering as he made his way out of the room. You tried to remember his words as anxiety trickled into your pliant muscles, making you tense. Joel would be back, he would be back, he was just grabbing something to clean you up and some food, it’s okay, he won’t leave you…

A hiss came out of your mouth as you felt something cool and rough between your legs. Joel shushed you, softly cleaning the mess he had made of your core with a washcloth. Tossing it behind him, he lifted you up onto his lap, situating himself so that he was sitting against the headboard. Before you could nestle yourself into the crook of his neck, Joel stopped you. He brought a glass of water from the nightstand, placing it at your lips. You gulped down half of it in one go, surprised at how thirsty you were.

“All of it baby,” he whispered when you paused, moving to tip the glass into your mouth again but you stopped him.

Grabbing the glass from him, Joel raised an eyebrow as you placed the glass at his lips. You looked back at him sternly, daring him to defy you as you tipped the water into his mouth. He acquiesced, chugging down the rest of the water and placing the empty glass on the nightstand. Next, he grabbed a granola bar and presented it to you. You grumbled, not feeling particularly hungry but he was persistent as he shoved it at you again.

“Share it with me?,” you asked softly, playing with his curls.

Joel nodded, tearing the package open and breaking the nutty biscuit in two, ignoring the crumbly bits that fell onto the mess of sheets and clothes below. The two of you ate in silence, one of his big hands rubbing your thigh while you absentmindedly scratched his scalp. Finally finished, Joel let you lean forward and rest against him, your body straddling him and face shoved into the gland on his neck, snuffling at his musk.

“Why?,” you asked again, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tensed and you snuggled deeper into him, trying to cover his body with your own as you smelt his scent slightly sour with nerves. Joel huffed lightly at your knotted hair, trying to calm himself down before he answered you.

“Darling I… There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me. Things I’ve done, horrible things… Some things I did to people that deserved it, others didn’t… And I’ve failed people that cared about me, too many fucking people. I couldn’t - I can’t fail you too,” Joel murmured against your hair, fingers now clutching your hips and holding you against him firmly.

You hummed in acknowledgement, playing with his hair as you responded, “You couldn’t fail me Joel, not even if you tried.”

Joel shook his head, his nerves threatening to break him out of the peace that you had cloaked him in. He pulled back and tried to speak, but you covered his mouth with your hand before he could.

“Joel, I know you think that you’re no good but you are. You are good. You could’ve left me out there to die, but you didn’t. You helped me and you didn’t even ask for anything in return, a bad man wouldn’t do that. Whatever you had to do in the past to stay alive, I don’t care. I don’t care about any of it,” you said, letting him work through the words for a moment before you continued.

He moved to protest, gripping your wrist and trying to pull your hand off of his mouth so that he could reject your words but you slapped his hand away. Joel guffawed under your hand, the feeling of it tickling your palm as he furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I know that you… That losing Sarah must have killed you Joel,” you could feel him growing more uncomfortable but you pressed on, “But that wasn’t your fault. None of it was. And it doesn’t mean that you aren’t good, okay? You’re good Joel. You. Are. Good.”

Joel watched you silently as you eased your hand off of his mouth, eyes shining as he cleared his throat. He nodded, swallowing thickly before he leaned forward and knocked his forehead against yours, shaky breaths fanning over your face.

“S’not all darling. I can’t - I don’t know how to tell you… There’s so much more than just Sarah and I don’t know if I can ever - fuck,” he cussed, his eyes falling closed in frustration as words failed him.

“I know Joel, I know. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. But until then, I’m not going anywhere m’kay? Hell, I’ve got things I haven’t told you yet either but I don’t care, none of that matters. You’re mine and I’m yours now, you’re gonna have to throw me out into the cold if you want me gone now,” you chided.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head before he said, “I’d never kick ya out baby. Just don’t know why you’d want to be with a grumpy old man like me. M’sure you could find a decent man in Jackson, probably tons of men your age there”

You shrugged playfully, pretending to think it over, “Hmmmm… well as tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll stick with you. Think I like my men a bit more experienced, no clue why. Daddy issues maybe?”

“Shut up,” Joel said through a surprised laugh, flipping you over onto the bed and attacking your sides with tickles as you screeched and giggled.

The heaviness pulled from the air, the two of you smiled at each other. Moving to get up again, Joel groaned when he saw the mess that you had made as the two of you had rolled around playfully on the bed. Sucking in a shaky breath, he watched your pussy begin to drip slick down your thighs once more, hole winking at him enticingly as he swore under his breath.

“Oh fuck Joel, I’m sorry. I know you probably need a bit of a break, seeing as you’re a senior citizen and all,” you joked breathlessly, his head shooting up at the jab.

A mischievous grin spread across Joel’s face, pearly whites gleaming menacingly at you as his gaze turned ravenous.

“Oh honey, you’ve got no fucking clue what this old man is capable of,” he chuckled.

A witty response died in your throat, mind numbing pleasure soon making you scream for the man that had his face buried in your core.

#alpha!joel miller #angst #comfort #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #omega reader #a/b/o dynamics #smut #soft!joel miller #Soft!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfic #reader needs a hug #joel needs a hug #joel miller smut

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nyradragon · 2 years ago

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From dusk till dawn — Ellie Williams

Summary: Just a cozy soft camp out with Ellie under the stars.

Placement/background: Heading back to Jackson after a three day venture for supplies.

Warning(s): Not an official relationship (but definitely gots the feels for each other), pining, nerves, shy-ish!reader, mocking, teasing, big feelings, light touching, wlw, word vomit.

Authors notes: I couldn’t get camping with ellie out of my brain she’d just be all cuddly and cute in a sleeping bag!!! NOT proofread

reblog’s and feedback would be much appreciated<3

The air was chilly even with the glow of the fire in front of you and Ellie’s extra hoodie wrapped loosely around your body. It was two sizes too big for either of you, engulfing your body in something like a warm hug the scent filling your senses sweet but also smoky a perfect mix for Ellie.

The sweetness of her body wash is a mix of strawberries and honey— but also the bitter smoky scent of late-night campfires and shared joints. Though that wasn’t it something else lingered in the balance—.. the woodsy cologne that Joel gave the freckled girl on their last run together.

It truly was Ellie all swirled into one, a perfect balance that reminded you each and every day what home smells like. A smile tugged on your lips as you watched her walk around the small empty clearing gathering smaller pieces of wood to add to the dwindling fire.

The glow of the sunset casting a golden halo around her frame making her look almost ethereal. She’d hunch down picking up two smaller twigs, turning her head to look over at you with a beaming smile before some stray hair falls from behind her ear covering her freckled cheeks ever so slightly.

The most mundane things causing your breath to catch and a blush to fan across your face like the mere act of catching you staring. You’d hug yourself tighter into the sweater almost intoxicated with the scent and moment you caught yourself in.

Ellie would make her way over to the small setup you two had, setting down the pile she had collected near the burning flames before dropping to her knees to tend to the fire.

Your eyes lingered on her back watching the muscles flex as she moved the wood around adding the larger pieces to the flames. Your eyes drop to her hands battered and slightly bruised, some fresh others old and scared over leaving memories of battles we all try to forget.

“You enjoying the view?”

You’d feel the air leave your lungs as you dropped your eyes to your ratty old sneakers your face felt like it was on fire. You felt like your brain was going a mile a minute as you tugged at the ends of Ellie’s sweater, bawling it in your hands.

The girls soft laughs accompanied but the crackle of the wood filled the silence around you. You kept your eyes trained on your shoes, tracing over each scuff mark on them as a way to calm your nerves.

“W-what?— shut up.”

Mumbling the last bit you huffed out a sigh hearing the shuffle of rocks and dirt as Ellie sat down next to you. The green-eyed girl slowly leaned against you giving your shoulder a nudge with hers before turning to you more pressing her chest against your arm. She’d lean her chin onto your shoulder tilting her head to the side to catch your downturned eyes she’d shoot you a goofy face laying all of the weight of her head on your shoulder.

You fail to hide the smile that tugged against your lips as you glanced over her features, your eyes locking for a moment as the giggles erupt from your chest. Ellie would pull away slightly laughing along with you as she placed her hand on your thigh just above your knee giving it a small squeeze.

“There you are, don’t go hidin’ on me.”

Ellie would let out another chuckle before sliding her hand off your thigh and clapping her hands together as she turned to her overstuffed pack. You two had managed to scavenge quite a lot in the last couple of days keeping simple pleasures for yourselves along with more of the requested items Maria had you two look out for.

Ellie rummaged through her pack before letting out a small hum guessing she had found what she was looking for. You furrowed your brows as you leaned closer to the freckled girl trying to catch a peak at what was going on but Ellie was quick.

As you caught a glimpse of her hand Ellie swayed to block your view causing you to crash against her. Your hands gripping onto her back, while the air was knocked out of your lungs for the second time today.

“Nuh-uh.. i didn’t say you could see it yet.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a small smirk leaning her back up against your hands laughing quietly to herself. You shake your head shoving her away from you lightly your cheeks bright red, which only made Ellie want to poke at you more just to see how red she can get ya’.

Whining softly you sat back pouting your bottom lip slightly, your arms crossed over your chest the smile threatening to show through. Ellie watched your little tantrum making her laugh a bit louder before turning her whole body towards you one of her hands still tucked away behind her out of sight.

“Aww, poor lil’ baby”

Ellie would mockingly say in an overly sweet tone reaching over to prod at your puffy cheeks before gipping your chin in her rough fingers and turning your head towards her. She’d have a smile on her lips as she held up the hidden item, your eyes focusing closer you noticed the red tint can.

Laughing loudly you swatted her hand away from your face yanking the can from her hands you read the label Chef Boyardee shaking your head you smacked the can lightly against her arm.

“Really els!? this is what you were hiding like some prized jewels?”

Ellie gasped clutching onto her chest as if she had just been shot before raising her hand again reaching over to pry the can from you. She’d huff, a smirk playing on her lips as she pulled it into her chest like it was an injured animal.

“Don’t talk to the Chef like that he’s sensitive.”

You’d almost wheeze with how hard you were laughing clutching onto your stomach as you attempted to even out your breathing your glazed-over eyes looking over at the auburn-haired girl.

Ellie would have a light blush creeping up her neck and to her cheeks from the lack of oxygen to her lungs, she was hunched over one hand still holding the tin can as the other was plastered on your upper thigh trying to grasp back onto reality.

Your belly laughs had turned into quiet snickers, hiccups and huffs of air. Ellie would look back up at you dropping the tin as she wiped at her eyes, the smile lines staying prominent on her face.

Her eyes were teary, the greens of them deeper somehow you let your eyes drift to her cheeks, her freckles became more and more visible from all the time in the sun the last couple of days. She was breathtaking and she doesn’t even know it.

You signed softly letting your eyes meet Ellie’s again she’d look slightly lost in thought reaching over to touch her cheek lightly her lashes fluttered closed momentarily before opening again to see your flushed cheeks and kind eyes looking back at her.

She’d lean into your hand letting the warmth seep into her skin a soft hum leaving her barely parted lips. You’d smile, lost in how at peace she looked her features soft no harsh lines or deep frowns just— peace.

The glow of the fire was your only source of light as the sky darkened around you causing you to softly tap on the tired girl's cheek. She’d squeeze your thigh as she straighten herself out a bit more.

She’d lift her hand to place over yours turning her head slowly to press a soft kiss onto your knuckles, a shiver ran down your spine as you let out a shaky breath.

Ellie lowered your hand but didn’t let go of it giving it a small tug to pull you closer to her side so you were snuggling into her.

“I’ll take first shift you get some rest, okay?”

The freckled girl mumbled quietly as a yawn fell from her lips she’d glance around the area to make sure she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. You looked up at the girl reaching up to touch her cheek again before straightening up yourself.

“—You rest i’ll take first shift, bug.”

Ellie opened her mouth to protest her eyebrows pulling together as you placed your finger over her lips shushing her before shaking your head.

“—Nope don’t want to hear it, you’ve had first shift enough. Sleep. now.”

You’d say sternly tugging your intertwined fingers into your lap causing Ellie to lean into you more. A small smile pulled on the girl's lips as she gave you a small nod, scooting lower so she was laying on the worn-out sleeping bag under the two of you.

She’d rest her head onto your lap earning a small giggle from you as she wiggled to get comfortable. You’d run your fingers through her soft hair, humming a quiet tune Ellie had played for you countless times before.

The freckled girl's eyes drooped closed, her deep breaths turning more shallow as she melted into your touch. Your humming and your soft touch lulled her to sleep slowly and you smiled just savouring the soft moments.

Ellie felt safe with you like she didn’t have to keep her guard up all the time, she could rest, she could let someone else take the reins, she could let someone take care of her. You could take care of her.

Ellie shifted pulling your intertwined fingers closer to her face, her soft breath fanning over your fingers as she spoke in a hushed and sleepy voice.

“—You’re my home.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #tlou #the last of us #ellie williams x y/n #tlou2 #tlou ellie #tlou x reader #tlou fluff #wlw #fluff #tlou2 fluff #tlou2 x reader #*writing

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 10 months ago

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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part eight - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: dub con ; slightly nsfw

All she can think about right now is how much of a dumb decision this was.

Michael disappears with a guy onto the dance floor, leaves her with his two friends who she has nothing in common with. She’s already three shots of tequila in.

No, she doesn’t want to dance, she wants to go home. She sips her drink, leans against the booth, and watches people in shiny clothes writhe under chaotic lights.

Michael’s friends—she forgets their names—get up and go to the bathroom. And now she’s completely alone, sitting in the sticky leather booth, uncomfortable and underdressed and trying to seem very interested in a phone with nothing on it. She pulls up Michael’s number to text him that she’s going to head home, but knowing him he’ll insist on getting her back safe, and then she’ll be ruining his fun. She shuts her screen off and shoves it back into her pocket.

She looks up to scan the crowd for Michael, and her eyes catch on a familiar face glowing neon under the warm dancing lights. Her heart stutters like it’s taking a picture…then jumping off a cliff. He’s shaved the facial scruff into a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His black hair is thick silk framing the sharp angles of his face. He sits alone at the bar, dressed in a casual midnight suit, sipping a dark drink out of a crystal glass that looks small in his hand. He is looking directly at her.

Long legs, heavy shoulders. The tapered waist of his jacket flows elegantly from his hips. His tie is neat, and not a piece of him is out of place. He is John, but not the one she knows. Not the one handcuffed to the bed and smiling at her. She feels, for sure, that this John is the one who spilled all the blood that day in the prison—this is the grim reaper.

This is stalking—he doesn’t care. Some might mistake him for thick-headed, but John knows when he’s out of line. He’s very aware of what he’s about to do.

The first night he got out, he struggled. Not just with stealing his car back from Winston’s safe-keeping, but also with his emotions. The fact that he is here—rather than acting as testament to his lunacy—is proving he is in more control now than he has ever been.

He once spent decades in subservience, always putting his own needs last and bowing to those with power. He starved while watching others grow plump with satisfaction and victory.

And it’s because he never wanted anything…anyone. Never truly desired the taste of possession nor the means to get it.

Not until now.

He’s felt fractions of this before in moments and people and things and substances—this thing he feels for her. It’s too soon and too moronic to identify the connection as love. However, the bond is strong and natural and he wants it and he will have it.

His nurse immediately averts her gaze, shy just like how he remembers her. His mouth ticks up around the last sip of his drink before making his way over.

He slides into the booth across from her. She looks up.

He greets her using her name. She’s surprised he remembers it.

“Hello, John.”

His fingers itch to grab her chin and make her eyes look at him instead of darting around for an escape route. That is his fault, that she thinks she can run. He should have shut that inclination down the moment he started to admire her.

It’s only been a day since he disappeared into the city, and he is so much different now. Taller than she remembers. Well fed. The suit clings to his biceps. She watches the muscle shift under the fabric while her mouth fills with saliva and her brain screams at her stupidity.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asks, his deep voice never failing in making her fingers and toes ache.

“What?” She says. She really can’t hear what he says over the booming music, and she was only half listening to the question while preoccupied with drooling over how fucking good he looks. Here he is, out of handcuffs and free to a good home, and her brain is malfunctioning.

He gets up, sits next to her, pushes into her body and puts his lips close to her ear. She grips the table violently. “Can I get you a drink?”

He smells like a hint of musky cologne mixed with clean shaving soap. The heat and bulk of him intoxicate her more than the alcohol ever could. Everything is sharp and blurry at the same time. She is both too sensitive and too numb for his touch.

He has a lot to say, and the irony that he can’t because of the loud music isn’t lost on him.

He talks with his body.

John brushes her hair behind her ear, admires the velvet plush of her face and neck, the plump breasts hidden under her t-shirt. Every spot that she is soft and pillowy he wants to bite and suck. His cock agrees vehemently with this urge and thickens on his thigh.

She squirms, flustered and terrified.

The Baba Yaga likes both. The Baba Yaga likes her. John likes her, too. Finally something they can agree on.

“Can I?” John presses, mouth so close to her skin she can feel the damp heat of it.

“Wh-“ she clears her throat “-what?”

“Buy you a drink?” He repeats, patient with her because he knows that her body is coming to terms with him invading its’ space.

“Yes.”

“Excuse me, then.” He is gone faster than she can look to see which direction he goes in. She takes this moment to loosen her grip on the table because her fingers have been drained of blood. Now that he’s gone, she can think a bit clearer and the one reasonable thought she has is that this man, while being irresistible, can also easily kill her. She could leave. Walk out. Avoid whatever this is going to turn into, which probably does involve her dead. She’s a witness to what happened in St. Mercy’s—maybe one of only a few left to his DIY blood bath.

Before she can decide to run, he’s back, setting a glass of clear, bubbling liquid in front of her.

She takes a sip before she can really think about what she’s doing. Her brain regrets drinking, but her taste buds do not. The delightful mint flavor mixed with tickling carbonation is delicious. It’s too late now, so she takes another.

His liquor is caramel colored with a strong aroma. He holds it in his mouth before he swallows it. She can smell it sweet and bitter on his breath while he talks in her ear like they are good friends.

He plants one heavy arm around the back of the booth, turns his body toward her, and lays his other arm on the table in front of her.

Trapped, she panics. He feels her body tense like a spring, but he doesn’t like that. He wants her soft and pliant. He likes her clinging to him as if he’s the only thing that can keep her stable.

“No,” he chides, “it’s okay. You know who I am.”

That’s the problem, she knows exactly who he is.

Heat radiates from him in thick, choking waves. Sweat pools between her breasts and trickles down her belly. She takes another drink to cool down, regretting not putting the tank top on instead of this stupid sweaty Henley.

“You’re scared of me,” he says.

She nods, so easily admitting fear, and he simultaneously hates and loves this. He hates it because she can’t be wholly his while a part of her is terrified of him. He loves it because in that fear lies the admittance that she remembers him.

“Oh, honey.” It’s such a strange thing coming from his mouth, but the pet name sends pleasant little tingles through her tummy. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Because he’s an honest man, he amends this with, “not in a way that won’t make you feel good.”

She really wants to believe him, but she absolutely doesn’t.

She doesn’t relax at all. In fact, her shoulders get tighter as she leans away from him. Part of it is that her cunt throbs when he tacks on that last part, and it’s so violent and sudden that she’s afraid he can feel it resonate in the air between their hips.

“Please talk to me.”

She looks at his face. He wears big puppy eyes and a soft, sad mouth. That look makes her heart pause in its panicking to ache instead. He is close enough that she can kiss him again.

“I don’t know what to say to you.” Her voice is timid and small. He has to read her lips. “But.. thank you...for…saving me.”

There she is, the selfless heroin here to make sure his feelings aren’t getting hurt.

“The pleasure is all mine.” John rests his fingers on top of her own. It’s meant to soothe, but all she can think of is how long his hands are and how capable they would be of snapping her pinkie in half or reaching places inside her that she can’t find on her own.

She knows Michael’s friends don’t like her, but she wants them back. Her eyes scan the crowd for the two women.

“Why are you so terrified of me?” It’s a manipulative question, and he knows it. He’s had people be terrified of him for less than what she’s seen. But he wants to hear her say it.

She looks at him, incredulously, her expression calling out his bullshit question for what it is. “You killed…people.”

He thinks for a moment, trying to choose the right words to say. “I did it to get us out.”

She can’t argue with this.

“Are you going to kill me?” She asks him, shrinking. A flash of blue light catches her eyes and paints them glassy and beautiful.

His response is inappropriate, but he can’t help it. He chuckles, although a bit annoyed he has to repeat himself. “No. I said I won’t hurt you.”

“Then what do you want, John?” Her voice is high and tight.

He wets his lips, deciding to err on the side of simple and candid. “You.”

There are a couple possibilities:

He’s lying to get to her.

He’s telling the truth, which is unlikely.

Instead of killing her, he’s appeasing her so she won’t tell on him. Which is ridiculous. Who would she tell? The cops? If she hasn’t told them yet she’s definitely not going to.

Honestly, only one of these options appeal to her, and it’s the one that’s far fetched. A fever fantasy dream—literally. John wants her? This John? She wants to laugh in his face.

He rolls his thumb under the smooth skin below her ear and earns a full bodied shudder and a flinch. “Let me kiss you. Again.”

Her heart flutters, blushes, squeals, acts like it belongs to a 16-year-old girl in the height of puberty. Vivid and violent and wonderful, that moment when their lips touched. Her body yearns for the feeling, teetering on top of the rollercoaster drop, and not sure if it has a choice whether to fall or not.

“Here?” She gestures to the club around them.

“Anywhere,” he says, “take me somewhere. Let me take you somewhere.”

He watches patiently as she fights with herself. He wants her to say yes without persuasion, but the thought of her saying no is the opposite of appealing. It’s so unappealing, in fact, he just might have to drag her out of here anyway if she decides to decline.

To save her the trouble, he helps make the decision. “Yes,” he answers a question she never asked out loud, “if you say no, it will hurt my feelings.”

He knows it’s fucked up, to do that to her. She’s proved that she can’t put her own feelings above someone else’s—even if that someone else is scum—and he knows she won’t turn him down if she thinks it will upset him…Even him. But, the other option is to let her go, and that’s not going to happen. Kicking and screaming tends to get more attention than calm exits in crowded places.

“Where are we going?” She asks, trying not to sound defeated.

He takes the last sip of his bourbon. “Your place.”

“Just let me text my roommate,” she says

“Of course.”

She opens up the text chain that her and Michael share, unsure of what to say. She settles on telling him she’s getting a ride home with an old, good friend.

Is the old friend hot? 😉

She tilts her phone screen so John can’t see what she’s typing, even though he can.

Yes.

Once she’s satisfied that Michael isn’t going to be concerned, she sticks her phone back into her pocket. “I also have to close my tab.”

He slides her credit card across the table and pushes it under her hand. “It’s on me.”

She feels her pocket for money. “How much was it? I’ll give you the cash-“

He rests his hand on her own, stilling her search. His hot skin sears her hip. He sounds amused when he talks to her. “I said it’s on me. That means I’m paying for it.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He can tell she wants to press the issue, and is biting her tongue.

She tries to wave him away when he offers her his hand to help stand from the booth, but he takes it anyway and pulls her up. She’s unsteady, swaying. Her body has just realized that it’s drunk. He helps her navigate through the crowd, arm wrapped securely around her back. It’s easy for her to start hanging onto him again, almost as if she’s done it a dozen times. He asks her if she has to use the restroom before they leave, reminding her that her bladder was full thirty minutes ago.

He waits outside, leaning on the wall, watching the door, nervous that’s she’s going to try and get away from him. He is so relieved when he sees her come out of the bathroom, he immediately pulls her back against him, and startles her.

She grips onto his jacket to keep upright, unsurprised by how sturdy he is by now. He can hold her easily while walking them through the chaos of the club. He doesn’t stumble or falter even once as he ensures they both make it out the door. The outside air is cold and bitter, but John is warm. She huddles a bit closer into his side. It’s so strange, having someone that can handle her weight easily—very much something she’s not used to.

He wraps tighter around her, reassuring and solid, happy to provide shelter.

“My house is three blocks away,” she says, and it’s nice to hear her voice clearly. Snowflakes fall onto her pretty skin and melt away.

He shakes his head, pulls keys out of his pocket with the arm that’s not secured around her.

If she weren’t so nervous, she’d ask him how he scored such a pretty mustang.

John leaves her on the sidewalk while he opens the door for her. Carefully, she cuddles into the icy leather seat, bundling her jacket closer around her shoulders.

The inside of his car smells like gas fumes and leather. It’s pleasant, delicious.

He slides in beside her, turns the rumbling engine on, and flips dials on the dash. Cool air blows from the vents. She shivers. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over her, leaving him in only the silky black dress shirt and tie underneath.

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” she tells him.

“I like the cold,” he argues. “What’s your address?”

He seems to have no problem finding her apartment complex. She’s disappointed that he didn’t take at least one wrong turn because she likes watching him drive—it’s 100% the hands—and she wants to delay her possible death for a little while longer.

She grabs the solid metal handle to open her door, but he stops her.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Opening my door.” She doesn’t bother keeping the obstinance out of her tone.

“Let me.”

Reluctantly, and with an eye roll, she releases the handle and lets him open up the car door for her. He reaches for her hand and helps her step out of the vehicle. His arm is around her again before they walk into her building and up the stairs to the second floor. She pulls out the key, but he takes it, unlocks the door, and guides her inside.

Now he’s just being ridiculous while he finds and flips the lights on in her apartment and then pulls out a kitchen chair for her to sit in.

“I can do all that,” She says, frowning at him, crossing her arms defiantly and looking as intimidating as a hamster. “Are you one of those dudes that don’t let women use their hands?”

He will butt heads with that maverick attitude, although he’s grateful that she’s warming up to him again. “You mean a gentleman?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” And she smiles.

Despite her protest, she drapes his jacket over the back of the seat and then lets him help her push herself up to the table.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, opening up her fridge.

“No, I’m fine.”

He looks doubtful. “Have you eaten today?”

She laughs. He hasn’t heard it in a while, that melodic tinkling. “We ate McDonald’s before we went to the club. But if you’re hungry, help yourself to anything. There’s also soda in the mini fridge.” She thumbs to the living room.

He shuts the door of the fridge and takes the seat across from her, eclipsing the little budget friendly and thrifted chair and kitchen table.

John starts in with asking her about herself. She tells him what’s she’s comfortable with and leaves out the gory details. Most of his inquiries are simple: “how old are you?” “What do you do for fun?” “Where are you from?”

It gets a little dicey when he asks about her family.

“Uh, I don’t have one,” she tells him, looking down at the table. “I was in foster care for a while then got out as soon as I was 18.”

“No adopted parents?” He asks.

“Some.” She rubs her cheek where her bruise is almost gone now. “A lot. Never any that I stayed with.”

He hums, rubbing his fingers over the grooves in her table and wishing it was her palm. “Are you lonely?”

She stiffens, looks up at him. “Sometimes, yes.”

“Friends?” He asks.

“Michael,” she says, “the roommate you told me to adopt. Really, thank you for that.”

He smiles. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Your turn,” she says, tilting her chin at him.

He opens his arms up. “Ask away.”

She does not ask him what he expects her too. She wants to know his favorite color, favorite animal, his birthday, why everyone likes him so much.

He grins at the last question. “I guess I’ve just learned from experience how to charm people. Much like yourself.”

She snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“You’re very kind. Brave.” He looks sincere while he elaborates this.

She tries not to be overcome with embarrassment and flattery while waving him off with a scoff. Him telling her that, whether he means it or not, makes her confidence turn from shriveled to swollen and leaking and she needs to displace some of the feeling before she gets addicted to it.

His eyes narrow at her inability to take the compliment.

She changes the subject, nervous. “Where’d you get that nice suit?”

He raises his eyebrows, allowing the deflection, but counting it as strike 2. “It’s custom made by a friend.”

Her eyes widen. “Fancy.”

“Something like that.”

“Can I guess your favorite drink?” She grins.

“Go for it.” He sounds amused.

“Scotch.”

“Close. Bourbon.”

“Damnit!” She cries. “Should have gone with my first guess.”

He makes a face at her that says ‘yeah, sure.’ She likes that, because she’s laughing again, and alerting every dopamine receptor in his brain to release.

“So, you’re Russian, you have custom made suits, you are…good at fighting. You’re like…James Bond?”

His smile wriggles into a grin. “If that’s what you want.”

She shrugs. “I’m more of an Indiana Jones gal’, to be honest.” Her grin matches his own.

He hums. “I can work with that.”

She raises an eyebrow, lips pursing as she rubs her hands together in uneasy gesture.

“Do you still think I’m going to kill you?” He’s nothing if not blunt.

She thinks about it for a minute. “Honestly? A little bit. Can you blame me?”

“No, but why am I in your apartment if you think that?” He asks.

“I’ve come to terms with my death…in the past hour.” she shrugs.

“Have you?” He muses.

“Yes, we all die. I’m a nurse, I know that. If I die, I die.” Really, she’s terrified of that unknown darkness that waits after her heart stops, but she doesn’t want to seem like a pussy in front of him anymore. Especially not him.

Also, she’s grown more comfortable with him now that they’ve been talking again. It’s like he’s John in the infirmary bed sans handcuffs. Just like at the prison, she doesn’t want to be afraid of him, even though he’s scary.

“How do I convince you I don’t want to kill you?” He asks, face serious.

“I don’t know.” She gives him an apologetic look.

He sucks his teeth. She watches his mouth and jaw move. Her lower body reminds her that it likes him, too, and is not afraid of him at all.

“Then I’ll just have to use trial and error,” he reasons.

She wonders what he means, but doesn’t have to be confused for very long.

He pushes his chair back, leans himself at an angle, and pats one thigh, motioning for her. “We can start with the kiss.”

Her heart pulls at her nerve endings like it’s stopping a wild horse in sprint. Her pupils get wide and her mouth scrunches like she’s trying hard not to make some kind of embarrassing facial expression. She looks at him, but it’s hard to keep his eyes in line with her own when his are dark and lowered at her like this.

“You don’t have to.” She tries one last bid to save herself from being completely obsessed with him—to let him back out and decide she’s not worth the effort. She doesn’t want him to force himself into doing this just because he thinks she’ll tell on him or otherwise. She doesn’t want to feel like she’s manipulating him into kissing her. Because that sounds much worse than death.

But every part of her body, besides her rational brain, wants to kiss him. Desperately.

His patience has run out. He gets up, grabs the back of her neck and threads his fingers through the sensitive baby hairs at the back of her scalp, tilts her face up.

He’s rough, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s an unyielding pressure that resonates in her cunt. He muffles her distressed grunt with his mouth.

He’s teeth, tongue, saliva. It’s hard to breathe with him in her throat. Her hands grip his nice shirt. He pulls her up by the back of her neck, and her moan dies in their combined throat.

The wet connection of their lips has her hips grinding into his thigh and his hands imprinting her scalp. She burns from her head to her toes. He struggles to get closer, use the blanket of her body to try and smother his own tumultuous fire.

Her phone rings, and she has to ignore it while he pulls at her hair and backs her up into the fridge. The cool at her back feels nice mixed with the heat of his body. She’s on her tiptoes, gripping his arms to let off some of the pressure in her scalp, trying to chase the ache between her legs with the sturdy muscles in the thigh he has pressed between them.

He pulls away with her bottom lip captured in his teeth, and she only has a second to whine about the sting until he’s back on her.

Her phone rings again. She has to try and push him off because twice means it might be an emergency.

He doesn’t budge, and if he knows she wants to stop then he doesn’t care.

Text message dings, phone ringing again. His lips move from her mouth to her jaw, nipping and laving at that delicate flesh. His scratchy facial hair tickles and chafes her skin.

She tries to form a coherent thought and translate it into a sentence, but all that comes out are wet mewls. Michael might be in trouble. She pushes harder against the solid rock of his body.

John takes the hint, but not very well. He releases her neck with a low gravelly sound that translates to a growl. His self control, usually unbreakable, fissures. He glares down at her, breathing deep and loud.

Reluctantly, he lets her push past him and look at her phone.

He leans against her fridge and watches how her eyes grow wide and worried in the bright light of her screen. The anxiety on her face turns his annoyance into concern.

She pulls up her phone calendar. Saturday. The weekend. The day that Benny invited her camping. And there he is; five missed text messages, 4 missed calls. Two voicemails.

John watches her skin drain some of its lovely color.

She reads the texts. They start off nice, then turn into vulgar threats.

The last one is him sending her a copy of her own address.

She slams her phone down, free-falling into the verge of a full blown panic attack.

She had forgotten to erase and block his number after he forcefully put it in her phone. While he was in her messages, he must have gotten her address off the text chain between her and Michael. He knows where she lives, and even if he doesn’t have the passcode to the front door and a key to get into her apartment, he can easily wait outside for her. Or around the block. She tries her best to not start hyperventilating, but her eyes inevitably swell with stinging fluid and her lungs constrict like snakes are wrapping around them.

“What? What’s wrong?” She feels John’s hand on her shoulder. It brings her back down to earth. The serpents twisting her insides coil away, hissing in fear. Her breathing gets easier. He wraps his hands around her waist softly, says her name. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he urges.

She’s so tired of protecting this asshole, but the two possibilities that will come from telling john are equally unappealing. The first one is that he doesn’t care and leaves because he thinks she’s a whore. The second option is that he kills or injures Benny, and that would mean blood inadvertently on her hands.

She doesn’t know if she should be grateful or terrified when he grabs her phone, types her passcode—how the hell does he know that?—and opens up Benny’s voicemail.

“John, stop - “

But the angry voice is already coming on over the speaker. “Hey Darlin’. I’ll be over in a few minutes. If you’re not ready, I’m dragging you out of there.”

He holds the phone out of her reach and plays the next. “I’m five minutes away from your house. You better be outside or you won’t enjoy yourself tonight.” Benny sounds drunk in this one.

John flips to the text messages once he’s done with the voicemails.

By the time he’s done reading them, his eyes are drained of light. Not even the bright phone screen casts a reflection in the pools of black matte. He looks up at her and presses the power button.

“Did he hit you?” He grips her chin and his big hand is wide enough to cover the entire bottom of her face.

“What are you going to do?” She whispers. He feels the vibration in the air from her quivering body, but can’t find it in himself to feel bad, especially when she’s committed to keeping a bastard protected.

He loved how altruistic she was when they first met, the care that she showed for everyone—especially he himself—was endearing and sincere. But now he knows he has to break her from that senseless kindness because she is too fucking nice for her own good.

“I’m going to kill him,” John tells her, words piercing like needles and threading her wild anxiety tighter.

She doesn’t like Benny, would even go so far as to say she hates him, but the thought of him dying because of her confession turns her stomach with guilt. And maybe not believing John would absolve some of that foreshadowed liability, but he had killed countless grown men with a bed rail in front of her, so she knows he’s more than capable of keeping his word and becoming the reaper.

She won’t condemn someone, even if they are a scumbag. He catches the look in her face that tells him just that.

And he does something that she doesn’t expect and doesn’t want to see cutting his usually serious face: He smiles, genuinely and viciously.

He is physically bigger than her, that much is true, but nothing makes her feel as small as that smile. It is the smile of someone who knows what they want and how to get it, consequences be damned.

Fear is like electricity in her veins, so cold it burns.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, now actually crying.

She watches his jaw grind, backs away from him.

He catches her shoulder, pulls her into his chest so that he can talk into the top of her head.

“You will not leave this apartment,” he tells her, “you will not get in my way.”

And she can tell that he’s not someone who people usually disobey.

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