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mothandpidgeon · 6 months ago

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Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

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pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you.

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller.

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely.

Her words still ring in your ears.

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life.

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said.

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you.

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart.

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder.

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says.

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask.

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room.

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid.

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you.

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better.

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now.

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say.

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture.

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say.

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh.

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles.

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her.

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there.

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time.

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face.

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy.

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen.

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself.

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze.

“Mercy?” Sarah asks.

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass.

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air.

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her.

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around.

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.”

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night.

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller.

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away.

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands.

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor.

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps.

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something.

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies.

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral.

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break.

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster.

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk.

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground.

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence.

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you.

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged.

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete.

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her.

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet.

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill.

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway.

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers.

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says.

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her.

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle.

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck.

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away.

You wait for a long time.

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now.

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes.

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine.

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare.

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you.

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family.

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope.

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning.

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday.

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt.

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you.

He left you to die but you just go on living.

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night.

You’re on your own.

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone.

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her.

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead.

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head.

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk.

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north.

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival.

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you.

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal.

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven.

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached.

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall.

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table.

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home.

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you.

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright.

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage.

“That really you?” he asks.

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope.

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife?

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner.

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller.

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up.

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become.

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up.

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel.

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival.

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago.

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath.

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall.

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened.

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks.

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out.

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes.

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says.

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you.

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious.

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself.

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder.

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark.

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back.

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say.

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing.

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall.

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel.

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today.

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine.

“You okay?” Ellie asks.

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much.

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall.

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers.

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken.

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says.

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out.

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache.

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted.

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you.

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded.

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves.

“Want some company?” you ask.

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in.

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him.

“Surprised you remember,” he says.

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.”

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living.

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything.

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck.

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down.

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.”

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him.

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says.

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says.

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear.

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him.

A thick knot forms in his throat.

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment.

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch.

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end.

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out.

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky.

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen.

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well.

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect.

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask.

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains.

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates.

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since.

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes.

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile.

“How’s she look?” you ask.

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods.

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair.

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library.

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor.

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all.

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”.

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved.

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly.

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink.

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy.

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze.

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing.

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet.

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago.

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek.

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours.

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it.

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say.

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went.

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night.

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning.

And then you kissed him.

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing.

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone.

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you.

That’s when he heard it.

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong.

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you.

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again.

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself.

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you.

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you.

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon.

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth.

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table.

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs.

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says.

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply.

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says.

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life.

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there.

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips.

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open.

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers.

“Stay,” you murmur.

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back.

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress.

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well.

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further.

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could.

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.

After a while, though, it happens.

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them.

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light.

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment.

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him.

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper.

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up.

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever.

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want.

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul.

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass.

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him.

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him.

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply.

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this.

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories.

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before.

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back.

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?”

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft.

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself.

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all.

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart.

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection.

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years.

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you.

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

#joel miller #tlou #joel miller fic #bfd!joel miller #jackson!joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic

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sweet-honey-fruit · 10 months ago

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Happy Valentine’s Day ❤️

Surprising Star Rail men with a lingerie on the most romantic day of the year

w/: Aventurine, Blade, Dr. Ratio, afab!reader

Genshin version here 🫶

Warnings: NSFW minors DNI, face fucking (Blade), called ‘good pet’ (Blade), hints of possessiveness (Blade), blowjob (Blade), hints of dom/sub (all of them), vaginal fingering (Aventurine), called ‘babydoll’ (Aventurine), d in v (Dr. Ratio), creampie (Dr. Ratio)

Got carried away with Aventurine, whoops.

Masterlist: xxx

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Aventurine ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - Aventurine was normally the one pulling out the surprises. Especially on special days like Valentine’s Day. Taking you out to a fancy restaurant, taking you to all of your favorite places, and especially taking you to bed to show just how much he loves you. It’s not often that he’s the one who gets surprised. So when you stopped him when he closed the bedroom door, and you stripped out of your clothes, revealing the erotic lingerie that hung on your body; he was as surprised as he could be. He wasn’t about to let this opportunity go to waste.

He’s quick to push you back onto the bed, crawling on top and giving you a dazed look. The mere sight of you is enough to turn him into a needy disaster. His hands caress your plush thighs. Just enough pressure to tease you, and to make you throb with need. It’s, frankly, annoying. You gave him a gift and he has the nerve to mess around like this? Not even letting you feel a hint of his cock against your soaking hole. You fight back a scowl. Yet as attentive as he is, he notices, and he can’t help but to laugh.

“You’re the one who wanted to play this game, don’t tell me you’re getting heart broken because you’re losing,” He spreads your legs apart with a form of desperation that he’s trying so hard to hide. Although it’s obvious with the way his fingers dig into your skin, leaving behind a bruising pain that causes you to buck your hips up for any kind of friction. His breathing shakes at the sight of the thin fabric clinging to your wetness at the movement, emphasizing the shape your pussy.

He dips down, leaving feather-light kisses up and down your neck while his body encases yours under him. It’s addicting, the feeling of his lips against your hot neck. It leaves you dizzy, hand gripping onto his head, grinding your hips against his own.

“Ah ah ah,” His hand forces your waist back down, a strong hold held as a warning, “Don’t think just because you caught me off guard with such an eye-catching thing that you’re the one who gets to call the shots babydoll.”

The low, teasing laugh against your ear was enough to make you cum on the spot. The way he was holding you down so effortlessly, the way his other hand teased your soaked slit, it was all so subtle yet was driving you mad with a desperate desire. Then when his fingers plunge inside of you, fucking you in all the right spots and making your vision black out just from how good it feels. Aventurine doesn’t let up either, oh no. He likes seeing you wither under him like this. Especially when you had the audacity to believe that you were on the good end of the deal.

Blade ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - If life itself is punishment, then dear god he doesn’t want to spend it any other way. Not when you’re kneeling before him in a lingerie that leaves so little to the imagination that it’s ethereal. Not when you’re leaving feather-light kisses over his growing bulge, muttering ‘I love you’ and ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ with a love-stricken look. He’ll happily take this life with you.

His hand finds its way into your hair as your mouth finds its way around his cock. His touch is gentler than what it normally is. The way his fingers massage into your scalp feels more like a caress than anything else. He’s cherishing the celebration, the display that you happily allowed him to see. Only him, only for him. That mere thought elicits a soft moan out of him. Your tongue swirls around his tip, whimpering at the sweet taste of his precum. He hums appreciatively, pressing your head back down agaisnt his growing hardness. Despite the surprise from the sudden switch of demeanor, your eyes are glazed over with desire. Yet his hold tightens nonetheless, pushing you down even further till your nose is pressed up agaisnt the base. You take it all the way, sucking harder like the good pet you are. His hips rut up against your mouth, drawing his dick in and out in a slow yet rough pace. Your eyes remain locked with his, moaning and drooling and impatiently touching yourself through the lingerie.

“You’re so pretty,” He moans out, his other hand reaching down to cup your face, “For me. So pretty for me, only me.”

Dr. Ratio ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - Usually a man with great composure, that title was long lost the moment he saw you in the revealing, skin tight lingerie. He practically tore your panties away the moment he had you on the bed, only leaving on the bra that encases your sensitive breasts. He wanted you so bad, and that's evident with how he's rubbing the head of his cock up and down your soaked hole, letting your slick drip down the base.

Ever so slowly he pushes his dick in, a heavenly groan mixing with your pornographic moan. His lips trail up your body, leaving goosebumps behind. They're slow and calculating, kissing the most sensitive of places just so he can feel you clench around his cock. With a soft sigh he thrusts in. It's gradual, sensational and loving. It's so loving the way he holds your hand, kisses your lips, rub gentle circles on your thighs as he fucks into your needy hole.

He's throwing every ounce of love and appreciation he can with every touch, ever thrust, and moan and groan that he can force out of you; he may not be good with expressing how he feels about you, but he won't waste this opportunity to properly show you. Not when you went through the effort to please him like this.

"There you go, relax," He shushes your babbling, loving the way your erotic noises mix with his hips snapping against yours, "Let me show you how much I love you."

He doesn't stop, not when you cum over and over, leaving you a squirming, cock-drunken mess. Not when he spills his seed into you so much that it's spilling out of you, coating his cock in a mixture of your wetness and his semen. Not when he glides his finger over the mixture and presses it into your mouth to lick clean. He loves you, he's going to make sure you're taught that.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader smut #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader smut #aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader smut #hsr aventurine #blade x reader #blade x reader smut #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr blade #star rail x reader #honkia star rail

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starcrossedxwriter · 2 months ago

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Double Trouble (Aaron Pierre x Black Reader x MBJ)

Warnings! NSFW, HEAVY BDSM, HEAVY Daddy kink, threesome (MFM), Everything is consensual! Degredation kink, Praise kink, Bratty reader, Dom! Aaron, Dom!MBJ

A/N: went hella overboard with this one! The plot is pure filth.

***

“Baby?”

Your soft calls were barely loud enough to be heard over your boyfriend’s latest afrobeats obsession, which blasted through your shared home’s sound system. You lazily kicked off your red bottoms, a guttural sigh of relief escaping you as your exhausted feet relaxed out of the painful position it required to sport such beautiful but impractical shoes all day.

On your way to hunt down the love of your life, you stopped by your study, not even bothering to turn on the light as you discarded your Chloe work tote in your chair and closed the door behind you.

After closing the biggest case of your career, you would not need to see the interior of either of your offices for a week and that almost brought tears of joy to your eyes. You and Aaron did not even have the energy to plan a trip. Having just wrapped a project two weeks prior, you both were overjoyed to spend a week at home wrapped up in each other.

You rolled your shoulders. Prayerfully, your boyfriend would take pity on you and give you a massage to ease the knots that took up residence in your back. You lazily made your way to the kitchen, knowing where you’d find the man you loved - but currently did not like.

His back was to the arched entryway as you snuck in behind him, stealing a grape from his masterful charcuterie board that sat nearby.

Despite your righteous annoyance at him, you never missed an opportunity to simply admire Aaron in his element. Like most actors, he suffered from the curse of always having to be “on.” But in the sanctuary of your home, he could just be Aaron, your gentle, loving, goofy, carefree boyfriend.

And it certainly helped that he looked positively delicious today, setting a stupid table for a stupid dinner you didn’t want to host. He did every day but something was about him today in particular just made you want to sink to your knees and worship him with your tongue. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction today. You were pissed off.

And that lust simply soured into red hot annoyance at the surprise guest your too-kind boyfriend invited to dinner. And while you never usually complained about company, after months of endless days and sleepless and sexless nights, your vision of a relaxing evening was not entertaining a third wheel.

It was a tall glass of wine, an amazing meal. And… then having your daddy twist you into a literal human pretzel and fuck the stress out of your body.

But he hated you, clearly.

A sentiment you articulated (along with others) in a snarky text hours earlier. But Aaron, forever unbothered by your theatrics, merely responded that you should trust your daddy because…

Daddy knows best.

And despite the strong independent lawyer inside you who demanded control and to be right (and she usually was), you knew he was right about this one thing. Aaron could always see exactly what you needed.

And despite your attitude earlier, you still spied his traditional gift for you after winning a big case neatly displayed on the white marble counter: your favorite cake from a bakery nearby and a bouquet of tulips. The varying vibrant shades of pink made something in your soul smile. He knew you too well.

Your silent studying did not go unnoticed for long, Aaron turning around not even startled to find you there. His expressive eyes lit up at the sight of your half grin, which you tried to suppress because you were supposed to be angry at him, and the hand on your hip as you leaned into the counter.

He was in front of you before you could blink, his strong arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into his embrace. His muscles were threatening to destroy the fabric of his crisp button down, many of his clothes ill equipped to handle the additional muscles he gained for his latest project.

“Hey princess.”

Forever a brat and annoyed at the implosion of your plans for the night, you jerked your head to the side as he kissed you, forcing his lips to catch your cheek instead.

Aaron merely let out a low chuckle, knowing that your bark was far worse than your bite.

When it came to Aaron, you were about as strong as a lawn chair. You’d fold without resistance. Every. Single. Time. You always thought you were God’s strongest soldier… until you met Aaron. Kryptonite indeed.

“Still mad at me?”

“Yes,” you folded your arms as best you could against your chest, scoffing. “Between you playin’ the british assassin all around LA and me trying to negotiate with that asshole partner, we’ve had zero time together and no time to relax. And our first real free night in months without briefs and lines to run, you wanna play captain save a nigga with your friend? And then you spring it on me on some last minute shit. Those lips aren’t gonna get you outta this one, A.”

“I know, I know, Y/N. And I’m sorry for messing up your plans for the night. I know how excited you are to finally have a break. But I’m trying to surprise you so please just trust me. If I know you like I think I do, you’re gonna like it.”

“Well I think we’re about to make history then.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time you get a surprise wrong. Honestly it’s probably a good thing? You’ve always been a bit too perfect to be real,” you added, causing him to grin. “But the only thing I would like right now is for you to fuck me into oblivion. So unless this dinner guest can help with that, I doubt I’ll like it. But what’s done is done. Now let me go so I can get ready.”

A stare down. Another moment where you’d inevitably crumbled. Because only Jesus himself was strong enough to stare in those eyes and not give this man everything you had.

However, to your surprise, he looked away from you first, nodding and letting his arm fall so you could head upstairs.

You started to walk out of the kitchen, prepared to sulk the last of your frustrations away before putting on the smile of a gracious host when you heard him call after you.

“What if they can?”

“What if they can what?” you glanced behind you.

“Help me fuck you into oblivion.”

You lurched forward, his words stopping you dead in your tracks.

No… he couldn’t mean… The tiniest thrill of excitement jolted across your brain like a shooting star. But you steadied yourself. He couldn’t possibly mean what you were thinking. So you played it off.

“Ha. ha. Ha. Very funny, A.”

“You hear me laughin’?”

You slowly turned around to find him behind you, his eyes brimmed with pure lust. But nothing in his face signaled he was joking about a single thing.

“Remember all those fantasies you told me about, princess?”

It would take lifetimes for you to forget. You had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life telling Aaron every filthy fantasy you had while he fucked you on your apartment balcony. You prayed they were long forgotten by breakfast the next morning, but he remembered every single one. And ever since, he made it his mission to help you fulfill them.

“Wait… you’re ser- you’re serious? You want to-”

It was most certainly a fantasy but the practicalities of it seemed unrealistic. You never seriously considered that Aaron would ever try to arrange it.

He merely smirked and pressed his lips to the top of your nose. His voice was low, hypnotic and mesmerizing.

“Got a few treats upstairs for you. Go get ready.”

“Wait… we aren’t gonna talk about this?? You aren't gonna give me details?”

“Nah. You’re gonna be a good girl for me tonight right, baby? I’d hate to punish you in front of company, princess.”

But EYE wouldn't hate that. A voice echoed in your brain, the thought of a spanking making you want to disobey just for the hell of it.

“Of course you’d like the sound of that,” he teased you before his eyes softened a bit. You could tell he saw it. That kernel of hesitation at the whole affair, that side of you that had to be in the driver’s seat wanting to talk and litigate every risk before you leaned into the pleasure of it.

“Hey, Y/N… baby. This is just going to be a fun night. And the moment it’s no longer fun for you, we stop. Just like that. Just say the word. If you aren’t feelin' it and him, we end it and it's still just a fun night with a friend. Understand?”

You nodded before correcting yourself so he didn’t have to. “Yes, I understand. Your surprise might’ve won out again… maybe you really are perfect.”

He shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been tryin' to tell you. Just gotta trust me. Now go get ready. Only wear what I laid out for you.”

Every step to your master suite pumped up your adrenaline. And made you fall deeper in love with your boyfriend. And his ability to fulfill your needs and desires and center your pleasure. He knew your limits, your boundaries, your needs and never wavered.

A black cocktail dress waited for you with strappy gold heels. Along with your gold choker, with “good girl” engraved on its gold charm and your gold bullet.

Your skin felt electrified, a buzz radiating from every cell as you readied yourself. You weren’t surprised at the slick already pooling at the crest of your thick thighs when you slid your thong to the side and eased the bullet into you. You hissed at the cool silicone against your heat but you persisted. It was uncomfortable for a moment but as you continued dressing, you long forgot its presence. You knew its companion, a small gold remote, was with your master. Exactly where it should be.

You examined yourself in the mirror, hands running over your soft curves as you studied yourself. You had to admit that Aaron picked well. The dress accentuated his favorite parts of your body, hugging your hourglass shape so your ass and thighs were on display. The cutouts and mirroring each side of your ribs and plunging neckline would give him easy access to your boobs, which were begging to be freed from the confines of the tight bodice.

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous baby.”

“Thank you. You picked well.”

“Final touch?” he picked up your choker, which waited for him on the bed. He always had the privilege of putting it on you. Because it signified the official start of your game. When the choker was on, your pleasure, your body was his to command, his to give and his to take away. Sweet surrender of control to the person you trusted most in this world.

He towered over you as he stood behind you and placed the piece on your neck.

“We’re gonna have dinner, dessert and then if you’re comfortable with continuing the night, just ask him to stay for a drink. Otherwise, the night will end. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.” His hands traced the hourglass shape of your curves, his hands stilling only once along the near-indistinguishable lines of your thong. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, the shrill chime of their doorbell interrupted him. He sighed, turning you around in his arms. “Later. Ready to have some fun?”

“Yes daddy.”

Even in heels you had to stretch yourself to reach his lips. He took your hand, leading you down the stairs, some of your nerves being replaced by sudden intrigue.

“You really aren’t gonna tell me who it is??”

“What would be the fun in that?” With a wink back at her, he jogged the remaining steps and crossed the foyer with the quickness of an athlete and swung their door open.

“Hey man! Thanks for coming by. Glad we could do this.”

“Definitely, definitely. Thanks for the invite, man.”

And that was the second time today you found yourself stopped dead in your tracks. The Michael B. Jordan stepped into your foyer, his charisma and star-powered charm oozing out of his pores as if he naturally produced it.

Fuck me. He invited your celebrity crush, the main character of far more wet dreams than you’d ever admit out loud. And while Aaron was it for you, if you could ever take advantage of the “celebrity hall pass” concept, Michael Bae Jordan would be at the top of your list.

Well, that’s what he’s here to do. Daddy does indeed know best.

At first, you had a feeling you’d be taking Aaron’s out. But now? Hell would have to freeze over before you gave up the opportunity of your dreams. Part of you cursed yourself for not guessing it was him to begin with. Aaron had been in a total bromance with the man since they wrapped filming. But now you had more questions. How did this even come up? How do you organize a threesome? Is this just a normal thing to talk about?

Who the fuck cares? You’re about to have the night of your life.

You pushed them to the back of your mind, filing them away for tomorrow.

“And I don’t think you met my girl yet officially, but this is Y/N." The introduction forced your legs to start to move again, down the stairs and toward him.

“Geesh… they didn’t make lawyers like this when I was comin’ up. Michael,” he introduced himself. He held out his arms for a hug. “Aaron’s told me so much about you.”

“Good thin-,” You started to toss your boyfriend a teasing grin as you closed the last couple of feet to return Michael’s hug. However, just as you were in arm’s length, the forgotten vibrator nestled inside you came alive. You let out an involuntary cross between a sigh and a moan that couldn’t be hidden.

Could the ground open and just swallow me?

Michael’s eyes glistened with amusement, letting you know he was not ignorant to your reality.

“You good, baby girl?” he asked, with a knowing grin as you tried to avoid squirming in his embrace.

“Y-Yea, yea. Just h-had a chill. I was just gonna say that I hope he’s t-telling you good things,” you stammered, the jolts of pleasure siphoning off fractions of your vocal ability.

“Only good things, I promise. Just that you were the sexiest and best lawyer he’d ever seen. He was right about the first part, I’m sure he’s right about the second too.”

“Hardly the best.” Your tone and smile were the picture of humility at his praise. You liked the sound of it on his lips, you also didn’t hate the way “baby girl" sounded when he said it too.

“Y/N is being hella modest. She’s about to be the youngest junior partner in her firm’s history. And the first black woman.”

“Aye! That’s what’s up! So we’re celebrating tonight?”

You grinned. “Don’t wanna get ahead of ourselves… just office gossip you know. We’ll see in a week.”

Fuck, he was sexier than you imagined. Somehow tvs and movies simply didn’t do him justice. Like Aaron, he was at his peak physical weight, his muscles thick and lethal. They both stood in front of you looking like Gods, cut from the most perfect stone.

“I-it’s just so great to meet you. You’re one of my favorite actors.”

Michael drank you in like you were the finest glass of scotch, savoring every inch of skin exposed, every curve on prominent display. You felt hot underneath his stare, as if he had xray vision to see the promised lands this dress covered. You almost wilted like a flower under his intensity.

We aren’t gonna make it through dinner, you thought to yourself. Or I can just be dinner.

It was not your worst thought by far. The vision was quite enticing. Aaron ordering you to strip for them before displaying you on the table so they could feast on you. Your eyes darkened with clouds of lust. You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath, noting the amused glance that passed between the two men. Were all your thoughts broadcasting to them?

“We… should go into the dining room. Dinner’s basically ready,” you offered as the lamiest attempt to escape the spotlight of them. You held your hand out for his coat, giving both men a perfect view of your ass as you turned to hang it in the closet.

You didn’t attempt to hide the grin at the quiet but distinguishable wolf whistle from Michael. It felt good to know he liked what he saw.

And the feeling was most certainly mutual. Michael and Aaron kept you laughing all through dinner as they enthralled you with stories from set. He was engaging and funny and you loved the genuine brotherhood between him and your boyfriend. There was nothing but raw sexual chemistry between you but that was all you needed. Mutual attraction.

The only disappointing aspect of dinner was the utter silence between your legs. Once he turned it off at the start of dinner, Aaron didn’t touch that remote again, much to your chagrin. Two hours and several glasses of wine at the dinner table with two men gently caressing your arms and exposed thighs was a recipe for disaster. And you knew he could tell, see how worked up they had made you, how desperately you wanted more attention.

By dessert, you stopped retaining their words. They were utter nonsense to you because there were far more important things to consider. Like Michael’s dominating muscles and large hands, wondering how strong his grip will be when he fucks you from behind. Punishingly so, you prayed.

You swung between wanting to savor the compliments and worship of two men with needing to be filled, a need that almost had you begging them to fuck you right amongst the dinner plates. But you knew Aaron. The night was young and he liked to play with his prize.

By everyone’s fifth glass of wine, the conversation started to wind down, Michael getting up to head home.

“Thanks so much for this, man. Appreciate the invite. Good to catch up n shit.”

“Oh you have to leave so soon?” There was a hint of sadness in your voice, coupled with the pleas of your signature puppy eyes.

“I probably should… Gettin’ late, can’t take up your whole night.”

You assessed the moment briefly, confirming with every cell in your body and functioning brain cell in your head that you needed this more than the oxygen in the room.

So instead of wishing this walking wet dream a good night, you said, “You should stay for one more drink. We got this amazing bottle when we went to the South of France for our anniversary. Baby, we should open it and sit outside? It’s so nice out. We’re down to keep the good times going if you are.”

“You sure?”

“I insist! Besides, between the three of us, I think we can find some ways to entertain ourselves." The implication in your words couldn't be clearer. You were in and you were ready.

“I’ll grab that bottle from the cellar. Take Michael outside and make him comfortable, princess. Show him a good time while I’m gone.”

And with that, he turned your vibrator back on. He chose the second setting, which was just distracting enough to make the simple tasks of walking, talking and speaking exponentially harder for you.

“Yes sir.”

You forced your feet toward the giant sliding glass doors that led to your expansive backyard. You glanced behind you to find Michael jogging up behind you as he slid something into his pocket.

You tried to distract yourself from the pulses against your g-spot, the growing tension in your belly as pleasure started to build ever so slowly, by turning on the soft string lights hanging above your patio and the speakers to play music.

“Yall got a great view.”

“It was definitely the selling point of the house,” you smiled, awkwardly standing behind one of the chairs across from the couch.

His stance was wide, powerful and assured as he stared at you.

“You gonna sit with me?” When you didn’t move, he sighed. “He said you were obedient. But maybe you just need an incentive…”

Your knees almost gave out beneath you as he increased the setting to five.

“If you wanna feel better, I think you should sit, baby girl,” he offered, his voice low and comforting. “I don’t bite, promise.”

The menacing glint in his eyes let you know that he most certainly would bite if asked. And you would most certainly ask.

“S-sorry,” you awkwardly, quickly finding your way to the couch next to him. You started to sit when he beckoned you closer with a mere gesture of his finger. By the time he had you where he wanted you, you were sitting on his lap.

You leaned into his chest, your eyes falling closed as pleasure shot through you with every pulsing vibration. You bit the inside of your cheek to avoid moaning.

“You ok, Y/N? Seem a little flustered?” His fingers created flames all across your bare thigh as he subtly pushed up the fabric of your dress.

There was still something… tamed about how he touched you and caressed you. He came so close to the spots that demanded a firm strong hand, he held back every time. Like right now. Drawing featherlike patterns on your exposed side, toying with the edges of your thong but not shifting them to the side like you craved.

No, he simply savored the time teasing you, enjoying the soft moans his touch and the bullet caused.

“I’... I’m… fine, t-thank you,” you whispered back. “Just… o-overwhelmed.”

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” his husky voice demanded in your ear. At the sound, you couldn't suppress the moan of pleasure that escaped your lips. You rolled your hips, chasing more.

“Y-Yes…” you whimpered. “P-Please…”

“How’s my girl treating you, Michael?” Aaron’s voice interrupted their moment, his eyes piercing with desire as you writhed and rode another man's thigh. You looked perfect, unrestrained and free.

“Oh she’s perfect. You got a great girl here, A.”

“I know… she is. But she disobeyed me earlier so before she can cum, we have to punish her. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Y-yes sir.” You didn’t even know what you did wrong but you weren’t going to argue or push back on him. Because this was already like entering a promised land of bliss. To hear him speak so openly about your punishment to another man while he masturbated you on his lap? Aaron was right. This was the destressor you really required.

“Can you tell Michael and daddy what you did wrong, princess?”

You raked your brain, knowing that “I don’t know” would only increase your punishment. Not that you would have particularly minded. Frequent punishments were simply the norm for a proud and loud brat.

And then it hit you, such a small and silly infraction that Michael’s fingers were currently playing with.

“I… w-wore my panties w-when I wasn’t allowed,” you answered.

“That’s right. And we don’t cover up daddy’s prize, do we?”

“No… daddy.”

“You want to be a good girl for Michael and I… don’t you?”

His voice was hypnotic. Despite the pleasure disobeying him brought, you could not help but want to please him, to be his good girl again.

“Y-yes, daddy.”

“And good girls deserve what?”

“Punishment before pleasure.”

“That’s right, baby. So tonight, Michael’s gonna have the honor. How many spankings you think our slut deserves?”

“I’d say 25… 30?”

“30 feels fair. What do you think, princess?”

“Wh-whatever daddy wants,” you whimpered. That was the only acceptable response. Besides, you knew Aaron knew your limits and wouldn’t let Michael cross them. “That's right, baby girl. She can be good when she wants to, just needs remindin’ of her place sometimes,” he mused. And with that, Michael turned off the bullet, a groan of pure frustration escaping your lips.

Punishment before pleasure, you reminded yourself. Why can’t my punishment be sucking their dicks or something??

Michael helped you up, your legs feeling slightly weak after they robbed you of your orgasm. They didn’t bother trying to carry you up the stairs, Michael merely directed you to your deep forest green sectional in the living room and leaned you over one of its arms. He slid off his belt and tied your hands behind your back, ensuring they were loose enough to avoid injury but tight enough not to escape without effort.

You were deliciously helpless.

“Fuck, that’s a gorgeous sight,” you could hear Michael mutter as the two men merely stared at you, boobs pressed out due to your hands being bound, your ass high in the air from being bent over. “Her ass is perfect, man.”

“It’ll look even better when you’re done. Don’t hold back. She loves that shit and she knows our safe word.”

You were glad he assured Michael that you would adore the sweet sting of his palm. You encouraged Aaron to put his entire weight into your spankings when you took on the role as his princess. Forever a gentle soul at his core, he did not like the idea of causing you real, significant pain, preferring to lean heavily into other aspects of dominating you.

It certainly made you fall more in love with him, witnessing his gentleness and concern for your well-being to such a degree. You supposed it was the greenest of flags that it took about 10 long discussions for him to feel comfortable. And even years later, he still checked in throughout to make sure you still enjoyed it. You weren’t a masochist by any means spankings in particular were more than enticing to you. It left you drenched and on the cusp on an orgasm without Aaron doing anything else.

Even more so right now with your ass presented to the two men like a hard-earned prize. You subconsciously stuck your ass out further in search of something. A touch, a slap… literally anything. Your body was reeling.

And you did not even care who was behind you to give you what you needed.

“She’s fuckin’ desperate for it.”

“Yea, she’ll be begging you for it in a minute. I mean I was gone for what? 5 minutes, princess? And I come back and you're humpin' his leg like a filthy whore? And you loved it didn't you? Wanted more? I bet you wanna beg him to tear that ass up right now, don't you?”

Daddy knows me too well. Because the word please was on the cusp of your lips, begging to tumble over like water on a cliff.

You moaned as two hands gripped the firm meat of your ass, kneading and caressing you before they found the helm of your dress. You knew exactly whose hands they were, confirming that Aaron was indeed giving Michael the pleasure of administering your punishment.

His fingers pushed your dress up the rest of the way to expose your ass cheeks, an unmistakable wet spot at the center of your thong.

“Don’t think she’ll be needing this anymore. Whatchu think?” Michael asked Aaron as his finger hooked the delicate fabric around her hips.

“Nahhh, definitely not.”

“FUCK!” You cried out as your thong was unceremoniously ripped clean from your body, the fabric leaving welts on your skin.

You felt his fingers graze your lips.

“All this for us, kitten?”

You merely whimpered an affirmative answer as he presented his fingers covered in your juices. He stuck them in your mouth, you sucking your cum clean off his fingers.

"Can't wait to make you cum all over my tongue, kitten. You taste so fuckin' good."

“P-Please…” You thought you’d implode if you continued to suppress your desperation. Your body felt as if you were betraying her. Why weren’t you trying hard enough, begging loud enough to earn the pleasure you were being deprived of.

“See?”

“You weren’t lyin’. Tell me what you want, kitten”

He’s gonna make me say it??

The words were caught in your throat, blocked by a mental barrier to admit such a depraved thought out loud.

“If you wanna cum at all tonight, I suggest you say that shit. Cause we got all night.”

The lethal warning in his tone forced your thighs together, an electric shock through your body. He was a natural. And the dominance in his voice was all it took to rip the weeds of hesitation right out of your soil.

“S-spank me… please,” Half words, half sobs filled the quiet air. This was untenable. Could you die from this? It felt like you might die from this. “I n-need it. P-Punish me… please.”

The first vicious sting of his hand did make a real sob of joy escape, the sound reverberating through the living room.

You buried your face in the couch cushion for the first few in a foolish attempt to quiet your mounting screams of pain wrapped in the sweet pleasure. His brute strength ensured you felt the ache of every hit. On par with Aaron when your punishments were severe. You were still feeling it days later.

Your head pulled back, his fist wrapped around your curls.

“Do that again and I add five. Understand?”

“Y-yes, yes. I’m sorry,” you moan, keeping your eyes forward and head up.

You felt familiar hands cradle your head, Michael releasing your strains to play with your slick folds in between each blow.

Aaron’s body came into view as he held your chin, forcing you to stare into his beautiful eyes. Clouded with lust, you still could see every ounce of his love and devotion.

“You ok, precious?” he whispered. “Got 10 more.”

“M-More.”

“You’re such a good slut for me, baby. I love you.” His eyes softened a bit. “You want a treat while Michael gives you your punishment? I wouldn’t usually but tonight is all about you, princess.”

You licked your lips, the sudden sparkle in your eyes answering his question without words. You were impatient at the pace he went to unbutton his pants.

He knew how much you loved sucking dick. Genuinely loved it. On more than one occasion, you came home after a long day and immediately dropped to your knees to serve him unprompted. Of course, it always ended up leading to him giving you back the same pleasure tenfold. So it was a win all around.

You licked the beads of precum from his head before enveloping him into your mouth, moaning around him just as Michael rained down the last of your punishment.

Fire. Your skin felt hot and inflamed with every bite of his palm against your skin. And they sent jolts of lust straight to your clit.

“You’re taking your punishment so well. You’re not gonna disobey me again, are you?”

Strings of your spit stayed connected to his dick as he pulled back so you could answer him.

“Never again, daddy!”

“That’s my good girl. You took that so well. Didn’t she?”

You hissed as he gently massaged your hot skin. Fuck, why did his hands feel so good?

“She did. You think she’s ready, A?”

“I think she is.”

You found a secret joy in the way they spoke only to you to dole out orders, but then talked about you to each other like you were merely a piece of furniture.

Aaron scooped you up in his arms, your body immediately nestling into his chest as he carried you to your master suite. He tossed you on the bed like a rag doll as Michael closed the door to your suite. And for a few moments, they simply stood there. Towering over you, intoxicated by the power and anticipation, they didn’t speak or move. They just watched you squirm beneath them.

“You know I love you right?” Aaron broke character for a single moment.

“Of course.”

“Good. Cause it ain’t gon' seem like it for a minute. You know how daddy wants you.”

Fuck. Yes.

There was a challenging grin on your face as you removed the last obstacle to their conquest, leaving you bare before them. With great pleasure, you shifted onto your hands and knees and sank into position. Presenting yourself to him. Vulnerable, exposed. To two apex predators.

And you were ready to be devoured.

Michael pounced with such swiftness of jaguar indeed, you suddenly finding yourself straddling his hips. His punishing grip around your lower back kept you flush to his chest as his lips claimed yours.

Frenzied, animalistic, downright sloppy kisses as you two gave into your most base desires. There was no love here, just lust in its most instinctual level. You two fought for dominance in your kisses, you mainly showing him that you were no damsel.

He moved you with ease, like you were a feather, turning you so your head dangled off the edge of the bed.

“I think our kitten needs a bit of attention.”

His lips kissed a burning trail down your body, veering off course to engulf each of your nipples in his wet mouth, while his hand played with your throbbing clit.

You whined, feeling his breath against your sex, his grip holding your hips firmly to the bed to stop you from getting any more pleasure than he decided.

“So eager.”

He licked up the wetness that spread to your thighs, still avoiding touching you there. He was a menace. The devil really.

You screamed as he wrapped his lips around your bud, every nerve ending in your body zeroed in on him.

Aaron guided your agape mouth onto his hard member again, your tongue licking him like he was your favorite lollipop. He exchanged the bullet for his fingers, easing a second one inside your pussy.

Your litany of curse words were indecipherable with Aaron’s mouth ramming down your throat. He did not let you control the pace one bit. Your mouth was merely a means to an end for him.

You gagged, tears streaming down your face from the sensory overload of having them work in tandem to bring you pain, pleasure, and everything in between.

You arrived at the cliffs of pleasure far faster than you expected, your body ready to fall for the first time all night. Your thighs tightened around Michael’s head as you tried to control it. Foolish it sounded, to stop the fall. But you couldn’t tumble just yet.

You didn’t stop your task of sucking to ask. Instead, you simply stared up at him with plea-filled round eyes.

“Cum on his tongue, princess. Cum for daddy.”

You dove off the cliff with earnest as Michael chose that moment to add a fourth finger, finger fucking you with relentless speed.You let your eyes fall close and surrendered to the crashing waves and thrilling currents that pulled you into oblivion. Right where you wanted to be.

Only Aaron could find the cherry on top to this already perfect sundae as he spilled down your throat. It was typically reserved for her treat as he knew you adored swallowing. And you were grateful he found you deserving.

Aaron took a step back, you pouting at the loss of his dick in your mouth.

“Don’t worry, princess. Won’t be your last taste for the night.” He leaned down and kissed you deeply, a soft whimper escaping at how familiar his lips felt. Home. “I think you need to thank Michael for punishing you earlier and making you cum. How do good whores say thank you?”

"On their knees, daddy."

You moved off the bed and onto the carpet, Michael already sliding off his boxers. Your voice hitched as his girthy thick member sprang from his boxers.

He smirked told her he knew what he was wielding and how to use it well. Admittedly, you had only had sex with three men in your life, two of whom were present. But you felt confident in saying these two Gods among lesser men had the most impressive dicks you’d ever seen.

You’d never live down the humiliation of your near panic attack during you and Aaron’s first time.

“I don’t think you’ll fit,” you remember muttering before trying to escape to hide in his bathroom, your brain overloaded with the fear that he would somehow break you.

But like the perfect gentlemen he was, he held you close and calmed you with sweet kisses and talked you through every inch as he sank into you for the first time. He naturally reached regions you thought were anatomically impossible. You often referred to it as his weapon, one that left you utterly immobile too often.

Michael was similarly blessed and highly favored. Though he lacked a bit of Aaron’s length, his had a girth to it that you knew would cause a stinging stretch. It would be different and you liked the idea of that. As much as your body wanted to skip to that part, you also were feral for a taste of him.

Aaron sat in the arm chair across the room, the perfect view to watch as Michael slid his dick between your plump lips. He stroked his dick back to life watching you spit and gulp down his dick.

“That’s right. Fuckkkk. Get it sloppy, baby girl. Fuck your throat feels good.”

Your body glowed at his praise, Aaron grinning to himself. He adored seeing you in this light, gaining a new perspective to how you felt freedom and pleasure. He never wanted to stop learning how to love you better, please you better.

Inexplicable pride swelled when your eyes connected with him, your dilated pupils lighting up at his smile.

“You ready for me to fuck that pussy, kitten?” Michael demanded, punctuating each word with a deep thrust into the back of your throat. Attempting to respond was a foolish endeavor with him balls deep down your throat.

He pulled out of your mouth and lifted you up to your feet, immediately moving you into his desired position. He bent you over the edge of the bed, one hand glued to your hip while the other pushed your head into the mattress. He positioned you so you were staring right at Aaron.

Being watched. New kink unlocked. You were an actress on display and he was your director, in full control. And it was time to watch his masterpiece.

Your eyes fluttered out of enticing humiliation and bliss as Michael’s head bounced against your pulsing clit.

“Eyes open, princess. And on me."

And this was a moment that made you question who you truly were. A good girl or a disobedient slut? The devil on your shoulder didn’t need deliberation time. You were a disobedient whore. You wanted to be utterly spent when this night was over.

But you also knew he knew that, which is why he picked a task he knew you’d fail either way. You could try as hard as you wanted, it would be impossible to maintain eye contact.

“You ready for Michael to fuck you, princess?”

“Yesssss! Fuck me… I need it.” It was as critical to your survival as air.

You immediately failed at your task, your eyes clenching shut as he pushed inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” you hissed, begging for the moment when the lightening flash of pain subsided and pleasure took root.

“Fuckin’ tight ass pussy on you, kitten,” he gave you a few moments to adjust. When your expletives turned into quiet moans, he moved.

"Won't tell you this shit again, princess. Eyes open and on me or I start spankin’ you when it’s my turn. And you ain’t gon’ like that shit.”

“Sorryyyy, dadddyyyyy.”

His hips snapped viciously into you, his dick curving into your g-spot with every thrust.

Bliss.

Joy.

You panted as he fucked you with relentless precision, he didn’t let a moment go to waste as he fucked you. His grip along your hip was bruising as he pushed and pulled against your body. Never the lazy lover, you met every thrust, using your arms as leverage to throw your fat ass back at him.

“That’s it! Take this dick, slut! You like how I’m fuckin’ this pussy??” he demanded, a hard smack coming down on your still aching ass when you didn’t answer fast enough.

There was no way he actually believed you could form coherent thoughts right now.

“I… love it! D-... don’t stop! Fuck… I’m gonna cum!” Your eyes had not stayed on your master as they should’ve, nor had you even tried that hard. But you deliberately cast them on him to beg for permission. “C-Can I cum daddy?? He feels so gooddddd…”

“Why the fuck would I let you cum? You disobedient whore? Can’t follow simple fuckin’ instructions.

Well shit. He was pissed.

Your face was one of sadness at upsetting your daddy but everything inside was filled to the brim with glee. You weren’t going to be able to walk tomorrow. And then you could look forward to a day of aftercare and pampering from your love.

“P-please, please. I-I’m sorry!! I tried. I-I can’t…” Michael was not helping your cause as you pleaded your case in front of a less than sympathetic judge. He found some superhuman ability to increase his already punishing pace, jackhammering into your g-spot. “Let me cum, pleasseeeee! I can’t hold it.”

“She’s clenchin’ on my dick, brah.”

You were going to cum either way, inevitably, but you were holding strong for those magic words. Moments before you felt yourself starting to break, you finally heard him.

“Cum for me.”

“She’s creamin’ on this dick. This some good pussy, my man! You one lucky nigga.” He didn’t slow his pace as he fucked you through your second orgasm. "That's right, cum all over this dick, baby."

How were you not spent yet? No, you still wanted so much more.

You lost track of your orgasms as Michael moved you into his desired positions, fucking you every type of way that suited him. And all the while, Aaron just watched, commanding your eyes to him in the moments leading up to your orgasms, forcing you to hold his gaze across the dark room.

You thought the Earth had reversed on its axis somehow.

“I’ll let you decide where you want it, kitten. On you or down your throat.”

“Cum on my ass!”

“Whatever baby girl wants.” He pulled out of you and sprayed your back and ass cheeks with his seed. You sighed out of contentment as you laid there, knowing your night was far from over. But you were grateful for the brief reprieve.

Michael shifted off to the side as Aaron rejoined you, the Brit studying your ass painted in another man’s cum. If there was a way be any harder than he already was, he would be it right now.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, princess. I love you so much, you’re such a good girl for me. You ready for daddy, now?”

You nodded enthusiastically. Michael was amazing but no one fucked you quite like Aaron. Those were the simple facts.

“Good girl,” he flipped you and pushed your legs up so your knees were essentially up at your ears.

This was a frankly evil thing to do, to start with this position. It was simplistic but he would pound you so deep, you saw fucking stars. At this rate, you would be tapping out far earlier than you would have hoped.

“Ahhhh! Yessssss… thank you daddy! Love your dick, daddy!” You screamed as he entered you in one fluid motion, ending deep in your guts.

“You take me so well, baby. You like how deep I’m fuckin’ this pussy?”

“Yes, yes! Shit! God I love it! Oh Goddddd, fuck, baby…”

“Ain’t no God to call out to here, princess. Just your masters.”

You gasped at the sudden all consuming emptiness of him exiting you. You felt his hand catch your ankle, which was still in the air where he left you. He dragged you to the edge of the bed and lifted you to your feet. You almost collapsed on your stiff legs but you quickly realized, he was not intending for you to support your own weight long.

He hinged you at the waist, your fingertips supporting balancing some of your weight until he reentered you and regained control of your hips. He did all the work, holding all your weight with his strength as he fucked you straight into a sweet abyss. Nothing else mattered. Just the two of you.

Well… three of you. Speaking of which… as if Aaron could read her mind, he says, “Suck him like the whore I know you are.”

Using his strength to turn you both so you were eye level with Michael’s dick. He was getting hard, rested and ready for round two with ease. Both men looked as if they could do this all night while you knew you looked like you had been fucked just as good as you felt.

You surrendered your mouth to Michael, allowing the actor to face fuck you to his heart’s content. And you simply enjoyed every moment of them fucking your holes like men possessed. No breaks, no time for breaths. Nothing. Just unforgiving feral fucking.

You didn’t bother counting the orgasms they gave you as the two men traded places multiple times, using your mouth and pussy to their heart’s content. They worked up a perfect rhythm that brought you thrilling moment after thrilling moment

“Don’t run, fuckin’ whore! You been takin’ it all night. Came in here with that fuckin' attitude. Take this dick!” Aaron ordered as you shied away from his forceful thrusts as he fucked you doggy style.

Your body was being driven past overload as they stimulated every part of you. You could barely concentrate on Michael’s dick in front of your face with how Aaron was fucking you, clearly getting the last word of the evening.

You thought you knew what overstimulation felt like but you had no fucking idea until today. But you knew the orgasm you were building toward would be your best yet, would be worth every moment of this.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum!” Michael called out.

“I’m close too. Daddy’s gonna cum in this sweet pussy, baby. But first, your other punishment. Cum as much as you want.”

And with that, he and Michael went utterly and completely feral on your body, chasing one goal: their collective simultaneous pleasure.

Michael grunted as he painted your face in his cum, much of it landing in your open mouth. He collapsed on the bed next to you, your body immediately crumbling forward without him holding you up. He caressed your skin as Aaron mercilessly fucked you, matching every thrust of his hips forward with a harsh slap to your ass. You knew you would have to endure as many as it took for him to cum.

Shit. You really fucked up.

You screamed and squealed, Michael roughly making out with you and sucked and bit your titties as if you needed more. You and Aaron reached the peaks of your mountains at the same time. At the warmth of him filling your pussy, white blanketed in your vision and sent you free falling into a new stratosphere.

Time felt inconceivable when you opened your eyes again. In your mind, no time had passed but instead of being on the bed, you were surrounded by warmth. Warm water lapped over your aching muscles, something hard propping you up from behind.

“What’s…” you started to say, trying to lift up when a muscular arm snaked around your chest to hold you flush to him.

“Relax, relax, princess. You’re good. Take a breath. Just blacked on us for a minute.”

His voice calmed all the uneasy waters of your soul, you were safe and home with him. There was no better place to be in this life or the next.

“Where’s… our guest?” Your voice cracked from the overuse of your throat. You rubbed your neck instinctively.

“I’ll make you some tea when we get out,” he kissed your temple. “And he passed out in one of the guest rooms. I may have told him there was a strong possibility you’d be up for another round in an hour or two. Told me to get him when you finish soakin’ so he can give you a massage.”

And you knew exactly where the yellow brick road of a massage would lead: to the Emerald Fucking City of Round 4.

Your libido was just as high, if not higher than Aaron’s. More than once, it had been you demanding rounds 4-6 after he already wore you out during 1-3.

“One day you’re gonna get it wrong, you know?” you tease, allowing your head and back to rest with ease onto his chest. His hands massaged your hips and thighs and breasts, all sore from their spanking and biting. “That feels soooo good. You got the magic touch, baby.”

You ok, love? We were rough on you.”

“More than ok. That was the most… insane and fun thing I’ve ever done. Exactly what I needed and wanted. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Anything for you, princess. Rest for me, love.”

You allowed your eyes to flutter closed again, dozing in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms as he continued releasing knots from your muscles. You simply laid there with him, savoring him and the afterglow of being his.

However, after about 15 minutes, you had rested long enough. This night would end eventually, you wanted to make the most of it with your two daddies.

“Daddy… I think I’m ready for that massage now,” your eyes glistened with your true intentions, letting Aaron know that you were no close to done.

He let out a low chuckle of disbelief. “You really are one of a kind, Y/N.”

“I know,” you winked at him with a playful grin. “Now massage, please.,” you demanded like the spoiled brat you were.

Aaron got out of the bath first, his entire body glistening with water on every perfect panel of muscle and taunt skin. Was it nice being a bead of water sliding down that skin? It might be nice to be a bead of water on his skin.

He quickly toweled himself off before helping you up, using his arms around you as your legs shook.

He dried you before laying you back down on the bed, disappearing down the hall while you laid on your stomach and simply waited.

“Well well well… couldn’t get enough could you, kitten?”

You heard them before you saw them.

“No sir.”

“She’s insatiable. Makes her a good little whore for me, doesn’t it, princess?”

You felt their weight on both sides of the bed.

“Yes, daddy,” you whined as their fingers started doing the Lord’s work massaging out every knot and kink buried in your limbs.

You turned your head toward Aaron, reaching up and kissing him softly as a private thank you before laying down again. You closed your eyes and let them work, let them take care of you.

Whoever said “three’s a crowd” clearly hadn’t met these two.

Tag list: @hxneyclouds @planetblaque @slutsareteacherstoo @theereina @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @apenasumlug4r @motheroffae @blackerthings @kindofaintrovert @thegreatlibraryofalex @melaninpov @hiwasteland @yamst3rdamctrl @miyuhpapayuh @dxddykenn @sageispunk @atribecalledqwest @4pfsukuna @beenathembo @throwmymbackout @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

***

A/N: Hoped you enjoyed that as much as I did! Thanks for reading!

#black writers #michael b jordan #aaron pierre #terry richmond #aaron pierre x reader #Aaron pierre x black reader #Terry Richmond smut #Terry Richmond x reader #Aaron pierre smut #Aaron pierre fanfic #double trouble fic #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #michael b jordan x reader #rebel ridge

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finniestoncrane · 2 months ago

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💗 with penguin? from the batman

Farrell!Penguin x Fem!Reader, word count: 750 mmmmmmm yes please anon!! this old romantic??? he'd be aching to tell his partner how he felt about them, but he's a shy boy at heart!! little bit of ozzie losing his calm exterior and accidentally spilling the beans about his devotion while he's balls deep in you coming right up!! 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: penetrative sex, sweetheart/baby used, daddy!kink, reader has vagina, confessions of love, eeny weeny bit of dirty talk

Any and all fears that you had about what you meant to Oswald seemed pointless in that moment. The worry that you meant nothing more to him than a good, easy fuck at the end of a long day quickly dissipated when his cock was buried inside of you, his large hands holding your body as he rutted into you. You could do a lot worse. And if that was all you were to him, then you were grateful for it.

Who would turn down such a lucrative opportunity? Spoiled when he could, or when you let him. Fucked with the kind of feral attitude you might only find in someone trying to prove something. Given an insight into what life was like for the true rulers in Gotham. Importantly, though, you were also offered respect and care. A little bit of affection when he let his facade drop. The gold glinting grin would slip just a moment every so often, and his eyes would soften as he watched you put your clothes back on, or when you left his office at the lounge.

Sometimes, you let yourself believe that there were words behind the warm smile he offered you. A deeper meaning. You weren't willing to push him though, so you kept your questions to yourself. It was easy enough to do when your lips only opened to take in his cock, his fingers, his tongue, or to let out moans of pleasure and groans of sweet, delicious pain.

Oswald did most of the talking between you both, socially and sexually. As he pummelled into your hips, you watched his lips form the lust-driven rambling from your position on top of his desk. His hands skimmed down your thighs, tracing over the sides of your torso as he spoke.

"Fuck baby, that's it, that's the stuff right there... Let daddy show you... You gonna take it good?... Yeah you know what to do... Cos you're a good girl... My good girl... You're amazing baby doll... God, I-... I uh..."

The sudden pause, the way he almost stuttered, wasn't something you'd seen in him before. He was unsure of himself, of his words, of his intentions. And Oswald was always prepared. Given that the pace had slowed, you caught your breath and used the brief moment of reprieve to check on him.

"Ozzie? You ok?"

"Nah, I'm fine baby, don't worry about it."

He could tell the mood had shifted though. You had a distinct look of concern in your eyes, and he realised that if he held back from you now that he might lose a little bit of trust from you.

The brief pause was over though, and he realised he'd missed the moment. It was too late to say it now, so he tried to bring his focus back to the present, how you felt against him, around him. Maybe now was the time. Maybe he could feel vulnerable, open, honest. Your eyes, staring up at him, concern, genuine feeling behind them, only confirmed to him that this was the right thing to do.

Oswald's finger and thumb gripped at either side of your chin, holding your head in his palm as he redirected your attention to him. It felt like an eternity, his eyes gazing into yours, focused and intense, his cock buried up to the hilt, throbbing against your clenching walls.

"God... I love you, sweetheart."

He couldn't keep it too sweet though. You'd find out how soft he was soon enough, for now, he could be honest, but he felt like he had to remain sexy and confident. So he kept going, hoping that you wouldn't linger too long on his sentiments, trying to lull you back into dazed arousal before you criticised him for his confession.

"I love your skin. I love your mouth."

His pace picked back up, and you could only moan in response to each declaration of affection.

"I love your hands, your body."

You could feel your body tensing, giving way to the control of your orgasm as he continued.

"I love that warm, wet cunt of yours too. Love the way it makes me feel."

Oswald groaned as he let the last world trail out, his fingers digging into your skin where he held you, pulling you down onto his cock. His length pushed into you, bottoming out, up to the hilt, each thrust pressing against your limit as he emphasised each word with the branding of your walls with his cock.

"I. Love. You."

#reeves!verse #finnie writes #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #the batman 2022 #colin farrell penguin #the batman fanfic #the batman 2022 fic #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x you #oswald cobb #oz cobb

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nocturna-iv · 10 months ago

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You're a loser, baby~

I love the level of detail in "Loser, baby" on a narrative level and how much it can tell us about HuskerDust. Husk didn't want to go after Angel; Charlie sent him. But at that moment, when the mask began to fracture, Husk extended his hand to the real Angel.

The smile? Husk has a plan. The kind of plan that involves pure nihilism and stopping self-judgment so Angel knows he's not alone. Husk doesn't need to do this, but he already knows the real Angel (when he's drunk) and likes him. So, Husk is offering the real Angel his company.

Angel is waiting for the typical “everything is going to be fine” talk. How many times has he heard it? Cuddles, hope, and light But Husk surprises him by treating him like an equal, someone who won't break. Obviously, it bothers Angel, and he gets defensive. Is this guy kidding?

The same guy who was annoyed by Angel's presence is now all over him, with the most pretentious smirk in the universe, calling him a LOSER (and baby). Angel is so confused by the turn of events.

So, obviously, Angel thinks Husk is playing with him. His face says it all! And Husk is still all over him, telling Angel the truth.

In this part, Husk shares his insecurities. Yes, there was a time, but the pain is still there. And from what he's gotten to know Angel, Husk feels like they could connect there. “You are not alone” goes both ways.

Husk manages to get Angel to open but does it with sarcasm. At this point, Angel doesn't think anyone is going to accept him as he is. So, he says something that many know: his contract with Valentino, who has a dangerous reputation. That's the opening Husk was looking for.

This part isn't Husk making light of Angel's situation. He's making it clear to Angel that he's not “unique”, that is, he's not alone. His suffering is not something that separates him from others. Husk is breaking into Angel's self-isolation due to his abusive relationship.

Obviously, Angel doesn't believe him. Years of abuse made it clear to him that no one is going to care for the real Angel. But he's indulgent with Husk, playing along, visibly skeptical, wanting to know where this is all going.

And Husk takes him by surprise again. He is gentle, guiding Angel, giving him space, always offering his hand. It's a fun dance for two. They are both losers. Husk isn't insulting him. He is telling him that it's okay to make mistakes. They both have done it.

So Angel decides to trust. Just a little. Because he knows how people react when they know who he is. Angel is barely singing, not fully entering the song.

And when Husk tells him that he's fine with Angel being like that, it's liberating. Angel sings, there is a crack in his voice, because he is having fun! He is not acting, he is being sporadic and exaggerated, almost a parody of his flirtatious mask.

Now it is Angel who seeks out Husk, recognizing him as the one who can understand him and is liberating! And Husk reaches him, reminding Angel that they're in all of this together. And Angel smiles. A big and real smile.

Husk shares his addictions to give Angel the opportunity to share his in a safe space. And now Angel sings with all his potential, being himself and having fun. And Husk reaffirms him. This is Angel, the real Angel that Husk met when Angel was drunk.

And that is the theme of the song. Embrace who you are and don't be ashamed. Take every self-destructive comment, dirty insult, and don't let them sink you. Say "So what?", it's you, you're fine, you're good.

Accept your mistakes, your failures, your flaws, and stop being your own enemy. It's hard to escape, but there is someone who understands you, and you aren't alone. Existence sucks; bite it with a smile!

And that's the point. Things aren't magically going to get better. The problems are not going to disappear. Life sucks, but you're not alone. The burden doesn't disappear, but it may be more bearable.

Angel is the one who comforts Husk, telling him that yes, existing is difficult, but he's not alone. He has him. And for Husk, that's something. The song is about them, after all.

And Husk tells him that maybe he and Angel can be losers and find happiness.

And now it's Angel who offers Husk his hand. Now it's Husk who puts his hand on Angel's. And Angel can't erase his surprise and smile.

Now Angel is the one accompanying Husk. Angel's voice becomes an instrument that follows Husk in harmony. The fun dance of two returns, but Angel includes his style. Husk no longer has to guide him.

They both reach for each other. Husk extends his hand almost at the same time as Angel, with his eyes closed, extends his.

And in the end? They both support each other, literally and symbolically. They are equals. Husk and Angel meeting in the middle. The real Angel being accepted by Husk.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin angel #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #huskerdust

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yenqa · 4 months ago

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OH! MY MISTAKE | where you can’t for the life of you, remember to call kozume by his first name.

♫ — currently playing... april

warnings – an ankle injury (briefly went over), lmk if theres more!

pairing – kenma x gn!reader

wordcount – 1094

a/n – hi guys !! hope u enjoyy lmk if u do! also this is mot proofread so sorry if its wordy or theres any typos!

kenma isn’t the kind to make many mistakes.

there are times where he’s bound to make mistakes, like when he’s out of breath and messes up his sets a little, or when he’s been playing a game for too long and too many people are talking and the pixels are moving too fast for his brain.

those are the times where he can make the excuse if that he’s too tired. but even then, he still realizes his mistake.

when you first meet him he can tell you’re the shy type. he’s not stupid after all.

he can see you fidget with anything you can latch you hands on as you're introducing yourself to the team individually.

coach nekomata has that same happy smile that he always displays. he can see you constantly look back at him for reassurance.

when you finally approach him he skips to the most important part. he doesn’t care for the formalities, and he is sure you don't care about the wellbeing of every single person on the team.

“you can just call me by my first name, kenma.”

you were taken aback by his abruptness, you hadn’t even had the opportunity to bow before he introduced himself. his face remained a monotone look, it didn’t seem like he cared for you at all.

“oh—okay! what’s your last name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

he is simply oblivious to you, so he says, “it’s kozume, but i don’t like when people call me it. so kenma is fine with me.”

“it’s nice to meet you, kenma-san. it’s an honor to be the manager this year!” you salute to him, he can sense that every bone of your body is tense, and you’re too nervous for your own good.

“it’s nice meeting you,” he pauses, then adds,”don’t take this position too seriously, you’re new, it’s okay to make mistakes and not know things.”

he figures you’re the type to need reassurance on matters like that, he almost adds that you can come to him for help, but it might’ve come off in a different way. which was the opposite of what he wanted.

a warm smile blesses your face as you nod vigorously, barely getting out a “thank you!” before he walks away.

a small smile adorns his face when he turns around while he’s so blissfully unaware of his fatal mistake.

it’s at the next practice when he first notices it.

he’s out of the locker room first as usual. sliding down the wall, he sits down a foot away from you. you’re focused on something that he isn’t sure what.

you shift in your position, quickly casting a look at him before whipping your head back.

he sees you scribbling hard on the paper, then erasing it even harder. it’s when you let out a sigh when he decides to step in.

“are you okay, y/n? do you need help with anything?”

he usually wouldn’t help anyone else, but you’re next to him already, he tells himself.

“oh! hi kozume-san! no i’m okay—just finishing this sudoku puzzle my friend gave me!”

“i told you to call me kenma, i don’t like formalities like that.”

you can feel your cheeks heating up, as you awkwared cover them with your hand you exclaim, “i’m so sorry kozu-kenma! i’ll call you that from now on!”

“it’s okay y/n. just don’t forget next time, okay?”

you agree immediately, and it works for the next couple of hours. until he makes another mistake.

he’s on the floor before he knows it, he can hear the ball slam on the floor, but he can’t ignore the throbbing pain shooting through his body.

his ankle seems to look fine, but he knows he landed wrong after jumping for the ball. he takes his ankle and massages it, it doesn’t do much but he continues to do it anyways.

he can hear a group of footsteps run to him, but his vision seems to be tunneled.

throughout the many voices he can hear yours, loud and clear. “kozume! are you okay?”

he looks up at you, “kenma.”

the team all looks at him in confusion, a few mutters of people calling him delirious.

but you, you immediately get it, your cheeks turn a slight pink shade as you offer him a helping hand.

“sorry kenma! i’ll take you to the nurse now.” he gladly takes your hand. wanting to feel the softness of it forever, but you let go once he’s up.

everyone watches as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and limps to the door, once you’re at it you look back and yell. “me and kozume-san will be back soon! so keep practicing everyone!”

it’s been four months, but still you can’t seem to get over your habit.

many things have changed over the past few months, one being that you and kenma have been dating for two of those months.

though that habit seemed to stick with you even as time went on.

“kozume!” you exclaim, wrapping your arms around him.

a small chuckle escapes his lips, he wraps his arms around you. “you’re still forgetting to call me kenma, y/n.”

“old habits die hard,” you giggle, “oh! also—you’re late for practice! tetsurou was spamming your phone with calls, did you forget?”

over time, you’ve grown much more comfortable with him, as he had with you. even though at the time his ankle seemed to be the worse thing that ever happened to him, it also happened to be the catalyst of your relationship.

he’s grateful for landing wrong fore without that small flap of a butterflies wing, he wouldn’t have memorized the shape of your lips, or the sound of your laugh, or the small moles adorning your face.

“wait—tetsurou?”

you let out a breathy laugh, “yeah he told me to call him by his first name! you don’t mind, do you?”

“you remembered to say his first name but not mine?”

“kodzu-ken i mean. i think kozume is cute! it rolls off the tongue better. i’m sorry!” you raise your hands in defeat, but he’s already walking ahead of you to practice.

you chase after him, “kodzu—kenma wait!”

planting a kiss on his cheek, you take his hand, skipping happily to practice dragging him behind.

“kozume skip with me!”

“i’m not doing that.”

kenma hates the formality of when someone calls him kozume instead of kenma, but with the way his name sounds when you say it, he can’t find it in himself to mind.

yenqa © do not copy, steal or translate.

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miserycanary · 7 months ago

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PERSISTS IN DELUSION ᡣ𐭩 previous ⤶

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader

synopsis: you've left and what was left of Ghost (pt.2)

tags: I really don't know whether to tag this as fluff or angst

The clock hanging by the wall ticks persistently like a bomb waiting to break Ghost’s delusion that you’ll come back. Ever since that night, he has spent his time like a literal ghost. Barely eating, barely moving, barely living without you.

With each heavy step that he takes toward your shared bedroom—now bare—the pain in his chest drags him. “I’m home, baby..” he gruffs at the presence he tricked himself to think was still there. Dropping his things by the door, he moves so slowly and plops himself at the mattress that is now cold.. Like how it always was before you came into his life and warmed his whole body and soul.

Ghost isn’t a crier. Never was. He took all the beatings from his father without letting a single tear fall. He didn’t shed shit when he had to force himself out of the grave he was put in alive. Not even when he left with no family and had to witness that moment with his own eyes. Ever since then, he has swore to heaven and earth that they will never take anything from him again. Depriving himself of anything that could tie him down emotionally.

Then suddenly there was you in all your glory.

Face painted similarly to his as you hand the kids celebrating Día de Muertos candies. Ghost never thought he’d take a step back in this country but as if tugged by fate, he found himself surrounded with the similar decorations that started his nightmare. Yet all he could zero out on was you. And that moment, Ghost knew that heaven and earth were snickering at him, mocking him for what he swore long before was now forgotten.

As the crown dissipates, he takes all the scuffed pieces of his heart. “That’s a pretty flower,” he grumbles. He sees the way you flinch at the sudden person, turning around to see his towering self. Simon wasn’t stupid and he knew how intimidating he looked and expected you to be scared. His apology is already at the tip of his tongue.

“Thank you! Do you want it?” He stills, blinking at the unexpected reaction. “O-oh, yeah, thank you.” You, on the other hand, expected the giant of a man to take the delicate flower with roughness, even expecting some petals to fall yet he took it so gently. Simon plucked the stem from your hand, placing it on the wide expanse of his palm and leaning lower to expect it. “Pretty..” he mutters, and you almost agreed if not for the way he said it with his eyes on you.

Time passed and you guys were intertwined, lives and love exchanged throughout the two years he was with you.

Ghost fully expected you to run when he first told you about himself, but you stayed. You tore down his walls with patience and care, showing empathy for what he has gone through but never pity and that made him fall deeper. Now Ghost would be lying if he said he has relationship experiences but he knew that if he doesn’t take this opportunity, then he’d lose you before he even had you (he lost you either way).

But what could he do now? What’s done has been done. He could learn about a relationship all he wants but who matters the most to him is gone. With a new profound energy, he pulled himself up, opening the drawer beside him. He shuffles through the pile of things before pulling out what he was looking for. Sighing, he opens the box and stares at the engagement ring.

Taking you for granted was not his intention. When you started to cook him meals, take care of the dishes, and everything else, he thought this was the norm. His duty was just to spoil his pretty girl. He never found anything wrong with the dread and exhaust that paints your face everyday because he was used to the heavy weight and assumed everyone was like that. You never complained, so he thought everything was fine.

And he never wanted to snap back at you. He knew all about the sacrifice you did and gave for him, and how much you went through just to stay with him. He watches your eyes dim each time he tells you that you guys have to move once again or how broken you were when he found you at the hands of someone who wanted him dead. Loving him and being loved wasn’t easy but you did it with no complaints.

Now he had to go out and be stupid, letting you slip from his fingers just because he couldn’t carry his weight for some measly housework. The very next day that you left the house, staying somewhere who knows where, he bought a dishwasher and hired a cleaner. Try as he might to do the housework just to please you, he knows that his time won’t allow it. So, he tried his best to work around it with the hopes that you’ll come back, but where were you?

He has called your number multiple times after giving you enough space but no calls were returned. You were coming back to him, right? You won’t leave him, right?

You’ll still love him, right? You will. Ghost smiles softly to himself, kissing the ring while a shy tear slips. “You’ll look so pretty with this ring, darling…” he whispers to the presence that he tricked himself was still there.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: this is so long overdue. Sorry for the person who requested this because it took me this long!! 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

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lovemomhatepolice · 7 months ago

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lando norris nswf alphabet (part 2!) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) There is no chance that Lando will ever in his life ask you for anal sex or agree to it. NO CHANCE. Ever since he first heard about it in his life, it has disgusted and disturbed him so much at the same time that he stands away.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Well, don't tell me Lando doesn't look like a munch. Totally do. Okay, he's also a big fan of you on your knees in front of him, until it takes his breath away as he looks at you all smeared with his cum with a wide smile and trained lips. But oh boy! He sometimes begs you to lie down in front of him and let him give you pleasure. The biggest plus is that Lando is well trained in this. Damn knows where he acquired such skills, but they are unearthly.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Fast, but not violent. It's already in Lando's nature to speed everything up, but it's not painful in the process. With the rest, slow sex is not for you. Well, I beg you, where would all the fun be? The whole process is a little slower when Lando finally pushes you to the wall and your relationship is not in any comfortable place, but he continues to try to keep his cool.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) You love quickies. What more can be said here? You can't keep your hands off each other, so every possible opportunity to get even closer is even advisable. You definitely prefer it more, of course, when you have more time (and, most importantly, space), but when there is no such chance, quick fun together is fine for you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Norris has it in him that he likes to take risks - he doesn't spare himself from hot kisses with you in public or even light pinches or pats on your buttocks. But if the matter comes down to sex, I don't think he's taking too many risks. Lando respects his privacy after all, so sexual matters remain between you. Possibly in front of the whole club when you come out of the restroom quite smudged and giggly. Or in front of his family, well. What goes in the family doesn't die, right?

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) As much as you want. Really. Lando I think is pretty darn sturdy and can fly several rounds at a time, which is no surprise to you. More than once, with light breaks, you spent the whole night like that. Sometimes it would even start to dawn and you would be in each other's naked embrace, the hot temperature of the room and a mass of giggles.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) No, he doesn't own any toys. He just doesn't have any - he's not a contrarian, he himself even bought his friend an inflatable doll for his birthday. In your relationship he would sooner use some on you, so 100%, if you own a vibrator, Lando will reach for it at some point and see how it works on you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Lando is so damn teasing! Once he will rub up against you, once he will "accidentally" touch you somewhere, once he will whisper such ungodly things to you, and then he will leave without a word. And during sex? I beg to differ. If only he has the strength to do so, he will interrupt until the last moment before your climax, just to hear your voice admonishing him in the midst of your moans.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Ay Lando is loud. In every possible aspect of his life, so in bed too. If he doesn't talk during sex, you definitely won't have it quietly anyway. Norris often giggles, and when he's not giggling, he's pretty darn vocal. Oj this boy is definitely not afraid to moan and show that he feels like heaven thanks to you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He loves, well he so much loves to brand you. He gets the same way when you bestow a hickey on his neck. Raspberries on your breasts? That's the standard. In summer it's hard to hide the signs of love from Lando under dresses and short tops. But that's what he loves. He proudly shows off whether it's his neck or his chest.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Well I think above average. Although Lando is not some particularly tall and massive, that's what his advantage is. I'm telling you that there's something about his pants that you don't expect ;P

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) God. Huge. As I mentioned before - you can't take your hands off each other. If you could, you would fuck each other every day. No matter what way - any way would be good. That's why yes, the sex drive Lando threw up when he first met you. And no matter what you do or what you're wearing! Remember

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Ay, it depends on the moment. Anyone who knows Lando knows well that he happens to fall asleep in the least expected places and circumstances. This is also the case after your sex, but by the fact that there are a lot of emotions in between, he has to talk them out first, and only then can he go to sleep. After proper after care on your part and his, you both fall asleep in each other's embrace (Lando on your breasts)

A/N: part one if you miss it, english is my second language i will be very pleased if you leave something behind - orders are open, and I am very close to 200 followers! maybe I can get in by the end of the week?

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

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cryptidghostgirl · 10 months ago

Text

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

Pairing: Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Wife!Reader

Description: Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

Warnings: Cannon typical violence and angst. Also uh,, not healthy. (The end is kinda fucked up)

Word Count: 2,411

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n slid the dark mask over her face, jiggling it slightly to make sure it had clicked properly into place. She had never wanted to be an exorcist, hated the very thought. When she had been alive, she was the type of human who felt bad about accidentally stepping on bugs. If she had had any other choice, she would’ve taken it but she didn’t and so Y/n tried her best to detach herself from the experience.

Exorcists were a handpicked group by Adam. If you weren’t one, you didn’t know about them and if you knew about them, you were fucked. Y/n’s entire existence in the peaceful afterlife had been turned on its head when she’d been chosen. Pulled out of normal day to day and pushed into harsh, year round training. There was nothing nice about it and nothing she could do. No one listened to a thing she said, not even Sera. Sometimes, Y/n caught herself wishing she’d just been sent to Hell instead.

There was, however, one small benefit to these yearly trips. While it was a pain to act like she was being more violent than she was on the field, a constant terror in her life that Adam and Lute would find out she’d been letting demons go, it also gave her the opportunity to search.

Y/n had been married in life. Her husband had been a criminal, one of the worst, something she hadn’t learned until after his death. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. Every day on earth she’d lived without him by her side had been abysmal. No other love was quite like his love.

When she had first arrived in Heaven, Y/n had searched everywhere for him. There had been no luck. It had been a foolish hope, she knew: looking for a serial killer among the blessed but, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to hear him explain, wanted to understand. Most of all, though she tried not to think about this part, she wanted to give him a kiss. To throw her arms around his neck with abandon the way she did when they were young. She wanted to hear his voice, have him tell her he still loved her too and mean it. She wanted to know she hadn’t wasted her life, her one chance at a living love.

The gates opened and Y/n dove through with the hundreds of other exorcists. Their game was underfoot, their cat and mouse sadistic chase. For Y/n? The search was on.

----

Alastor watched as the exorcist descended upon him. He was feeling brave and stupid, empowered after his near win against Vox just a few weeks before. Cracking his knuckles, he wondered what the exorcist’s voice would sound like if added to his broadcast.

A wicked grin on his face, she hovered before him. Her wings flapped with great strength, sending gusts of wind Alastor’s way as she kept herself vertically in the air. Alastor simply looked down, pointedly away from the exorcist, and straightened his lapel with his hand that wasn’t holding his microphone. He was trying to make her angry. As she inched closer to him, Alastor assumed it had worked.

“Don’t see many of your lot around these parts this time of year.” he mused, checking his nail beds, “What can I help you with?”

There was a silence. Alastor looked up towards the angel, confused. Normally a blasé statement like that would have gotten a rise out of anyone intent on killing him. Instead, the lights of her eyes on the mask just stared at him. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground.

“Say that again.”

Her voice came out muffled and harsh through the mask, clearly altered by some equipment within. He laughed, taking a menacing step forward. Leaning down condescendingly, he conceded to her demand.

“How may I be of use?”

The exorcist was silent again. After a moment, Alastor shrugged. He straightened himself up again, his hands on top of his microphone as if it were a cane. He summoned his shadows.

“Well you’re certainly making this easy.”

His horns began to grow, throwing strange and menacing shadows across the walls of the ally way. Still, the angel stood there.

“It… it can’t be.” she mumbled under her breath.

Alastor raised his eyebrows.

“Can’t be who, darling?” he asked, feigning innocence, “The Radio Demon can’t be such a big name you folks up in Heaven hear my shows, can it?”

Alastor let out a laugh, taking a step forward as the exorcist tentatively took a step back.

“Oh who am I kidding, of course it is!” he exclaimed.

The exorcist took another step back as Alastor threw his microphone into the air, catching the center of its stand neatly in his outstretched hand. Her back hit the shadows he had put up to block the ally way and she frantically turned her head to the side, checking what it was she’d run into.

Alastor tsked her, walking up so they were just a few feet apart. Harshly, he used his microphone to turn his face to hers again.

“Don’t look away from me, dear. I might get jealous.”

“Were you married?” the exorcist asked suddenly.

Alastor froze in his tracks, his brow furrowed the slightest bit.

“Sorry if that’s weird.” she stuttered out, rubbing her arm holding the spear uncomfortably, “I just, well, I’ve been looking for my husband? He died in the early 1930s and well, he sounded a lot like you.”

Alastor’s heart dropped, crashing into his diaphragm. The angel watched him nervously as he removed his microphone from the side of her head. She let out a breath she’d been holding, something that was quickly taken in again as he used the end of his microphone to life her mask from her face.

It clattered harshly against the concrete as it fell from her face. Alastor’s eyes went wide. There was no doubt about it. Sure, she had a soft ethereal glow about her now, but hadn’t she always in a way? Sure, her hair was cropped around her ears and she was in armor. It didn’t matter, in an instant he knew. The shadows fell from around them, his horns shrunk back to their normal size.

“Y/n?”

“Alastor?” she asked back, just as breathless.

Slowly, she reached a hand out to his face and cupped his cheek. He leaned into it on instinct. Y/n’s spear clattered to the floor, her other hand finding his other cheek as she looked up at him in simple amazement.

“You…” gingerly, Alastor reached his free hand up, laying it on top of one of Y/n’s, “Of course you’ve been in Heaven this whole time. You were always so good, much too good for me.”

“Oh hush, Alastor.” Y/n scolded lightly, her eyes filling with tears, “You know I don’t like it when you put yourself down like that.”

“No, Y/n.” he let his microphone disappear, taking both her hands off his face and holding them intently in his own, “You don’t understand. I did terrible things when I was alive, I still do them now. There is a reason I am down here.”

“I know.” she responded almost immediately.

“No, y-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt but Al, I do know.” Y/n cut him off, “You were killed hurrying a body hun, hard not to. Plus, when the police searched the house they told me what they’d, um, found in the basement freezer.”

Y/n chose her words carefully, her eyes averted. When she looked back at Alastor, he was still smiling yes but, there was something confused about him too. They had grown up together. She had always known exactly what was going on in that head of his. Well, most of the time anyways.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” Alastor asked, “After everything, after… God, how long did I leave you up there alone?”

“About thirty years.” Y/n shrugged.

There was a moment of silence. A question tugged at Alastor’s tongue, one he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer to. Still, time was running out. The screams of demons being attacked were becoming more and more infrequent. He didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance.

“Did your new husband make it up to heaven with you?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide.

“New husba- Alastor, I never remarried.”

“Why not? You deserved to be treated well, Y/n. To have had a good life. Why waste it all on me?”

“I loved you. I still do.”

Y/n knew it was a bad idea, knew the risks if any other exorcist in the area heard her. Still, she couldn’t help but feel it would be worth it to die, knowing she’d found Alastor and that he knew she still loved him.

“You find anyone down here yourself?” Y/n asked awkwardly after a moment, looking around the ally.

Alastor took a step forward, closing what little space had been left between them. Like he had done it a thousand times before, because he had done it a thousand times before, he raised a hand to Y/n’s cheek and turned her face to his. Eyes wide, lips slightly parted, she stared up at him.

“No one.” Alastor shook his head, “There’s no one but you.”

A horn sounded from a ways away and Y/n turned up to the sky. Waves of exorcists were flying over head, going back to the portal, back to heaven. Y/n took a step back, Alastor’s hand falling from her cheek.

“Al, I have to go.”

“Please, Y/n. Stay with me here. I can’t get to you up there, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I have to go, Al. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you and everyone else down here.” she insisted, turning to where her mask lay on the ground, “I’ll be back in twelve months, I promise.”

As Y/n leaned over to grab her called disguise, her wings splayed out behind her. Light hit the tip of her spear just right in that moment, catching Alastor’s eye. A wicked idea filtered into his mind. Something he never could have done, would have ever even imagined when he’d been alive. But now? Hell had hardened him, taught Alastor sometimes you had to be cruel to get what you want and not just when it came to killing creeps. He had tried life without Y/n before, tried nearly sixty years of it. Alastor didn’t like it one bit.

“We will get to see one another then,” Y/n was saying as her trembling fingers fumbled for the edge of her mask in the dim light, “and I promise I’ll find a way we can end up together for good, I really d-”

A searing pain shot through her, causing her words to catch in her throat. It was worse than anything Y/n had ever felt before, emanating from the center of her back. Panting in pain, she reached a hand behind her back. It came away wet with sticky, golden blood. Her vision blurring, Y/n looked up at Alastor. Clutched in his right fist was the head of her spear. From the other hand, he dropped her left wing to the floor.

“Alastor…” she panted, her breath weak, “what…”

He took a step forward and an arrow of fright shot through Y/n. She tried to take one back but the pain was starting to really get to her now and she stumbled, falling to the ground. Alastor stood over her, smiling menacingly down as she scooted back from him. Y/n was full on hyperventilating now.”

“Al, what are you doing? What… how… I don’t understand.”

Alastor hushed her gently, the way he used to when they were little kids and he found her crying. Tears began to drip from Y/n’s eyes and she jolted violently with fear as his clawed hand grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to twist around and giving him access to her other wing. He grabbed it, pulling it out to its fullest extent.

“Alastor please.” Y/n begged, tears rolling hotly down her face, “Please don’t. Please.”

“My, these sure are pretty.” Alastor hummed, admiring the weft of the feathers as he held Y/n’s remaining wing.

“Why would you do this!?” Y/n screamed, her voice echoing in the empty ally.

Alastor fell to his knees behind her, still holding her wing out, still immobilizing her in pain.

“I’ve already lost you once.” he said softly, leaning into Y/n’s ear. She whimpered, trying to scoot away from him but unable to due to the hold he had on her appendage, “I won’t do it again. If Satan, or God, or the fucking universe think they can keep us apart, then not a single goddamn one of them has been paying attention because you are mine. You are mine and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep things that way.”

As the final words left Alastor’s lips, he cut through Y/n’s remaining wing in a single motion. She let out an earsplitting scream before passing out in a steadily growing puddle of her own golden blood.

“There, there my love.” Alastor hummed gently, dropping the spear to the ground and smoothing her her wild hair down around her face as he pulled himself to his feet.

Straightening his jacket, Alastor leaned down and picked her limp body up off the sidewalk. The injuries were bad, but nothing he couldn’t help her handle.

“I just can’t explain to you how happy I am to have you back in my arms.” he said to Y/n’s sleeping form, looking down at her tired and tearstained face with nothing short of adoration, “You might be mad for a while, but I can handle that. At the end of the day, we will both know that you’re not going anywhere.”

Leaning down, he planted a soft kiss on Y/n’s forehead. For a moment, his smile went hollow. He hadn’t meant to go this far, to hurt her this bad. Alastor had just been so scared, so utterly terrified at the prospect of losing her again.

“She will understand.” he reassured himself, “She has to understand.”

——

Part Two → Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader)

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leclercss · 9 months ago

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Paris, je t'aime (Charles Leclerc), Part 2

Masterlist

plot: it's almost three years since your tumultuous relationships with Lewis and Charles came crashing down. but you find your self in a new city with new beginnings and new ways to fuck up your love life. that's no thanks to a cheeky frenchman who's set you up on a double date with someone oh so familiar.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating, violence and some swearing

authors note: part deux, enjoy. sorry this took so much longer than anticipated to write. also, excuse the darker tone to this chapter, it'll get lighter from here xx

word count: 5.2k

taglist: @toppersjeep @janeholt3, @princess-siba, @nichmeddar, @tremendousandsonorouswords, @cmleitora, @victoriaholland, @amalialeclerc, @queensofshinigamis, @tempo-rary-fix, @starmanv, @happylittlereader, @trouble-sistar, @lightdragonrayne, @persephonemv1, @dreamingofautopia

If you couldn't read Charles' expression before, you most certainly couldn't now. For the first time this evening, it was Charles who was stumbling over his words.

"Wha... Wait... what?" was all he could muster up.

There weren't many times when you had been with Charles where he struggled to find his words. Even if he was angry, like the last time you saw him all those years ago, he still managed to say something. But tonight, he couldn't. He was speechless.

To relieve him from his pain, you repeated what you had said a few moments before. You too were struggling to string a few words together.

"Charles, I never went to New York".

Even by repeating yourself, Charles still couldn't find the words and it looks like the wheels inside of his head are trying to turn and make some sort of sense but everything is just breaking down and failing to work cohesively. And so, rather than having to respond, he looks out of the window of the taxi, taking in the Parisian sunset. His hand is no longer on your thigh but is now clawing at his facial hair.

The rest of the taxi ride is quiet, aside from the taxi driver's radio playing lowly in the background. But at one point you think you hear Charles whisper to himself, "Je ne comprends pas".

I don't understand.

The sound of Charles' keys rattling breaks the silence between you and Charles as he leads you upstairs to his apartment. He still hasn't said anything since the taxi, aside from thanking the driver. You haven't made much of an effort yourself to fill the silence because in all honesty, you're not really sure what to say or what Charles' reaction would be to whatever you did have to say. He was clearly stunned at your revelation that you in fact never went to New York and you were stunned yourself - by his question, his reaction, hell, this entire date. None of this made sense.

In the space of an hour, you went from being clueless about your blind date, to finding out that out of the +3 billion men in the world you just happened to be set up with your ex and to now, with Charles asking you to come to his apartment. Your mind was working overtime to catch up. Those two Aperol Spritz' were clearly not enough to numb whatever your brain was trying to process right now. You clearly needed something stronger.

You tried not to laugh but you couldn't help think about the fact that as much as Pierre poked fun at you for your messy love life, even this situation that you now found yourself in would even be too much for him to process.

The two of you quietly make your way into Charles’ apartment before staggering off. He muttered something about getting you a drink and so you take the opportunity to take in his apartment. Your heels are the only thing that is making a sound as you slowly walk around his living room. It’s a lot more sophisticated than his apartment in London that he shared with Joris and Riccardo. Gone are the Ferrari prints and in their place are pictures of modern art, strategically framed across the walls. It feels too classy to be a bachelor pad, if that was what Charles used it as. Your mind briefly lingers back to Pierre's comment about Charles needing to fuck a lot of girls to get over you.

With Charles still in the kitchen, you slowly make your way over to the large bay window and admire the Parisian streets outside as the sun slowly begins to set across the city. You let out a little sigh. It feels like no matter where you call home these days, chaos seems to follow you. Well, everywhere apart from Singapore, life felt so easy there. No expectation, the only pressure being your job. Was it too late to go back?

Your attention is finally pulled back to reality as Charles hands you a glass of white wine.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the glass from his hand. You can’t miss that his own glass of wine is practically shorty. Charles’ notices this and dryly chuckles.

“I drank it on the way, let me get some more”.

He’s flustered, his cheeks turning slightly pink out of embarrassment. He doesn’t make eye contact with you at all before he turns away and heads back to the kitchen. You can’t help but find it a little funny how you’re now the composed one, especially in comparison to Charles’ entrance during your date.

As Charles re-enters the living room, you take a seat on the edge of his sofa, you’re not too comfortable yet for you to treat it like a welcomed or returning guest. Charles follows suit, taking a seat on the arm chair across from you.

It’s still quiet between you both, neither of you know how to start this conversation. Whatever game plan Charles had previously has now gone straight out of the window while you never had an opportunity to even create a game plan, you were just thrown into the deep end without any arm bands.

You watch as Charles’ slowly runs his index finger along the rim of his wine glass while he stares at his own movements. Deciding to break the silence, because any conversation is better than this, you begin with some small talk to ease yourself into the conversation.

“Your apartment looks great,” you say politely as you look around the room once more.

“Thanks,” Charles mutters, his eyes still fixated on his wine glass.

“Did you decorate it yourself?”

Charles shakes his head.

You let out a little laugh. “Interior design was never your strong suit,” you joke, hoping to lighten the mood but it doesn’t anything but.

“A friend did it,” his words almost come out like a grunt.

Silence falls onto the room once more.

Something chaotic begins to brew inside of you. You know you’ve got nothing to lose, and out a stupid sense of curiosity, you carelessly throw out your next question, “Was it a girl that did it for you?”

Charles instantly tenses up at your question and you know you're playing with fire. You notice his jaw twitch in irritation. His shoulders now hunching forward and his hand is how clenched around his wine glass. And by the tension in his fingers, you’re amazed that it hasn’t cracked from the pressure.

He’s debating whether to say something or not. And he does, but not before taking a large gulp of his wine.

“Why don’t we just skip the small talk and get straight to fucking shall we?”

And as he says it, he’s finally looking into your eyes. The pendulum swings once more and it's your turn to be nervous again.

“Excuse me?”

He lets out a little chuckle but from the expression in his eyes he’s not joking around.

“Listen, [Y/N], I didn’t invite you back to my apartment so we could exchange interior design tips. So, let’s just skip to what we’re good at which is sex,” he continues with a condescending tone. “We can either do it on my sofa if you like, or by the big window so you can take in the Parisian skyline as I fuck you from behind. But my bed also works, your choice”.

You can’t help but scoff, “And that works for all the other girls you’ve taken here, right?”

You want to slap the smirk that Charles’ is giving you right off his face.

“No,” he responds sarcastically. “I let them finish their glass of wine, or two, maybe even play them a song on my piano before I ask them to take their clothes off”.

Oh, so I'm not even worthy of even getting through my wine? you think to yourself.

It's your turn to laugh but you know it’s hiding what you really feel. You’re confused but most importantly, you’re disappointed in the way that Charles is speaking to you. He had never spoken to you like this before.

“And what makes you think I’d want to fuck you anyway?” you retort, hoping that you sound assure in what you're saying, but you're not, your voice trembles. And Charles doesn't miss it.

And my God, he looks so arrogant as he looks you up and down. He’s so obvious with his gaze as his eyes become fixated on your boobs before making their way down to your thighs, which are now more exposed than before thanks to your dress riding up from sitting on the sofa.

“You’re wearing that dress aren’t you?” the smugness practically oozes from his tongue.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Well, if I’d of known that you were going to be my date then I definitely wouldn’t have wasted this dress on you”.

Charles throws his head back as his smile grows even bigger.

“It's such a shame that you’ve lost your sense of humour since I last saw you, amour”.

You scoff once more. His use of amour is no longer a term of endearment but a way to mock you. But you can't let him know that he's winning, so you somewhat fight back, "At least I’ve managed to grow up in the last three years. Unlike some”.

“And yet you’re still here”.

Your eyes meet his and you gulp. His piercing green eyes are glistening as he enjoys seeing you squirm. He’s been waiting for so long to see you again and he’s not going to let you forget how you made him feel. And he doesn’t care that he’s coming across as a dick when he’s doing so. You broke his heart, and he’s willing to be petty about it.

Despite your disgust in how he’s speaking to you since you arrived to his apartment, you know he’s right. Why are you still here? What sort of resolution are you going to get from this? And you remember how naive you were earlier to think that Charles had moved on when he was being nice to you. Oh how wrong you were.

“Well, now that we’ve established that you’re staying-“

“Who said I was staying?” you growl.

“Well, as I said before, you’re wearing that dress and I think it’s pretty obvious that you planned on getting fucked tonight, so I’m happy to cut to get to it,” Charles continues nonchalantly, “Pierre, as well intentioned as he is, did drop the bomb that you’ve been having a bit of a dry patch when it comes to your love life so I can’t blame you for getting your hopes up”.

You’re growing more irritated by his sarcasm and attitude by the second. Your jaw can’t help but twitch as he drops the truth bomb on your pathetic love life. And so you retaliate, unknowingly falling right into his trap.

“And Pierre was ever-so-kind to let me know that you’ve been so miserable and bitter that you’ve had to fuck anyone with a pulse to get over me”.

You see a flash of anger fall onto Charles’ face but it’s gone as quick as it came. You wouldn't be sure it even happened if he didn't respond the way he does next.

“Better than whatever pathetic shit it is you’ve been doing,” Charles responds. "Random hook ups, pathetic tinder conversations. Are you scared of commitment or something?"

You say nothing but you're breathing heavily. You're the one who is now gripping onto their wine glass for dear life, holding onto whatever composure you have left.

"There was one thing that Pierre didn't tell me though. How did you and Lewis end things, amour?"

What a little...

Who the fuck does he think he is?

This conversation has taken a dark turn and it’s enough for you to want to get out of here. Something you should have done before. You slam your wine glass onto the coffee table, before standing up to make your way towards the front door.

You hear Charles get out of his seat, closely following behind before he grabs onto your arm.

“What’s wrong, amour?” his voice is sickeningly sweet as he taunts you once more, pulling you back towards him.

“I’m not going to sit here and let you talk to me like this,” you spit. But your voice cracks as you can feel ears form in your eyes. This whole evening has been humiliating and now Charles is hanging your desperate love life in front of you, like it's a toy that can be poked and prodded at for entertainment.

And if you thought that by leaving that Charles would retreat, you were completely wrong.

“Sorry, baby, thought you were into men who treated you like shit”.

Slap!

You're not sure who's more surprised by the slap you've just given Charles, you've both been stunned into silence. The hand that he had on your arm immediately removes itself from you, now finding itself pressed against Charles' cheek. He winces at his own touch, the flesh that was met with your slap is beginning to sizzle.

One of your tears spills over as you make eye contact with Charles, your expressions matching one another. Horror. It takes you a few moments to realise what you've done. Unwilling and unable to accept the consequences of your actions, you decide to bolt for the exit. But as soon as you open the front door, it's been slammed shut. Panicking, you turn around to see that Charles has followed you, his hand is above your head holding the door closed.

You're not sure why you feel scared, but you press your back against the door. You're pressing into it so hard that you hope that it creates some sort of portal to take you somewhere far, far away from here. Anywhere but here.

But your dreams are cut short because Charles is standing in front of you, still holding the door closed while the other hand caresses his cheek, marked with your handprint.

"No, you don't get to just run away from me again," he barks as he hovers over you.

"What?" you ask in confusion.

"You've done it to me once before and I won't let you do it again," he replies. His breathing his heavy, chest rising and falling dramatically as he looks into your eyes. "You've left me once before without an explanation. You're not doing that to me this time".

His tone is much more gentle this time. The last few moments have made him feel vulnerable. His find flashes back to the last time he saw you and how he watched you walk out of his front door, never to be seen again until three years later. Despite his bitterness towards your break up, he wasn't going to make that mistake again. No, it was time for some answers. Ones he had been waiting for for three long years.

He removes the hand that's above your head on the door and places it back down by his side. "Can you just stay, please? I think you owe me that much".

You nod.

"Okay," your voice barely a whisper. "I'll stay but at least let me get a cold towel for your face".

It's Charles turn to nod.

He makes his way back to the sofa while he waits for you to return with a cold, damp cloth. When you return, his eyes never leave you as he watches you sit down beside him. He watches you as you gently places the damp cloth against his cheek. He hisses out your touch.

"I'm sorry," you whisper as you begin to dab his face gently, this time your touch hurts less.

Apart from your very brief apology, the two of you say nothing for a while. Charles' eyes are still on you as you take care of him. He gulps as you take your other hand and brush away a strand of hair that's fallen onto his cheek. His mind goes rushing back to all of the times that you touched him before. But now it's in such different circumstances and you both feel like strangers to one another now. He wants to touch you again, to see if it still feels the same. If your skin is still as soft as before. It always used to be so warm and silky, it felt like satin beneath his touch. But he's too scared to try, after all you did just slap him a not so long ago, because of shitty words that he said to you.

"Charles," you say before pausing. You look at him briefly as he nods, waiting for you to carry on. He's looking at you with such puppy dog eyes that you can't help but feel guilty as you see that he still has some redness on his cheek. But you carry on. "I'm sorry for hitting you. I... I shouldn't have done that".

Charles chuckles a little, "It's okay, amour".

"No, no, it's not okay. I shouldn't hit anyone," you protest, this time holding the cloth against his cheek.

Charles smiles at you, "Honestly, it's okay. I deserve it, I was being nasty."

You let out a little sigh.

"I really am sorry," you say as you look into his eyes.

"I know, amour".

It's all the two of you say for a few more minutes before you finally remove the cloth from Charles' cheek. The redness has calmed down, but he still feels a sting from your touch.

As you place the cloth on the table, you reach for your glass of wine, realising that it's been untouched. You take a sip before handing the glass to Charles. He smiles before taking it from your hand and taking a sip himself.

As your wait to find something to say, you begin to pull at the hem of your short dress. How do you carry on the conversation from here? The last time you tried to speak it went from being petty to nasty and to, in your case, being violent. But Charles' demeanor is different this time, he seems a lot calmer and he doesn't want to make your life a living hell any more. He watches you fiddling with the hem of your dress and pulling at a loose string. He places his hand on top of yours to stop you from pulling at the material any more.

"Hey, don't do that. Your dress is beautiful, I wouldn't want you to ruin it," his tone is so gentle. So much so that you tears begin to form in your eyes again. You can't even look at Charles as your eyes remain fixated on your lap. You hadn't realised your tears had spilled over until landed on the bottom of your dress, leaving the smallest of damp spots.

"Hey, hey, please don't cry," Charles whispers as he wipes your tear with his thumb. But by him telling you not to cry doesn't mean that you stop. If anything, feeling his hand on your face only makes it worse. "Please don't cry, [Y/N]".

Charles cups your face in his hands as he lifts it up so you're looking at him. "Charles," you begin but your breath catches in your throat. The evening is beginning to overwhelm you and you can't seem to be digesting anything that's happening in a reasonable way.

"Tell me, amour," Charles says as he wipes your tears once more.

Amour.

Fuck, even the way he's saying it now is so confusing. It's so gentle and so kind and you don't deserve any of this.

"Did you mean it earlier? When you said you only invited me back to have sex?"

Charles sighs as he shakes his head.

"No! No, I was being an asshole, okay," he tells you. "I didn't mean it."

You nod but you're not sure if you believe him. You wouldn't blame him if he fucked you and then left you because in Charles' eyes, that's what you did to him three years ago.

"Hey, hey, look at me," his voice is more commanding this time that you can't help but look at him. He hesitates for a moment, before he leans in to kiss your forehead. "I didn't mean it, amour. I was just angry, that's all".

You nod but you still feel overwhelmed with his touch and so you lean back on the sofa to give yourself a little bit of a break. Charles follows suit.

Silence falls on the room once more but this time, the two of you taking turns drinking the wine from your glass, hoping that the two of you find the courage to address the elephant in the room.

This time, it's Charles who breaks the silence.

"You... you said in the taxi that you never went to New York," he begins. The volume in his voice is much lower this time.

You nod slowly.

"What happened? Why did you change your mind?"

He nervously awaits your answer and he doesn't miss the little sigh that you let out.

"Charles, I... I was never going to New York. It was never the plan. Lewis kept asking but I always said no," you tell him.

Charles' scrunches his forehead at your confession.

"But you told me-"

"No, that day when I came to see you. I planned on telling you that everything was over between Lewis and I but I don't know what happened. I just couldn't get the words out, after everything that happened it should have been easy but it wasn't. Because I'd never been able to say out loud that my marriage was over. And when I told you that Lewis asked me to join him in New York, I didn't tell you because that's what was happening. I told you because I was scared and confused. You talked about moving in together and I panicked. For the first time in seven years he wasn't going to be in my life and I just didn't have time to process it," you tell him, "And so when you asked me if I was going, I just froze. I... I don't why I did. But by the time I got over my panic you thought that I had basically confirmed that I was going with Lewis but I never was. I don't blame you for reacting the way you did, hell, I would have had the same thoughts. But he was never an option any more, Charles, it was always you".

Charles stays silent as he lets all of your words sync in. He had been so wrong this whole time and he spent so many days and months hating you. Was he so wiling to believe that you were leaving him to stay with Lewis because he couldn't believe that it would finally be true? He'd always heard that the spouse never leaves their martial partner when it comes to having an affair. But you and Charles never had an affair. You had a relationship, and one that Lewis knew all about. So why had he gotten it all so wrong?

"When you told me to leave, I... I took the cowards way out. I don't blame you for not believing me. We were both tired and I gave up. I'm sorry that I gave up, Charles," you say. It's your turn to wipe the tear from Charles' cheeks.

"No, I pushed you away," he says quietly.

You shake your head. "No, you didn't. You did nothing wrong," you tell him.

The two of you take a few minutes to process your confession to Charles. The tears have now dried up for the both of you but the weight of the conversation rests heavy on your hearts.

"If you didn't go to New York, where did you go?" Charles asks.

You let out a little sigh. "I went for a job opportunity in Singapore. And I took it, so I moved about three months after things ended between us".

Charle lets out a light-hearted chuckle. "Singapore, that must have been nice," he says, "How did you manage in the heat?"

"I didn't," you laugh, "I basically lived a nocturnal lifestyle. But it was nice, I enjoyed my time there. I think I grew up a lot while I was there".

You pause for a moment, your smile falls a little as you carry on. "I do think about what would have happened if I'd stayed in London though..." Your sentence trails off as you begin to think about the what ifs.

"Well you know, London. Always busy and always expensive," Charles jokes. You smile at him softly.

"Kind of like Paris, right?" you say and he nods in response.

He takes a moment before asking his next question, "Do you regret going?"

Uncertainty takes over momentarily before you reply, "I don't know. I wish I kind of did things differently".

"Me too," Charles mutters.

Your eyes meet each others and this time it feels different. It feels like you're both longing for one another. You're not sure who initiated the first move as you both lean in for a gentle kiss which soon escalates as Charles pulls you onto his lap while you reach out to cup his face. The kiss deepens quickly as the two of your run your hands over any body part you can find on the other.

Charles' hands going from your hair on the back of your head to your waist. At some point, they end up on your ass which is now exposed due to the movements you've been making on his lap. Your hands too find themselves in his hair before making their way over his shoulders and down his clothed chest but you don't miss the tight muscles that sits below the thin material.

You hum as Charles' lips make their way to below your ear before making their way down your neck and finally to your chest.

"I wasn't joking when I mentioned this dress earlier," he says as he stares up at you, his eyes are full of hunger, "it was meant to taken off".

You can't help but squeal as he dramatically pulls your straps down to reveal your chest and it doesn't take long for him to wrap his mouth around one of your nipples. You moan as he begins to suck on the sensitive skin.

"Fuck," you let out as your hands grip onto his shoulders.

Tonight has been such a mind fuck that you feel dizzy at his touch. How the hell have you ended up in this situation where you've gone from slapping Charles for being an asshole to having him sucking on your tits. Maybe he was right and that you did like men that treated you like shit.

But that was baggage that you could unpack another day as you're suddenly brought back to your senses when you feel a flash of cold air on your vagina. You look down and see that Charles has pulled your panties to the side.

He looks up at you menacingly as his right hand makes its way down your body while the other holds your him in place. You can't help but yelp as his fingertips brush against your clit.

"Charles," you sigh in relief as he presses more pressure onto your sensitive bud.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't imagined this image over the last three years," Charles teases as he slides his fingers between your folds. "Mmmm," is all you can say.

"I still have those photos you know and some of the videos that we took," he continues as he left hand makes it's way back up to your breast, missing the feeling of full flesh beneath his fingers.

"Charles," you whisper once more as you grip onto his hair.

"All you have to do is tell me how you want," he says and you're falling into his touch when he suddenly pushes two of his fingers inside of you.

"Shit!"

Charles takes your profanity as a sign to continue but this only sends you into overdrive. No, it's that dizzy feeling again and you suddenly feel light-headed. His fingers are moving in and out of you but all you want to do is push yourself off his chest and you do.

"Stop," you cry as you lift yourself of Charles' body.

Charles is stunned at your sudden change and becomes flustered, trying to understand why you're no longer wanting him to touch you.

"Amour, what's wrong?"

You're panting as you recover from the sensation of Charles while you're also trying to gather your thoughts at the same time.

"I don't think this is a good idea," you eventually say. You don't miss the look of disappointment on Charles' face. "It's not that I don't want to, I just think that... that we've gone through so much tonight. We haven't really processed anything and I don't want us to regret this".

Charles nods. He'd do anything to have you right now but deep down he knows you're right. The events of tonight have been chaotic, petty and at times toxic. This was the first time the two of you had addressed what happened and even then it was only a short conversation. He's only just gotten you back into his life and despite what his mouth was running with earlier, Charles didn't want to lose you again.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he says softly.

"Please don't be sorry. We both wanted it but it's not the best thing right now," you say. You want to break the tension in the air by cracking a joke, "If you want, we can both tell Pierre that we fucked to mess with his head".

Your joke works as Charles releases some tension by laughing before letting out a "Fucking Pierre".

At some point, you end up resting your head against Charles' chest as the two of you enjoy the silence for the first time this evening and for the final time, Charles interrupts a quiet moment between you two.

"Can you stay tonight? I... Nothing has to happen, I'd just like you to stay," he says quietly. You look up at him and nod.

The two of you eventually make your way to the bedroom and slowly undress each other as you get ready for bed, with Charles lending you one of his football jerseys.

And while he sleeps ever so soundly, his chest gently rising and falling as he lets out slow breaths, you find yourself not being able to sleep at all.

As the sun begins to rise on an early summer's morning in Paris, you find a pen and paper in Charles' kitchen before leaving him a note on his pillow:

' I promise I'm not running away this time, I just think that we both deserve the chance for a clear head in the morning.

I'm so grateful that I got the chance to see you again.

Amour xxx '

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

Note

Born!werewolf soap and Turned!Werewolf Simon.

Simon was turned into a werewolf during his time with Roba, tied to a man so horrible he never associated lycanthropy with anything but pain, and lack of control. It only ever reminds him of a time when he was always hungry for affection, yet violent without it. He never shifts without choosing to, and purposely ignores his needs as long as he can, until it’s debilitating.

Soap who has been a werewolf his whole life, knows his pack’s history like the back of his hand. He’s extremely attuned to his instincts, and to other wolves. It’s almost more comfortable for him to be a wolf, than go through the pain of humanities stiffness.

Them finding eachother and hurt/comfort <3

Initially, upon meeting Ghost, Soap is more than glad to finally have the opportunity to work with another werewolf, let alone one known for his skill, his precision, his deadliness—but then Soap is just as soon finding out that there's far more than meets the eye about Ghost's own condition.

Ghost, like most werewolves, was born human. There's a faint but distinct smell about him that tells Soap this, and initially, it's really no concern of his. Outside of his family, most other werewolves Soap had encountered in his life were turned at one point or another.

What separates Ghost from them, however, as Soap soon figures it out—is that Ghost never shifts. Not unless he has to, anyway. And that makes Soap curious more than anything.

Because shifting is such an integral part to being a werewolf. It's natural, freeing, and it's one of Soap's favourite things. It's a new kind of powerful that's so important and special to a werewolf, that Soap could never understand why Ghost would ever want to stave off such a thing. And being that Ghost is so tight-lipped about his own life, Soap has no idea where to begin guessing.

It isn't until months of knowing each other that Soap starts to get a hint.

The mission is tough. The team is in a tight spot, and only Soap's claws and teeth and strength aren't proving to be enough. So with a look Soap can't quite decipher, Price pleads silently with Ghost to do the one thing they all know he hates.

But because it's necessity, Ghost follows through. Soap should have clocked something was wrong in hearing pained groans and too-loud cracks of shifting bones, but he can't do anything to stop it. Can only watch as Ghost is released and begins a massacre, and Soap can only trail behind to pick off stragglers.

Once everything is said and done—it takes an hour to find Ghost, who had taken on the unfortunate task of shifting back alone, and who is discovered curled up and staring ahead at nothing in a far corner of one of the warehouses they'd been assigned to raid.

He bares his teeth when Price moves to approach him, a low growl rumbling out of his throat. Price pauses and glances back to Soap, whose hesitant attempt is met with no protest.

Huh.

That distant look still glazes over Ghost's eyes, though the fog clears ever-so slightly when his attention is called to Soap sitting beside him. Where Soap feels more alive than ever after a shift, Ghost looks... small. Afraid.

Hurt.

Soap begins to suspect the circumstances of his turning had been less than favourable, and his heart breaks with that realization.

Ghost, as touch averse as Soap has known him to be, tucks into Soap's side without prompting, leeching off his warmth and comfort while, in witnessing the scene, Price and Gaz turn and head out to meet exfil and explain the situation.

Whatever had happened to Ghost to have his shifts be this way—Soap determines then, in that very moment, that once they're back to safety and Ghost is back within himself, Soap is going to find a way to help him make peace with this inescapable part of his being. He'll find a way to turn bad into good, or neutral, at the very least, because Ghost doesn't deserve to be a stranger to himself.

Soap will take that pain away if it's the last thing he does. Because he doesn't think he could ever stand seeing Ghost so broken again.

He wraps his arms around Ghost's broad frame and lets the lieutenant bury his face in Soap's chest with a vulnerability Soap only gets to witness as a cause of animalistic instincts still not having worn off. It'll be inevitable, when Ghost comes to only to back off and shut everyone out for a little while, but for now, Soap selfishly indulges in the comfort as much as Ghost needs it.

Soap will make that pain his own, if he has to, he thinks.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing

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mavrintarou · 1 year ago

Text

[Daddies in December] Haitani Ran

Out of all the Ran stories I've read, he is nothing like what I picture. So fair warning, my vision of Ran might be vulnerable, a little dirty, but hot as hell. This is super long, I spent all day yesterday and most of today on this.

Warning: angst, fluff & smut.

Haitani Ran knew he was a man of many things but being a father was not one of them.

His lifestyle did not have room for fatherhood.

No matter how many ways he looked at it, it would never work out.

It was in the best interest of him and Y/n to go their way regardless of Y/n’s protest of having hoped to make it work.

It will just not work.

She was never meant to mean something to him, let alone a child they both created by accident.

He could not deny the tiny joy he felt burning when he discovered her pregnancy but had to put out the flame immediately.

After ignoring calls and visits, Ran was left with the last resort.

It was in the heat of the moment when Y/n appeared at his club unexpectedly. Ran could see the shock in her eyes from across the room and he took the opportunity to whisper something into the woman beside him. She excitedly turned to him and he reached for her face, pressing his mouth to hers in a heated kiss.

It disgusted him to the core and the longest three seconds of his life. He pulled away and turned his heels, pulling the woman by her hand, and disappeared into the VIP hallway.

That was Y/n’s last straw.

Her calls and visits ceased.

No one and nothing would prepare him for a broken heart.

He was Haitani Ran, he had been shot at, stabbed, and beaten to almost death.

But the pain of Y/n erasing herself out of his life hurt more than all those things combined.

All he had left now was the memories they had in the past.

He felt no pain as his knuckles were busted and bloody from repeatedly plugging into the lifeless body he held by the collar.

He was just about to throw another blow when the man was saved by the ringing of the phone.

Releasing the man, Ran picked up his phone. “What?” he barked.

“She’s in labor.”

His thumb swiped over the image on his screen of the chubby sleeping infant.

A girl.

He was a father to a baby girl.

It took everything in him not to rush to the hospital she was at and burst into the room to pull them both into his arms.

Even though neither of them had spoken in months, Ran ensured she was taken care of from afar. It pissed him off that the money he sent her went untouched and knew Y/n purposedly refuses to use it to irk him.

The one thing she could not prevent him from doing was the man he hired to protect her and reporting back to him with her every move.

She had an ultrasound appointment today at 2:30. Results show that the gender of the baby is a girl.

At approximately 12:45 AM, she left for the nearest open convenience store and purchased a variety of snacks and junk food.

She had a breakdown watching Sailor Moon.

Ran flipped through the many photos he received from K. He didn’t know how the man was able to take some photos up close and as if he was there in person but he didn’t question the man’s skill. Ran paid him well and he expected nothing but the best.

He was still waiting to hear back from K about what Y/n had named his daughter.

His daughter.

Chuckling like a maniac, he reprimanded himself. What right did he have to claim her as his daughter when he abandoned them?

Ran quickly sat up and ignored the annoying voice in his head when he saw the three dots appear by K’s name.

K: she named your daughter Fuyumi. She has her mother’s last name.

Ran gave his message a thumbs up, acknowledging his message.

Why had he expected that Y/n would give their child his last name?

Reaching for his cigarettes, he was about to light one when he froze, remembering he quit because… he had not wanted to give his child and Y/n second-hand smoke.

Even if he was nowhere near them.

Grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter, he tossed it into the garbage.

Leaning back against his couch, he is once again, drowning in his own doing.

Mikey and Rindou have scolded him for making such a pathetic decision to end their relationship. He would never admit that hearing Mikey saying that he would never give up his woman regardless of his lifestyle.

But the damage was already done.

His phone dinged with another message.

Reaching over, he frowned when the notification was from K again, this time of an image.

He tapped on the image, waiting for it to load.

Ran sat up quickly, zooming in on the picture. His eyes scanned the document repeatedly.

For the first time, his heart warmed.

On the official documents of his daughter’s birth certificate, her middle name is listed as Haitani.

He didn’t realize he was smiling like a fool as he pressed down on the image with his thumb and hearted the photo.

His daughter was a splitting image of her mother and Ran thanked the Gods for it. The two things she inherited from him are his distinctive violet-hue eyes and blond hair. In some photos K sent her eyes sometimes changed, showing that she also inherited her mother’s blue eyes, sometimes a mixture of blue-violet.

Tapping the screen, he saved all these photos, adding them to the designated folder he created for his daughter.

His phone dinged and it was a message from Mikey, an image.

Ran’s eyes widened as he stood up abruptly, it was a photo of Mikey smiling broadly with his sixth-month-old daughter in his arms.

Mikey: She’s freaken cute, can I keep her?

Y/n didn’t fear Mikey as much as she should, considering he was a notorious gang leader many feared and the boss of your daughter’s father. She only met Mikey a few times and he treated her kindly.

Ran once said to her it was probably because she was the same age as his baby sister who passed away years ago.

She was surprised to see Mikey approach them at the park. Sensing fear from Mikey and his bodyguards, the other moms quickly gathered their children and took off.

Y/n pulled her daughter out of the baby swing and hugged her close. “Mikey.” She acknowledged, nodding her head at him.

He nodded in return, his eyes shifting to the baby in her arms. “Is she Ran’s?”

Y/n knew he knew the answer already, even if she did lie which she had no reason to, the color of her eyes and hair was a giveaway that she had Ran’s DNA running through her blood.

“Yes,” she answered quietly.

Mikey took a step closer and held out his arms, “is she picky? Can I hold her?”

“If you like, she is… a bit drooly.” Fuyumi stared at Mikey before he reached for her. She continued to stare at him, seeing a new face. “Her name is Fuyumi.” She wasn’t sure he heard her since he was having a staring contest with the baby.

“God!” Mikey snuggled her, “you’re so freaken cute. Thank goodness you look nothing like your dad.” He reached for his phone and looked at Y/n for approval, “can I send Ran a photo? So he knows what he’s missing out on?”

Y/n let out a hesitant laugh, “I’m sure Ran knows... he has someone following and protecting us and he sends Ran updates daily.”

“You know about K?” Mikey gasped, he looked at Fuyumi. “Do you know Uncle K?” He snaps a selfie with her. “Your dad is going to be so jealous that I got a photo with you before him.”

Y/n had a second change of heart but knew that Mikey had already sent the photo. She didn’t know how Ran would react.

Instantly, Mikey chuckled and looked at the baby in his arms, “that sounds awfully like your dad’s motorcycle…”

That’s when Y/n heard it, her head turning towards the sound of the roaring muffler. Sure enough, Ran’s motorcycle pulls up. Of course, he would know where Mikey is at all times in case he needed to get to Mikey at any time.

Y/n’s heart fluttered the moment he took off his helmet and their eyes connected even at a distance.

Ran stopped a few feet away from Mikey, eyes on his daughter. He swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to speak.

“Are you going to say hi to your daughter at all?” Mikey questioned, “I’ll take her if you don’t want her…” he smiled at Fuyumi, “I can be your da –“

“Mikey.” Ran snarl.

Mikey ignored his tone, continuing to talk to the baby. “As I was saying, I can be your daddy. I have blond hair – “

“We should get going,” Y/n intervenes, stepping forward to reach for her child. “It is almost time for her nap.” Y/n hugs her daughter close. She avoided looking at Ran as she muttered a goodbye, turning her heels towards the stroller.

She knew Ran was following them.

When she finally reached her apartment she whipped around to face him. Ran had his hands stuffed in his dress pants, looking handsome as ever in his black attire with his sleeves rolled up to his elbow. She cleared her throat and snapped, “you can go now.”

Instead of walking away, he walked towards her until he was in front of them. His eyes drop down to the sleeping baby in the stroller. “Can we talk?”

“No.” Y/n answered immediately. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“That’s fine, I have something to say to you though.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “you had plenty of opportunities in the past to say something. It’s too late, excuse us.”

Ran was faster and blocked her from entering her apartment building. “We can do this the nice way, Y/n, or I can take you kicking and screaming, you pick.”

She flinched at his threat. Though he has never done anything to make her fear him that didn’t mean she didn’t harbor any fear for this man at all. She knew of some of the things he’s done and is responsible for, knew what he could do to anyone with the snap of his fingers.

Ran has only been in her apartment a handful of times. Most of the time, she was at his place.

Y/n was normally a clean and tidy person but her place was cluttered with toys and baby items.

He watched her carefully lift the baby out of the stroller, cooing gently and rocking her back to sleep but being disturbed, the baby began to fuss.

“It’s okay,” Y/n repeated quietly but the baby’s cry only increased. She looked at Ran before excusing herself, “let me go nurse her, I’ll be back.”

Ran nodded dumbfounded. His cheeks flushed as he imagined Y/n nursing their daughter, suckling from her tits just as he had once done.

Y/n returned with their daughter wide awake. Fuyumi stared intensely at Ran as he stood up from the couch and approached them. Being 6’2, he towered over the both of them put together. “She’s beautiful… like you.”

Ran was mesmerized staring into the same colored eyes as his own, his flesh, his DNA… his daughter.

Y/n cleared her throat, “talk.”

He had rehearsed what he would say to her the day he got the opportunity, and this was his one chance to explain himself with an ounce of hope that he could turn the tables. “I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “I am sorry for my past actions, how it hurt not only you but our daughter as well.” He inhaled softly, “my actions hurt me too. But I can promise you, there has not been anyone. I had only kissed that woman that night to force you to end your connection with me and that was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made.”

“Yeah it was,” Y/n snapped, “I don’t need your apology now, neither does my daughter too.”

Her anger was expected, just as long as she didn’t hate him.

“I know you don’t need it, but I want to give it anyway. If you want to throw it away, that’s your decision.” He had to play his next card right. “Can – I explain myself?”

She has never seen Ran vulnerable like this and she almost believes it’s genuine. “Fine, have a seat then,” she pointed to the spot he was sitting moments ago.

He listened obediently, watching her take a seat on the floor with their daughter. He wanted to sit near them but did not want to frustrate her. “It has always been you. As you know my job… my lifestyle isn’t exactly best fitted to become a father and I thought for the sake and safety of the both of you, it was the best decision to go our ways.” He placed both his palms on the coffee table. “That was another stupid decision and I regret it every single day. But there has never been anyone else, it’s only been you since the day I forced you to walk away.”

Y/n refused to make eye contact with him, only looking at her daughter and smiling at her.

Ran wasn’t sure she was even listening to him.

“Is that all?”

He shook his head, “no, I’ve been sending you money but you haven’t touched it and that made me frustrated so…” he swallowed the guilt. “I have someone secretly following you, he is tasked to protect you at all times, 24/7, and report to me about your daily activities… I’m sorry for invading your privacy and going behind your ba – “

“I know.”

“What?” his head snapped up, eyes wide as he stared into Y/n’s calm ones.

“I met him… K.”

His jaw dropped. “Mother fu –“ he stopped himself as his daughter turned her head to look at him right when he was about to swear. “I’m sorry, baby.” As if understanding him, she smiled brightly with a gummy smile. His heart nearly combusted.

“Don’t kill him,” Y/n looked at him with pleading eyes, “I caught him one day when I had pretended to have a stomachache. He was by my side instantly, confirming my suspicion. He didn’t reveal any information, but he answered my questions if I asked.” She looked away and reached for the toys her daughter was reaching for. “I had asked him not to tell you that I knew you assigned someone to watch over me. As much as I was hurt by you, it made me feel better knowing deep down, you cared even if it was a little bit.”

“Y/n…”

“So don’t kill him. He has become a friend to me.”

Ran wanted to kill him now knowing how close they’d become.

“Were you not curious how he was able to get such accurate details let alone photos of Fuyumi as if he was here in person?”

It all clicked in Ran’s head.

“I knew this guy was an expert at his job, just thought that this guy was just phenomenal at his job… only to discover he has become BFF with you.” His eyes drop to his daughter, “and my daughter too apparently.” He rests his elbow on his knees, covering his face. “God, I feel…” he sat up straight. “Y/n, I had all my shit planned out on what I want to tell you but I can’t remember sh – it. It. I can’t remember it now.” He stood up, walked around, and knelt before them, he grabbed Y/n by her shoulders. “Hit me all you want, be angry with me, and punish me for however long you want…” his hand shifts to cup her face. “Just don’t hate me and push me away.”

Y/n blinked dumbfoundedly, shocked at the Ran before her.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just… let me be part of your life again. And Yumi’s…” that was the name of his daughter’s photo album. “I may not have physically been there for you in the last months but K’s daily report made me feel as if I was. I will forever regret missing my daughter’s birth.”

Ran looked down when he felt something against his thigh. His daughter had pulled herself onto his lap. She looked up at him with curious eyes, almost admiring him. His gaze softened as he reached for her but froze, he looked up at Y/n, silently asking for permission.

“Yes, please…” Y/n had imagined if the day would come when Ran would hold their daughter.

Ran bit his lip, nervous, realizing he had never held a baby before, let alone been near one.

As if it was natural, he picked her up, holding her against his chest.

Y/n’s heart tightened watching them have a silent conversation. Ran’s smile softened as Fuyumi gently touched the Bonten insignia tattoo on his throat, her small fingers trying to grab at the design. A soft chuckle was elicited from Ran.

“You need to prove your worth to Yumi.”

Ran’s smile faded as he blinked at Y/n. “Yumi?” He repeated, “what… about you?”

Y/n broke eye contact, “you only need to work on your relationship with her.”

Ran visits his daughter almost every day and on the days that he could not, he would video-call her. He took pride in becoming one of her favorite humans. Her excitement when he walked through the door was all that Ran needed to make his day better.

“Hi Yumi!”

Hearing her father’s voice, the ten-month-old smiled brightly, flashing her solo tooth. She leaned against the coffee table, trying to reach for the TV controller that she loved more than her toys.

He picked up and spun her in the air, “did you have a good day?”

“Do you not see the bruise on the left side of her forehead?”

At Y/n’s words, Ran’s eyes widen seeing the new battle wound. “What did you fight today?”

“The TV stand and lost.”

“Losing is not in your blood, Yumi,” Ran scolded softly.

It was rare that Y/n would call him.

Especially when it was 3 AM.

“Y/n?”

“Ran, Yumi is running a fever and won’t go down. I – I need you to take us to the hospital.”

He was already pulling his pants on, “I’m on my way.”

Everything was a blur. He reached the hospital and barked for the nurses to look at his daughter. She was immediately taken away from Y/n’s arms and taken into a restricted area.

At that moment, Y/n turned to Ran, his arms wrapped tightly around her body. “It’ll be okay, she’ll be okay.”

Two days in the hospital passed by before they could finally head home. Yumi’s cheerful personality had fully returned.

During that time in the hospital, Ran stayed right beside them, only leaving to change and shower and would return. The first night, Yumi struggled and only slept well in the arms of her dad.

The image of Ran sleeping in the recliner with Yumi snoozing against his chest would forever be itched in Y/n’s mind.

“Home sweet home,” Ran sang, walking into the apartment. “Do you miss your toys?”

Y/n smiled, setting down their belongings. “Can you keep her busy while I put this stuff away?”

“Go for it,” Ran answered softly with a smile.

She returned fifteen minutes later and found that Ran had put Yumi down for her nap. She cuddles in the crook of Ran’s long arms.

Feeling her presence, he looked up and smiled and whispered, “she was playing when I noticed her head started to bob and she almost rolled over.”

Y/n smiled and whispered, “do you want to put her down?”

Slowly, Ran followed her to the nursery and set her down easily. When he turned around, Y/n was already gone from the room.

He found her in the living room, seated on the couch with her face covered in her hands. “Y/n?” When she looked up, her tear-streaked face had Ran kneeling in front of her in seconds. “What’s wrong? Why – why are crying?”

She surprised him when her arms wrapped around his neck, “I don’t know what to do without you.”

Ran sighed, relaxing in her embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “It’s the same for me too, I don’t know what to do without you or Yumi.”

After a long pause, he couldn’t believe his ears when he heard her ask, “will you come back to us?”

He pulled away from her and gazed into her glossy eyes, he smiled, “I think the real question is, will you come back to me?” He has already stolen the heart of his daughter, he just needs to earn her heart this time around.

She choked back a sob and wiped her tears, smiling. “Yes, I’ll come back to you.” She cups his face before pressing her lips against his. “I hated you but I love you too much.”

“You can hate me just as long as you love me more,” he kissed her passionately, nipping her lip. “God, I love you too. I missed you so much… I never want to be apart from you or Yumi again…”

“I won’t let you go, there’s no turning back.”

“Done, I’m yours. Just as you are mine, forever.”

They stumbled into her bedroom, quickly shredding their clothes.

“Ran,” Y/n gasped, feeling him thrust into her. “God – I missed you…”

“I missed you too,” he murmured, slowly thrusting into her.

In silence, they both exchange soft gasps and moans, reminding one another why it’ll never work out with anyone else.

Their lips crashed against each other, making up for the lost time as their body continued to move in sync.

“Ran,” Y/n’s nails dug into his shoulder, “I’m so close… please… please let me cum…”

His lips pressed against her throat, teeth grazing against the skin. “Same – cum Y/n…”

Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and her arms tightened around his neck, “ah – ha… Ran!”

His hips tremble as he cums, filling her womb.

Ran buried his face in the valley of her breasts, “I – I’m sorry… I forgot a condom…” It was Y/n’s laughter that he lifted his head, blinking at her in confusion.

She runs a hand through his lilac-streaked hair, “if you impregnate me again, please just be with me this time around.”

He tugs her wrist and presses a kiss to her palm. “Promise.”

E/n: Sweet daddy Ran is something else.

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revenger smut #tokyo revenger angst #haitan rani #haitani ran x y/n #haitani ran x reader #haitani ran smut #haitani ran angst #haitani ran fluff #ran smut #ran fluff

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mochiwrites · 7 months ago

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gentle touch of morning

( a small scarian epic au piece <3 reblogs do more than likes! )

It’s funny.

Over the twelve long years Scar spent fighting, leading his men into battle, the thought that kept him going was his eventual homecoming. Every waking thought was of his husband and son, and Scar’s reason for living, for breathing, was his family. As he sailed rocky waters, faced monsters and gods alike, lost men after men, Scar wished for nothing more than to be home, to awake with his husband sleeping beside him.

But as he stands in his home, the one he most intimately knows, Scar feels… wrong. Out of place. He’d woken up early, savoring the sight of Grian’s sleeping face (he could never get tired of it), and felt so restless that staying in bed for any longer seemed impossible. So Scar took to walking around his home.

He and Grian built this place up, together. The memories are some that Scar looks back on fondly. He could never forget it, no matter how much time he spent away from it. Scar only fears that it has forgotten him.

Scar takes easy steps, walking and reacquainting himself. He notes the pictures, most of them being of his son. He hardly sees Grian in any of them, perhaps one or two, less than a handful. And the ones that Grian is in, his smile doesn’t light up his face. It makes Scar frown.

He wanders for a bit, traversing each winding hallway with careful movements. It’s as if he fears the house may collapse at any moment, or some attacker may jump from the shadows, perhaps a god will catch him off guard and finish him off. Not even in his home does he feel the full safety he’s supposed to. These walls feel foreign, unfamiliar. Even if he can picture everything clearly in his mind, knows this place like the back of his hand. Scar still feels like a stranger.

Eventually, he finds himself in the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, catching sight of another person.

His son.

His little Pitta.

Well, not as little anymore, as a young boy at fourteen. But to Scar it still feels like he’s just an infant that he could cradle in his arms. Another thing time robbed him of. So many missed moments, opportunities, to watch his son grow. And while Scar knows that there are still many years to come, to see, a piece of him mourns the time he lost.

For a moment, Scar keeps quiet. He watches his son, taking in his dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. He’s the striking image of both Scar and Grian somehow, even if they aren’t related to him. But Scar loves him all the same; would move mountains to give him whatever he needed. He can’t help but wonder what kind of person his son is, what he likes and dislikes. Does he resent Scar for leaving? Does he consider Scar his father, or a stranger who left a loving husband alone for years on end? He doesn’t want to find out. Not now.

Scar stands there until he can’t anymore, finding hazel eyes landing on him. He watches the way in which Pitta’s eyes light up, turning all shiny and bright when he notices his father. He turns away from the counter, abandoning the slices of bread he had taken out. He smiles, and gods, does his smile look like Grian’s. “Papa!” Pitta greets, the timbre of his voice cheerful and soft.

“Hey, Pitta,” Scar returns, heart melting each time he’s reminded that he’s finally returned home. He never thought it would happen, that maybe it’d take him longer, or maybe something would strike him down on the way back. But against all odds, fourteen years, and Scar is home. His son stands in front of him.

“What’re you doing awake? Is dad up too?” Pitta questions, raising a brow at him.

“Uh…” Scar blanks, unsure of what to say. It’s not like he’s going to tell the truth, Pitta shouldn’t have to worry about him. Scar has already caused him enough pain, there’s no need to cause more now that he’s actually here. “Gria— your dad’s still asleep,” he stammers. The words feel awkward on his tongue, like they shouldn’t be there. This life of domesticity… he doesn’t know how to go about it. It isn’t just some enemy he can cut down.

The very thought makes him nauseous.

“Oh!” Pitta blinks at the response. “Well, that’s… good.” He nods to himself awkwardly, and Scar hides a grimace.

He… really doesn’t know how to interact with his son.

There’s this dark curdling of doubt in his mind that begins to creep up, settling over him. He’s afraid. Worried that this is one thing he’ll never overcome. It’s a familiar feeling, an old friend, a once enemy turned begrudging shadow. It’s a feeling he experienced in battle, traversing home, taking his castle back from scoundrels that dare to stain it. But there is a new fear that joins it, overwhelming like a tidal wave.

Does he even know how to be a father?

Scar feels his breath sharpen just a tad, skipping a beat and hastening. He can feel hands curling around his throat, beginning to press into his skin. He feels it tightening on him, the grip firm. The pressure starts off as something light, until the fingers of Fear dig deeper with each shakingly quiet breath. It gets stronger and stronger, straining his lungs until he can feel his throat being squeezed, choked.

“Papa?” Pitta’s voice breaks him from the spiraling thoughts, from the overwhelming fear sneaking in.

The hands around his neck relax, and the terror recedes, sinking back into the depths of his mind momentarily. He allows himself a moment to breathe, a chance to suck in a soft breath and recenter. His vision clears, and he becomes aware of the way his heartbeat pounds in his ears, loud like a drum.

He manages a smile, “I’m uh, gonna go check and see if our Sleeping Beauty is awake.” Keeping his eyes trained on his son, Scar tries to maintain his light smile. He takes a few small steps back, slipping into a casual mask. He’s gotten quite good at it over the years of putting on a brave face. “Be right back.”

Pitta watches him, brows creasing in concern as he goes. “Oh… okay,” he answers, sounding resigned as Scar retreats.

Scar turns around, and brings himself back to the beautiful olive tree where his Grian is fast asleep. The sun shines down on him, cutting through the green leaves. The light spills into their bed, painting a halo in the soft yet sandy blond locks of Grian’s hair. He rests in their bed, eyes shut and face relaxed. His body is curled somewhat, the blanket tucked just over his shoulders.

Staring at him, taking in the near angelic sight, Scar takes a few breaths to calm himself. He walks over to their bed, sitting down on the edge, right beside Grian. He contents himself with just sitting there, watching the rise and fall of Grian’s chest. It feels a little easier to breathe, with the love of his life right here, peaceful. Scar can almost allow himself to pretend he lives in a world where he never went to war, where he never had to leave his family behind. He can almost allow himself to pretend he was the husband and father he should have been.

Chest aching and overflowing with doubt and regret, Scar reaches out. Tenderly, Scar brushes some of Grian’s hair away from his face. He ever so softly tangles his fingers in the silky strands as he rhythmically cards through his hair. Scar’s expression softens, chest swelling with love for the man before him. He drags the pads of his fingertips along Grian’s head, feeling the soft locks under his touch.

He can’t imagine what it was like, doing so much alone for so long. Scar has always believed Grian to be strong, the strongest person he knows. But this? Scar doesn’t think anyone could compare, not even the gods.

Not in the way it matters, at least.

His thumb idly strokes Grian’s cheekbone, loving and sweet. “I’d be lost without you, my light,” he murmurs. Because it’s true. Scar would’ve given up a long, long time ago if he didn’t have Grian and Pitta to come home to. Grian is his rock, his eye of the storm, his compass. Scar is caught within Grian’s orbit, forever wrapped up in him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man. Grian kept their home in one piece. He raised their son. He handled whatever it was that Scar couldn’t in his time away. Grian held out hope for fourteen years that Scar would come back to him.

Scar owes him everything and more. But most importantly, Scar owes him his love. And by the gods will he offer every last ounce of it, every drop. Scar is a man. No general, and certainly no hero. He is just a man who wants to pour his heart and soul out for his spouse. Scar is just a man in love.

Beneath his touch, Grian’s face twitches, and he begins to stir. “Mmm… Scar?” he mumbles, still groggy and waking up.

“Good morning, my love.” Scar smiles at him, brushing away a particular curl of hair before stroking his cheek. “Sleep well?”

“‘ink so, yes. It was warm with you,” Grian answers, leaning into the hand on his cheek. “What’re you awake for?”

Scar pauses, if only briefly. “Uh, well, y’know. Just admiring my pretty husband while I have the chance,” he answers, which isn’t entirely a lie.

Grian looks at him with clear suspicion, but doesn’t push. Instead, he sighs quietly as pushes himself to sit up. “You can do that when I’m awake too,” he teases, leaning to press their lips together. Scar is more than happy to sink into it, using the hand on Grian’s cheek to angle his head slightly, deepening it. The kiss is sweet, loving. It’s slow and patient, carrying the patience of fourteen years within it.

When they pull away, Scar rests their foreheads together. “I guess I can, yeah,” he agrees softly. “Mind if I take a few more minutes to admire him?”

Grian smiles, kissing the corner of his mouth in return. “I suppose.” Scar simply smiles, and gods is he happy to be home. No amount of fear could ever leave him unhappy to be back with the loves of his life. Never.

#mochi writes #vexed epic au #scarian #hermitshipping #I am fine and have very normal feelings about this #I wanna post this on ao3 at some point #but I need to figure out how I'm formatting things #and what exactly I'm writing #so for now tumblr can have this :D #ALSO PITTA IS PIZZA!!!!!!#THE LLAMA!!!!!!#hello to any main taggers who happen upon this #no I don't know how I got to making a scarian au based on the odyssey either #blame the musical and brain rot /silly

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thewalkingwillowtree · 3 months ago

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Courting Ayelýn

Series Listing Found Here

Aonung x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Pressured by his parents to enter a formal courtship, Aonung rebels in his own way and what starts as a ruse, turns into something real.

Note before reading: This is a spin off of my Safe Haven Series.

Reading Safe Haven is not necessary to follow this story.

Some characters have been aged up. Aonung in particular is 25.

Ayelýn is my own creation. *Pronounced Aye-Lin

Part 1 - When They Met

“You want us to… what?”

“Court. You and me.”

“Clearly you’ve gone and lost your head.”

Months Before…

Aonung stormed out of his family’s marui after yet another argument with his parents. Their demands were already ridiculous, but their constant reminders at every family meal were becoming annoyingly overwhelming.

The anger and irritation inside of him was building, festering and threatening to make him do something he knew he’d regret.

He was also about ready to punch something… Anything!

Clicking his tongue, he called for his skimwing and the second he reached the edge of the pier, he was leaping off and diving into deep crystal waters. Tsaheylu made, and at his command, the water beast shot off, taking him further and further away from his home… away from Awa’atlu.

Mind distracted in a jumbled mess of fury and frustration over the situation at hand, Aonung let himself be blindly carried through the ocean.

His parents had given him a deadline to find a woman to court. A woman he was then expected to eventually take as his mate.

And honestly, it bothered him just how much of a shock the news had caused for him when he was told. Aonung had known all his life it would eventually come- it was expected of him- his birthright.

But was it worth the pain it came with?

“You should know better,” his father would say. “Be better.” Aonung was constantly criticized for his training techniques… his life choices, his decisions… his ways. It was, “do as I say,” and “when will you learn?” and… “you disappoint me.”

Nothing was ever good enough!

Words of honor and commitment and duty were forever shoved down his throat at every given opportunity. And although Aonung still considered himself a rebel and a rule breaker in his circle of friends, he was very much stifled and controlled.

It was why most of his daydreams involved him running away. Daydreams of him leaving behind the duty, and the expectations… the fucking title.

But he couldn’t leave.

Tsireya.

And Khalhan- his little brother.

Aonung could never desert them.

Damn his parents. Damn the entire situation.

Fuck it all.

For the remainder of the day, Aonung spent it by himself. Hidden away, he brooded, wallowing in self pity. It wasn’t until the sky began to change, suns slowly sinking into the sea that he considered leaving his shaded haven.

A sudden muffled swear however, followed by a thunk, pulled Aonung from his thoughts. He couldn’t fathom who would have possibly ventured this far out to the abandoned, tiny island he considered his own.

Curious, he climbed over a short wall of moss covered jagged rocks, only to find… a female.

He was unable to see her face from his position, but she was clearly upset, angry even, judging by the way she kicked the canoe that was half docked, half bobbing from the sway of rolling waves.

“Oh you stupid thing! Couldn’t you have waited until I reached the reef line?”

He snorted when a curse escaped her again, along with another thump, from the serve of a fierce kick.

“Having fun there?” he called out.

She startled at the sound of his voice, flinging her body around, knife drawn from her hip in preparation for danger.

“Don’t do that!” she hissed when she found that it was just a loitering Na’vi. “I could’ve hurt you, you fool. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

Aonung approached, hands lifted in surrender. The tip of her knife brushed his stomach as his eyes darted between her and the weapon.

Head titled, he noted that she barely reached his chest and her puny blade looked so dull, he was certain she wouldn’t be able to make much- if any damage with it.

“I highly doubt that, but if it makes you feel any better,” he shrugged, ignoring her pretty scowl as he moved to inspect her canoe. It was laden with laundered items, so with ease, he pulled it all the way onto the shore. “What seems to be the problem with this?”

“It’s got a leak,” she huffed, sheathing her blade. “I tried patching it before I set out this morning, but-” Head snapping toward the sea, she glanced around in immediate panic. “Wait, where are we-” Her stomach dropped at the sight of a significant flag blowing in the far distance. “Are we near Awa’atlu?”

It was only at this question did he take note of the purple and brown string of beads dangling from a lock of her tangled, messy hair. “You’re from the Keftxo village,” he said stupidly. It now made sense to him why she didn’t immediately recognize him.

She sized him up when her eyes found his own string of blue and brown beads- Awa’atlu beads to be precise- attached to the sheath on his hip- her expression almost daring him to say something.

And he would have… but for some reason he held his tongue.

“I… got turned around,” she mumbled, thumbing at a small scar on her shoulder. The almost healed cut had ripped open in her haste to keep both her and her canoe safe. Thankfully it was no longer bleeding. “Riptide, along the eastern sharp rocks.”

“Riptide?” he repeated in alarm. “Why in Eywa’s name are you even traveling near there?! It’s high tide. Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“W- Did you not just hear me say I got turned around and caught in a riptide?!” Tail flickering in annoyance behind her, she gestured to the vast ocean before them. “It’s not as if I had any control! I left Keftxo before dawn and now look where I am! Oh, and I’m fine, by the way. Thank you, for your concern,” she snarked.

His gaze traveled the length of her body, spotting no other injuries. “Are you really?” he asked sincerely.

That gave her pause. “Yes.”

He didn’t believe her but accepted her answer anyway. “Alright then.” Kneeling beside her canoe, his brows creased incredulously. “Just how old is this damn thing?”

“It’s fine!” she exclaimed in offense, crouching beside him to inspect the damage. “Only needs a bit of mending.”

“A bit?” He flicked at a thick, crusty patch of reinforcement. “You’re better off without it. I’d scrap it if I were you. One wrong turn along a pier and it be nothing but a pile of fucking splinters.” He snickered. “Who even made this thing? The work is shoddy, a mess of piss poor craftsmanship, sloppy carving. Look- even the design is off. How did you get it to float?”

Nostrils flaring, her chin jutted out at his words. Aonung was pretty sure he’d be dead if her glare was a dagger.

She muttered a slew of very creative swear words under her breath that had him raising his brows and while he should’ve been insulted, he was rather impressed.

“Scrap it… scrap it?! I’ll have you know, I fixed it up myself! This canoe was specially gifted to my father by council elder Fjid!”

Aonung snorted. “Fjid?! The old man hasn’t been on the council in over a decade. And what does he know about canoes? Last time I saw him, he could barely tie a knot.”

“I know we just met, but does anything good ever come out of your mouth?”

“Actually. I’ve heard my tongue does wonders,” he boasted cockily, tracing the tip of said tongue along his bottom lip sensually.

Instead of swooning or blushing like he thought she would, revolution clouded her features. It threw him off honestly.

“Who is the nearest mender in your village?”

Aonung blinked. “W- I can mend it for you,” he offered, getting to his feet quickly when she looked about ready to dive out.

“No, thank you… Mender?”

“Wait…” He pointed to himself, baffled by her reaction to him. “Are you upset with me?”

“Hm, let me think,” she hummed sarcastically, pretending to ponder. “I almost died from a riptide, got washed up near Awa’atlu of all villages. My canoe has a gaping hole in it and the first person I’ve come across who I thought could maybe, possibly help me, insults its craftsmanship and tried to crudely insinuate that I let him please me with his so-called wonderous tongue… So, yes. I’d dare say I am upset with you.”

She blew out a gush of air. “Now… would you please tell me where I can find your nearest mender.”

Aonung led her to a marui on the outskirts of his village where many canoes were lined docked along the pier it was connected to.

All the while throughout their journey there, he couldn’t help tossing glances at his new found companion. A companion he found to be scruffy and slightly volatile… but also… pretty. Very pretty.

Her reactions towards him were slightly refreshing- she clearly didn’t know who he was- status included - something he was keen to keep hidden from her for a bit longer for some reason.

He found great amusement every time she caught him staring- her face morphing into an unimpressed scowl that most definitely read, fuck off… He was right, because a second later she was signing those two words right at him and speeding past, purposely sending a wave of water his way.

Oh he liked her alright.

Was it terrible that he loved pissing her off? That scowl did it for him, honestly, especially the one she gave him after he’d caught up and yanked on her tail, signaling that they had to travel in the opposite direction.

When they’d reached the shoreline, her annoyance towards his theatrics had subsided. Distracted, it was evident that she was trying not to gape at her surroundings, and failing to.

Unbeknownst to him, Awa’atlu was in every way different from the little village she’d grown up in. While of course there were some similarities, Awa’atlu screamed life- brightness, adventure… promise.

His companion was so rapt up with her awed surveying that Aonung was secretly glad she missed the few passerby’s reactions to him.

Two women he'd slept with on two separate occasions, flirtatiously waved at him. And then there were also the overly respectful nods and gestures from others that were becoming obvious.

Desperate to avoid running into anyone who’d try to stop and chat, Aonung gently tugged on her elbow to change their direction. “This way.”

The mender available to help seemed rather enthralled by the pair that had come to visit him that day.

Hythspon, while no longer in his youth, but nowhere near considered old, stood for a full solid ten minutes watching the bickering two hurl snides and sly comments to each other, all while trying to come to a decision.

His future chief wanted the Keftxo female to leave with one of the newly crafted canoes Hythspon had available, while the unnamed metkayina wanted to simply have her own canoe mended and be on her way.

“I told you already, the thing is a deathtrap! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because at this rate, I’m starting to think you are!”

“It’s not a deathtrap!”

“It is!”

“Not! It’s perfectly fine!”

“So perfectly fine that it almost killed you?! Sorry, gorgeous but you need to let it go. It’s time.”

“No. No, no. The riptide almost killed me, skxawng, the riptide! And for future encounters, the decent thing to do would be to ask about someone’s well being after facing a catastrophe like that! Not, lecture them as if they're stupid!”

“Well you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if you had ditched the fucking thing and worried about your own life! You seemed to think so too since I found you kicking and swearing at it!”

“I already apologized for the kicking!”

“Yo- you,” he spluttered incredulously. “Did you actually apologize to a pile of splinters?”

“Canoe!”

“Deathtrap!”

“It just needs a little love and care, I told you!”

“Aha! Love and care? I’m sorry, gorgeous but that thing is way past love and care.”

“That’s the second time you’ve done that now. Stop calling me that!”

Anoung paused… then, head tilted, he grinned wickedly. “Gorgeous.”

“UGH! Why do you insist on behaving like such an annoying little kit?! Even my brother is more mature than you and he’s eight!”

“Oh-ho! So me trying to stop you from harm's way is-”

The clearing of a deep throat halted their argument and also made them simultaneously straighten up and put a little distance between them. At some point during their feud, they’d ended up merely inches apart.

“Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed this rather entertaining ordeal,” Hythspon chucked, “I would like to get on with the rest of my day.”

“Right, sorry,” she mumbled in embarrassment, tail curled as though she wanted to hide herself behind it.

Hythspon’s solution in the end was to loan her a canoe. He’d have someone find her own and promised to mend it to his best and then have it returned to her- which she was ever grateful for.

That left Aonung with nothing else to argue about and the minute Hythspon gave her an oar, she was dashing off. Before he could think of running after her, she stopped abruptly at the marui’s threshold and pivoted.

“Um, thank you. For your help… skxawng.”

“You’re welcome… gorgeous.”

She scowled, but he didn’t miss the tiny twitch of her mouth. He probably imagined it but he thought for the briefest moment that she’d almost smiled.

Walking along the pier, Aonung watched her row until her silhouette faded into nothing more than a blob in the distance. Confused by the unknown churning he felt in his chest, he shook his head and finally turned away.

It wasn’t until later that night as he waited for sleep to claim him, that he realized something…

He hadn’t gotten her name.

In the blink of an eye life went on.

The Sullys were gone and a few months later, Awa’atlu received word that Xilä- Neteyam’s mate had given birth to a healthy baby boy.

Left behind was Lo’ak of course, who’d decided to stay at Awa’atlu for good. Much to no one’s surprise, the forest boy was officially courting Aonung’s sister, Tsireya.

Whilst Aonung and Lo’ak had started off on rocky footing initially, they both had quickly overcome it in their youth, and dare say even become close friends since then.

And even though Aonung’s immediate confidant was Rotxo, Aonung found himself confiding in the Sully brothers more often than not.

Neteyam had given him some good advice when Aonung had first opened up about his worries to find a mate. Advice that he was actively trying to practice. Neteyam had told him not to look- not to stress and worry. That Eywa would show him the way eventually… But his patience was wearing thin and time was also running out.

Arguments with his parents had intensified and the gossip and whispers about his “playmate” days being over, had spread. Though it was the truth.

Gone were the days and nights of fucking and fooling around with playmate after playmate. He hadn’t been with a woman since after Neteyam’s chat with him that night.

It was harder than he thought- not getting his dick wet on the regular. Not only was it painful at times and he had to get rather acquainted with right hand, but it also put him in a foul mood most days.

Aonung was secretly proud of himself however. Every time temptation tried to lure him, he didn’t give in. He was serious. He was trying… Even though he had his doubts.

And then, just like that, his year was up.

And still no woman from Eywa.

“Bro… Are you shitting with me right now?”

A disgusted expression formed on Aonung’s face. “I do not shit with you, brother.” He shook his head. “Your human sayings are quite vulgar, do you know that?”

Lo’ak ignored him, focusing instead on the bombshell of a confession Aonung had just shared. “Can we go back to the part where you said you lied to your parents about having a courting partner?”

Aonung grimaced. Not only because the words sounded just as bad coming from Lo’ak’s mouth, but also from the sour flavor of the pungent booze he and his friend were passing back and forth.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” His jaw clenched at the thought of the tongue lashing he was in for when the time came for him to confess.

Ronal had the spirit of the Great Mother running through her veins. Aonung knew his mother didn’t believe him when he’d told her his news earlier that day.

Fuck.

“Okay. Let’s start over, man. Why would you even do that?”

Right. Lo’ak didn’t know everything. Neteyam did.

Slightly tipsy as he and Lo’ak sat along the shoreline, waves kissing their feet, Aonung divulged, telling his friend every detail all over again, because, what else was there for him to do?

“Damn, that’s just… damn.” Lo’ak sighed, slightly stunned by the angry rant Aonung had just given. “You’re lucky it’s not as bad as Neteyam- he had a fucking blood oath.” He winced at his choice of words. “Sorry, cuz.”

Aonung paid him no mind however, his gaze instead distracted and locked on the horizon before them as Lo’ak went on a long winded rant of his own.

“- all one fucking mess, this whole elders’ tradition thing. If you ask me, brother, I’d just get some poor girl to pretend to be in love with me- ya know, appease the parents, then just have her break your heart… and then-” Lo’ak drank another healthy mouthful of their booze, “and then everyone would feel so sorry for your moping ass, they’d give you a break over this whole courting thing… I’m sure of it.”

Aonung’s head snapped to his friend, slightly stunned.

“What?” Lo’ak glanced behind him for good measure, but nope, Fishlips was staring at him. “What?” he asked again.

“That’s… that’s actually a good idea.”

“The shit I just spewed?”

Aonung cursed at the burn from anther sip of the liquid he swallowed. Why was it worse each time? “Yeah. I think I’ll just do that.”

Lo’ak plucked his bottom lip in thought. His mind was hazy but not that hazy. He probably hadn’t heard right. “Pfft. You’re yanking my tail.”

“No, I’m serious,” Aonung said, sitting up as his mind started whirling. He twisted to face the Sully man, taking another shot of the disgusting, throat burning spirits. “It’s the perfect plan. Just before the formal ceremony, I’ll have her break it off, but by then I’d have “fallen in love”… My parents wouldn’t push anyone on me after something like that.”

“Dude… I was fucking joking,” Lo’ak emphasized. Then, paying attention to the determined look on the man’s face, Lo’ak shoved his shoulder. “Skxawng, you’re not seriously thinking of going through with this?”

“Why not? It’s good advice- Hey! I was going to drink that!”

Lo’ak had snatched the waterskin they hid their liquid stash in. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Fuck you.”

Facing the metkayina man fully, the omaticaya shook his head. “Listen… back at Home Camp, there’s a saying, don’t ever take advice from Lo’ak. Now usually I’d be offended, but right now, I think you should listen to the masses… Also, I’m pretty sure you’re drunk. Better yet, we're both drunk.”

Aonung waved him off. “Lo’ak. This plan could actually work.”

“It could also blow up in your face.”

“Then that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You’re that desperate?! Reya’s got so many female friends, why don’t you-”

“No. I wouldn’t ask that of my sister. I know myself and it’s this unspoken rule between us anyway. I don’t play around with her friends, and she stays clear of mine- even if she’s never been like that- like me.”

“Nice. Guess I’m the exception then?” Lo’ak grinned.

“You’re not my friend,” Aonung deadpanned.

“Ouch!” Lo’ak pretended to be hurt.

“Are you going to help me with this or not?”

“Dude, I really love your sister. And I’d really like to stay on good terms with your parents, you know, so they’d let me continue to court her?! If they knew I helped you with this they’d toss me back to the forest before I could even plead my case!”

Aonung squinted at him. “Tsireya’s made you soft,” he taunted.

“Nice try, but I have two new badass tats that say otherwise,” he replied, gesturing to the intricate ink that adorned his left arm, and right shoulder.

The corner of Aonung’s lips twitched. He was secretly proud of the forest boy. Lo’ak impressed them all with his determination to learn their metkayina customs.

He’d been through grueling challenges that endangered his life and partook in lengthy, traditional ceremonies all for the chance of love. All for Tsireya. No wonder it was so easy for Aonung to approve of their match.

Lo’ak blew out a breath and handed the booze back to his friend who took a swig. “Alright then, let’s do this fucking thing.”

“That was fast. What changed your mind?”

“I know too much. Your parents will kill me either way, especially if they knew I didn’t do anything to stop you. So, let’s get to planning properly so they don’t find out.”

“Let’s hear it then. What’s first?”

Lo’ak thrummed his bottom lip again. “First things first, we need to find you a woman. Should be easy to help you get a willing partner, you’ve already got so many swatting at your tail.”

“No,” Aonung shook his head, eyes glassy in the moonlight. “It can’t be one of them. They’d think they could handle it but they’d also think they could change me. Make me fall for them. I’m not stupid.”

“Nope,” Lo’ak agreed. “You’re just a cocky bastard… a fucking fishlip skxawng if you ask me,” he mumbled.

“Skxawng…” Revelation formed on Aonung’s face. “I think I know the perfect woman.”

Ayelýn was furiously scrubbing at a filthy mat someone had brought in. Frustrated, she cursed at whatever substance had left such a stain, praying it wasn’t blood… or worse.

Thankfully it didn’t smell like either.

She wiped at her brow, and blew out a breath toward a stubborn loc of hair that refused to be confined in her tie. This would be her last article to clean for the day.

If she could just get the stain out.

Scrubbing until her already bruised knuckles blistered, Ayelýn tuned out the sounds of the village around her.

Keftxo, was the smallest and last in the chain of fifty islands occupied by the metkayina people. Hearing countless whispers and rumored talk when she was growing up, Ayelýn found out that Keftxo, was sadly known as “the lesser” island. That included the reef people inhabiting it, also.

Despite learning this, her parents taught her to never be ashamed of being from here. It was full of the hardest working Na’vi, Na’vi who undertook jobs that may not have been the most grand but were no less important than any other.

Life in her little village was all hard work most days. Her duty, along with a handful of others was the grueling job known as a scrubber.

Everyday, canoes from their neighboring villages were filled to the brim with tarps, sleeping mats, hammocks, heavy fishing nets, tapestries and harnesses. And everyday she would spend hours scrubbing them clean.

She’d just added another sweet smelling soap spud directly to the already almost potent concoction she’d formed for this one mat, hoping the concentrated effects would aid in her task, when a familiar fine voice called her name.

“Lýn! Lýn!” Kaiiff, her little brother excitedly bounced into the marui she was in, boxy grin wide. “You won’t believe this! We have a visitor from Awa’atlu and I think he’s asking for you!”

Wiping sweat from her brow again, and mostly likely smearing herself with soap studs, Ayelýn began to rinse out the stubborn article. “No one from Awa’atlu knows who I am, Kaii,” she said with a forced smile, trying to mask her tiredness from the ball of life in front of her.

“Lýnnn, I’m serious. He described you perfectly. Asked for a puny, scowling female and even said you have a tiny scar on your left shoulder. At least that’s what Talu said he was asking for. And who else in the village could that be?”

Ayelýn paid full attention to her brother now, brows scrunched in confusion. Before she could ask, two individuals were entering the marui behind her brother, flanked by a very obvious crowd of onlookers behind them.

Her father seemed uneasy as he approached her, suspicious eyes flickering from her to the man following close behind him.

“You!” her lips spat in fury before her brain could comprehend who exactly she was seeing.

“Hello, gorgeous,” the familiar stranger greeted- rather loudly too, once again with that stupid smirk of his.

“Ayelýn?” her father called. “You know the Olo'eyktan’s son?”

Ayelýn audibly inhaled- shock clouding her features at the revelation that the wall of a man before her- the man she’d practically insulted quite a few many times now, was none other than their Olo'eyktan’s son.

Aonung…

Ripples of not so hushed whispers from Lýn’s workmates echoed behind her as her face paled in mortification. Despite the reveal, she had never wanted nothing more than to punch the stupid smug smirk off his face, mirth dancing in his eyes because he knew… that she knew now.

“Ayelýn,” he voiced as though testing it out- her name sounding sinful coming from his lips.

Time seemed to have sped up, because in a matter of seconds, quite a few things happened.

The first being, Aonung’s surprisingly pleasant introduction with her younger brother and her mother, who’d quietly snuck into the mix as well- her cheeks tinting as she bashfully patted Aonung on the arm for thinking that she was Lýn’s older sister and not her mother.

Having enough, Ayelýn snapped rather rudely, interrupting their small talk. “What are you doing here?”

“Ayelýn,” her mother hissed in disbelief. “Have some respect.”

“Sa'nok, you don’t under-”

“No, it’s okay. I know my presence is a bit of a surprise… I was actually hoping to have a word with your daughter, if you’d allow me,” Aonung directed to her parents, tone dripping in charm Ayelýn knew was probably- most likely all an act. “Somewhere private if possible?”

“Oh! O-of course, of course,” Bwena replied, grin stretching so wide that Ayelýn thought her mother’s face must hurt. She was ever eager to encourage whatever was happening here. “You may use our marui. Ayelýn will show you! Go on, Lýn,” her mother quipped, bodily shuffling her forward and even taking a fast second to try to hastily wipe away a streak of soap residue from her brow.

“No- wait-”

Protesting was futile because before she knew it, Ayelýn found herself in her family’s shabby but quaint, tiny marui- quite alone with a towering Na’vi and his stupid smirking mouth.

It annoyed her how much he was enjoying this- whatever this was.

Her eyes tracked his every move as he observed her home. It wasn’t as nice or grand or even tidy like the ones she’d snuck glances into during her brief visit to Awa’atlu, and she suddenly found herself feeling self conscious- lesser than… and she hated herself for it.

When he finally returned his attention to her, his lips did a funny little quirk as though he were trying not to laugh.

“What?” she snapped.

Instead of responding, he snagged a cloth from a line of clean drying articles and approached cautiously, surprising her when he began to gently wipe at her brow and down her cheek. His other hand held her chin in place, thumb and forefinger keeping her still as he worked in silence.

Ayelýn didn’t know why she allowed him, but something gave her pause… maybe it was the way his smell attacked her senses- salt and spice and comfort.

“There you go,” he hushed, voice rumbling deep and wrong. “All pretty again.”

Senses betraying her, she forced herself to take a step back. “What are you doing here, Aonung?”

“Looking for you.”

“Mm, I gathered… You’ve created quite the spectacle and now it will be all my village talks about until I’m frail and old.”

“That’s dramatic… and presumptuous of you.”

“Presumptuous? Me? Oh-” she scoffed. Oh the nerve of him. “I have lived here all my life and I have never seen you step foot in Keftxo. You’re the one that walked into my village- like you own it mind you-” She gave him a flashing warning glare when he tried to rebut, because technically he did own her village. “-looking for me! Can we get this over with so you can be on your way? What do you want?”

Mouth set, he shrugged casually. “I want us to form a courtship. A formal one.”

When Ayelýn didn’t answer, his head tilted, trying to catch her attention as he poked her shoulder. “Did you hear me, gorgeous?”

“Hm? Oh yes, I did. Nice joke. I'm just too tired to laugh though. Now what do you really want?”

“I’m… not joking,” he enunciated slowly, peering at her in concern, as if she were the one saying crazy things. “I want us to court and-”

“You want us to… what?”

“Court… You and me.”

Ayelýn snorted. “Clearly you’ve gone and lost your head.” But something about the way he kept staring at her however popped the amusement bubbling at her chest. “You’re being serious right now, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

And for the first time, she saw his sincerity shining through.

“So, what do you say, Lýn?” he asked with an expectant smile, using her nickname as though they were old friends.

“Absolutely not!”

Hey, you lovey people!

I’m sure you all know the drill by now, please let me know what you think. 💛

Parts 2 & 3 are mostly complete and just need a full edit, so be sure to share anything in particular you’d like to see happen.

Tags:@jakesullyfatjuicypeen@granddearduck@riatesullironalite@strawberri-blonde@earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop@blkmystery@neteswife@luvteyams@isnt-itstrange@erenjaegerwifee@faatxma@ivysully@bakugouswaif@pinkpantheris @mntx666@ironcaptainnataliabarnes

#safe haven #courting ayelyn #aonung #aonung mini fic #aonung fanfic #aonung x reader #aonung x female reader #aonung x y/n

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