#But every day she's gone I die a little more inside

[littleeggrock]

If your YouTuber isn't walking around Japan with a little bear figure(s) and putting it in situations what are they doing

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Three

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Flirting. Emotional hurt/comfort. Panic attack. PTSD. Comfort. "You'll be with him?"

“-nna let ‘im die out here-“

“-is too risky without adequate-“ 

Johnny is drowning in a sea of shattered voices, whispers of words that sound like they might be coming from Gaz, or Price, hushed prayers and promises, jargon he doesn’t understand washing over him from unfamiliar, clinical mouths. 

It’s overwhelming. He can hardly get his eyes to open, and when he does, they stay half shut for what feels like hours, even though he knows, logically, it’s mere seconds. 

He’s no longer strapped into a backboard, but a bed, and the ceiling is not metal and rivets, but white and canvas, voices competing with the constant sound of beeping. 

“Soap.” Price leans into his line of sight, hat gone, exhausted. He’s holding a sat phone, the one they usually carry during missions in one hand, a file folder in another. He looks his age, Johnny thinks, for the first time in his career. Looks like he’s spent eons in combat, like he hasn’t had a full night’s rest in a decade. “John. You’re in the hospital on base.” At the use of his government name, Johnny tries to straighten on instinct. The soft, floating feelings he’s been having for the past who knows how long have faded, and his body is starting to feel like it’s been pumped with gasoline, and then lit on fire. From the inside. “Are you with me, Sergeant?” He tries to vocalize, tries to say yes, or nod, but can hardly get his neck to work, bones and ligaments and everything in him screaming in agony. “They want to take you in a flight for life, get you home to a top hospital. Simon's already agreed, but he- he wants to speak with you.” Price wrenches his fingers open and lifts the clunky satellite phone to his face. “I rang him, on the emergency line, at home. Just… you need to-“ he stops, chest heaving with a desperate breath, an indulgence of emotion that Johnny has never seen. His captain wants to tell him- you need to say goodbye, just in case. But he can’t find the words, and Johnny can’t make it fit in his head, the reality, the stark reminder that he could not be here, in a moment. Or an hour. A day. “Open your eyes, John. Stay awake.” 

“Johnny.” The Manchester accent crackles through the receiver. Johnny can almost see him, cell pressed to his face, pacing in the living room. He wonders if he’s got the fireplace lit, if it’s chilly now that it's turning to winter, if there’s been frost on the windows of their little house. If Simon is wearing a pair of sweatpants, if he’s got the television on as he tries to make dinner. “Johnny. Sit rep.” The status check comes through harsh, but the truth is tucked away beneath the grit. Fear. Life altering, heart breaking fear drenches every syllable that spills from his partner. 

Pain sizzles through his muscles, across his brain, but he swallows it, shoves it down into a dark hole for another minute. 

“Pretty banged up.” 

“They’re going to lift you to a hospital,” He thinks he knew that. “and you’re goin’ be alright. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Ah love ye, Si.” It’s all he can say. All he can think about. The excruciating agony that is radiating through his body robs him of everything else. 

“I love you too. Hang on.” Johnny grinds his jaw, blowing short breaths through his nose to try to control his pain response, and then holds his breath when soft babbles echo through the phone. “It’s Da, Pen. It’s Da. Can you say Da?” 

“Da?” Penny mimics her dad, and Johnny wonders if they’re sitting on the couch, Penelope tucked up against Simon’s chest, wispy curls tickling just below his nose as she climbs all over him like a jungle gym. 

“Ma wee lamb.” Johnny whispers. “Ah love ye, Pen.” There’s more babbling, half strung together words, more than appropriate for a fourteen-month-old, and Johnny’s temples shine with tears that drip from the corners of his eyes. There’s talking, around him, people bustling back and forth. A hand brushes against skin, sharp pinch squeezing along the inside of his arm. 

“Can you say, I love you?” Simon encourages, but Johnny knows it’s a lost cause. 

“When she’s old enough to understand, ye tell her Ah loved her, loved her so much. Ye an’ her, is all I ever wished fer.”

“Stop.” Simon breathes. “You’re going to be fine.” 

There’s another poke in his arm, someone lighting a fire in his veins, and he loses the battle to his eyes once more. 

Your neck grumbles in protest when you try to twist it, working out tight muscle and tendon, rolling it across your shoulders and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You should go home. 

You know you should. It’s two hours past seven, you should already be home. Should already be in your flat, showering the workday off and crawling into bed. You could be having a tea, snuggled up in your sweatpants, moving playing on low in the background. Warm, safe. Nearly asleep.

Johnny twitches beside you. His fingers clench in the blankets and then relax, face smoothing out in his dreams. The mask is gone, replaced with the cannula that loops beneath his nose, and the monitor beeps in soothing, reassuring, stable tones. One chime right after another, relaying his vitals to where you sit in Simon’s chair, feet slung over the side, kindle in your lap.

You made a promise. 

And even without that promise, for some reason, you couldn’t just leave Johnny here to wake up alone. The idea of him coming to and being confused, or scared, again, made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even before you promised Simon to stay earlier, you already knew.

You wouldn’t be leaving.

“He’s had a seizure.” Simon’s eyes widen above the mask and then flatten into something harder, something almost distrusting. “Neuro’s done an exam and they’re of the opinion there will be no long-term deficits, but we’ll need to wait until he wakes to be sure. They’re still trying to figure out what caused it, but most likely it's a result from surgery.” He moves to shoulder by you, no doubt trying to beeline back to Johnny’s room, but you hold your hand up with a pause. “I can’t let you go back in there yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“He’s not awake.” 

“I don’t-“

“Simon, this is the ICU. I don’t know who or what strings you pulled to even be allowed to sit with him in there twenty-four seven, but it’s not the norm. You won’t be allowed back in that room until we are sure he is stable.” You don’t tell him that you don’t want him to be there when Johnny wakes in case there are deficits, that you’re trying to save him from the pain, the heartbreak, of seeing things that patient’s loved ones are not meant to see. 

He regards you silently, and you fidget under the scrutiny, waiting for him to speak, trying to ignore how your mouth is going dry. This isn’t the first he’s watched you like this, stared at you like he’s trying to pick you apart, and you swallow your grimace until the long moment passes, his voice low, gritty with stress. Exhaustion. 

“I’m supposed to go home today for a bit. I… don’t want to leave ‘im.” 

“You can still go. He’s sleeping for now, and when he wakes, they’ll have to do some more tests that you won’t be allowed in the room for anyway.” He looks down the hallway towards Johnny’s room, before his eyes find yours, heavy with grief, indecision. 

“You’ll be with him?” He can’t hide the hopeful inflection at the end of his question, his need for a light in the dark of this situation. 

“I-“ The thought didn’t occur to you, to not be there. You imagined you’d wait until Johnny was cleared by neuro and Simon was allowed back in the room, but the morning has dragged on, and he’s been sleeping peacefully. There’s been no desire to wake him unnecessarily. “Yes. I’ll stay with him. I promise.”  

“He go home?” Johnny’s voice, scratchy from sleep and medication and everything else, startles you from a half doze, spine straightening into a rod before you’re leaping to your feet, leaning over his prone figure.

“You’re awake.” You find his good hand, slipping two fingers into his grip. “Can you squeeze my hand?” When he does, tightly, more strength in it than you were expected, you give him an honest, happy smile, and retreat to the end of the bed, flipping up his blanket to poke at the bottom of his feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Aye.”

“And this?”

“Aye.” He huffs at you, impatient. “Did he go home?” You sigh in response, hand on your hip.

“Yes.”

“Finally. Been tellin’ him he had to. The man’s back ‘s not made to sleep sittin’ up.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t want to leave. I told him I’d sit with you.” You reach over to press the page button, looking intentionally away from where those bright blue eyes track you, sweet and soft and open, lips slightly parted. “How’s your pain? I’m not on the clock any longer, so I can’t page the neurologist, but they’ll have come and do a few tests.”

“Ye wanted to sit with me, pretty girl?” Your face gets hot, blood pooling beneath your skin, pit of your stomach liquifying into something honeyed and potent that flows through your veins until you swear you can feel the room getting warmer.

“How’s your pain?” you repeat your question, words dumb on your tongue.

“A five.” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright, a seven. And a half.” The days nurse knocks with perfect timing, all hustle and bustle, bright and cheery, and asks Johnny the same questions, keeping up a perfect stream of small talk between you and Johnny until Neuro is standing at the foot of his bed, and you’re excusing yourself.

“Okay, I’m-“

“Dinnae leave.” He protests, voice quiet. Your stomach lurches at the vulnerability there, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“I’m just going to get a tea.” You promise, even though you know he’ll probably be half loopy by the time you’re back, and the dayshift nurse gives you a nod, acknowledgement of his state, an understanding that she’ll be here with him.

Not an hour later, your pocket chimes with a text from the dayshifter as you half sip your tea, letting you know that Johnny’s exam is done, and as you pass her in the hallway, she gives you verbal confirmation of what you were hoping for: his brain function is normal. He’ll have to go for CT later, but she’s just given him another dosage for pain management. You yawn in the middle of her pass-on, and she tells you that she'll keep an eye on him. You can go. 

She's not wrong. 

You need to go to bed. 

You know your presence at your patient's bedside won't be viewed as unprofessional, since others have done it in far less severe situations, but the pendulum your emotions swing on every time you step foot in that room leaves you with a sinking feeling that's starting to crawl across your skin.

You wanted this. You wanted to stay with him. 

Simon asked you stay with him. 

Yeah, but for how long? He cannot expect you to spend all day here. You have to go to bed. Are you just going to leave him all alone? Are you going to wait for Simon to come back? 

The dread spiral is easily answered when you slide open the glass door and lay eyes on the very handsome man from the other night, the younger one from the chair vigil, now sitting beside Johnny, the two of them softly chuckling.

When Johnny spots you, he manages to fire off your name as a half-effort introduction, more than expected considering his slowly slipping state of consciousness.

“I’m Kyle. Soap an’ I work together.” Soap? Who is Soap? 

“She doesnae know me b’ Soap, only calls me Johnny.” He explains your confused look, to which Kyle raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Letting your nurse call you Johnny, eh? Simon better-“

“Ach, stop.” He rolls his eyes, but sleep tugs his lids downward.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You give Johnny and his monitor a once over, catching yourself on his sweet, sleepy gaze, flushed face and lazy smile, before directing your attention back to Kyle. “I told Simon, I’d sit with him for a bit before he got back, but…”

“I’m here in his place.” Kyle explains, motioning to the chair, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. You will get to go home and get some sleep, after all. 

There’s a woman with a confused look on her face just outside the elevator. She looks exhausted, skin raw under her eyes, clutching a baby who’s maybe a year, or a bit older, in her arms, glancing up and down the hall before she spots you.

Fuck. You’re still wearing your scrubs. 

“Hi.” You smile, and she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved. The baby tucks her face into the woman’s chest like she’s shy, coyly looking at you from corner of her eye. “You look lost.”

“I’m looking for the nurse’s station. My husband was supposed to meet me here but he’s running late and I-“

“It’s all the way down, take the first left, and it will be at the end of that hallway.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much.” She glances at your ID, punctuating her gratitude with your name, and you give her another smile, leaning to extend towards the baby as well.

“So cute.” You tell her, pressing the elevator button with a ding.

“Cute. But she’s a little terror, especially when she’s missing her Da.” She grumbles, and then waves, setting off against the white tile as you laugh to yourself. Pretty much sums kids up. Cute little terrors.

A week passes easily, beds and rooms changing over, room two sixty-eight remaining a constant. Johnny takes his battles on the chin, burn debridement on his side, casting for his wrist, removal of his chest tube, a third surgery. 

“He’s a fighter.” Simon tells you one night in the dark after he’s slipped off to sleep. “Always has been. He's strong. Spirited.”

“I can see.” You agree, holding out the extra blanket you’ve pulled from a cabinet. When Simon takes it, his eyes meet yours, something soft shining in them, and you give him a smile in return. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs. “For everything.”

A few days later, you’re surprised, and secretly pleased, to find Simon in the café.

He’s standing in front of the counter, paying for what you think might a baked good of some kind, sweet lady behind the register eyeing him up suspiciously as he deposits the note into her hand, and you stay on the outside of the doors, lingering in the hallway, watching.

At least he’s eating something. He’s still wearing the mask, and although it’s not uncommon, especially in a hospital setting, it does give you pause. Does he wear it all the time? Is it just because this is a hospital? He observes the room, steadily taking in all of the people meandering about, some eating, some standing, making their selections, engaging in conversation, and you notice how his hand slides to the back of his neck, distractedly rubbing the hair at his nape before he makes his escape, long legs eating up the distance between him and the door, him and… you.

“Hi.” You squeak when he steps into the hall, turning the corner to find you standing there like a deer in headlights, your water bottle clutched in one hand, phone in the other. His head tilts, eyes narrowed, and you manage to give him a half smile. “Getting something to eat?”

“It’s for Johnny.” He notes. “I ah, had something to eat earlier. When I was home.” Oh, good. Being in the hospital twenty-four seven isn’t healthy for anyone. Not even patients. 

“Cool.” Cool? What is this, a pub? You swallow your embarrassing, awkward acknowledgement, breezing past the word like it didn’t happen. “Well, I’m about to badge in, so I’ll see you in a bit?” He nods, eyes still trained on your face, and you beat back the heat that’s spreading through your body like a fever when they drift down to your shoulders, and then to your badge.

“Cute sticker.” He points to where it’s clipped to your top, shiny bunny sticker from a patient’s child still there, holographic print sparkling in the dusk.

“Oh, thanks. Another patient of mine has a little kid. I was hanging out with him for a bit yesterday.”

“Suits you.” His gaze dips downward, glancing over the curve of your hip, plush from the swell of your ass, taut pull of your scrubs all of the sudden feeling too tight, too stretched across your waist, and you scramble to make sense of his comment. 

“A bunny?” Your brows raise in disbelief, confusion, but he only nods, head tilted slightly, posture broad. Your brain turns over, frantically trying to think of a response, something clever, but he continues to talk, clearing his throat with a question.

“What do you call a line of rabbits hopping backwards?” Huh? 

“What?”

“A receding hare-line.” Wait. What? Is he… joking with you? Your mouth drops into a little o of part surprise, part confusion, before you squint at him in disbelief.

“Oh… my god. That’s…”

“’s not that bad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, giving you the impression that he might be smiling beneath the mask, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“It’s pretty bad.” You croak, nervous laughter bubbling up in the back of your throat. “Well, I… uh-“ His phone dings, pulling his focus to the screen, and he swipes out something quickly with his thumb.

“I’ll see you up there.” He jerks his head towards the elevator, and you mumble out a mild, flabbergasted reply.

“Alright... yeah.”

Your first break comes up fast. Your morning, everyone’s evening, is busy, with a code, a tricky vent, and a needy, elderly man in two fifty-two. It goes from busy to worse, an argument with the pharmacy heating your blood, spurring anger through your veins and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from berating the poor tech at the window. Useless. You seethe in your mind all the way back up to your floor, frustration driving you to seek solace, eager to escape the eyes of the hospital, running away from the possibility of being noticed.

But supply closet 2b is occupied, a frazzled resident huffing into a pillow in the back, hyperventilating with tear-stained cheeks.

Without even fully realizing, you find yourself inside two sixty-eight, Simon’s sharp eyes falling upon you with scrutiny. He looks at Johnny’s monitor like something might be amiss, relaxed posture straightening into something tense, structured. There’s a card game in progress on the swivel tray table over Johnny’s lap, the glaring reality of your interruption, and you blanche.

You’re immediately incredibly embarrassed. What are you even doing in here? 

“Miss me already?” Johnny coos, beaming, and your throat feels dry. He’s feeling the best he has since he got here, albeit not great, still in awful pain, still staring down the barrel of more surgeries, but the pain medication from earlier is working its way through his system, and you’re happy to see it’s taking the edge off it all for him, allowing him comfort and conversation with his partner.

“My um… usual break spot is occupied?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, it just comes naturally. Like you’re seeking permission. Agreement.

“Ye want to sit with us? While ye eat?” Johnny asks, somewhat pointing to your yogurt cup, and you shrug, but Simon motions to the extra chair, the one that now sits on the other side of the bed, across from him. Guess facilities finally brought down that recliner you requested. 

“Would… would that be alright?”

Johnny looks to Simon, and Simon nods. Slowly.

Your yogurt goes down easy, light chit chat bouncing around the room, Johnny nodding in and out with drawn out answers to your questions, until a noise startles you from the chair, pushing you onto your feet to peer out the door.

It’s a man, yelling, screaming, from a room down the hall, not from sadness or despair, but rage, and your mind goes haywire when security is paged over the PA system.

Deep breath. 

This happens sometimes. Patients, or loved ones, become disruptive. Secrets and lies all come out in the wash in a hospital. Custody agreements, battles, DNRs, last wills and testaments, any of these things are a perfect tinder box. One match, and it all goes up.

A siren blares.

“Code black, code black.” echoes through the hospital, each room on every floor, down every hall.

Johnny startles from his near sleep stupor, eyes alert, the outline of his muscles solid beneath his gown.

Security risk. Lockdown. 

You straighten your spine.

Deep breath.

This is your job. 

Part of your job is being able to handle things like this. Protect, take care of your patients, and their families. Keep them safe.

The man shouts again, sharp tone of anger snapping through the air and across your frame, forcing your muscles tense.

You slide the door lock into place, pulling the curtain to only allow a small line of sight.

“What’s going on?” Simon stands, turning towards the door, and Johnny pats his hand, like he’s trying to soothe him.

“Oh, uh. It’s… just a lockdown. I don’t know.” You’re vaguely aware of the numb feeling that’s spreading from your chest down into your hand, and the sound of the irate man gets closer. Fuck. 

“Ye okay?” Johnny’s voice is gentle, and when you glance over your shoulder to reassure them, you realize they’re both watching you, Simon’s eyes locked onto your now trembling fist, as Johnny regards you softly, with kindness.

“Um. Yeah.” You suck in a quick breath, forcing yourself to steady, gritting your teeth against the frozen, involuntary fear that’s trying to overpower you. You think Simon might be frowning beneath the mask, confusion shading his question.

“Why are you standing at the door?”

“It’s standard operating procedure. If there’s an issue, or a disturbance. If you’re in a patient’s room, if I- I’m in a patient’s room, I’m supposed to act like a… barrier. Just in case.” You keep your eyes fixed out the glass, watching for any sights, listening for any sounds. The door is locked, and glass is thick, and security would be here if anything were to happen, they’re already down the hall, everything is fine. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep-

“Go sit with Johnny.” Simon's standing just behind you, voice pitched low, sweetened into one of those softer hums, the kind of tone he usually uses with Johnny. Not with you. He’s so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and you shake your head with a refusal.

“I have to stay-“ He cuts you off, not even letting you choke out the rest of your quivering protest.

“No. Go sit with Johnny.” He pauses, stepping around to angle his body in front of yours, looking down at you over his shoulder, and you think, for a moment, you see a glimmer of the tenderness there that’s reserved for Johnny. “Please.”

“My wrist hurts.” Johnny calls hopefully to you, mischievous smile and eyes sweet, his good hand outstretched with an open palm. “Need ye to rub it.” Simon nods, serious look quashing any rebuttals you might have, protocol and procedure slipping far from your mind as you let yourself drift to Johnny’s side, settling back into your seat previously abandoned. Johnny offers you his wrist, smile fading when he looks closer at your curled fingers. “Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

“Low blood sugar.” You lie. The man in the hallway shouts again, closer, loud and awful, roiling with rage, and you inadvertently tense, jolting minutely in the chair.

“Hey now.” Johnny reaches for you, gentle touch against your skin, warm fingers holding onto yours. You look down to where he tries to give you comfort, where he tries to soothe you, instead of the other way around, as it has been, as it should be, and you get lost in it, the idea of comfort, the feeling of care. It makes your heart stumble in your chest, almost like you can’t breathe, staring off into space, trying to pretend like there isn’t a man screaming down the hall, like you’re not the person you are, buried beneath the insurmountable weight of scars, memories of pain and fear etched into the very tissue of your brain, the backs of your eyelids, every strand of hair.

Ingrained inside of you, forever.

Someone says your name, and you blink back to the face of your patient, who looks to Simon, his expression unreadable until it shifts into tender warmth, re-focused on you. “What is it?”

“I-“ You picture yourself, letting your lips go loose, entrusting your secrets and worst fears to these strangers, these men who you don't even know, who don't know you. “I’m exhausted.” You offer, and shadow flickers across Johnny’s eyes. It’s not a lie, not technically. You’re always exhausted.

“Ye-“

“Code black lifted. Code black lifted. Lockdown complete. Resume normal operation.” The PA system drones, tension between your shoulders draining, and you jump to your feet, palms and fingers smoothing over your scrub top.

“Well, I’ve got to check in at the nurses’ station now. Protocol.” You explain, nearly tripping over yourself on the way to the door. Your heart is still raging inside your chest, beating faster than it should, and you steady your breathing with a mental count. One... two... three... one... “I’ll check in on you later.” You promise over your shoulder, slipping by Simon to disappear down the hallway. 

[xo-cori]

as sweet as the sound

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: she’s undeniably talented, but your girlfriend is just a bit too self-critical of her work.

warnings: smut (MDNI), fingersucking, ellie is a filthy bottom idc, they’re a lil high but who isn’t in this economy

a/n: inspired by the piano scene in duck butter… iykyk. title from “to noise making (sing)” by hozier ofc

Every movement of her fingers against the frets of her guitar has your heart doing flips inside your chest.

She plays an unfamiliar melody. One you’re sure she’s come up with on the spot, which is something she seems to be doing a lot lately. It’s adorable, the way she looks up at you every few seconds to see that captivated expression on your face. Not once has it faltered, and it’s become her biggest inspiration.

You’re sat against the headboard, legs crossed as you watch her from where she sits; right in the middle of the bed, guitar in her lap with a laser-sharp focus.

It doesn’t matter what the next day holds. It doesn’t matter what’s happened every day before this one. The world has gone to madness, but none of that matters here in this dim cocoon of music and smoke.

You reach over to the bedside table so you can press the end of the joint into the ash tray, putting out the flames so that you can set it down. “Sounds so pretty, Els,” you say. “Haven’t heard you sing tonight, though.”

She stops playing for a moment, eyes widening at your words. “Oh– uh, I don’t have anything to sing.” She admits. “It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written something good, actually.”

“You’ve been doing improv all night. What’s different about singing?” You ask.

“The difference is, I suck at improv.” She replies, which makes you roll your eyes.

“Well, I haven’t noticed any mistakes.” You say.

“Because you don’t know the difference between a B sharp and a B flat.” She laughs. “What, you aren’t satisfied with my performance?”

You shake your head. “Oh, I’m satisfied. Just a little underwhelmed.”

She seems taken aback by this, which leads you to let out a quiet laugh. “Joking. I have an idea, though.”

Ellie’s ready to ask about this idea until you begin crawling towards her. The words die in her throat as you place your hands on her knees, leaning over her guitar, then pressing your lips to hers. It’s soft; something simple and loving, though it makes her body feel unbearably hot.

Then, much to her disappointment, you pull back. “What are you doing?” She asks.

“Nothing. Just keep playing.” You instruct her, even though her hands are frozen in place as you continue to crawl until you’re sat on your knees behind her. She feels your warm breath on her neck, the way you press up against her back, and it’s all too much for her to take in at once. “I told you to keep playing,” you whisper right next to her ear.

Hesitantly, Ellie strums a random chord. Then another, and a few more. You wait for her to get back into a rhythm before you slowly run your hands up her waist, under her sweatshirt. Her breath hitches. Suddenly, the guitar sounds like it hasn’t been tuned in years. You don’t seem to mind, though, because it only gets worse when your lips find the crook of her neck. She leans back into you and lets out a shaky sigh. “You’re the worst.” She huffs.

“I’m just making you sing.” You reply.

Your fingers explore the familiar plain of skin as your lips suck bruises right beneath her jaw. Each time the music pauses, she notices, you slow down; and she doesn’t like this one bit, so she does her best to keep playing.

This relentless teasing only continues for a minute or two, but to Ellie, it feels like hours. It really isn’t long before one of your hands finally slip past her stomach until your palm meets the plush skin of her breast. Her fingers flex and falter against the neck of the guitar as you caress her, your other hand quickly coming up to join in on the fun. There’s no sound from Ellie but a gasp, which just isn’t good enough for you.

Her back arches up against you as you take her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, knowing just how sensitive she is and using it to your advantage. This earns you a hushed whimper, your cue to keep going, because you’ve heard just how loud she can be. The guitar doesn’t seem to be making much noise, though.

“Ellie.” You warn, and she immediately strums another note, no longer caring which one (or whether it’s a note at all). It’s not like you’d notice. She’s only terrified that you’ll stop otherwise. As a reward, you begin to roll both of her nipples between your fingers and her mouth falls open into a perfect ‘o’, head falling back against your shoulder.

“Please,” she whines, “please touch me.”

“I am touching you.” You smirk. The guitar is starting to sound worse and worse. “Why? You want more?”

She hums a desperate mm-hmm, and though you’d like to make her beg a little harder, you’re starting to get pretty eager yourself. “Okay.” You give in. “But remember– you stop playing, I stop touching you.”

You don’t wait for any type of response before you’re sliding your right hand down past the waistband of her boxers, wasting no time to find its favorite spot between her legs. She’s already soaked, you think, and it’s a nice boost for your ego. “Fuck,” she groans as your middle finger draws tight circles over her clit. You can feel her muscles tensing, as if she’s struggling to keep her thighs from closing around your hand with the guitar in her way. Finally, you listen as she lets out a soft string of moans, every one unintentionally melodic.

You press a kiss beneath her ear, left hand still shamelessly groping at her chest. “So sensitive tonight,” you coo, “maybe you have a thing for multitasking.”

“Shut up– holy shit,” Ellie pants out, visibly struggling to keep a firm grasp of the guitar. She wants nothing more than to throw this old piece of wood on the ground, but she won’t; only because you’ve told her not to.

Slowly, your fingers slide down through her folds until you can slip them right inside of her. There’s no resistance– quite the opposite, actually– her warm walls clench down and suck you in further. It’s almost pathetic how loudly she moans when you curl your fingers upwards. You can feel the shiver that goes down her spine as you immediately zero in on that one spot with each gentle thrust, while the pad of your thumb attacks her clit. Neither of you can hear the guitar anymore, despite each unpleasant sound it makes.

“Let me stop,” Ellie pleads. “Please, let me stop playing?”

“But you know how much I love your songs,” you say, a fake tone of disappointment in your voice. “I didn’t say you could stop, so I don’t know why you’re asking.”

“I know– fuck, I-I’m sorry–“ She’s cut off by a particularly loud moan, and you don’t even try to hide the laugh that escapes you. As an apology, though, you bring your lips back to her neck and lick a long stripe from her collarbone up to her jaw.

It’s all too much, all at once, and sheer panic runs through Ellie’s body. Each chord she plays is drawn out with a long pause between, as if she keeps forgetting the demand she’s been given. With your hands all over and your hot mouth right on her pulse point, she can’t help the way her body curls back into you. “Gonna cum,” she gasps. “Can I? Please?”

You smile against her neck. “Already?”

Normally, she’d get frustrated by your teasing, but it seems that she doesn’t really process your words. She just nods and lets out another beautiful moan.

Then, you take your hand out of her sweatshirt so you can grab her guitar and toss it to the other side of the bed. Ellie whimpers in relief as you speed up your thrusts and take the lobe of her ear between your teeth. “Go ahead,” you hum.

That’s all the permission she needs. Her hand comes down to cup yours over the dampened fabric of her boxers, an attempt to keep you right there like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Fuck, oh my god, thank you,” Ellie cries out, thighs finally clamping down onto your hand, though your pace doesn’t falter. You work her through her orgasm as she screws her eyes shut and takes a white-knuckled grip of the bedsheets. Her body shudders and, after a few long moments, melts right into yours.

You don’t slow down until she weakly grabs at your wrist, though she doesn’t fight when you go back to gently rubbing at her clit. It’s slow, enough to calm her through the aftershocks while you listen to her hoarse whimpers and sighs. She’s gone completely limp against you now, focusing on keeping still as she fights off the urge to tug your hand away completely. “There we go,” you smile.

Finally, you remove your hand from her boxers– but you aren’t done with her yet. Without another word, you slip your coated fingers past her lips, which close around your knuckles with no hesitation. Her tongue licks you clean as she moans at the lingering taste of herself. It feels as though all of her bones have turned to dust, though you don’t seem to mind. This only lasts for a few seconds before you take your fingers out of her mouth so that you can wrap your arms around her. “That was a hell of a performance.” You tell her.

“Fuck you.” She breathes. “Never do that again.”

“But you liked it so much.” You point out. “You’ve never cum that fast.”

Despite how hard she tries to seem upset, she can’t stop the smile that breaks through to her face. “Yeah, actually,” she admits, tilting her head to look at you. “I’ve sang better, though.”

“I know. Just wish you weren’t so shy,” you say.

“I’m not shy,” she mumbles.

“You’re shy and stubborn.” You add, but before she can come up with some sleepy retaliation, you’re leaning down to kiss her, and she swears she gets the same sparks that she did when you kissed her for the first time. One of her hands come up to the nape of your neck as her lips lazily move against yours, trying her best with very little energy. So, you’re quick to pull away before she can try to turn it into something more. “Let’s lay down, baby. You’ve got patrol in the morning.”

“Fuck patrol,” she grunts, lifting her head to pepper kisses across your cheek.

“Yeah,” you agree, “fuck patrol.”

[imbored1201]

Can I request a teen barca reader high on meds or wisdom teeth being taken out ...she is being funny and chaos and causing trouble ??

I Want Ingrid

Barcelona Femeni x Teen Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

You whined as you rubbed your cheeks again. The pain in your gum was getting worse every day. You had complained to Alexia way too many times, as now you were sitting inside a dentist's office waiting to get your wisdom teeth out. 

Alexia signed you in and filled out all your papers. You always refused to go anywhere on your own, and she still had to make your doctor appointments too. 

Unfortunately for you, Patri and Mapi were coming too. Mapi was bored with Ingrid being gone, so she needed entertainment, and Patri just wanted to go to get videos of you embarrassing yourself. 

————

You sat anxiously in the lobby, waiting for your name to be called. "You'll be fine; they're going to drug you up anyway; you'll be asleep." Patri tried comforting you. 

"What if I die from blood loss?" Patri rolled her eyes. "Stop making more stuff up; you're scaring yourself."

"Y/N," you jumped hearing your name. You remained stuck in your seat, Alexia having to pull you up and guide you to the room. "You'll be okay," she tried comforting you as you sat down in the dental chair.

"I'm scared," you admitted. "You'll be okay; think of it like this. You get out of training for a week, and I'll even convince Jonatan to let you choose the drills; you can make Patri and Pina run extra." You smiled at that. 

“I’ll be waiting for you, Carino; don’t bite the dentist,” she warned you. “I’ll try."

————

Patri and Mapi ran like little kids to see you when they were called to get you. "Hello, Amiga," your eyes lit up seeing Patri. You tried getting up to pull her into a hug but almost tripped. 

“Por favor, mantente sentada,” the lady told you. You found her very attractive. "Yes, ma'am,” you immediately said. Mapi’s eyes widened. You didn’t even listen to Alexia, and for some reason you were listening to a random lady. 

"Patri,” you ‘whispered’ when you were practically yelling. “Your yelling,” she pointed out. “The lady is attractive,” Mapi bursted out laughing quickly getting her phone out. 

“Is she?” You nodded. “Miss lady,” you said to the woman who found this very intriguing. “Si?” “Eres muy bonita” 

“That’s enough,” Alexia stepped in, gently grabbing your wrist to help you up. “You ruined my rizz,” you muttered. Alexia didn’t understand what you just said, but she just let it go. 

————

As Alexia did the final forms, Patri took you and led you outside. You giggled as you tried getting out of her grip. "Away," you mumbled. Patri smirked and shook her head. "If I went away, Alexia would kill me."

You grumbled angrily when she held the back of your shirt to make sure you wouldn't run away while her and Mapi talked and waited for Alexia to come out. 

"Stop," Mapi said sternly. You glared at her and smacked Patri's hand; she pulled it away, wincing in pain. 

"Ay!" She yelled as you started running. Well, you tried to run, but she easily caught up to you and grabbed your shoulder. You tried bending over to flip her over your shoulder, but that just turned into you falling forward and taking her down with you. 

You both fell down, with Patri landing right on your back and quickly rolling off to check on you. 

"Y/N!" Alexia yelled, helping you up to make sure you didn't land on your face. "What the hell was that?" Patri mumbled as Mapi helped her up. 

"Patri, you have to be careful; what if she landed on her face? She was going to have to go back in when she barely came out," Alexia scolded her. 

Mapi held in her laugh. "This is the only reason I came," you looked at her confused, "Didn't you come because you miss Ingrid?" You asked innocently, not thinking those words would hurt the older woman. Mapi frowned and went silent at that. You frowned, noticing her demeanor change. 

"I miss Ingrid too, Ingrid!" You yelled her name, acting like she would just magically appear. "We can call her later, Chica. Come on" Alexia put an arm around your waist and led you back to the car. She decided it would be better to put you in the front. 

————

After having to fight you about putting on your seatbelt since you didn't want it, she was finally able to start the car. 

Patri was texting everyone updates about you while Mapi was calling someone. "Hola amor!" She said joyfully when that person answered. You looked at her weirdly, ready to yell at her if she was calling someone else other than Ingrid Amor.

"Mapi, where's the baby?" You gasped upon hearing the voice. "Is that Ingrid?" You reached out for Mapi's phone, tearing up when she refused to give it to you. "I want Ingrid!" You started crying. 

"Mapi, let me see her." "But-" "Mapi. We can talk later; let me see her before she throws a tantrum." Mapi sighed but handed you the phone. You snatched it away from her. 

"Ingrid!" You yelled again. "Inside voices, Nina," Alexia said softly, smiling at how your eyes lit up seeing Ingrid.

You decided to take out your guazes that the lady had told you to keep inside your mouth. "No!” Alexia shouted, about to grab them, but quickly restrained herself, remembering they were bloody. 

“Put them back in your mouth,” you pouted at her, then at Ingrid. “Listen to her,” Ingrid said strictly, so you listened. 

"How are you feeling?" "My mouth hurts, and Alexia doesn't want to give me a milkshake." Ingrid shook her head with a laugh, making you tear up. 

"Are you laughing at me?" You cried, everyone's eyes went wide, and Alexia quickly parked again and took the phone away from you. "Carino, she's not laughing at you," she said, trying to come up with something. 

"I'm laughing because of a funny video of Mapi falling. Want to see it?" You quickly nodded, and Mapi scowled, knowing she was about to be teased by everyone in this car and everyone on the team later on since Patri was for sure going to tell everyone and somehow get that video.

"Okay, why don't you give the phone back to Mapi, and I'll send you the video, yeah?" You nodded. Alexia gave the phone back to Mapi and wiped your tears as you got your phone out and clumsily went to yours and Ingrid's contact. 

————

You spent the next 10 minutes giggling over and over again at Mapi's fall video. Mapi was grumpy in the backseat; she even hung up on Ingrid. 

"Amiga, send me the video, please." You nodded at Patri's words and did it. "I hate you," Mapi told Patri. "Ay, were teammates; we can't hate each other," Patri teased. "Plenty of teammates do," Mapi countered. 

"Y/N! You sent it to the team group chat!" Mapi yelled as she got the notification of the video. You teared up at the fact that she yelled at you again. "Mapi, don't yell at her," Alexia scolded her. 

"But-" "it's not her fault you decided to be clumsy and fall." Mapi scowled. You turned to her and laughed right in her face. 

"Can we get milkshakes now?" You asked Alexia again, who sighed and shook her head. "No, now both of you stop talking or you're not getting milkshakes at all for the next week," you and Mapi quickly shut up. The only sound in the car now was Patri's laughter at the video and your guys phones going off with everyone reacting to it.

————

"Come on, Amiga," Patri huffed as she tried dragging you out of the car. You decided to curl up in a ball and kick at her every time she tried grabbing you, though. "Please," she tried again, grabbing you by your shoulders, making you kick her again. 

She groaned when you got her right in the stomach and bent over. "She's your job," she told Mapi, walking inside. It was the only job Alexia had given them while she went to start the soup for you. 

Mapi huffed and tried now, and you did the same thing you did to Patri, she sighed in relief when she saw Irene's car pull up. 

"She's yours," she said, standing aside. She had never seen you misbehave around Irene, and she knew it would never happen because you were terrified of Irene. 

"Come on, Bebe," Irene said gently. You quickly raised your arms to be picked up. She laughed, shaking her head before, lifting you up. You rested your head on her shoulder and let yourself be settled on the couch. 

"I don't know why she's so bipolar." Mapi mumbled, "Mapi!" She heard you yell, and she found how you sounded funny considering your words were all mumbled. 

"Yes, Pequena," she said, quickly making her way over to you. "Where's Ingrid?" You asked, "Norway with her family." "But I want her."

"Me too," Mapi simply said, ready to go outside to cry over Ingrid being gone. "I want her though, please, Mapi," you whined. "I can't do anything; I don't get why you're so obsessed with my girlfriend."

"She's tall, comfortable to lay on, smells good, and speaks like 3 languages, of course I'm obsessed with her," you said.

"Do you have a crush on Ingrid?" Mapi asked suspiciously, you gave her a look of disgust, then bursted into a fit of giggles. 

"Who else is tall on the team?" You asked Patri, starting to think of everyone. "Salma, Irene, Caroline, and Fridolina," Patri listed out. Your eyes lit up at Fridolina's name. 

Tall, speaks 3 languages, comfortable to lay on, and also smells good. "I want Fridolina," you whined to Alexia, who sighed and grabbed her phone. 

————

Poor Fridolina didn't know what she got herself into. Right when she stepped in the door, you ran and jumped on her. 

"Frido! I love you!" Alexia watched, amused, as Frido tried to put you down, but you held on to her tighter. "Bebe, sit down and leave the poor girl alone; the soup is ready, and you're allowed to eat now." 

"Finally, they starved me, Frido," you whined to the tall girl. You were in some pain, but Alexia promised she would give you painkillers after you ate. 

You finally let Frido set you down on the couch and pushed Patri away so Frido could take her spot. Patri huffed and moved to the other couch beside Mapi. 

They all watched as you struggled to use your spoon properly. Patri and Mapi were trying to hold in their laughs, knowing if you saw them laughing at you, it would end in you crying and Alexia kicking them out. 

"Carino, do you need me to feed you?" Irene asked, Patri snorted and quickly got up to use the bathroom when you looked at her. 

"No, I'm not a baby," you whined when you spilled some of the soup on your shirt. "Dang it, this is Aitana's shirt," you mumbled. 

Mapi sighed in frustration at your stubbornness and got up to snatch your plate away and feed you herself. "Want me to do the airplane?" She asked teasingly. 

"If someone is going to feed me, it's not going to be you." "Fine, who do you want to feed you then?" You were lucky you were hurt, or else Mapi would have shoved the soup down your throat by now. 

"Keira," you answered, "We are not calling anymore people for you." She looked to Alexia for support, but the midfielder was already on the phone with Keira, asking her to come over. 

Mapi sighed; it was going to be a long week.

[totaly-obsessed]

Omg omg omg i have an idea

r is the team baby and mapi is like a big sister to her

it’s gameday and mapi always braids readers hair before a match, but with mapis injury, she can’t do it. So Aitana takes the role of being your big sister and helps you with everything,

Changes

Barcelona Femení x reader request

-> With Mapi injured, your usual plan gets changed

-> Very short! I hope you like it - was very fun to throw something quick and small together

-> Little pt.2 - On the Road

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was weird.

Ever since joining the team last season, Mapi had been a constant in your everyday life, and one day to the next, she was gone. She didn’t die, duh, but she was injured. And while a lot of people on the team injured themselves or sometimes just had to sit out – never Mapi.

She had taken you under her wing as soon as she saw you, but her plan of making you her accomplice didn’t work, as you were much too introverted to embarrass yourself in public like she intended to do.

Ingrid had always just scoffed at her girlfriend whenever she had sent you on a wild goose chase for something completely made up, while Maria would laugh at you. The Norwegian was always quick to solve the mysteries, pressing soft kisses on your forehead whenever you got annoyed, ignoring her girlfriend until she stopped.

While everyone on the team was great friends, even a family, the relationship between you and Mapi was just different and everybody knew that – which is also why everybody could see just how much it affected you that your favorite defender wasn’t there. Especially when you were in the starting eleven.

Ingrid had religiously been updating her girlfriend, reassuring her that you were in fact totally fine and not freaking out. But you weren’t fine.

The girls tried to help where they could – Lucy and Keira had picked you up from home, Pina sat next to you on the bus (Patri and Ona behind you, making for a very funny ride), Jana and Bruna had made you a new playlist that you were all listening to and Alexia did what she did best – she observed and helped when needed.

In the changing room, most things took their natural course as every girl had their slightly different routine and needs before a game.

You were so incredibly nervous. Making the starting eleven was big, especially for a club like Barcelona, but the team for the day was quite experienced, calming you down just a little. Esme looked just as nervous as you, she was a striker alongside you, making for a very young frontline.

Aitana saw you brushing your hair again and again and again, just to do absolutely nothing with it, just patting your own head in a calming manner. After three minutes she took pity – remembering that your older sister figure wasn’t there.

“No need to rip out hair Cari. Let me do it.”

The entire team had affectionally started to call you Cari in your first season – it was short for cariño, and you loved it.

As still as humanly possible you sat in your cubby, letting the ballon d'or winner do her thing, sometimes handing her a brush, a ponytail holder, or a bobby pin.

“I can’t do it like Maria, so I did something else. Do you like it, Cari?” She indeed had done a different hairstyle, but it was still braided out of your face and it looked cute.

“It’s perfect Tana, thank you!” The brunette couldn’t help but smile, seeing you come to life just a little more after such a simple action from her. In thanks you kissed her cheek, squeaking when Sandra poked you into your side, making all three of you laugh.

“Let me help you with your shirt.” The goalkeeper didn’t even wait for an answer, helping you tuck your shirt inside of the shorts – just like Mapi would do for you. “Thank you!”

Now you felt much more prepared and ready to take on FC Rosengård.

Walking in, instead of a mascot's hands you were holding Lucy’s who smiled at you so brightly that you couldn’t be sad anymore. “You’ll do her proud kid – don’t worry.”

The Brit had indeed been right. Mapi had been close to tears sitting next to Frido in the stands, as you scored an amazing goal in the second half, dedicating it to her, as you sprinted over to where they sat, pressing a kiss to your palm, and practically throwing it at her.

“Look at my sister!”

[icarryitin]

Workplace Hot

spencer reid/gn!reader

look i don’t know what this is or where it came from, all i know is one day i woke up normal and then by the end of it i had started CM from the beginning and fallen in love w this man

masterlist

word count: 1.2k//warnings: literally zero, just vibes

Things never go smoothly, do they?

Never quite to plan, there’s always something missing from the final draft, or something unexpected lurking in the background of the big picture.

This surprise comes gift wrapped just for you, in stupidly attractive, nerdy, beanpole patterned paper.

The first time you lamented about your unfortunate crush on Dr Spencer Reid had been over mojitos at your favourite little hole-in-the-wall bar. Sitting at the raised table with the remainder of your girl group from college, staring dismally at the bottom of your glass, they’d tried to convince you he was just Workplace Hot. Proximity Hot. Work crushes are commonplace as anything, they come just as quickly as they go. God, you wish they’d been right.

You’d tried to convince yourself of it, anyway, and that worked for a little while. You were happy enough to sit at your desk, the man in question mirroring your position somewhere on your right, five days a week. You could do your paperwork in his general vicinity and not feel like you were about to catch fire every time he leaned over the aisle to pinch a file from your stack. And then, there was The Incident.

The Incident - named for the absolute havoc wrought on your nerves until the early hours of a Sunday morning in May. Uncoordinated nights out though they had been, with your own friends out celebrating a birthday and his little group with their own agenda for the evening, it would have been rude not to wave across the bar at him. The rest of them had been too far gone already but one of your friends noticed your shy grin, arguably your best - friendship forged in the fire of back to back forensic psychology classes would be hard pressed to die. She noticed, because of course she did. So you’d told her, because of course she’d have worked it out. And then, to your horror, she’d walked right over to him. Because of course she would. She’d wandered back over to your group only a few minutes later, a solemn look on her face under the dulled bar lights.

“Do you get what I mean?”

“Oh, I get it, my condolences.”

You had been doomed from the start - cursed, bewitched. Lulled into a false sense of security via cardigans and wide eyes and odd socks until you find yourself here. Six months into your new job, and six months into an embarrassingly cumbersome crush on the good doctor.

Which probably would have been fine if either one of you stayed behind at Quantico regularly, but you don’t. Instead, you’re burdened by six months worth of knowledge of all his little quirks thanks to case after case after case.

You know he’ll commandeer the couch on the jet when he can, because he likes to stretch out when he naps. You know exactly how much sugar he takes in his coffee, too much - you feel mildly nauseous every time you make him a cup, but you still make it. You know that he chews on the inside of his lip when he’s thinking particularly hard about something, just as well as you know he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. And sure, it’s not just him, you’ve learned these silly little things about every member of the BAU team. But Reid’s just seem clearer to you. More significant. You’re a little more self conscious when you find yourself looking at him. Even in conversation, even if he’s looking to you for an observation about the Unsub. You can’t hold his eye for very long.

He knows, you’re sure of it.

There’s a rule - don’t profile the team. The golden rule. The golden rule that gets broken about fifty times a day.

Spencer likes the rule, even if he doesn’t always respect it. Sometimes it needs a little disrespecting, he thinks so anyway. Sometimes his colleagues, his teammates, his friends - they need somebody to prod them a little, letting people in goes against every fibre of a behavioural analyst’s being. But trust has to be built somehow.

He’s about this close to cracking you.

Which hasn’t been easy by any stretch of the word. You’d held him at arm’s length for much longer than the others, and at first he’d thought he annoyed you. It made sense enough, he’s been called annoying enough times in his life to know he definitely can be, and the way you’ve never really been able to look him in the eye would suggest you don’t want to get into the situation where he could be. He tries his best not to ramble at you, even now, just in case. Though that initial ice has long since melted.

You’re a lot more open with him now, even if there’s still parts he has to chip away at thick stone walls to get to. Silly things, that not everyone would care to know about their co-workers, but Spencer absolutely needs to know about you.

Which is where the stakeout game comes in.

It’s silly, really. Twenty questions - who plays twenty questions as a grown adult? FBI agents who desperately want to get to know other FBI agents whilst they’re stuck in the confines of an SUV’s backseat for hours on end. That’s who.

Derek and Emily sit up front, watching the quiet street, the way they’re supposed to be - as Spencer desperately tries to guess your favourite movie. He’s narrowed it down to two in his mind, in only three questions. The traditional rules of the game had gotten boring after the first few cases, you’d laughed and told him that he’s too good at guessing. He’d told you that you’re just not asking the right questions on your turns. You’re watching him carefully in the dark now, the way you’re meant to be watching the Unsub’s house. You don’t make eye contact but you’re studying his face all the same, he wishes you would. He’s become a little too dependent on the way his heart seizes when you allow him that kind of vulnerability.

He doesn’t have time to pick a film or ask another question anyway, because the Unsub is flying out the back door of the house, he’s jumping out of the SUV with everybody else, and the Unsub is surrounded. Thanks to your work, your observation being the final piece of the puzzle that had clicked everything else into place.

You’re chatting to a local officer when Spencer calls out the title of your favourite movie across the street. His guess, twenty questions completed in just three. How very Spencer Reid of him.

He’s right - obviously. He doesn’t need to watch the way your head drops and your shoulders shake with a giggle, interrupting your conversation to turn to him. But he watches all the same, he always does.

Your eyes sparkle in the dark when you look back over your shoulder, finally catching his under the orange haze of the streetlights, and sending a kaleidoscope of butterflies surging in the pit of his stomach. Paper thin wings clog up his throat, spindly legs tickle his lungs.

Work crushes are commonplace - but this one might just be the death of him.

[charmandabear]

11. Astarion x Reader 👀

We're not going to worry about how long it'll take me to answer these. We're not going to talk about it. Listen, I'm trying so hard to not make these into whole things, I just want to treat them like writing exercises, but I physically can't not finish smut once it's started.

From @astarionfreak's smut ask game ~ other entries

11. "I touched myself last night thinking about you." "I know."

Tags/Warnings: reader isn't gendered but has a vulva, blood/blood drinking, p in v sex, somewhat rough sex (reader gets a little feral in this one)

You're not subtle about it at all.

Every time he catches you staring, you quickly turn your head. At one point you even just shift your eyes, trying to pretend you're looking at something behind him. But there's no way he isn't at least a little suspicious.

Since the night you let Astarion bite you, the tension between the two of you has been palpable. Something about having him pressed down on top of you, his lips on your neck and his hand cradling your neck in a way that was disproportionately gentle set something on fire inside you. You really thought that you could just get over your little crush if you got it out of your system. Sate the need and you could go back to just being friends... Or whatever you are with him.

But it had the opposite effect. Now, his very presence turns you on. The wind catches his scent and you instinctively press your thighs together. He grins after making some sassy remark to Gale, and the glint of his fangs in the light makes your mouth go dry. You even need to suppress a moan when he gets a particularly impressive kill. You really hope no one heard that one.

So now, sitting around the campfire with the rest of your companions, you're just trying desperately to appear normal. You laugh absentmindedly at whatever joke Karlach just made while in your mind, Astarion's railing you up against a tree. It's only when you realize that Wyll has been trying to ask you a question for the past 90 seconds that you know you're too far gone to be in polite company.

"Sorry, I'm just a little out of it, long day," you make the excuse lamely. "I'm going to turn in a little early, I've got a bit of a headache."

"Do you want something for it?" Shadowheart asks with a frown. "I've got some herbal remedies that might help."

"I'm fine, I think I just need some rest." You force a smile onto your face. "'Night, all." You walk back to your tent stiffly, speeding up to cover the last few meters quickly. Your breath wracks through your body and your blood pounds in your ears. You've never - never - gotten this worked up over another person, never mind a man. Honestly, he's not even really your usual type, you'd normally be much more likely to pursue someone like Shadowheart. But she so clearly has a thing for Karlach, and that's not something you'd want to get in the way of.

But this pale, devastatingly handsome vampire elf has your desire in a chokehold.

You light a lantern inside your tent and take out your journal to sketch. You try to conjure some of the imagery you saw today to keep your brain off Astarion. Scratch and the owlbear cub playing. The terrifying harpies that almost lured one of the tiefling children. Astarion's blade dripping with harpy blood while his bright red eyes sparkle with mischief and the thrill of he kill.

Fucking hells.

You eventually put your journal away and lay down on your bedroll, staring at the ceiling of your tent while the others continue to chat and laugh outside. You listen to their conversation die down, their goodnights, and finally the distant sound of crickets and other nighttime fauna. Your eyes start to grow heavy, or at the very least bored of looking at the support rods in your tent.

You only realize that you've drifted to sleep when you're startled awake by a soft tapping on the canvas flap that separates you from the rest of camp.

"Y-yes?" Your voice is shakier than you'd like, although it's not like a vicious creature would politely knock on your makeshift door. The flap lifts up to reveal the literal last person you'd like to see right now.

"Hello, darling," Astarion grins in that irresistible way that he does. "I wanted to check in on our fearless leader. You've seemed dreadfully jumpy all day."

"Oh! Um." You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. "I'm.. fine. Thank you, Astarion." You nod your head in a gesture of dismissal, but he doesn't move.

"Are you sure? You're positively flushed." His smile suggests he knows more than he's letting on. You chew on your lower lip to distract you from the growing ache between your legs.

"I'm perfectly fine, Astarion, thank you. Good night." You reach to close the tent flap but he holds onto it. Your fingers brush against his and it's like a jolt of lightning passes between your hands.

"I'm not buying it," he hums, dropping his voice. He pushes his way into your tent and you scramble backwards. The last thing you need is for him to touch you - you might not be able to control yourself if he does. "Now tell me, what's had you so hot and bothered all day?"

"N-nothing," you stammer, wishing you could just disappear on the spot. He raises an eyebrow and you backpedal. "Well, fine, I think something Gale cooked isn't sitting quite right with me. I was... embarrassed." The lie rings hollow even to you.

"Come now, love, we both know you're a terrible liar." He crawls towards you on his knees, a predator stalking his prey. Your breath catches in your throat. "Do you have something you need to confess?"

You're trapped. You've run out of room in the tent to back away, and Astarion has all but crawled on top of you. His scent is intoxicating and his eyes gleam in the low light. The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"I touched myself last night thinking about you."

"I know." The grin that curls across his face is fiendish. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

"You know?" Then you gasp suddenly. "The tadpole..."

Astarion lets out a bark of a laugh, loud enough that you're worried it might wake your other companions. "Darling, I didn't need a tadpole to figure that one out. Like I said, you're a terrible liar." He nudges his knee closer to the apex of your legs and you can feel your arousal making your underclothes wet. "What I want to know is, how did you picture me? My head between your legs? Did I have you on all fours in the forest? Or..." His lips ghost against yours now and your head feels dizzy with lust. "Or perhaps I had you pinned down in this very tent, taking my time as I had my way with you?"

Your instincts take over and you close the minimal distance between you, pulling him down on top of you as you ravage his lips. You claw at his clothing, no longer interested in maintaining decorum. He tears at the laces of your breeches, pulling them down below your hips and exposing your dripping cunt to the open air. A cry rips through your throat as he licks a thick stripe up your slit, and his chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. He pulls up on his knees and grins down at you, open and wanton, as he slips out of his pants.

"So very eager," he hums as he frees his cock, engorged and already dripping. A shudder runs through you as you see it, and you yank on his shirt and pull him down to meet you. You kiss him roughly, catching his lower lip in your teeth as you hook your leg around his waist.

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me, Astarion," you hiss through gritted teeth, and you groan loudly when he easily sinks in up to his base.

"Someone wants the whole of camp to hear," he growls in your ear as he begins to slowly thrust into you.

"Then you better make it quick so we don't wake them," you snarl in response, all pretenses having vanished. You tangle your fingers into his hair and press his face to your neck. You feel his lips stretch into a smile just before he sinks his fangs into you, the icy shard of pain melting into the heat of his mouth warming with your blood.

You jut your hips up into him, desperately chasing your release as he drinks his fill. He fucks into you, hard and messy, and before long you're feeling the pressure building in your core.

"Gods, Astarion, don't stop," you gasp hungrily in his ear, and he increases his pace to a punishing rhythm. You're starting to grow faint from blood loss just as your orgasm comes crashing down on you. Your walls clench and shudder around his length and he tears his mouth away from your neck, his expression wild and bloody. A few more broken ruts and you can feel him spilling inside you, the feeling his pulsing cock prolonging your own climax.

The two of you eventually still, covered in a sheen of sweat and panting heavily. Your ears strain to hear if there has been any disturbance in camp to indicate that your other companions heard anything. Outside your tent remains, thankfully, silent.

"Well then," Astarion exhales quickly as he slides out of you. "Darling, if it's going to be like that, then you just need to invite me next time."

[stray-kaz]

Memento Mori : a Kaz Brekker x f!reader oneshot

A/N: A request! Thank you for this idea!

Summary: Reader is poisoned by a rival gang leader hoping to force Kaz to his knees by taking you down. Kaz is afraid and murderous, a fatal combination.

Reader’s nickname, because of her profession, is Bee. (And it’s just easier sometimes to allow use of some kind of name instead of being constantly vague).

Memento mori: remember you must die.

Warnings: Violence, blood, near death. Poisoning. Kaz near breaking point.

Inej flew up the stairs in the Slat to Kaz’s quiet office, Jesper tearing after her, coattails flying out behind him. Matthias waited at the bottom of the flight, your limp, still form in his arms. Nina stood next to him, sweat beading on her forehead as she pressed both hands hard down against your heart.

“I am not a healer, I am not a healer, I am not a healer” she kept muttering.

“You’re all she has” Matthias reminded her gently. “Just keep going.”

Kaz looked up from the ledger he was filling in, irritation written all over his features, when Inej and Jesper burst in, panting. They had run all the way from the bottom of the Barrel.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“It’s Bee” Jesper managed to gasp out. “Talyss stung back.”

Kaz stood with such force his chair skidded away and toppled over. He grabbed his cane from its position leaning against his desk and pushed between Jesper and Inej, making his way down the stairs faster than they’d seen before.

He didn’t make a misstep and he didn’t stumble or fall, but when he saw you, Kaz wondered briefly if this was what death felt like. His hands shivered inside his gloves as he raised a hand to remove an errant curl from your forehead. Nina stared; it was the tenderest thing she had ever seen him do. He loved you.

“My room” Kaz rasped, and stepped aside so that Matthias could carry you upstairs, Nina edging along the banister so she could keep your heart going.

Inej was just finishing preparing Kaz’s bed when you were laid down gently on top of it. She covered up to your waist with a heavy blanket and Nina sank down beside you, her skirts rustling around her.

Kaz hovered like a ghost in the doorway of his own bedroom, watching your face, wan and lax. Your eyes rolled beneath their lids, and just as he was about to bite his tongue, come closer and hold your hand, Wylan skidded into the room and did just that. His knees slammed onto the wooden floorboards and, bright eyes wild, fluffy hair in disarray. He squeezed your hand and you whimpered, still unconscious.

Kaz took a threatening step into the room, but Jesper moved to block him, shaking his head firmly. Kaz glared at him, but for once, Jesper didn’t flinch.

“He’s her friend” he said quietly.

It was true, and Kaz knew it. Wylan was his chemist, bombmaker, demo man. And you were his poison maker, his sting, and the love of his abominable life. You worked with Wylan most days and were more now like brother and sister. He loved you, too.

Wylan looked up at Jesper then, an idea sparking in his eyes. 

“You can take the poison” he said, looking suddenly a little feverish himself.

Jesper glanced uneasily around the room as he suddenly felt all eyes on him. He rocked back on his heels, met Kaz’s implacable gaze.

“I’ve never done it” he beseeched, spreading his hands out wide. “This is what killed my mother, Kaz.”

He felt a tug on his hand and glanced down at Wylan.

“You wouldn’t need to take all of it, Jesper. She practices with poisons every day, taking small amounts to build up immunity, always with an antidote to hand. Tonight, you are the antidote. She just needs enough gone for her system to start fighting on its own” he told him.

Jesper looked at Kaz again; he said nothing. Jesper sighed quietly and gently nudged Inej out of the way so he could sit opposite Nina and clasp your other hand. He closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling his way along the channels of your veins, almost able to taste the metals in your blood.  Fine dark veins rose on the back of your hand and your eyes flew open to stare at Jesper. You tried to pull your hand away, but he held fast, swallowing hard against the pain.

Kaz’s jaw clenched so tight he thought he felt a tooth crack when your first cry rent the air. Tears spilled over your lashes and onto your cheeks, and you tried again and again to pull away from Jesper, but he was stronger than you and could sense the end of it.

Wylan held tightly to your other hand and Matthias stood sentinel behind him, a stony set to his jaw, though his eyes were worried. Kaz had never seen you cry tears of pain. He had never heard the animal sounds wailing out of you, howling at the walls and the window. He had never seen you break.

He tightened his grip on his cane. He was going to find Talyss and his band of thugs, beat him nearly to his grave and then pour his poison down his throat to send him the rest of the way.

As he turned to leave, he felt a hand lightly brush his sleeve and looked to see Nina. He raised his eyebrows impatiently, waiting.

“Bee is strong enough” Nina said steadily. “There is hope for her, Kaz.”

He merely shook off her hand and spoke over his shoulder as he walked away.

“Hope is dangerous, Nina.”

As Dirtyhands made his way to the bottom of the Barrel, gutter dwellers avoided eye contact and leapt out of his way, edging back into the shadows. He heard the whispers as he passed, cold fury and determination disguising his limp. There were those nearby him who knew why he was there and those who had no idea and were terrified to see him. Either way, both types of people hid their faces and did their best to remain undetected.

The door to Talyss Novak’s converted warehouse was locked, which didn’t surprise or deter Kaz. Normally, he’d go quiet and careful, but tonight he didn’t care for quiet or careful. He didn’t reach for his lockpicks, he simply hefted his cane in both hands and swung it at the door handle. It crunched under the weight of the crow’s head and the inner lock clattered onto the floor on the other side.

Kaz pushed the door out of his way with the toes of one shoe and stepped across the dark threshold, cane still gripped tightly in one fist. His other hand had slipped into his pocket, gloved fingers tightening slightly around the vial of poison he had picked up from the workshop you shared with Wylan along the way. He had no idea if it was the same poison or what it did, but judging by the thick red “!!!” on the white label, it would hurt.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he twisted out from under it, wrenching slightly but not caring. He swung the cane like a truncheon and felt something give wetly under his strength. There was a strangled scream and then they all came out of nowhere, trying their best to take down the bastard of the Barrel. But Kaz would not be taken anywhere tonight. He could smell blood, and he wanted it all, the sounds of your pain still ringing in his ears.

When there were bodies heaped around his feet, some still and noiseless, some groaning pitifully, he reached down and grabbed the coat collar of the most alive one. He moved in nice and close, face blood stained and dripping.

“Your boss” he hissed, teeth bared. “Now.”

A weak hand pointed towards a twisting stair shaped shadow and Kaz dropped him back to the hard concrete floor and stepped away, the men already forgotten.

The staircase was quiet and he could hear the soft sound of blood on his glove slipping on his heavy cane. He reached the top and moved silently along the landing, again reaching for the poison in his trouser pocket. A door at the furthest end of the hallway stood ajar. His instincts screamed that the worst of Novak’s men would be behind that door, but he could not bring himself to care. They would all die.

As he approached the dark side of the door, he heard his name spoken.

“Brekker.”

The door swung open and a single lone man appeared, backlit by the interior. With a flick of his thumb, Kaz released the tiny vial stopper and circled finger and thumb around the glass neck.

“How’s your girlfriend? Still breathing? Or dead as a dormouse?”

Kaz walked forward slowly, clenching his teeth against the pain of hiding his limp. Peripheral room checks told him he was alone with Talyss. The man was a maniac, or stupid. Kaz was betting on the latter.

“Did you really think you could take me down by removing my sting? Novak, I don’t need anyone. You made a mistake thinking that I do.”

“Then why’re you here, Dirtyhands?”

“To make you pay for that mistake.”

Kaz decided to temporarily forgo use of his cane; instead he struck with his other hand, shoving the vial with its contents into Novak’s mouth, swallowing hard against the bitter bile that rose in his throat as his gloved hand forced the man’s jaw up and shut and he heard the splintering of glass plink against his teeth. 

Novak screamed through closed lids, Kaz’s hand tightening even harder. Thirty seconds dripped past and Novak finally wrenched himself away, opening his mouth to spit glass and a damp pinkish mist. He coughed, choking, and Kaz realised enough glass had been inhaled to perforate his lungs. Talyss Novak was drowning in his own blood, before the poison even did its work.

Kaz helped him along a little; he lifted his cane and lightly prodded the older man in the centre of his chest with the solid flat end. It didn’t take much prodding before he was flat on his back on the cold rough concrete, rasping blood soaked air in through piecemeal lungs.

Kaz stepped closer and leaned over him, watching until his eyes started to stare and his chest stopped spasming. Then he turned and walked out the way he came, blood and fear pounding in his ears.

When Kaz finally staggered back in through the doorway of his bedroom in the Slat, he saw you sitting up in his bed, leaning heavily against Jesper’s chest but rosy cheeked, damp hair sticking to your forehead. Your eyes were opioid bright, glossy and damp looking, but they focused on him with the ferocity he was used to, and something loosened inside his chest. He opened his mouth, and what came out surprised all of them, but most of all him.

“Please.”

Nina held you up while Jesper eased out from behind you, then plumped several pillows up behind your back and shoulders. Inej briefly touched your shoulder and Wylan blew you a kiss. Nina leaned hard on Matthias as they walked out of the room, followed by the other three.

Alone finally, Kaz shed his cane and coat and almost collapsed onto the bed next to you. He retained his gloves, which you understood; in your current state, sweating and clammy, the touch of your skin on his would remind him too much of Jordie. But he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you down onto his chest, and held on as tightly as he thought you could cope with. 

You sighed.

“Is the problem dealt with?” you asked quietly, your voice sounding uncomfortable and hoarse.

Kaz scoffed a chuckle and nodded.

“Yes. The problem is dealt with. No more stinging the stinger.”

“Good. ‘Cause it pretty much sucks.”

Kaz tipped your chin up slightly so he could see your eyes, his expression serious.

“You will improve your immunity” he said, a statement and not a question. “I do not want to do that again.”

What he meant was: I will not survive your near death again. If you die, I will also.

You gazed back at him and nodded.

“I will” you promised. “Never again, Kaz.”

He nodded back, leaned his head on the wall of pillows and closed his eyes, settled for now with the knowledge of you safe in his arms.

Tagging: @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r​ 

[stsgooo]

Love, Hate, Love.

✩࿐ summary: shoko reminisces.

warning(s): death, description of gore, angst, hurt no comfort, depression, bit of a character study(?), sad yuri. wc; 3.2k

pairing(s): ieiri shoko/fem!gojo!reader.

a/n: this is kinda messy, but i love shoko and wanted to write something for her so :3 excuse anything that just

SHOKO STARED DOWN AT THE BODY OF ITADORI YUJI AND SHE FELT AN ARRAY OF EMOTIONS.

Disdain. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. Exhaustion. Slight, slight sadness. Emptiness.

She didn’t know Itadori Yuji well. She had only met him for a few minutes when he was passed out and thrown onto one of the many medical bay beds by Gojo. Had patched up the rather small cuts and bruises, listened as the tall teacher described the King of Curses. Then sent him on his way.

Shoko hadn’t seen Itadori again until he was a corpse on her table.

It wasn’t that Shoko was sadden by this strange boy’s loss. Not entirely. She had no attachments or thoughts on the boy. Even when he had gotten everyone talking.

No, it was more about what Itadori Yuji represented in that moment.

Death was a common thing to happen within their world. Every day it was something new. Whether it be non-sorcerer, sorcerer, or a random animal, there was death to be following. Random at most, but there were few instances where it was intentional. Where the grapevine of gossip lead to something catastrophic. That it lead to the death of a young sorcerer with great potential.

Itadori hadn’t been the first to die. And he certainly wasn’t the last.

No. No, Shoko could recall her first vividly.

First, it had been Yomada Han in their first year. A third year that had been the last of his class. He’d run into a trouble, died messily. It’d been the first time she dissected a body. The first time she threw up over it too. It’d been the first time she had a cigarette too.

He’d been sent off to slaughter because of his hand in some clan mess. They thought it was justification enough for his murder death.

Dissecting and seeing death got a little easier from then. Shoko didn’t throw up anymore. She didn’t get angry or question why someone was on her slab. It was just what happened. She came to accept it.

The second had been… well, Gojo Y/N.

Shoko was still unclear on what exactly happened that day. She can just recall the dread and sickness that flushed over her when she saw her sprawled out on the cot. The way Gojo’s voice shook and pleaded with her— desperately trying to appease to Shoko’s good side as if she hadn’t wanted to save her. As if that’s the only thing Shoko wanted to do.

She’d seen a lot by then. Geto’s chest wide open, the insides of various students and curses, bloody limbs. But she had never seen something quite like that.

It was so surreal to have been speaking to someone a day before, smiling and laughing, sharing touches and secrets. Then have half of their brains scattered on your table the next.

Still and silent. The entire time she had been still and silent.

It was all so sickening.

Shoko hadn’t even been able to take a step towards her before she was throwing up the food she’d consumed in the last 24 hours. Tears flushing down her cheeks and bile rising in her throat. Brains trailed into the room and blood dripped from the end of the table onto the ground like a leaky faucet.

She was sick. She was sick. Shoko couldn’t stop being sick.

Then, she hadn’t been sure what to do as the white haired boy pleaded and cried. As his twin remained limp in his hold. Shoko had just watched with trembling lips, shaking hands pressed against her mouth.

She was dead before she was even found.

Shoko had concluded such during the autopsy. As she pushed tears away behind her protective goggles, cutting into her… her….(what? Her friend? Her friend.) As she cut into her friend’s bones and body. Gojo Y/N had been dead the moment the curse made contact and dealt the blow. The moment her skull cracked open and her brain turned to mush, she was gone.

At least, that’s what she reassured Gojo and Geto (and herself) with.

"They said it was a Grade Two," Gojo had said in a whisper, slumped in his seat, eyes uncharacteristically vacant as he stared at the ground. A hollowness that embraced them all was evident and clear. "They sent her with Nanami and Haibara because it was a Grade Two. So why are they both dead? Why is my sister dead? Why was it a fucking Local Deity? It was a Special Grade!"

Gojo had broken down then. A mess of rage full tears as he uttered on about how it was a mistake. One that costed his other half, since birth, to die. It was surreal to see the Strongest reduced to this. A bumbling mess. While he tried to piece together the puzzle of death. As he questioned the justification behind his sister’s death.

Shoko had wished she was afforded the same.

"Satoru," Geto had whispered, oddly blank and hollow himself. As he always had been back then. For a year he’d been a husk of who he once was. Body always tense, always frail and alert. Tired and withering. "You know how she is… was. She would’ve tried saving Haibara no matter the grade."

Haibara had been the third.

He held out longer than her. Given that she’d jumped in front of the curse to save him. Still, he’d been split in half. Nanami only retrieving his upper half with a pale face and hollow eyes. Still, he died.

What was the point of her dying if the one she saved died too?

Shoko wasn’t sure

And neither was Gojo.

"Yeah, and now there two dead sorcerers!" Gojo had shot from his chair. Fast enough that it bounced off the wall and made a horrible sound throughout the empty hallway. Shoko could recall the way she flinched back the moment she felt Gojo's technique fire up. A barrier between him and the people he cared about. An unrelenting and unchecked power that kept his rage contained. "W-Who even cares about Haibara—?"

"Satoru." Geto's tone had darkened considerably. His face shadowed under the flickering fluorescent lights. Any other time Shoko would've ran away. She would've made some comment about them being annoying trash, then stalk off with her in her shadow.

Not now. Not ever again.

Gojo's face crumbled, he grew desperate at Geto's call, "I... Why does it have to be her?" His eyes split to Shoko, narrowed and angry. "I thought you could do something."

Shoko, taken aback, had tensed. "Half of her brain—"

"You love her, right?" Gojo had continued, ruthlessly, "Right?"

A nod.

"Then you should've saved her!"

"Satoru!" Geto's hand wrapped around Gojo's arm, pulling him away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm wrong?"

"Yes!"

"What the fuck do you know, Suguru?"

"What do I know? I know that you're..."

Their voices had faded away as Shoko stared endlessly at Gojo's previous spot. A well of tears collecting in her eyes as her hands buried deep within her pockets, clenched and shaking. Her technique was great, it was amazing. She'd done a lot even before she was 18.

So why couldn't she save her?

It stuck around with her for a long time. Well after Gojo had stomped off with tears flowing down his face. Well after Geto had conjured up the last bits of his fake kindness and apologized, tried to comfort Shoko. Well after she was alone in her dorm, holding onto the pieces of her that were suddenly all Shoko had left.

Death was sudden. It was the last curtain call. In their line of work, there was usually no time for goodbyes or last words. Much like this situation. It was inevitable and everyone would meet their making sooner or later— it was only a matter of when. It was better to accept you wouldn't get nice little bows in at the end of your life instead of constantly thinking about it.

Still, Shoko had wondered if there was a possibility she could've saved her. Wondered what she would've said in her last moments if she had the chance to say goodbye.

It was a bad downward spiral to commit herself to. Especially when she was alone in the dark, laying in her bed, staring endlessly at the ceiling above.

It was flat-out dangerous to wonder when she was wrist deep in her chest cavity.

Shoko was best for it. Allegedly. She was the best bet to tell them all exactly what happened to her technique and body as she died.

Originally, Shoko had been tempted to just write that Gojo Y/N lost her brain. What else was there to report? What else could her family possibly want to know?

But then bitter curiosity got the best of her. She needed to know everything. She didn't even care about what the Gojo's wanted to know. Shoko herself had to know if her soul— if the technique just... vanished.

She wasn't really sure what she expected when she stood over her in the morgue. How she would possibly cut her open and scoop out her organs as if she hadn't been speaking to her two days ago. Had been engaged in conversations. Blushing when their hands brushed against one another. As if she hadn't—

"Shoko, what do you want while we're gone?" She had stopped by before they were to be sent off, lightly sprinkled white H/C hair. Expression light, but serious, as it usually was. "Treats, shirt, another body for you to pick around in? Ew, by the way."

Usually, a girl wouldn't think anything of it. But Shoko, elbow deep within a curse, blushed like she was an elementary girl. "Sorry"

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smile small yet tender, "So? What does sweet, sweet Shoko-chan want as a souvenir?"

Shoko always had a hard time believing Y/N was a Gojo. Especially the same product line of Gojo Satoru, who was just... the opposite of her. This girl was intelligent and kind, beautiful and timid. Self-aware, selfless, and She wasn't anything like the boy she shared the womb with, or birthday, or name. A twin. Same blood, same name, everything them. But so distinctly different.

"I'm not really interested in anything." Shoko had replied with a tilt of her lips and a shrug of her shoulders, pulling away from the curse corpse to face her fully.

Y/N's eyebrows raised, "Really? You're not interested in a single thing?"

"Not really," She walked closer, "What did the others get?"

"Oh, uh, I'm not entirely sure—"

"Gojo-senpai!" Haibara had barreled around the corner, loud and grinning, his hair flopping as he bounced around. "Geto-senpai would like something sweet for himself and your brother!"

She had released a bitter sound, fond and amused, but bitter all the same, "Of course he'd be thinking about Satoru." She turned back to Shoko with a small tilt of her lips. "You sure you don't want anything, Shoko?"

Shoko wondered if things would be different if she said anything else than what she had. If she asked for some ridiculous sweet or a stupid shirt, would things have ended differently? If she kept her around for a little longer, would someone realize the misclassification of the curse? Could Shoko have done something?

Who knows. All she said was, "Just come back. That's enough for me."

Her face had scrunched up, a light laugh leaving her as she turned, waving a hand, "Just for you, Shoko! See you around."

It wasn't anything special. Her goodbye had been a teasing promise. A nonchalant wave. Nothing special. Another day. It wasn't anything special.

So why did it have to be the last?

The autopsy ended abruptly. As Shoko held onto a trash bin, sobbing and throwing up the little food she had in the past two days, Yaga put it in the hands of someone much older. Much more detatched.

Gojo Y/N had died almost instantly. Before she could even activate her technique.

That sparked up a chatter at her funeral.

If the affair wasn't sickening and horribly in the first place, the conversation that took place most certainly was.

The people that attended outside of Shoko and Geto where just some old clan members either from the "Big Three" or some lowly ones. They all kind of just loitered around as they ate food and conversated. Nothing exciting, nothing entirely too telling of their grief either.

She couldn't ever recall Gojo or Y/N talking much about the other clans. If only to drag them through the mud, express their great distaste, or general displeasure. Shoko just knew that an occasion like this, filled with old people and terribly traditional things, was something that the girl nor her brother wanted. She knew that they all like the Gojo's about as much as the Gojo's liked them. Which was not very much.

It was only as Shoko was using the bathroom that she overheard what they truly thought.

"I heard that she didn't even have the time to activate her technique before it killed her."

"It's not like her technique would've done much against a Special Grade anyway. The Six Eyes got all the potential. If anything, that boy that got killed alongside her had more skill."

"I thought she had some type of power?"

"That's just a lie the family put out to calm their egos. They gave birth to the Six Eyes while giving birth to a useless girl right after."

"Poor thing."

"I wouldn't worry. The girl was a bit airheaded, she probably didn't even know she was boring."

It took everything in Shoko not to snap. To not ruin their gossip with her petulant cries of anger. It was just wrong. What they thought of her. There's never been something so wrong.

Y/n was different and amazing, magnificent and interesting. She was strong in ways that Gojo wasn't. She could hold her own. She was intelligent on things outside of jujutsu just as much as she was in things regarding jujutsu. Shoko wasn't sure where they got their information but it was wrong. It'd always been wrong.

Seven days later, Geto killed an entire village.

Thought about her and Haibara the whole time. The mountain of bodies that came with being a sorcerer. Killed 112 people just because he was angry and sad. At least, that's what Geto had said to her.

Shoko wished she could've destroy a whole village in her grief.

Those are all the things Shoko thought as she slips on her gloves, glancing back at where Gojo and Ijichi were standing in the corner.

"Hey, you guys, I'm gonna get started," Shoko says flatly, with her usual detachment. It'd been years since she felt uncomfortable or disgusted with this job. Just a normal routine now. "You gonna just sit there and watch?"

She snaps her glove into place at the same time Ijichi's face visibly pales and his jaw drops, Gojo's own face screwing up into something akin to shock. She was about to ask what was wrong, but—

"Whoa! Full frontal!"

Shoko whirls around to look at Itadori Yuji who looks, shockingly, fine.

Well, Shoko's never had someone come back to life in her morgue before. (No matter how much she's begged.)

She tugs down her mask, staring at the boy with disappointment, "Well, this is too bad."

Itadori blinks, a faint blush on his cheeks, "Um... who are you?"

"Yuji!" Gojo stands, a beaming grin on his lips as he walks forward, hand extended. "Welcome back!"

The teen lets out a loud laugh, clapping his hand against his teacher's for a loud slap that almost makes Shoko wince.

"I'm back!" Itadori cheers, smiling back.

"You sure are!" Gojo then tucks his hands into his jacket, turning around to face Shoko and Ijichi. "Hey, can I speak to you outside for a minute? Ijichi, get Yuji something to change into."

"O-Of course, Gojo-san!"

Shoko doesn't even dignify Gojo a response, lazily making her way out of the room with bored eyes. There went an afternoon of digging through Sukuna's vessel's organs and finding out what made him so different from the others. What allowed him to inhabit the King of Curses while so many others had died trying. It would make for perfect research. Fun and interesting.

But the kid just had to wake up. From death.

(She tired to ignore how many times she'd imagined her waking up on her table too.)

"Ugh, now I have to go back and change the report." Shoko utters bitterly once the two adults are outside.

"No, leave it as is." Shoko snaps her eyes to Gojo, who keeps his carefree smile on his face. "Before he's targeted again, I'd like to at least give Yuji some basic training. Please leave him listed as deceased in the report."

Shoko frowns, tucking her hands into her pockets, "Then Yuji will have to go into hiding for good."

"Nah, I'll have him ready in time for the Goodwill Event."

The Goodwill Event. Now, that was something she wasn't entirely concerned with. Something she didn't think Gojo was either.

"Why?" Shoko utters.

"Easy. I refuse to keep that kid from losing the best years of his life. Not just him, but everyone."

The way he says it is tender and true. Said with his heart and his soul. Despite how childish Gojo has always been, he's been terribly aware of when kids should be kids. Something he'd been keenly aware of when he was a kid himself.

Gojo suddenly tilts his head, smile distant and incredibly sad, "Not to mention... he kind of reminds me of Y/N, y'know?"

Shoko's steps falter. They've never really engaged in a conversation about her before. Never really a chance or reason to. Shoko figured they always had their own thoughts and opinions about what happened. Their own grief pushed down to be ignored. Never addressed.

But he—

"Bit of an airhead, but he means well. Smart when it calls for it. Wants to do the right thing no matter if it's his life on the line." Gojo stops a few feet ahead of Shoko, back stiff and, unfortunately, unreadable to her. "I wonder what she'd think of all this."

Shoko draws in a breath, inching closer to lean on the railing overlooking the courtyard. "She'd be disgusted to learn you're a teacher."

"Disgusted?" Gojo repeats with a pout. Shoko just knows that his eyes are narrowed behind his blindfold. "And she wouldn't judge you for cheating your way through med school?"

"She would, but I wouldn't care." Shoko rolls her eyes.

Gojo presses his lips together, leaning on the railing next to her, "I don't think I would either... as long as she was here."

Shoko tenses and her eyes grow distant as she watches leaves twirl and fall in the distance. Her ears begin to ring and she thinks, for one single moment, that Gojo is right. If she just had her right next to her. Breathing, talking— living. Then Shoko might be one of the happiest people alive. She wouldn't care about any of this. She wouldn't worry about anyone leaving or dying. She would just—

What was the point of think about something not possible?

11 years. They needed to let go already.

"I'll make sure Itadori is, in all the official ways, dead." Shoko pushes away from the railing and begins to make her way back to her office (ignoring the soft snort Gojo gave). "Make sure he doesn't die again before you can train him."

"I'll do my absolute best."

11 years. What's a few more minutes with her memory.

[roosterforme]

Beer Boy and Sugar: The First Lost Year (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader)

Part of the Lost Years series for Beer Boy and Sugar

Warnings: language, longing, angst (series fits chronologically between Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time)

Banner by @mak-32

Year One

"Bradshaw."

Bradley was pulled out of his comfortable daydream when he heard Natasha Trace call his name. He looked over at the only friend he'd managed to make since he moved to Rhode Island for flight training five months ago. It turns out, nobody much wants to talk to you when you're a bit of a miserable prick. 

"Yeah?"

She nodded back toward the hangar and said, "Captain Price wants us to use the simulator."

"Right," he replied softly. Once she was gone again, he turned to look out at the rough Atlantic Ocean and shivered in the late October air. He was freezing cold. He was always fucking freezing cold here. He missed Virginia. He missed being warm in his bed in his fraternity house. He missed you.

"No," he whispered, closing his eyes and focusing on some deep breathing. "No. You can't." Every thought of you was painful, and he needed to get past this. He kept promising himself that one day, he would wake up and be on the other side of this ache, but he was such a damn liar. Deep inside, he knew better. 

How was it supposed to stop hurting when all he could think about was you, equally cold in Chicago, wrapped up in his Grateful Dead shirt and listening to their songs? It had already snowed there; he checked the weather frequently. He memorized the University of Chicago campus map and thought about where you might be, always afraid you were in a library study room. With someone else. Because the only thing worse than thinking about you cold and alone was thinking about you moving on with someone new. But you were perfect. Bradley's perfect Sugar. Of course you didn't need to be with him to be happy. 

Eventually he turned toward the hangar and walked through the frigid wind. He completed the simulation perfectly in almost no time. Trace was every bit as good as he was, and Bradley silently rejoiced whenever they were paired together. She was serious but not too serious. She was smart but never cocky about it. She didn't waste a lot of time talking if she had nothing to say. She reminded him a lot of you. 

He wasn't interested in her as anything more than the friend he desperately needed right now, but it was hard to open up to someone new when he could only think about one thing. There were a handful of really attractive women here, but Bradley found himself unable to focus on them. Besides, he finally understood that quality always beats quantity. You started teaching him that lesson as soon as he felt the urge to paint his bedroom door white. 

He avoided the tables full of students in the cafeteria, picking one off to the side instead. He figured if he gave the appearance that he didn't want anyone around, then they would leave him alone. He was only mostly successful.

"Can I join you?" 

When he looked up at Trace's dark brown eyes, he nodded and pulled his tray a little closer to him so she could sit on the other side of the table. "Yeah, sure."

She ate half of her food before she said anything. "Hey, thanks for not being creepy."

He looked at her calm face in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged and said, "Some of the other guys are a little creepy towards me, Hayes, O'Malley and Butler. They think it's funny to mess with the girls."

"Seriously?" Bradley asked, setting his fork down. "Which guys?" He wished he didn't feel the sudden urge to break something; he'd been able to manage this feeling for a long time, only letting it surface when he wanted to pound Jeff to bits for touching you. It would probably feel good right now if he let this emotion take over for a little bit.

"Don't worry about it," Trace replied easily. "It's nothing I can't handle. I just don't like eating alone if I can help it, because then they come over."

Bradley nodded, picking up his fork again. If there was anything you wouldn't like, it would be Bradley losing his place in the Navy because he couldn't manage to stay out of a fistfight. "You can eat with me whenever you want."

Her muttered, "Thanks," was so soft, he barely heard it. He wanted to tell her not to thank him, but the silence between them felt pretty nice. She took a few more bites before she asked, "So what's your deal, Bradshaw? You're awfully quiet for someone who can pass all of the exams on the first try and makes the simulators look easy."

He laughed. "I could say the same about you."

"I guess," she replied, "but I'm always the one initiating conversation with you, not the other way around. It's a girl, isn't it? You miss your girlfriend?"

She didn't ask it unkindly, but it felt like a slap to his face. He swallowed hard, once again wondering why this hurt so fucking bad after five goddamn months. But he'd never tried to actually talk about you with anyone else. Maybe it wouldn't be as hard as he thought it would. 

He cleared his throat and looked down at his tray. "There used to be a girl. I think maybe she thought she was doing me a favor when she dumped me. Or maybe she was just trying to protect herself. And I can respect that."

"Ouch," came Natasha's soft voice, and Bradley had almost forgotten he wasn't alone. "You were in love with her." 

It wasn't phrased as a question, and once again Bradley felt like she physically hit him. He had never admitted it out loud before right now. "Yeah. I was in love with her." He set his fork down one last time before he met her eyes. "I'm still in love with her."

Later that night, he cried himself to sleep, dying to hear you call him Beer Boy and push your fingers through his hair one last time. Dying to ask you why he couldn't have two dreams.

---------------------

You were twenty-two years old. You lived in one of the most exciting cities in the country. And you were single. But you never really felt like going out when the other graduate students invited you. Every time you did go, you ended up at a bar that was way too loud or a frat house that was way too uncomfortable. Nobody knew how to play beer pong correctly, and every guy was wearing a backwards cap.

It made your heart ache.

"Hey." 

You looked up from your computer to see Jared staring at you with a smile on his face and his hat spun backwards on his head. "Alex and I are going to one of the library study rooms and then out to get a beer. You coming?"

Both of those things sounded amazing, actually. But not with him or Alex. Not with anybody at this school or in this city or even in the central time zone. You shook your head. "Thanks, but not tonight. Maybe next week?"

Jared looked dejected. "Aww, come on. You're too pretty to be sitting here working alone." He probably though he was being charming, but he was nowhere close to the level of sweetness you were used to.

You sighed softly and shook your head again. "Thanks but.... maybe next week."

When he finally left, you tried to return your attention to what you had been working on. There was no shortage of classwork or research to keep you busy seven days a week here, and that was a very good thing. Because it was days like this one where you started to think about Bradley and you couldn't stop. As soon as you let the memories creep in, you were done. 

You closed your computer and sucked in a ragged breath. Through the blurry tears filling your eyes, you pulled up the bottom of your hoodie and ran your fingers along the soft, tie dyed cotton of the shirt you were wearing underneath. If you closed your eyes and thought about Virginia, you could almost believe the shirt still smelled like him. You could almost hear him sing what had become your favorite song.  

"Shit," you muttered, standing and shoving your computer into your backpack. You would finish working from your dorm room. You just needed to get out of here right now. 

The icy cold air smacked you in the face as soon as you walked outside. Apparently it started snowing in October here. It had been snowing steadily for days. You missed Virginia. You missed the stupid Beta house. You missed the way Bradley felt like your own personal furnace when he cuddled with you. Sometimes you thought you'd made the worst decision of your life.

The urge to cave and call him as soon as you got to your room and cranked up the heater was so intense. Then you remembered that you broke his heart and your own with a handful of sentences and the admission that you loved him. Well, you still loved him, but he almost certainly hated you. And that was fine. That was completely okay as long as he was focused on keeping himself safe instead of thinking about a long distance relationship. He had a dream bigger than you, and he deserved to live it out.

You curled up in a ball on your bed and listened to Easy to Love You by The Grateful Dead exactly eleven times in a row while you cried. You did the math in your head; that was just over forty minutes of crying. Last week when you broke down, it was closer to an hour. Maybe things were on the upswing now. Maybe the pain would start to fade. It had already been more than five months since you left his room while he sat on the edge of his bed, agony written on his face. 

"Why?" you asked yourself angrily, certain nobody else would ever make you feel as good as he had for the handful of months you'd spent together. He taught you a lot about yourself, and now you understood the importance of giving someone a second chance. How crucial it was to look past the surface. 

You buried your nose in the fabric of the colorful shirt, turned the song on one more time, and fell asleep with unshed tears and a tightness in your chest. When you woke up the next day, you found more snow on the ground when you put on your boots and jacket and headed outside. You remembered exactly where to go, because you'd seen it so many times before. You headed for the tattoo parlor near campus with a pocketful of cash and the hope that this would make you feel better and not worse.

Once you were lounging back with the Grateful Dead shirt pulled up, you pointed to your math tattoo. "I want it just below this one. It's a specific song lyric. And I want it in this font."

The tattoo artist looked at your skin and then the words you'd written out before checking the font you were pointing to in his binder which happened to look a bit like Bradley's tidy script. 

"The Dead," he said with a smile. "I dig it. I can do it for a hundred bucks."

You nodded and handed him the cash, and just a few minutes later, he got to work. If he thought you were crying softly because of the pain from the needle digging into your flesh over and over again, then that was fine with you.

-----------------------------

I'm fine. We are all fine. Year two is up next.

PART 2

@beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @sorchathered @mamachasesmayhem @attapullman @bobgasm @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @shanimallina87 @sylviebell @wkndwlff @horseslovers2016 @sadpetalsstuff @schoollover @jessicab1991 @lex-winchester @bellaireland1981 @sagittarius-flowerchild @marvelouslyme96 @trickphotography2 @goldenseresinretriever @rascallyrascalreads @auroracaroline @nerdgirljen @redbarn1995 @theweekndhistorybook @moon42flight @eli2447 @lyn-js @na-ta-sh-aa @mygyn @je-suis-prest-rachel @kcloveswrestling @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @callsign-magnolia @eternalsams @lynnestra44 @shinzowosasageyoooo @tgmreader @princessofglitterland @backupbrii @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @averyhotchner @hookslove1592 @schoollover @callsigns-haze

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (18) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you say the words coriolanus is so desperate to hear. 

word count: 1,785

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, outdoors sex, skinny dipping, fluff, pet name (petal), not proofread

“Do you know how to swim?” Coryo asked, settling behind you, pressing a kiss to your neck as you rifled through the wardrobe to find something to wear for the day. Ordinarily, your lady’s maid was to help you pick out your outfits and help you into them, but you found that you liked including your husband—your husband—in the process instead. 

“Yes.”

You could feel the smile on Coryo’s lips as he kissed your neck again. “Good. There’s a lake on the property that I’d like to take you to. Swim, have a picnic—” he nips at your neck “—perhaps have a little more fun.”

A giggle escaped you. “That sounds lovely. But what would you have said if I didn’t?”

“Offer to let you cling to me.”

“I’m sure you’ll do that anyways.” You moved your head, exposing more of your neck to him. “But I didn’t have any swimming clothes packed.”

Your knees nearly buckled as Coryo sucked on a sensitive spot just below your ear. “That’s where the little more fun comes in, my pretty petal.”

“My, my, I didn’t know my husband was so insatiable.”

“How could I be satiated when you’re so addicting? For every piece of you, you offer, I find myself wanting more.” Coryo pulled away then reached around you, pulling a pale pink dress out. “Put this on while I ask the staff to prepare lunch for us.”

“Hurry back,” you said, turning around so you could face him, “I might surely die if I’m deprived of my husband.”

Coryo grinned. “Now who’s insatiable?”

You giggled, watching as Coryo leaned down for a kiss before disappearing out the door. Once he was gone, you began to dress for the day. Butterflies fluttered around in your tummy as you thought about your husband. Your husband. You never would have thought that the word would have you blushing like a schoolgirl—certainly not when that very husband was Coriolanus Snow. And yet, here you were, twirling around in a pretty pink dress, giggling at the thought of seeing Coryo in a compromising position while swimming. 

A grin stretched across your face as you heard the door opening, Coryo stepping inside. Though you weren’t looking at him, you could practically hear the pout on his face as he said, “Damn. I was hoping to catch you undressed.”

“Then we never would make it to the lake,” you said. 

“And, oh, what a shame would that be.”

You held your Coryo’s hand as you walked down the dirt path to the lake. Your dress dragged the ground, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to pick up the skirts. If only your mother could see you now—she would surely have a heart attack if she knew you were about to be positively ravished anywhere but a bedroom. Stifling a giggle, you glanced at Coryo from the corner of your eye. He was already looking down at you, a soft smile on his plush lips. You moved up to your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“How did you manage to convince the Peacekeepers to let us come alone?” you asked when you pulled away. 

You had been surprised when Coryo led you out of the cottage, holding onto you with one hand, a picnic basket in the other. No one followed after the two of you like they normally did. When you had sent Coryo a questioning look, he kissed your temple and ushered you along. 

“I told them I would sooner carve out their eyes than allow them to see me fuck their Queen.”

“Coryo!” you chastised, hand smacking his chest. “You can’t say things like that!”

“And why not?” His smile turned into a smirk as he bumped his hip against yours. “Everyone knows what happens during the honeymoon period. Is it a crime to say it aloud?”

You leaned your head against his arm. “I just don’t want anyone but you to think of me like that.”

“Oh, petal,” Coryo cooed. An arm wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t say things like that again. Being with you robs me of any sense of propriety. All I want is for people to know that I’m the lucky man who gets to warm your bed, who makes you smile and laugh, who is fortunate enough to be called your husband.”

Laughing, you said, “You can wax poetic to whoever you want. Just leave our more intimate moments between us.”

“Deal.”

The lake soon came into view. It was beautiful. Something straight out of a fairytale. The water sparkled under the sun’s rays. And the water—oh, it was so blue. You would almost think it was artificial if it didn’t look like it had been untouched by humans for decades. As you neared the lake, Coryo dropped the picnic basket to the ground and led you out onto the dock. 

A giggle escaped you as he quickly removed his clothes before reaching for you, undoing the ties on your dress. As it slipped off your shoulders, down your hips, a growl rumbled from Coryo’s chest. “You wore nothing else?”

“What? I can’t seduce my husband on our honeymoon?”

His hands came to rest on your hips, tugging you against him. You giggled again and placed your hands on his chest. “Say thank you for me not allowing the Peacekeepers to come.”

You stood on your tiptoes and gently kissed him. When you pulled away, you whispered on his lips, “Thank you, Coryo.”

“Now, for your punishment—”

“Wait, what—”

Coryo picked you up as if you were a doll, took you to the edge of the dock, and tossed you into the lake. You screamed as you hit the water. Another splash quickly followed. Coryo emerged beside you. His eyes crinkled at the corners. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other tangling itself in your hair. He pulled you in for a searing kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You moaned and moved your legs to wrap around his hips. His hand on your waist fell to your hip to help support you. 

“Fuck, petal—” he groaned. 

“Would you?”

And, oh, he would. 

Coryo reached into the picnic basket, pulling out a container of strawberries. He took care with selecting one before placing it at your lips, looking down at you as you took a bite. Your back was pressed against his chest, still bare after the swim, and hummed in appreciation at the sweet taste. Tilting your head up, you watched as he finished off the strawberry. You turned slightly and leaned up to steal a kiss. 

“Little minx,” he chastised. He, nevertheless, was quick to chase after you for another kiss. 

“How am I the minx when you’re the one who suggested this entire little escapade?”

“Because you went along with it, little petal,” Coryo said. 

You laughed and shook your head at him. Of course that would be his logic. Never mind that this was his entire grand plan, that you only went along for the ride. But, if that was going to be his argument, you supposed you should give him something to support the rhetoric. You turned around to face him, settling on your knees. You bit down on your lip as Coryo’s eyes drifted down to your bare chest. “I do believe you promised me more fun, did you not?” you asked, grabbing his hands and pulling them to your waist. 

“I did.”

“And what kind of husband would you be to break such promises?”

“A horrible one,” he groaned, pulling you closer to him. You swung a leg over either side of his lap, your hips settling against his. He hardened against your thigh. “You should send me straight to the gallows if I ever dared to deny you.”

“Let’s not let it come to that.”

“Let’s not,” he agreed. He reached between the two of you, guiding his cock through your slick folds. Your head fell against his. A gasp escaped you as you sunk down on him. You had only taken him in this position a few times before—it still took you by surprise, how much bigger he felt like this. Your nails dug into his shoulder as Coryo groaned out, “Fuck, petal, keep squeezing me like that and I’ll serve you Panem on a silver platter.”

You kissed him, desperate for more of him. “You’ve already given me everything I could ever want.”

Coryo’s fingers dug into your hips as he guided you up and down his length. You were grateful for it, your legs already trembling from the mounting pleasure. Sensing your exhaustion, Coryo pulled you against his chest, cradling you as he rolled you onto your back. Your back arched off the picnic blanket. Oh, how was this so much more pleasurable now? 

“Coryo—” you gasped. 

A hand fell between your legs, his nimble fingers rubbing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hand caught his wrist, holding him there as he thrust into you. The coil deep in your belly began to tighten, so close to snapping. 

“Go ahead, my petal, come for your King,” he cooed. He draped his body against you, his nose nudging against yours. “Come for your husband. Come for your Coryo.”

You screamed as the coil finally snapped. Coryo pulled his hand out from between your legs, cupped your face, and pulled you into a searing kiss. His hips continued to rut into you as he chased his high. It was one of the few moments where you got to see your husband truly desperate, and all of it for you. His hips stuttered as he finally toppled over the edge, still fucking his spend into you. 

“I love you,” he breathed against your lips. 

“And I love you.”

You felt him smile. But then he pulled away, his brows pinched together. Coryo brushed some stray strands of hair from your face, his pale blue eyes searching yours. Looking for any doubts, any hints of insincerity. You just smiled up at him, and said those words again. “You mean it?” he asked. 

“More than anything.”

A smile broke out, his white teeth twinkling. “Say it again.”

You only laughed. “Give me a reason to,” you challenged.

He did. He gave you many, many reasons. And when the two of you eventually made it back to the cottage, a right mess compared to the regal King and Queen you would have to act like in front of the Capitol, you showed him just how much you loved him in return. 

[astridthevalkyrie]

a weak heart | rafayel x reader

“Let’s go all the way, tonight, no regrets, just love,” she sings, and her voice is a little pitchy but Rafayel could listen to it all day, “we can dance, until we die, you and I, we’ll be young forever!” How very wrong she is about that last part. It’s almost funny. Someone with such a weak heart shouldn’t be this cocky.

cw: reader has she/her pronouns, fluff, light angst, rafayel being bratty but also down incredibly bad

word count: 1.4k

There’s a dip in the bed that alerts Rafayel to her presence. He’d already known she was inside, even though her footsteps were hushed. He’d heard her walk in and feed Reddie, and he almost gave up the vow he made to himself not to engage with her just so he could snark about how she was more invested in seeing the fish than in seeing him.

(Of course, she very well may have gone to the studio to look for him and decided to feed Reddie while she was already in there, but. He doesn’t want to be reasonable right now. He wants to be upset with her. And she gives him so little to get upset with because she is and always has been some kind of angel descended from the heavens with an embarrassingly weak heart, so he needs to take whatever chances he can get.)

A soft touch to the back of his neck is followed by a quick kiss to his cheek. “Rafayel?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I know you’re awake, Raf.” Well, his eyes are open so. Great observation, idiot. “You’re not even gonna talk to me?”

The window he’s staring through is so fascinating all of a sudden, all bright and stale with an afternoon light he’s painted a billion times. Literally a billion. That’s how old he is. One would think he’d learned to be patient in that time, but one would also think that after waiting for a woman for centuries, she could cut him some slack and not make him wait any longer.

(Not that she knows that but. Still.)

“It was really last minute.” She kisses his cheek again, hovering over him and he wants so badly to gaze up at her, because that will be something he’s never painted before—he’d title it Requiem For A Bland Thursday and Thomas would sell it for a couple hundred million and he’d tell her that and she would only ask him to buy her a rainbow popsicle because there isn’t a greedy bone in her body.

“I was going to text, Raf, I promise I was, but I’d pulled a night shift already and my phone was dead and Xavier and I both left our chargers at home, and we didn’t have a chance to stop and charge anyways.”

Always an excuse. Always a valid excuse that he can find no fault with. But it isn’t fair. The people she works with—Tara, Xavier, Captain Jenna who she’s definitely a little in love with—get her attention and her time every hour of every day. If there’s a mission to do, she’ll drop everything and do it. And Rafayel gets the crumbs, the vacation days and the after hours, whenever she remembers him enough to spare her time.

What’s worse than that is the fear. He doesn’t let it show through text, always opting to send whatever he thinks will make her smile, but everytime hours pass without a response from her, fear seizes his poor heart. All the twisted and cruel things that could possibly happen to her start playing on repeat in his head.

“Rafayel,” she pleads, tilting her forehead against his temple. “Please, look at me?”

His chest burns hot.

When he finally looks up, he finds he’s absolutely correct in his hunch. She presents like a masterpiece, hair mussed from whatever fights Xavier clearly couldn’t protect her from. Her eyes shine tiredly, lighting up when they gaze into his. And Rafayel’s heart releases a painful thump, thump, thump because if he could spend eternity with her looking at him the way she is now, he’d easily live the rest of his immortal life the happiest person in the universe.

She leans down and pecks his lips apologetically. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

(It’s what she always does.)

“It’s what you always do,” he says, not harsh but definitely blasé enough to make her wince. “Why should this time be any different?”

A sigh escapes her, and he starts to feel that old guilt again. To hold her up to a standard because he fell in love with two other versions of her, and to give her grief for being late as though she wasn’t doing an incredibly important job keeping people safe—it’s not exactly fair. To either of them, but specifically to her.

And yet, it’s not like he spends his time with her imagining a princess running through the sands calling his name. This version of her makes his heart pound all the same, whether she’s absolutely beating his ass at the card game in the cafe, or resting her head on his shoulder from behind while he paints, or when she’s in his bed just like this.

The biggest similarity is that damn sick bleeding heart.

“What do I need to do for you to forgive me?” She tilts his chin up with her index finger, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. Rafayel could never imagine being spoiled like this even if he was to be sitting on the throne in Lemuria right now, with jewels and gold surrounding him and beautiful maidens offering their hands. 

Somehow, this is more. Somehow, this is better.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he answers flatly, “and there’s nothing I can do. So let me be mad at you in peace.”

Her response is to brush the bangs from his forehead and drop a kiss to his forehead as well. “You make me feel like I’m in high school all over again,” she teases quietly, a small smile playing on the corner of her lips now. “My teenage dream.”

He groans. “Don’t—“

“Let’s go all the way, tonight, no regrets, just love,” she sings, and her voice is a little pitchy but Rafayel could listen to it all day, “we can dance, until we die, you and I, we’ll be young forever!”

How very wrong she is about that last part. It’s almost funny. 

Someone with such a weak heart shouldn’t be this cocky.

“Is this my punishment?” His nose wrinkles. “To hear you sing terrible renditions of already overplayed songs?”

Her giggle is the real music to his ears. “You’re an artist, you should know talent when you hear it.”

“I do,” he insists, realizing too late that he’s giving in. The lightness in his stomach is a bit frightening too. This is the same woman who carved out his heart. This is the same woman who needed to do nothing but flutter her lashes at him to make him give in to her any request. If, tomorrow, she were to ask him to rip his own scales from his body and place the bloody pieces in her palm, he’d do so without question.

Her hand comes up to rest on his cheek and he leans into it with a soft sigh almost on instinct. Such power she possesses, over the God of the Sea, and she’s the only person who would never even fathom abusing it. 

“You’re cold,” she murmurs, caressing his cheek. “Why do you always keep your house so cold?”

(So that she can warm him up so that she can warm him up so that she can warm him up so that she can warm him up so that she can warm him up so that she can—)

“It’s better for blood circulation.”

Her thumb gently brushes over his lower lip, like she’s mapping out her quest to treasure. “That’s like, objectively not true, Raf. My friend’s a doctor, he told me that cold is better for short-term pain and warmth is better for—“

“If you’re cold,” he interrupts, “get under the sheets.”

A brilliant, blinding smile lights up her face as she does just that, slipping under next to him and laying down at a slightly elevated level so she can tuck his head into her chest. Warmth runs through him like a flood, even the leather of her uniform is comforting because it’s smooth and light and smells just like her. Her lips press to the top of his head.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers, running her fingers through his hair, “I’ll do my best to text you and let you know next time, okay?”

And if she doesn’t, Rafayel thinks, curling into her more, they will still end up like this, quiet words and mutual teasing, memories of the past that he will forever be cursed by and she will never be burdened with, a heart that dances to the tune of her commands, wrapped up in each other, and absolutely nothing will change.

Because who really has a weak heart?

(It’s not her.)

[pupyuj]

CAN WE GET SOME MORE GAEUL CONTENT‼️⁉️

she’s so babygirl that it hurts

I just wanna grab her tiny waist and ruin her haha jk, unless?

i gotchu anon WE NEED MORE GAEUL CONTENT IN GENERAL unpopular opinion but she’s very baby daddy to me too and in this essay i will—i’m joking… THAT’S A DRABBLE FOR ANOTHER DAY EHEHUEE 🤫🤫

OHOHOHO ive’s gaeul-unnie being this strong figure for the little ones :(( she’s their pillar! but when it comes to you all that just evaporates into the air 🫣 she really doesn’t know what it is! every touch, every smile, everything and anything you say to her just makes her mind go blank and before you know it she’s absolutely putty in your hands 😳 it's so amusing to see for the younger members! ☺️ you coming over their dorm without a warning and surprising gaeul w the prettiest flowers and the yummiest donuts that you let the other members snack on, of course 😭 ugh gaeul being so charmed and enamoured that she kinda just lets you do anything you want to her?? ya'll are watching a movie in her room and she has no problem allowing you to pull her to your lap and touch her underneath the blankets... your cold fingertips being such a nice contrast against her warm skin.. how could she not whimper under your touch??

ofc you'd have to tell her to be quiet or else the girls will find out and tease her to no end!! and gaeul does try her hardest, she really does! but her efforts go to waste when you start playing with her tits underneath her shirt and rub her cunt through her panties :< and it looks like she's trying to stop you with the way she's squeezing her legs together and holding onto your wrist as if to pull it out of her shorts but really, she's torn between letting you fuck her completely or just tease her! "love, can i touch you?" you'd ask knowing damn well what the answer would be 😵‍💫 ugh gaeul was so whipped for you that it was her that decided to lay down on the bed and pull you on top of her...

kissing her neck would be enough to completely melt her down! she absolutely loves the way you kiss her :(( it was so addictive! gaeul suddenly grinding her cunt on your thigh when she's usually so patient and actually prefers when you take your time with her?? oh, she must be so desperate to get off! gaeul doesn't even care that she looks so unlike the 'eldest' of the ive family—when you're around, no titles matter to her. just you, and the way you make her feel.

but yeah no, it's totaly so easy to ruin her! with enough degrading words in her ear and about three fingers inside her tight cunt, gaeul would be gone 😵‍💫 just a moaning, whimpering mess underneath you who can't get a grasp of the situation bcs, well, you were just too good at what you do :(( "can you take it, hon?" you'd ask,, which is of course was useless considering gaeul can barely hear her own thoughts with the way you stretched her out while you spread your fingers inside her and the fact that you knew that she can take anything 🫣 "useless.. i was hoping you'd put up more of a fight..." saying this with a pout, deeply upsetting gaeul bcs oh no you were unsatisfied but also turning her on bcs... well, she's a slut for you, what did you expect.

"(y/n)-ah.. more... i can take it... p-please, more..."

"aw, that's right.. good girl." gosh, gaeul could cum from that alone.. her ending up hugging you as you thrusted your fingers inside her in a rapid pace :(( whining in your ear and just begging for you to completely break her bcs she needed it! especially when she has been so busy taking care of the members... being able to relax and be used like this was a blessing and thank fucking god for you while she's at it 🤭

who else is part of the clingy gaeul after fucking agenda bcs hello that's totally her!! refusing to let you go anywhere and practically trapping you underneath her bcs even your aftercare was to die for!! 🥺 but trust that after gaeul has recovered that she'll start something up again! babygirl just needs so much love rn and she knows you can provide that and more 😋💕

[heavyhitterheaux]

Butterscotch Harlow

First Lady of Private Garden Instagram AU

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, neelamthadhani, 2forwoyne, taylorrooks, blancahood, and 1,283,052 others

y/ninsta: A little while ago, I surprised smush with a puppy (even though he said no more pets). the two have finally warmed up to each other and all she does is terrorize him lmao

jackharlow: I like how you find my pain humorous smh urbanwyatt: I still can't believe yall literally have fourteen pets now lilnasx: urbanwyatt you mean fifteen, they have druski2funny druski2funny: what the actual fuck do yall be on for me to constantly get dragged like this?!?!? 2forwoyne: yall might as well open up your home and sell tickets because yall live in a damn zoo y/ninsta: all yall can kiss my ass because who is over here every damn week trying to get fed? not too much on my babies. blancahood: you have 3 real babies, pay them some attention y/ninsta: B, I have 5 children. how quickly you forget. jackharlow: who the hell is four and five?!?!? dualipa: jackharlow you and Urban urbanwyatt: NOW WHY AM I ALWAYS IN IT?! y/ninsta: dualipa you a real one for that softtcurse: urbanwyatt because your ass is always doing something smh jackharlow: dualipa and now here you come terrorizing me too smh dualipa: jackharlow I was nice about it but I can be mean. watch that tone. jackharlow: dualipa you better not start with me. I swear yall want me bald by 30. jackandy/naremyparents: I'm convinced that soon y/ninsta will find a way to buy an elephant. mark my words. urbandjack26: jackandy/naremyparents she probably already has one and just keeps it at the actual zoo in Louisville jackharlow: DO NOT GIVE HER ANY IDEAS y/ninsta: 👀👀👀 jackharlow: y/ninsta baby don't you dare y/ninsta: jackharlow BRB

Liked by y/ninsta, druski2funny, claybornharlow, urbanwyatt, maggieharlow, quiiso, jessicakelce, and 1,943,271 others

jackharlow: your shirt says mother so please come and get this puppy. I have not known peace since you bought her 😭

urbanwyatt: jackharlow let's be real for a second. you haven't known peace since you got married to y/ninsta taylorrooks: URBAN! TAKE IT BACK BEFORE SHE SEES IT! 2forwoyne: urbanwyatt not your wanting best friend to kick your ass jackharlow: urbanwyatt you just asking to die tonight aren't you? y/ninsta: I heard I've been summoned and urbanwyatt don't go to sleep tonight urbanwyatt: y/ninsta not my fault you terrorize my best friend! y/ninsta: urbanwyatt is this about me forgetting to make you spaghetti the other day? because right now your ass is acting outta pocket. don't let that mouth of yours get you hair cut off and weed stolen theestallion: Y/N PLEASEEEEEEE blancahood: y/ninsta if you steal it, save me some yungskylark: why when it's taco tuesday, someone in PG acts like they don't have no got damn sense smh shloob_: urbanwyatt my stomach is making whale mating calls. you better fix this shit so she feeds us. urbanwyatt: I SAID WHAT I SAID y/ninsta: urby, you asked for it smh jackharlow: like not too much on my baby now but urb actually claimed me as his best friend for once so I call this day a win y/ninsta: look at my pookie defending me and you were always the first best friend, he just loves me more jackharlow: 🙄🙄🙄

yungskylark: he need to defend my stomach from biting the rest of my insides quiiso: jackharlow IT'S NOT NO WIN WHEN WE'RE HUNGRY, TF? jackharlow: quiiso oh imma eat regardless. idc what happens to yall lmaoooo saweetie: jackharlow just nasty as hell as usual jackharlow: saweetie HAVE YOU SEEN MY WIFE?!?! saweetie: jackharlow for the billionth time, YES! jackharlow: saweetie just making sure lol

Liked by y/ninsta, saweetie, urbanwyatt, theestallion, privategarden, theshaderoom, neelamthadhani, and 3,281,937 others

jackharlow: you see what she does in my time of need? LEAVES ME 😭

But my wife a baddie 😍😍

y/ninsta: jackharlow you are so damn dramatic! I'm only going to be gone for two days! but love you smush. claybornharlow: oh, so the babies have to eat jack's cooking? maggieharlow come save your grandchildren! jackharlow: HEY! THEY'RE FINE! dualipa: I highly doubt that jackharlow: dualipa hop off the nearest cliff y/ninsta: I pumped enough and there's more in the freezer, along with formula and the baby food I made. they're good! jackharlow: umm y/ninsta...... I think I only have enough for a few more hours y/ninsta: WHAT blancahood: oh good lord smh jackharlow: y/ninsta axel is eating like he has never seen food in his entire life maggieharlow: smh jackharlow if you needed me, why didn't you call? jackharlow: maggieharlow I got it handled! claybornharlow: only thing jackharlow has a handle on is.... hmm.... I'm at a loss saweetie: clay, pleaseeeee lmao urbandjack26: chaos in the Harlow household lol neelamthadhani: and jackharlow has the nerve to want more children smh handle those three first! y/ninsta: jackharlow is a good daddy! but his way of doing things concerns me sometimes jackharlow: y/ninsta I know I'm a good daddy. to my triplets and my wife. y/ninsta: jackharlow I'm taking my compliment back smh

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, saweetie, estgee, champagnepapi, zackbia, taylorrooks, and 1,928,036 others

y/ninsta: pleading for my damn help, and once I get home, this is what I see 🙄🙄

jackharlow: and that was the first decent amount of sleep that I got since you left y/ninsta: jackharlow I see little miss kept guard while you slept. I told you she loves you. jackandy/naremyparents: are yall gonna tell us her name now?!?!? jackharlow: jackandy/naremyparents I want to protect her privacy urbanwyatt: this man has officially lost it lmao saweetie: privacy? she literally pees and shits outside for the world to see jackharlow: not too much on my baby now! she still deserves privacy! claybornharlow: jack, she's a dog jackharlow: claybornharlow and? she's MY dog and what I say goes blancahood: that man don't know how to act now that he has his own pet quiiso: y/ninsta please get your husband lmao y/ninsta: quiiso he's a lost cause. I tried to come close to him while she was next to him and long story short, she is very territorial of him. she likes me, but he's her go to person. like sis, I was here first. show your mom some respect lmao urbanwyatt: not y/n finally having to compete for jack's heart y/ninsta: urbanwyatt he lowkey might divorce me to be able to have all of his attention on her jackharlow: I AM NOT THAT BAD neelamthadhani: jackharlow who lied to you? smh y/ninsta: jackharlow just tell everyone her name! jackharlow: y/ninsta no. that's her business and no one else's. jackandy/naremyparents: she probably doesn't even have one jackharlow: YES SHE DOES! If yall can guess it, I'll tell you saweetie: wait, what did yall end up deciding because it was down to two names urbandjack26: probably named her alcatraz y/ninsta: urbandjack26 over my dead body lmao allthingsy/n: hmm..... Louisville related? y/ninsta: allthingsy/n no for once lol jackandurbupdates: toffee y/ninsta: getting warmer jackandy/naremyparents: caramel? y/ninsta: getting closer! jackharlow: yall get on my nerves jackandurb26: BUTTERSCOTCH! BUTTERSCOTCH HARLOW! jackharlow: 😒😒😒😒😒 jackandurb26: well?!?!? jackharlow: I'm logging out y/ninsta: 😭😭😭😭

[slow-motionlovepotion]

𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 | 𝒋𝒐𝒆𝒍 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈:  Joel Miller x f!Reader x Tess Servopoulos

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 4.3K

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+ - smut, boston-era, age gap (reader fucks two people old enough to be her parents), girl on girl action, a touch of voyerism (joel likes to watch), threesome, bisexual reader, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it kids), squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, manhandling, breeding kink, slight cum play, lil' bit of fluff at the end.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: what happens when Joel comes home early from a run to find Tess fucking you on his bed.

𝒂/𝒏: throws this like a grenade and runs away fast as fucking possible. i can't actually believe i wrote this, it's disgusting i'm sorry. happy pride to my fellow bisexuals. the mommy and daddy issues are strong with this one ~ no beta, we die like men

You’re not sure how this thing with Tess has started. You’re not even sure what this thing is but it’s become a routine, on nights Joel is away, sharing his bed with Tess, her soft lips pressed to your neck as your rut against her fingers.

You’ve noticed her softening in the months you’ve been doing this. There’s a brightness in her eyes that wasn’t there before and her smile is wider, and a little more genuine. To outsiders she’s still the same hardened, take-no-shit Tess but with you, you get to see her, really see her, glimpses of who she might’ve been before.

Slipping into her building under the cover of darkness, Tess is always up waiting for you and she takes no time pulling you to join her in bed, stripping you out of your clothes and making your breath catch in your throat as you whine her name. 

It’s not cheating, not really, since Tess and Joel haven’t really discussed their relationship, that’s what she tells you, that Joel isn't the jealous type anyway. You don’t believe her, you’d seen Joel threaten men for far less. 

He isn’t meant to be back for another day or so, that explains why Tess has your spread on the bed she and Joel share. It smells like him, you notice it every time you’re here and sometimes it’s overwhelming, the woodsy spiced scent of Joel. You’ve wondered, once or twice, if Joel can smell you when he returns, sometimes you’d spend a few nights, once a whole two weeks, sleeping in his bed, your sweat soaking the sheets while Tess buries her mouth between your legs. 

With your back pressed to her chest and her legs wrapped around yours keeping them spread, Tess rubs soft circles over your clit. Your head rolls back, supported by her shoulder as you whine and squirm, desperate for a bit more friction. Joel hasn’t been on any runs for a while so it’s been weeks since you’ve felt someone else's hands on your body. 

“More, please Tess more�� you pant, turning your head to mumble into her neck, already half gone. Tess slides her hand further, slipping her fingers through the wetness gathering at your entrance.  

“All for me?” Tess teases, she loves you like this. All pliant and pretty for her. You nod and she feels it against her throat. “So pretty sweetheart. All for me” It’s possessive, all for her, she knows you don’t do this with anyone else, not anymore. 

Tess pushes two fingers into you, long fingers that reach that spot inside better than your own can 

“Oh, yes” you hiss, your orgasm approaching rapidly. She swipes her thumb over your clit as she crooks her fingers sinfully, rubbing that soft spongy spot that makes you see stars, coaxing your orgasm closer and closer.

You hear a faint jangle of keys from the hallway outside, it can’t be Joel, probably just a neighbour, you think, Tess wouldn’t risk having you here if there was even a possibility Joel would be returning, would she? 

The front door is thrown open and you hear heavy footsteps crossing the small apartment before the impossibly large body of Joel fills the bedroom entrance, dropping his bag heavily when he’s greeted by the sight of you and Tess on his bed.  

Your impending orgasm is lost with the interruption and you whine pathetically at the loss and at the embarrassment of being caught like this. You try to bring your legs together, hide your glistening cunt from Joel’s view but Tess keeps you pinned in place, doesn’t even falter, she slows but does’t completely stop the gentle prod of your g-spot. 

“Shit” you mutter under your breath, burying your face further into Tess’ neck, unable to even look at Joel, heat creeping up your cheeks, making you feel hot all over. 

You feel Tess’ hand grip into the back of your hair, turning your face to look at Joel. You try to resist but you know when she means business, your eyes meet Joel’s face and you see something unspoken pass between the two of them as his features darken before he makes eye contact with you.

“Don’t stop on my account, finish her off” Joel’s gravely voice sounds tight, like you’re in trouble.

You bring your hand down between your legs, trying to push Tess’ fingers from your cunt, shaking your head as much as her grip on your hair allows 

“C’mon sweetheart, be a good girl. Show Joel how pretty you look when you come” Tess’ fingers speed up their motions, withdrawing from your heat before slipping back in, the pads of her fingers hitting that spot every time.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, watching with interest as he props himself up against the divider, thick arms crossing over his broad chest. The sight makes you clench around Tess and she laughs softly in your ear “You like it when he watches?” nudging at your jaw with her nose, prompting you to answer 

“Yes” it’s breathy and quiet, barely audible over the sound of the wet slick of your cunt around Tess’ fingers 

You’re unable to tear your eyes from Joel because, fuck, he looks good. You’ve always thought he was attractive, in a rugged old-enough-to-be-your-dad kinda way. Your eyes trail from his arms, down the softness of his belly until your eyes land between his legs, even in the dim light the obvious stretch of his jeans over a more than generous hardness is evident. You feel Tess release her grip on your hair, hand finding yours to push it back down your body, your fingers joining hers between your legs. You take the silent instruction, tracing the tips of your fingers over your throbbing clit, eyes closing at the feeling.

“Mm-mm, eyes here” You hear from Joel, opening your eyes to find him tracing the thick line of his cock with his thumb, gripping the head through the denim of his jeans, a hard breath leaving him. 

Your eyes track the movement of his hand and you imagine what he might look like with that hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with Tess’ fingers. Fuck, the image sends a throb through your walls and you hear Tess’ breath hitch behind you 

“Close” you whisper, hooking your free hand back around Tess’ neck, bringing her closer.

“I know sweetheart” Tess speeds up her thrusts, fucking into you as you roll your hips down onto her hand, your own fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your back is sweaty against her chest, your hair sticking to the back of your neck. 

“C’mon sweetheart, you’re right there I can feel it” and you are, your release sparking, flickering with each invasion of Tess’ digits, you need something more, something to ignite the burn settled low in your abdomen. 

“Come for us” Joel commands you at the same time you feel Tess sink her teeth into the flesh of your shoulder and you’re not sure which of them lights the match but you’re coming. Heat spreads down your thighs, your back arching in a way that’s pornographic and the groan you let out rattles deep in your chest. You flood around Tess’ fingers as she continues pushing you through your orgasm and when she wrenches her fingers from your cunt something inside you bursts, a scream torn from you as you soak Joel’s bedsheets. 

Fuck, you’ve never done that before, you roll your face into the crook of your arm, hiding yourself away from Joel’s intense stare, shame tightening a knot in your stomach. You’re barely able to support your own head with the energy your orgasm ripped from you. Your whole body trembles as Tess soothes you, trailing her damp fingers up and down the skin of your thigh. 

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Tess murmurs from behind you as calloused fingers cup your jaw, turning your head to meet Joel’s gaze and he’s so close, one knee on the bed, right in the middle of the wet spot you’d made and he obviously doesn’t care about your cum soaking through the fabric of his jeans. 

“So pretty, could watch that all day” Joel all but growls, it’s low and deep and there’s a tinge of desperation that sounds good on him. 

He roams his eyes down your body, releasing your jaw and bringing his hands to slide two thick fingers through your soaked folds, meeting your eyes again as he slips them gently into your cunt “You always cum like that or was that all for me?” 

There it is again. All for me. Possessive. You’re a possession, you belong to Tess, and apparently by extension, Joel. 

“For you” you moan. Not all for him, for Tess as well, it was her fingers after all. Although with the way he’s stretching you around his fingers and pumping slowly you might come again, this time all for him. You reach for Tess, clutching at her as she continues the ghosting trail up and down your thighs. Joel notices how your fingers entwine with hers and he turns his attention to her. 

You hear the wet sounds of a kiss and a soft breath leave Tess’ chest, you can’t see, squeezed between them as Joel fingers continue their pleasure. When they separate you sense Joel whispering something in Tess’ ear but you don’t catch it. Then Tess brings her lips down, brushing your sweaty hair out the way and what she says makes you melt 

“What do you say sweetheart, you want Joel to fuck you?” You whine and buck your hips, almost frantic at the prospect

“Yes, yes please” you feel Tess nod against your ear and see something glint in Joel’s eyes.

You think about reaching for him, slipping your fingers under the buckle of his belt and dragging him to you but you quickly accept you’re not in charge here. Maybe next time. Or not, there’s not going to be a next time, Jesus you’re not entirely convinced Joel isn’t going to kill you after this. Tess may be in charge but you’ve seen Joel go off the rails more than once, he’s a dangerous man. 

Joel reaches for his buckle, making quick work of the leather and denim, and boxers you notice, when he comes back to the bed wearing nothing but his faded blue shirt. You do reach for him then, working the buttons much faster than you expected with your shaky hands, eventually his shirt hangs open, greying hair hiding the scars littering his body. 

Tess keeps your legs spread, lifting them higher to allow Joel to settle between them. You’re surrounded, Tess behind you, Joel in front of you and you don’t know how you feel but you do know that being shared by them feels right. 

“You ready for him sweetheart?” Tess whispers against your ear. When you nod your head Tess tsks “Ask him” 

“Joel please, want you” Joel brushes the thick head of his cock over your entrance, letting it rest heavily against your clit

“Again” Tess orders 

“Please, fuck please fuck me, want your cock Joel. Need it, wanna feel you-” Joel silences your begging with a sharp thrust, sheathing his length into your wet heat. The sound you make is filthy, and fuck, he’s big. 

“Breath sweetheart, it’s a lot, I know, but you can take it” Tess presses soft kisses down your neck and along your shoulder. You blindly reach behind you, desperate for another anchor, something familiar and grounding and when you feel Tess' hair running through your fingers you pull gently. 

“So good, taking me so well” Joel moans above you “so fucking tight for me”

For me. You tug lightly on Tess’ hair, stretching your neck up to meet her lips in a soft kiss. 

Joel starts moving when your lips meet, jostling you slightly, pushing you further into her and she takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth when you gasp as Joel forces himself back into you. 

“Feel good sweetheart?” Tess questions between quick kisses and you nod, whining a barely coherent answer. Joel sets a ruthless pace, thrusting himself in and out harshly, pressing your sweaty body between Tess and his own. 

You want more, need more, from them both. You make the split second decision to move, pushing him off you. Rolling yourself over and settling yourself between Tess’s thighs you push your knees up underneath you, raising yourself up for Joel. 

You waste no time, peppering soft kisses on the inside of her thighs. You can feel Joel’s knees settling around yours, his hand resting on your hip but he moves no further, watching the back of your head work between his lover's legs. You reach her core, immediately licking into her, nosing at her clit. His eyes flick to Tess when she gasps, he can hear a soft hum come from you and feels you nudge your hips back into his. 

Gripping his cock, he pushes the head between your lips, and god, you’re so wet, there’s little resistance as he sinks in. 

Joel pulls your knees out from underneath you until you’re flat, straddling your thighs and thrusting himself back in. You whine and he stutters, dropping his forehead to your shoulder, “Fuck darlin’, so fuckin’ tight” you squeeze tighter around him that it’s almost painful, “Christ” Joel moves, almost by instinct, ploughing himself into you roughly, he’s little restraint, watching Tess writhe beneath you, your tongue flicking repeatedly at her clit. 

Joel’s pace rocks through your entire body and you start to lose focus, panting around Tess’ clit as you try to control your moans. You can’t, can’t focus on anything other than the burn of Joel’s cock splitting you open. You pull back from Tess, bumping your forehead against Joel’s, getting his attention. When he raises his head you kiss him, you know he can taste Tess on your lips and you realise this is the first time you’re kissing the man currently buried in your cunt. 

Joel chases your lips when you pull away but you guide him gently where you really want him, arousal flooding through you when Joel lowers his mouth to Tess’ cunt, flicking his tongue in lazy, sloppy circles. Resting your head against her thighs you can feel her twitch with every pass of his tongue. You force yourself to keep your eyes open, to watch, as Joel continues to drive into you, never even faltering in his thrusts. 

A soft plea of your name pulls you from a bubble of bliss, when it’s repeated you realise it’s Tess, you stroke your hand down her thigh, letting her know you hear her

“Fingers, please sweetheart, your fingers” Joel hears her too, shifting his attention to her clit, allowing you to slip your fingers into the wet heat of her cunt. The muscles in her thigh tense against your cheek and you know her tells, you know that means she’s close. 

You can feel your own orgasm building steadily, each thrust of Joel pushing you closer to the waves that threaten to crash over you. You suppress it as much as you can, heavy eyes watching as Joel feasts. You glance up at Tess, expecting to see her head thrown back, what you don’t expect is to find her watching. Watching the way Joel is buried between both her thighs and yours, the way he works at her clit, eyes closed, the lines permanently etched on his face softened as he enjoys it. 

“Fuck” Tess mutters as both you and Joel work her to release, her hands fist into his hair and her hips rock onto your fingers “like that, yeah like that, Joel fuc-” and Tess whines, a gasp of your name leaving her lips as well. Joel doesn’t let up, continuing his assault on her clit and when you remove your fingers he laps at the wetness leaking from her. Her legs fall slack against the bed, the soft curve of her stomach rising and falling with her panting breaths. 

“Your turn darlin’, wanna feel you come round my cock” Joel grumbles into your ear and before you can respond his hands are under your arms, hauling you up Tess’ body, propping you up on your knees between her spread legs as he slides back into your heat. Tess’ lips find yours, catching your gasp when she slips her fingers between your legs. She avoids your clit, instead just resting her fingers at your entrance, feeling how you stretch around him.

It’s overwhelming, two sets of hands on your body, the feel of Joel’s hips meeting yours, and the new angle of his cock hitting just right. You can feel something building, it’s a different kind of pressure, each time Joel withdraws you feel like you could burst and every time he thrusts back in the pressure tightens. 

The constant cycle of almost release is punishing, your whines pitching higher and higher with every thrust. Your legs are shaking and you’ve given up kissing Tess, choosing instead to rest your sweaty forehead against hers. 

Joel doubles his efforts at your sounds, a firm hand pushing your lower back into an arch, tilting your hips to allow you to take him even deeper.

“Fuck Joel, fuck, I-” you what? You don’t even know, it’s too much but you want more and you don’t know how to tell him that. The sound coming from your coupling is dirty, slapping skin and wet, so wet. 

“Wa’s goin on huh?” Joel pants from behind you “Gonna come darlin’?” 

“I- I don’t know” you pant, panic rising in your chest at the unfamiliar feeling.

Joel hums behind you and you can hear his smirk. He fucks into you three more times before withdrawing completely and you go into shock, legs trembling violently, hips raising and you’re gushing, your wet release drenching the mattress between your knees

“Shit darlin’” Joel groans as you squirt, eyes locked on your pulsing cunt “Makin such a mess” He slips back into you, thrusting hard and fast and you’re on a high, each thrust pushing you even higher and higher. This time Joel doesn’t pull out, instead the pressure of your release forcing him out against his will.

You hear him growl behind you, fingers gripping your hips, holding your boneless body as he fucks back into you. You can feel Tess whispering praise in your ear but you can’t actually hear what she’s saying over the ringing in your ears. 

Her hands gently hold you up, her breath hot against your neck as you clutch at her arms, nails digging into her flesh so hard that if you were more conscious you’d be concerned about drawing blood. 

“One more darlin’, one more f’me c’mon” Joel’s slurring above you, thrusts faltering. You shake your head, feeling thoroughly fucked out despite the heat of a more familiar orgasm building. You don’t have the energy to fight it and you relax into it, cunt pulling him deeper, tightening around him. Tess nudges your jaw and you lift your head to meet her eyes. 

“You can do it sweetheart” she pushes your damp hair out of your face, bringing your mouth to meet hers and it’s sweet, a stark contrast to the way Joel’s pounding into you from behind. 

Joel’s grip on your hip tightens in warning and he starts babbling

“Look at ya, takin it so fuckin well. Such a pretty little cunt. So fuckin tight, don’t understand how you can still be so fuckin tight. Gonna be good for me, need you to come one more time, one more time darlin and I’ll fill you up” You don’t know who his babbling is for but you tighten further at his words, your orgasm sparking.

“Yes yes, fuck yes Joel please” you know you’ve never wanted anything more

“Yeah, y’gonna take it? Lemme fill you up n’ fuck a baby into you?” That’s it, that’s what breaks you, pleasure ripping through your body so hard it’s painful and you sob, tears flowing and chest heaving, mumbling incoherent nonsense as Joel continues to fuck into you.

“Good girl tha’s it. Gonna fill you up, leave you leaking” you can hear how tight his voice is, deep and gravelly and desperate. With a final thrust he buries himself as deep as possible, nudging at your cervix and it’s just the right side painful. “Fuck” You feel him swell as he comes, your abused cunt stretched around him, his fingers digging into your hips already leaving bruises. 

Keeping his grip firm on your hips he kneels back, pulling you with him until you're pressed against him. He slips a hand between your thighs, brushing your oversensitive clit and you whine in protest. “No more, please” 

“Okay, no more” He chuckles darkly “You did good, didn’t she do good?” he directs his question at Tess and she nods with a smirk

“She did” Warmth blooms in your chest at her praise and the tired smile she has on her face.

You can feel Joel soften inside you and you already miss the feeling, that is until you feel him slip out, followed by the wet heat of his release. You gasp at the feeling, you’ve never had anyone finish inside you before and it’s not entirely unpleasant. You kneel up, cum still leaking from you, adding to the mess on the bed sheets between your legs. 

Tess is watching, eyes glazed as she sits up to run her finger through the sticky mess of your cunt before bringing it to her mouth, sucking with an obscene moan and a roll of her eyes. She pulls your lips to hers, licking into your mouth, you can taste yourself and Tess and something unfamiliar that must be Joel. Joel’s cock twitches against your backside and you’re both surprised and concerned, you can’t go again, your body is absolutely done, and thankfully Tess pulls away, a final chaste kiss before she addresses Joel 

“Bill have what you went for?” she asks, her eyes dropping to damp curls between your legs

“Yeah” Joel breathes. 

You don’t know what they’re talking about but you’re tired and your head feels fuzzy, ears still ringing and you need to lie down. Your knee brushes the wet spot as you move and you freeze “Shouldn’t we change th-”

“‘ll do it t’morrow” Tess mumbles, eyes flicking to the empty bed next to her expectedly and you join her without question. Joel moves then, coming to lay on your other side as Tess pulls you into her, wrapping her arm around your waist, always the big spoon.

Joel pulls the duvet that had fallen to the floor during your activities, throwing it over you all, immediately closing his eyes. You’re so tired, eyes feeling heavy but you don’t want to sleep yet. You want to soak this up, still unconvinced it’s not just a one time thing.

“What are you doing?” Joel mumbles, eyes closed but definitely still awake

“Nothin’” you lie, you’re watching him, basking in this sleepy-guard-down Joel, for only the second time since you’ve known him he doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of killing someone. 

“Then go to sleep” he groans but turns his head towards you, his hand finding your knee, bringing it up to hook over his thigh, a silent acknowledgment of affection. 

This, this playfulness with Joel, has seemingly come out of nowhere and the realisation has your jaw dropping. 

“You knew” you state and Joel fucking smiles. You feel Tess’ smirk through the kisses to you shoulder and all of a sudden you feel incredibly thick 

“You told him?” you ask

“He’s known the whole time” she confirms

“You spent two weeks living in my apartment, wearing my clothes and fucking on my bed, the whole place smelt like you when I got back” you bury your face into the pillow at his observation, you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice one of his T-shirts was missing but you feel the heat rising for a different reason when you wonder if he fucked Tess on bedsheets that smelt like you. 

“You planned this?” you ask over your shoulder and Tess just hums with a smile “You could’ve just asked me” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” she laughs, and you don’t think you know a more lovely sound than Tess laughing. Joel’s hand squeezes your knee under the covers and you know he thinks the same too.

Tess mumbles something like ‘going the fuck sleep’ into your hair and it’s not even a minute before her breathing slows and her arm around your middle becomes a dead weight. 

As if the night wasn’t full of enough surprises, Joel’s fingers brush your jaw and when you open your eyes he’s watching you. 

“This was a big deal for her. She didn’t wanna scare you off.”

You hum quietly, “Didn’t scare me off, could never” your speech is slurred, exhaustion quickly taking over

“I said no, at first, you make her happy and I didn’t wanna screw this up” that’s unexpected, honesty and vulnerability from Joel.

“Wait, we could’ve been doin’ this for longer?” Joel huffs a laugh in response, it’s genuine and the sound makes you feel fuzzy. “Guess we’ve got some catchin’ up to do” you mumble, you don’t register what Joel says in response, far too focused on what he’d said before.

‘You make her happy’ 

Happy is something you hadn’t been in a long time and you suspect, something Tess and Joel have been missing too. You make her happy, you’ve renewed her, pulling laughs and smiles with ease. 

What’s that Fireflies saying ‘when you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light’

That’s you. You’re the light. Tess started a fire within you and she’s been basking in the glow and now she wants to share your light with Joel and you’ll gladly let her. 

𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[leciraofthewilderness]

So, despite some faults, I really enjoyed totk, and on its anniversary I want to say something about it. Other people have said similar things before but it’s really important to me and actually a big part of why the story of totk was meaningful to me, so I want to also say it:

Zelda needed to come back from draconification. The story needed that. It wasn’t lazy and just ignoring “consequences” because (imo) that was the *point*

The point is to feel like there are going to be terrible consequences and then say actually, no. You can come back from this, with the help of other people.

To me at least, that was the theme of the whole story.

If botw was about how the world goes on past loss and grief and starts to heal (how flowers grow in the ruins and the world can be beautiful again, be worth saving, even if it has changed)…then totk was about a more personal kind of healing.

The weight of the world should not be on your shoulders alone…you, alone, should not have to fix everything…you should not have to sacrifice yourself, but when you do, someone will be there to save you from it.

This turned into a really long ramble so:

You (Link) gained so much and now it’s gone. It feels like you’re back to where you started and yet you know you have to do it all again…you were weak and you failed and you’re weaker now…but

You go down to the surface. Monsters swarm across it once again. Other people are fighting them too though. You help, but it’s not just you…

You go to the Rito, the Gorons, the Zora, the Gerudo…just like with the divine beasts, there are friends who help you save each region. But this time, part of them comes along with you when you leave. It’s nice, you realize, the first time one of them protects you from a monster you weren’t prepared for. You’re still weaker than you were before, but someone has your back…

When you go up to the sky you see a strange new dragon there. There’s something about them that feels familiar. You try not to think about it.

You go down to the depths too. It’s terrifying at first. You hate it. You only want to get what you came for and get out of the dark….but slowly, the light grows. You get stronger. The dark feels like a challenge you can face (and someone has your back).

There are spirits down there. You don’t know when they’re from, but some part of you wonders…are these all the people you let die in the Calamity? (You help them find rest from their wandering. The weight on your shoulders feels a little less heavy).

There’s so much gloom. The first few times the sky turns red and hands chase you (a reminder of what you’ve lost, how you failed) you just run. Eventually though, you have to fight. It feels like the (second) worst day of your life again. But you manage to get free of the grasping gloom and stand and fight, as wild and desperate as it is. Beneath the manifestation of your worst fears, there’s another thing to fight, but this time it has a face (a voice in the back of your head says…you know this isn’t all on you and your failure…it’s really Ganon’s fault right?). You get through it.

At every turn in your travels, it seems like something reminds you of Zelda. Her passion, her curiosity, her kindness. You miss her.

At first, the tears you find reassure you. She may be in the past, but she’s safe. She’ll come back somehow…but then you hear the word draconification for the first time. You want to believe she wouldn’t do it but you know her and the fear sits cold inside you. (Zelda is a lot of things. She’s been allowed to be more of them, since she was freed from her hundred year battle, without her father holding her back. But deep down inside her, there’s a vein of self-sacrifice that still runs strong. It’s what saved the world before, after all).

She did it. She really did it. She’s gone from you (from Hyrule) forever, and it’s all your fault. If only you hadn’t failed so utterly in the battle (you can hardly even call it that) under the castle. If only you’d caught her. If only you hadn’t let the sword break. You should have protected her you should have been better it’s all your fault and now she has to live with the consequences, forever. Everything really is on you, you should have been better.

(Zelda POV: you couldn’t call upon Hylia’s power in time, you were too content to let it wither and fade away from you, ready to be free of it. You shouldn’t have. He got hurt, the sword got hurt, it’s your fault…Sonia and Rauru help you channel it again, Sonia helps you learn how to turn back time…but you don’t save her. She dies because you couldn’t save her. Rauru dies not long after. There is no one left to guide you, once again. You could spend years trying to figure it out on your own. But you did that last time. It didn’t work. Self-sacrifice, stepping in front of someone you love, that worked. (You do what you can, to call upon the sages, to help Link in the future, first). And then you swallow the stone. You’ve come a long way, in the past five years, allowing yourself to exist. But in the end, self-sacrifice worked last time. It’ll work this time too.)

You (Link) go down beneath the castle. You were supposed to bring the sages but you didn’t. It’s nice, for someone to have your back. But no one else should get hurt to fix your mistakes.

They follow you anyway. They fight with you, against the hordes, against the greatest enemies you defeated together, along the way. They’ll have your back, even if you don’t think you deserve it.

You fight Ganondorf, and then the demon king, in the hardest battle of your life. You think it’s over and then the demon king decides it’s better to lose himself completely than let you win. You’re exhausted and afraid of yet another battle, but up there in the sky, when you’re falling, the Light Dragon catches you (you wonder why she changed her path to catch you, you wonder if there’s still something of Zelda left in there to save). With her help, you win.

And then you’re in some other realm. The spirits of Sonia and Rauru are there. You remember how the two of them and Zelda channeled such incredible power together. You think about Recall. Turning something back to the memory of what it was before, like Sonia said. You stand with them and you allow yourself to hope. Maybe the Light Dragon can remember the form she took so long ago, the person that she was.

And then you���re falling, and Zelda is falling, but this time you catch her. You catch her. She’s back home with you, finally, finally.

And maybe, one mistake doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to be perfect. Sometimes, someone else can stand with you, and it’ll all turn out alright. (You can put the weight of the world on your shoulders, you can sacrifice yourself, but someone will be there to catch you, someone will be there to pull you back to yourself, when all is said and done).