#I feel like I have no path and I’m just sitting in darkness

[comfortless]

i have been thinking about this for a while and i love how you write, so what do you think of biker!könig with a gf that studies in uni? how did they meet? does he get jealous easily of her classmates? what is the aftermath of his jealousy (😏)?

thank you so much 🩷

-🌵

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. fem (afab) reader, suggestive, but mostly just two sillies attempting to flirt.

They first cross paths at a gas station. Sundown and desolate apart from the woman who approaches the tiny shop on foot whilst he straddles his bike at the pump.

She doesn’t notice him, and that’s just fine. More often than not, people do but for the wrong reasons. It’s always the height or the face only his mother could love. This is a good thing, shows she’s not hasty with her judgment, shows she’s just unaware enough to let something like him in.

It’s stupid, completely ridiculous at how he feels his heart thump to life, ribcage squeezing and stomach a whirl with butterflies at the mere sight. The furthest thing from love comes to mind at the sight: plush thighs peeking out against the hem of shorts that cut off just below her bum, the tight tanktop that displays her cleavage in a way so enticing. But that’s what he immediately thinks of, that word that seems foreign to him even in his mother tongue.

Love.

König could be a gentleman, lie her down in his bed instead of fucking her over the bike, if she were kind enough to follow him home. That offer feels heavy as lead on his tongue, lost someplace in his throat when he really gets a good view of her.

He’s never been good with talking to women, anyway. Especially not an angel so far out of his league she would surely only scoff with her sweet drink in hand, turn away from him with her nose held high and dark circles under her eyes as she suffers through another paper back at her dorm or wherever she came from.

So, he leaves her be as much as he can and should, only watches her with his helmet in place and that dark visor masking where his eyes wander from her face down to the retreating view of her legs as she walks.

The next time time is during the rain.

König is good at refraining from acting on base instinct. There’s a lot to consider before stealing away some miserable dove on the sidewalk, the light drizzle from above soaking into her dress and battering her lashes as she sits and waits for a ride that just doesn’t seem to be coming. He’s got his military background, keeps his house tidy and rarely muddles in the affairs of other people.

It’s just that she’s cold.

He tells himself that the only reason he stops his bike some meters away is because she will get sick if he doesn’t offer her a ride. He’s just being a gentleman. There’s nothing more to it.

So he does. Keeps his helmet on and masks his face as well as the weird excitement and nervousness in his voice when the muffled offer taints the wet air.

It doesn’t matter that he wouldn’t have never considered any of this if she weren’t so cute. If she didn’t look so fragile and sweet. She smiles and nods immediately, fusses with her dress a bit when she climbs onto the bike behind him when she tells him that she’s only just been on a date. It just hadn’t turned out well and whoever the bastard had been had dipped before even the entree was served.

It sends his mind spiraling when it shouldn’t.

It’s deranged to think of her misfortune as fate when it isn’t.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know where to put my hands,” she laughs someplace against his shoulder, chin just slightly tilted up to bump his damp t-shirt. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever heard, not mocking at all, only shy.

“Around me.”

He sounds like an old pervert, feels just like one when he takes her hands into his own and guides them around his middle. Presses in a bit too tight, because it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman so close and it feels good to be held like this.

She makes some quiet noise, a soft gasp, then presses her face into the darkness of his shirt to hide away from the rain or maybe…

“You can come home with me. It’s close.”

She laughs again, and he’s reminded of just how little tact that he has with the fairer sex. She must think him an idiot, some hopeful vigilante that scoops women up from the street after nightmare dates with bad food or bad dick. It sounds so stupid to his own ears, he knows he’s burning crimson beneath the black helmet.

Until she squeezes him a bit, gives what must be her best attempt at a hug from their positioning. Again, too, maybe out of surprise that there’s muscle there. Something a woman like her might like.

“I’ve got nothing to lose, huh?” and then “You seem a lot nicer than he was, anyway.”

The air gets stolen from his lungs and his jaw grows loose. She had only told him yes to maybe sitting on his couch, watching some miserable war film until he brought her back to her academic wasteland, but not a part of him had expected that.

It takes a moment for him to realize he hasn’t said a word, that he’s sat panting like some stay being offered a meaty bone. He takes a moment to reposition her grip around him, too ashamed of the way his cock springs to life at her closeness and the ridiculous fantasy playing out in his head.

“Right… you can dry off there.”

He doesn’t immediately remove the helmet when she steps into his abode, just guides her over to the washroom when she asks if he would mind if she used his shower and lets her be. That room has never known a woman’s touch, and the shirt he gives her to change into isn’t comparable to the cute, floral thing she was wearing.

He takes her dress to the dryer to distract himself from the fact that she’s naked in there, just a flimsy door away. Changes out of his own sopping wet clothes after considering that maybe she would want to touch him again. Maybe it felt nice for her too, just to hold someone. He could hold her too, if she wanted that, bring her right to his bed and keep her safe and warm.

“You’re out of conditioner,” she peeps as she steps back out of the bathroom. “Just thought you would want to…”

Her eyes trail over him for a time as her words taper off to nothing. Then, they’re locked to his face and any hope goes up in an inferno. The scars are probably scary, the dark circles from weeks of minimal sleep are probably even worse. She probably thinks him some sort of monster or a demon, something no girl should be left alone with.

Then, she smiles.

“Wow…”

“What…?”

He expects the worst and instinctively casts a sideways glance toward the helmet sat by the door. The perfect covering to avoid situations like this. It’s not that he’s dependent on it, but… maybe he would have had some sort of chance had he not taken it off.

“I’m sorry for staring, you’re just really…”

Ugly. Scary. Whatever words she’s considering, he doesn’t care to hear them. She could just ask to go home, save herself some fear and save him from another rejection.

“… cute.”

“Okay.”

Scheisse.

That wasn’t a “thank you” or anything of substance, but this is more mortifying than anything prior. Even the women who had pitied him with a date before had never called him something so endearing, never likened him to some adorable little thing or stared up at him like she does now. She only seems giddy, a fire burning behind her eyes like she’s just discovered some secret treasure.

“… cuter than your date?,” he hazards, rolls his shoulders and tilts his head at her. His attempt at sounding confident only comes across bitter and jealous. Maybe he is, but that fucker blew his chance, and she’s blessing König with far too many.

“Definitely.”

The tension feels tangible, despite the absurdity of all of this. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, where to look, what to say or how long to take between breaths.

She’s stood there in his shirt, looking as if she’s already his and he’s the one left feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

“I think you’re pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Ever since I first saw you, I…” He’s babbling too much, losing any composure because she just keeps her eyes trained on him, that adorable smile curling at her lips. If he sounded creepy, like he’s been following her, she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Maybe you could take me on a date sometime,” she suggests, her voice coming as a breathy little whisper. Maybe she is shy, but she’s giving him the OK to push and prod and see just how far he can go, to expend all of his luck on this very night.

The rain outside only grows louder, threatening to cut the power and leave this docile angel in some dark pit with a mad king. He wishes it would, it grows harder to keep the prominent excitement in his crotch concealed the more that she talks and bats her eyelashes at him.

Being over-eager was a turn-off, right? He weighs his next words the best he can, considers playing it safe for just half a moment before they escape him anyway.

“Come here.”

There’s a darker storm brewing in his eyes when she takes those first, fragile steps toward him. But she graces him with the light of a spark when her hand finds his chest and presses there, feels his heart beating like it’s a normal thing to search for, like she’s just as mesmerized and surprised as she is now.

She’s snared in an instant with a face buried into her damp hair, lifted up with her legs guided to wrap around his waist. A decade worth of luck spent just like that, but he’s always been greedy.

The demand for more comes with a callused hand guiding her chin up. Her lips part immediately, eyelashes fluttering until they rest atop her cheeks, already warmed with the anticipation of what’s to come. His kissing begins gentle, soft for a second as he tries to memorize the plushness and curvature of her lips with his mouth alone.

Then, it’s only punishing.

He tries to hold himself back, but knowing he could have had this weeks ago while she was wandering about barely dressed drives him insane. The moment she gasps against his mouth, his tongue slips inside to find hers, rolls over it with such a ferocity that the corner of her mouth begins to glisten with their shared drool. She whines, then moans as her hands curl over his neck, petting at the short hair at the base of his skull.

His hands fall to her ass to keep her in place, gives her a pinch and then a grope when he realizes she’s not wearing underwear at all.

And that’s where the well must have run dry, because she tilts her face away with a series of soft pants, squeezes her trembling thighs around him as if to make a silent demand to stop, or maybe not. Everything she does makes him feel both hot and crazy; she doesn’t even attempt to wind out of his grip here, only looks up at him sultry and helpless. She must be wet, he can smell it, practically taste her already, but he doesn’t persist when she halts this dance.

“Wait… waitwait. I don’t even know your name.”

“König.”

She laughs breathlessly, then dips her head to press against his shoulder. His hand immediately rises to pet at her hair, twirling a few strands between his fingers as she tells him her name in turn.

“I don’t really want this to just be… one night, you know?,” she says, and that intrigues him.

“That so..?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly lowers her back down until her feet meet the carpeted floor, then takes her face into both hands while she gives him a cute pout. He could be sympathetic, could make her love him even… she’s left the door open for him already, after all.

“I could just hold you,” he mutters, tracing a circle into her cheek, savoring in the way her eyes seem to light up at that.

“I would like that.”

[rosicheeks]

-

[dakotalun]

"Oops" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie "accidentally" sends a tasteful pic to his best friend.

warnings: mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), strong language, description of naked Eddie

word count: 3.4k

Part 2

a/n: went a little crazy at 3am the other night and wrote this. Part two will be up later this week!! Luv y'all <3

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie is your best friend of many years, the two of you being inseparable from the moment you met. So when you got a text from him tonight you don’t think much of it, figuring it was just a dumb meme he saw or a random thing from today.

What you didn’t expect to see was a picture of Eddie standing in his bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders with a prominent boner happening.

His hair is wet as if he just got out of the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it yet. The long dark brown locks stick to his neck and chest in a way that can only be described as godly. The tattoos on his skin are glistening but covered by the towel around his neck and as you move your eyes downward the path of hair that leads to his dick is delicious.

And talking about his dick it is, mag-fucking-nificent! The way that it hangs there, the tip swollen and red, leaking the smallest bit of precum. It has your mouth watering.

You nearly choked on your own spit when you saw it. Never in a million years did you think that Eddie would be sending you of all people nudes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wonder what he was packing but you never really indulged in those thoughts, until now. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, memorizing every little detail in the photo.

Eddie sends another text but you’re too distracted to see what it is. Then a stream of texts start flooding in from him.

‘SHIT!’

‘I DID NOT NMEAN TO SNED YIU THAT!’

‘IGNORE THE PICTUREA’

‘HOW THE HELL DO I DELETE THE PIC?!?!?!’

‘GOD I AM SOSOSOSOSOSOSSOO SOORRY!!’

You giggle at his frantic typing, noting all the typos. Curiosity gets the better of you and you scroll up a little to see what he had said after he sent the picture. You’re eyes go wide at the words displayed on your screen.

‘Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Jerked off twice while in the shower and I’m still hard. Wish you were here with me right now ;)’

You had no clue who this was really meant for but if it was meant for you you would 100 percent be on your way to him right now. The bottom half of the picture stares back at you as your eyes acan over the text again and again. You can’t deny the small hint of wetness that you feel on your underwear while looking at the two.

Twice? He came twice and is still hard. Whoever he thought about must be really hot if he can go 3 rounds without breaking a sweat. Could he go more?

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone receiving a call, from none other than Eddie himself. You sit up in bed and pull your knees towards you as you answer his call.

“Sweetheart I am so so so sorry I sent you that. It was clearly meant for someone else. If I had known it was your contact that I was on I would have never sent that at all. I want you to know that I don’t go around sending nudes to everyone or anything, I’m not a slut I was just-”

“Eddie it’s fine. No need to apologize. I figured it wasn’t meant for me anyways.” It pains you a little at the thought that someone else was supposed to receive that message from your best friend.

“I’m still sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” His voice sounds smooth like spreading butter onto fresh pancakes.

“Hmm,” You fake thinking about what you want even though you know exactly what it is you want, “You’ve gotta tell me who that text was really meant for.” Silence. For a whole minute there is just silence on Eddie’s end, you’d think he was dead if it weren’t for the fast pace of his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” The nickname is not helping the situation you have going on right now, “You don’t mean that. Can’t I just take you to breakfast or buy you a new outfit?”

“Nope.” You respond popping the ‘p’ as you say it. “Either tell me who it was meant for or I send it to the groupchat.” You were bluffing. You couldn’t let the others see him like that, that was for your eyes only. Not that anyone needed to know that.

“You wouldn’t dare,” His voice turned deep and threatening.

“Try. Me.” You challenge back.

Eddie groans, “Fine. You win,” A smile spreads across your face, “It was meant for Callie. This girl in my chem class, we’ve been talking for a little bit.”

You’re a mix of emotions right now; happy that Eddie found someone he’s interested in and took his shot, confused because he never told you about it, sad because you thought he trusted you with things like that, and slightly jealous because you want to be the one Eddie sent nudes to, purposefully.

“Sweetheart? You still there?” You completely forget that you’re still on the phone with Eddie until he says something.

“Uh yeah yeah I’m here. I’m um happy for you Ed. Glad you found someone. Look I gotta go to sleep, big test tomorrow, talk later. Bye.” You hang up before he can say anything else. 

Why did you feel this way about all this? You shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie in this way, he was your best friend. Best friends don’t think about going down on each other, or the way it would feel to have his cock inside you, or the moans he would release when he finally cums in you.

You shake it off and lay back down, setting your phone on your nightstand to charge. You try for half an hour to fall asleep but your mind can’t stop thinking about that damn picture. So you unlock your phone and go back to your messages with Eddie, looking to see if he deleted the picture or not. And to your luck it was the latter, the picture and text below still there for your viewing pleasure.

You’re still horny from the initial thought of him so it doesn’t take long for your hand to wander under your shorts and underwear to your clit. The thought that your fingers were his and the way he would whisper in your ear egging you on to finish.

The images of him jerking himself off in the shower flood you, his hand on the cold tiles, water hitting his back as he fists his cock, rubbing it slowly at first but becoming impatient and going faster until he cums all over the wall and his hand.

The image of his face when he does and the moans that would leave his mouth is what throws you over the edge yourself. Wishing it were him between your legs pulling it from you not your own fingers. Finally your body is tired enough to let you go to sleep, dreaming of Eddie once more.

---

You’re sitting with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire at lunch a week later. Neither of you have talked about what happened that night, both too embarrassed to say anything.

Things were normal though, Eddie would pick you up and drop you off to and from school. You’d talk on the phone every night about whatever happened that day that the other wasn’t there for. You liked the thought that the text didn’t hinder your friendship but you can’t help but be a little jealous about Eddie fucking someone else. It’s not like you were expecting him to confess his hidden undying love for you the next day but the realization that Eddie really did send you that accidentally; hurt.

The freshman are talking about some video game coming out when Eddie lean over to you.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” There’s a smile on his face, one that you always loved seeing.

“Nothing,” You go back to eating your fruit.

“Alrighty then. Hey I was wondering what time you wanted to come over tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, mind going back to the text, “Why?”

“Um it’s Wednesday. Horror movie marathon night, remember?” His head cocks to the side a little, his hair falling into his face. It reminds you of a dog questioning what it’s owner has in their hand.

“Oh right yeah. Um I don’t know if I can make it tonight.” That was a lie, you had nothing going on. But being in the trailer alone with Eddie after knowing what he looks like naked is not what you need right now.

“Awe come on! I rented Scream, Saw, and Halloween for tonight. You can’t make me watch them all alone,” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “What if I need protection from the bad guys?” His big doe eyes large and pleading with you.

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you, “Ugh fine. I’ll be there, how’s 8?”

“Perfect! I’ll order the pizzas, do you think you could make those amazing cookies for us?”

“You mean for you?”

“No. I mean for us, I would never eat all the cookies myself.”

“You did like 3 weeks ago! There were 30 cookies there and I had none of them.” You stare at him as he thinks back to then.

“Nope don’t remember which means it didn’t happen. So will you?” There are those puppy dog eyes again.

“Whatever but I swear if you eat all of them again I’ll castrate you.”

Eddie’s hands fly to his groin, protecting it from your threat. “Ouch, sweetheart. Didn’t know you hated my dick that much.”

I don’t. Just hate that it’s not mine. You thought, but you just rolled your eyes and continued on eating lunch until the bell rang.

---

Eddie rushed around his room looking for his favorite shirt when you showed up for movie night. You let yourself in, per usual and set the cookies down on the coffee table before heading to Eddie’s room. He was squating in front of his closet when you come in, you don’t announce yourself just stand there staring at his back.

He got a few new tattoos since last summer, two of which on his back. A skull and crossbones along with a knife wrapped in barbed wire. You haven’t seen them in person yet, it still being too cold to sit out in the sun. But looking at them now was a pleasure, the detail popping out as his muscles flex.

Eddie huffs and stands, defeated about not finding the shirt he wanted. He turns around and finds you standing in his doorway.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you say you were here?” His hand is over his heart as he catches his breath from the unintentional jump scare.

“I texted you like 20 minutes ago that I was on my way. Figured you knew I’d be here soon,” You say as you enter his room fully to sit on his bed.

“I did not see the text, I was in the shower,” The mention of this brought back memories of the photo, and what you did whilst looking at it, “Anyways pizza should be here soon and I’ve got beers and soda in the fridge.”

Eddie walks around you to his dresser, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on. You’re sad at the loss of his bare skin but quickly shake the thought away. You get up from his bed and head to his living room, Eddie following in toe.

“So what are we watching first? I’ve seen Scream a few times but the other two I haven’t seen,” Eddie remarks as he grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them before handing you one.

You mumble a thanks before taking a sip, the bitter liquid coating your tastebuds. “I’ve seen Scream and Saw but not Halloween. Heard good things about it though, at least that’s what Robin said, Steve had other opinions.”

“Lemme guess pretty boy hated it and wished he never saw it?” Eddie laughs as he sets up Halloween on the tv.

“Yeah pretty much,” You laugh along. The thought of your friend sitting there watching the movie curled up in a blanket next to Robin bringing a smile to your face.

Eddie finishes setting up the movie and walks back the kitchen. He grabs a bag of chips and some dip before returning to your side on the couch. He opens the chips and pops one in his mouth, crunching it loudly.

You smile at the normalcy of everything right now, it’s as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. Which if we’re being honest nothing really did happen, Eddie just sent you a nude on accident. It’s not like you kissed or anything. Not that you’d hate it if you did.

You snack on the chips and dip with him while waiting for the pizza to show up, never starting the movie without it. The two of you talk about nothing in particular while you sit there. Eddie tells you about the upcoming DnD campaign he’s been working on.

His eyes lighting up and hands flying around erratically as he explains what he planned, the animation in his character brings an even bigger smile to your face.

Just as Eddie concludes his explanation, inviting you to come sit in and watch it at the end, the doorbell rings notifying the both of you that the pizza was here and it was now time for movie night to begin.

Eddie pays the guy and happily walks over to the couch and sets the food on the table in front of the two of you, he can’t even wait til the movie starts playing to begin eating. You laugh at him as he opens and closes his mouth quickly trying to cool the hot pizza in his mouth, you just hit play and start watching the movie.

The pizza is gone, same with half the bag of chips and the cookies. Eddie actually let you eat  a few of them before he scarfed down the others. You’re nearing the end of Scream, the third and final movie of the night when you look at your phone for the time. 12:25 stares back at you, you groan knowing that your parents are going to kill you for coming home so late on a school night.

Eddie hears you and turns to see why you made that noise. You just wave him off and go back to watching the movie, watching as Skeet Ulrich gets shot for the final time in the head. A few minutes later the credits roll and Eddie turns off the tv, letting the trailer fade into silence.

“Wanna tell me what that groaning was about?” Eddie asks turning to face you completely.

“Nothing, just didn’t realize that it had gotten so late. Parents are gonna kill me if I go home at this hour.”

“So just stay here,” He says with no hesitation, “You still have a few clothes here after last movie night. They’re just siting in my drawer.”

You think about it for a minute. You and Eddie have had sleepovers in the past, nothing special about them, just two people sharing a bed, occasionally cuddling because of the small size of it. But now the thought of it made you nervous, having him so close to you, so near yet not being able to touch him. It killed you, but it’s better than going back home right now and having your mom and dad rip you a new one.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to shower though. Coach had us run the mile today at practice and I still feel disgusting.”

“Yeah no problem, you go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up here.” He stands and starts clearing the trash from the table. You get up too and head into his bathroom, but no matter how hot the water is or how long you stand under it you can't get the thought of the picture and the words under it out of your mind.

He was right here, jerking off to the thought of someone. You scold yourself for thinking about him like that, again. But you couldn’t help it.

Recently you’ve thought about him more and more; his smile, the dimples that show when he’s really happy, how animatedly he talks, the way his hair is always unkempt but still looks so damn soft. You thought about him in ways you never did before seeing that picture; his arms, his muscles, his hands, his rings. Everything about him turned you on and you needed it to go away.

Eddie finished up cleaning and sat down on his bed, beer in hand while he took out his metal lunchbox for a joint. You walk into his room, towel wrapped around yourself, hair dripping wet from the shower. He stops his actions to just stare at you, the same way you did earlier that night.

“Uh could I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to sleep in,” You say wrapping your arms under your boobs, pushing them up ever so slightly.

Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” He gets up and walks over to his dresser, rummaging through it to look for something you can wear tonight. He pulls out a pair on your underwear that you “left” there a while back and one of his Hellfire shirts. You denied his offer of some pants, saying they would be way to big on you and you’d rather just sleep in the shirt.

Eddie’s mind went straight to the gutter at that thought, you sleeping next to him, in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of underwear he stole from you. His dick was growing hard just thinking about it. He quickly got back to looking for his joint and lighting it upon it’s appearance. He took a few hits while you changed in the bathroom, his mind slowly fogging over.

You return, hair still slightly wet with the towel in your hand. You toss it into his hamper before laying on his bed, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. You lay back and close your eyes, letting the serenity of this moment wash over you. Eddie offers you a hit but you decline, being that you don’t ever mix weed and booze together.

He finishes the joint while you finish his beer. The two of you just sitting there with the light sound of whatever record Eddie has playing. Your thoughts are quiet for the most part, just soaking in the time with your best friend, until you think of something. A question you’ve been meaning to ask for a little bit.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He responds head leaning back onto the wall where a headboard should be.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, hit me.” You reach your hand out and hit him in the thigh.

“Ouch! Not literally, I meant with the question, sweetheart.”

“I know,” You giggle.

“Brat,” He mumbles back.

“Anyways, I was gonna ask -and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to it’s just something I’ve been thinking about- but did you really not know it was me you were sending that picture to?” The words lay heavy on your tongue as you say them aloud. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s hard not to.

How did he not know it was you he was texting, your name was right there at the top of the screen. And if he was sending it to someone else how could he not double-check to make sure he wasn’t sending it to someone like Wayne or Robin.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking about the best way to tell you that, yes he did know it was you he was sending it to. And yes he knew it was stupid but he wanted to try something to see if you felt the same way about him that he does you. Eddie’s loved you for about a year and a half now, never saying anything to anyone in fear of running your friendship.

But that night he was watching a show and one of the characters did this thing where they pretended to send a text to someone “they didn’t mean to”, to see how they’d respond. He thought that maybe this was an easy way of figuring out how you felt about him. But when you didn’t respond to his photo or texts he got scared and called you. Needing to clarify what he sent, and why.

Eddie Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis

[tteokdoroki]

Thinking about the freshly corrupted priest Gojo pumping his dick in the confession booth while the sinful vixen sitting in the other cabin went from confessing her sins of corrupting one of the local fathers and having him cream down her throat to giving him instructions on how to handle his throbbing cock lovingly

Go faster now, father- squeeze the tip just a little bit...yes that's a good boy...now spit on it, make a mess of yourself and give everyone a show, all their eyes are peering down and up on you.

And with that, good morning aali my love <3

-glasses anon

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. confessional.

about. you confess your sins to father satoru, but with the lust bubbling between you both, things get a little carried away.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, sacrilege, religious imagery/references, guided masturbation, male masturbation, priest!gojo, fem!reader, wc: 1.6K.

what good is a priest who can’t follow his own teachings? one that succumbs to the slightest hint of femme fatale? 

gojo thought himself a strong man. a good one. but once again, he’d found himself drinking from the devil’s cup offered up by a lost little angel who has strayed away from her path to light. 

“and i really didn’t mean to. father toji— i mean fushiguro— seemed so stressed! like he needed a helping hand.” you whimper unevenly from your side of the confessional booth. guilt buzzes in satoru’s veins as he imagines you teary eyed and distraught on the other side of the wall. the mere idea of you crying sends pleasure and lustful hormones shooting through his bloodstream and right down to his erection — the tip flushing a shameful shade of bright red.

you continue relentlessly, each word a breathless whisper laid over the swell of your sinful lips.“s-so i offered some relief in the only way i know how. i let him use my body, let him use my throat. he said it was okay…” but i just feel so wrong for corrupting him like that under the watchful eye of the lord. is it wrong that i liked it, father ‘toru. having that man’s cum pour down my throat?”

you’ve strayed too far away from the light and you’re pulling him into the darkness with you. 

“f-fuck.” 

“is something wrong father toru, your voice sounds rather strained.” by the tone of your own, he can just tell that you have your head cocked to the side innocently. perhaps your lip is caught daringly between your teeth — eyes gleaming with mischief while you mask your amusement at the damage you’ve caused. the young priest’s dick throbs against his inner thigh, smearing white along his baby soft skin. satoru grabs at his girth, squeezing it as if to stave off the pleasure that he should be disgusted by. 

clearing his throat, gojo internally curses as the words stick to its ridges — almost as if he doesn’t believe what comes out of his own mouth next. “i-i’m fine. have you prayed? i’m sure he would forgive you for your sins.” 

“i’ve been on my knees every night.” you mumble through a pout that he can’t see — earning another hiss from the priest while his angry red cockhead starts to bleed more arousal, forming a dark stain that seep’s through the fabric of his black slacks. “if you don’t mind me asking… does it hurt, father toru?” 

“does what hurt?” he exhales slowly, pearly white lashes fluttering against the apples of his cheeks. gojo, against his better judgments, pops the button of his pants to provide some relief to his aching cock. it doesn’t help at all. 

“your cock. father fushiguro felt the same after i confessed what i’d done with father getou.” 

shit. “yes… it does.” 

“i maybe be able to help.” your voice somehow sounds closer — as if you’re in the booth with him. “can you touch it… touch yourself for me, please?”

when you ask him so sweetly, how can father satoru say no? he follows your instructions like a man charmed by a succubus from the deep depths of hell. his whole body shudders and his breath stutters when he finally takes his forth between his king and slender fingers, squeezing at the base as precum beads like a rare oyster’s pearl in the centre of his slit. 

this is so wrong. “holy…holy shit,” but it already feels so good. gojo hisses, chest heaving as he instinctively bucks into his closed fist. it’s warm, sends shockwaves of pleasure down his spine to build in his pelvis while each vein that wraps prettily around his cock pulses with a new wave of lust laden blood. “what should i…?” he coughs shakily, hips slowly beginning to fuck upwards to chase the feeling of his palm. “what should i do now?” 

“spit on it, father.” you command him gently, blessing him with your praise where the higher being above might condemn him. “get it nice and wet for me, like i would, okay? squeeze the tip when you do—“ 

father ‘toru easily follows your word as if it reads passages from the bible. carefully, he leans forward — letting hot, gooey trails of spit dribble over his blistering and bright cockchead. his entire body twitches at the new sensation, which is surprisingly cool in comparison to how hot his body feels. sweat tracks it’s way down his body, soiling his hood robes and freshly pressed clothes. it makes his pure white locks stick to his forehead, and gathers on his cupid’s bow and it really is all too much. 

he feels like hell on earth. 

there’s a dull thud that echoes from satoru’s side of the booth, his head knocking against the wooden walls when it falls back. in the same breath, a loud and borderline pornographic moan rips it’s way through satoru’s firm chest — it battles through his lips (caught between sets of perfect white teeth), and reverberates throughout the confessional booth, no doubt catching the attention of people passing by.

“ohmygod,” comes his pathetic whimper while he clenches around himself once again, throat bobbing as he swallows down his sinful sounds. “why does that feel so fucking good? g-god, please!”

satoru’s fall from grace makes a sick smile spread across your lips and you cock your head to the side. you can only imagine what he looks like if this is how he sounds, his clothes a sweaty mess, his eyes delirious and darkened with ungodly and immoral desire. all this while he begs for god, begs for forgiveness, begs for you.

“you’re doing so well for me, ‘toru. can you go a little faster for me? now that it’s nice and wet.” the way his name falls gently from your tongue is like thick honey running through satoru’s ears — you drag a veil of lust over his mind and once again he follows your orders. he pumps himself faster, harder, precum slinging over the edge of his knuckles as they turn as white as his hair from the grip he has on himself. 

he can’t help but let his mind stray and wander off into  damned territory — chasing the vision that his clouded mind creates for him. would your cunt feel as good as this? wrap around him as tightly? a stream of unfiltered and colourful curses pour from gojo’s mouth in a similar manner to the arousal from his mushroomed tip, dripping a searing hot trail down to his throbbing balls.

lewd squelches slip through the cracks of the confessional booth and filter right through to you. satoru has no idea how pleased you are to have ruined him, how much you’ve longed to hear him mewl and sigh from touching himself against the will of god. “you sound so messy, ‘toru,” you moan out just to mock him a little — listening out for his strained and strangled whines, gargling down the saliva that pools on his tongue. “think you can make an even bigger mess for me, father? one that everyone will see. those above….” you purr, the tail end of your words harmonising with gojo’s hiccups. “and those below.” 

satoru is no better than a sinner come to spill their truths to him. sitting there with his painfully hard dick in his hands, fisting it to oblivion as opaque white stains his hands and his fingers and his knuckles. there’s so much of it, so much lust and precum and he hasn’t even reached his peak yet. everything is so fucking hot, his dick slick between his sticky thighs and all-too-tight robes. 

“almost there, satoru. i need you to let go for me.” 

your goading voice through the thick oak wall pushes satoru’s hips to canter up higher and higher. he wants to please you so bad that it hurts and makes him cry. he whispers your name into the buzzing air like it’s a prayer, chanting it over and over again until it becomes the only word he knows.

“fuck… i can’t—“ gojo sighs airily, his thighs shuddering as the knots in his stomach begin to unravel. “christ… I feel like ‘m gonna burst!” angelic blue eyes roll deep back into the man’s skull, disappearing from the world to hide from the atrocities he’s committed. 

“then let go, let it all out. you’ve done so well.” you say sweetly over the sound of gojo languidly jacking himself off. one, two and three more pumps before he’s releasing thick white ropes of cum over his robe and his chest — seeping into his clothes. 

gojo’s so fucking dizzy, cumming so hard that he sees bright lights and swears that he’s landed at the gates of heaven — though he’s sure his actions today would stop him from getting in. there’s a ringing in his ear as he comes back down but all of his limbs feel heavy, he’s too weak to move. 

“f-father satoru?” you whisper innocently, as if your very voice didn’t lead the man to death. “i think our time is up.” 

“yeah?” he mumbles in response, the words slipping around on his tongue. “i think… you did good today. you’ll have to come back again next week, to make another confession.” 

if only he could see your sick little smile, one might have thought you were the devil. who knows what’ll happen if you’re alone together in a confined space. “if that’s what you need from me, father.” you giggle slyly. “see you next week.” 

“see you next week.” gojo repeats.

and just like that, you’ve dragged the poor priest into the corrupted depths of hell.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 

And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 

Still… 

Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

[barefoothighlander]

Ghost with a fem reader who used fake her own orgasms? Poor girl doesn't want "trouble him" :(

headcanoning that Simon would be deeply offended if reader faked her orgasm with him, his ego is too big to take that hit.

warnings: mdni (18+), est relationship, oral (fem rec), first orgasm, fingering, not proofread

“What was that?” He stops his movements, his face is inches from yours as he leans over your frame, the warmth of his breath blowing across your skin.

“I came” You bat your eyes at him

“No, you didn’t”

“I did, it’s fine keep going” You wriggle your hips, urging him to move, he furrows his brows at you, sitting back on his legs as he pulls from you.

“Why are you lying?” His tone isn’t angry, more curious or concerned as he watches you sit up against the headboard. You pull your legs toward your chest, growing nervous under his gaze as your eyes dart around the room, refusing to settle on his.

“M’not lying Si, I finished”

“Not to be crude but I know what it feels like when a girl cums, and I’ve heard your real noises, those weren’t them”

“They were I’m just, tired I guess”

You move to pull the covers over your form, shielding yourself from his stare,

“Love, if something doesn’t feel good you can tell me, we’ll try something else”

“No it feels amazing, believe me, it’s just” You try to think of your words as he places a soft hand on your leg,

“Just what darling”

“I don’t want to trouble you is all, have you go out of your way to make me finish”

Ghost swears his heart splinters at your words, your tone striking right through him,

“C’mere” He extends his hands to you, settling back on his legs as his arms wrap around your waist, tugging you onto his lap. You settle your arms around his neck, his warmth transferring to your skin like a blanket as he peppers light kisses over your shoulders and neck.

“Love, you’d never trouble me, especially with this believe me, nothing turns me on more than hearing your noises, or feeling you squeeze me”

He places a kiss on your lips before pulling back, gazing at you with his dark eyes,

“I’ve just, never had one before”

“Ever?”

“I mean by myself yeah, but not from another person”

His hands squeeze your waist, “Can I?”

You furrow your brows at him in question, urging him to explain,

He leans in, his lips ghosting over your pulse point “Let me make you feel good, please love”, and how can you say no when he has you melting in his grip, his dark eyes staring into yours as his accent thickens.

You bite down on your lower lip, nodding your head as he smirks, his hands shaking around your back, laying you down as his lips travel down your bare skin, nipping and licking at the flesh.

He trails a path towards your sex, sucking at the skin around your hips as his hand play with your breasts, kneading the flesh as he pinches your nipples between his fingers.

He wastes no time in spreading your thighs for him, allowing his lips to settle just in front of your sex as his eye stare up at you, gaging your reaction.

He flattens his tongue, licking a stripe through your folds, watching the way your jaw falls open as your heel digs into the flesh of his back, pulling him in closer, you can see him grin against your skin as he presses his tongue against your clit, licking up and down against the bud, sending shock waves through your nerves.

He circles your clit with his tongue as his fingers trace over the skin of your inner thigh, teasing their way towards your entrance before sitting just atop your hole, forcing you to clench around nothing.

“Si, please” Your hands reach for him, trying to grab at his skin as his free hand snakes up the sheets, tangling his fingers into yours, allowing you to ground yourself through his touch as he slides his fingers into your weeping pussy, pushing past his second knuckle to brush deep inside you.

He buries his face in your cunt, his lips locked around your clit as his tongue flicks over it, the sounds falling from your lips are music to his ears, his satisfaction shown through the hums he makes against your core, the vibration has your head falling back against the pillow as the coil inside you burns.

You arch into him, craving more and he gives it to you, curving his fingers to brush against your sweat spot over and over, your own knuckles are white from the grip on his hand, the heels of your feet keeping him close to you as you come undone.

“Taste so sweet, look so perfect like this lovie”

His praise shoots straight to your core, like butterflies in your stomach your arousal continues to build, your slick coats his chin, dripping onto the sheets below as his fingers pump into you, he can feel the way you clench down on the digits with every flick of his tongue.

“Want you to cum for me, need to hear you”

He squeezes your hand, your gaze shifting down to him as his eyes lock onto yours, you watch him with hooded lids. He releases your hand, allowing you to thread your digits through his hair while his settles in your lower stomach, keeping your hips pinned as you squirm under him.

“Don’t stop. Gonna cum.”

High pitched whines escape your lips, writhing under his tongue as you fall apart, your hands gripping the sheets while your muscles tense around him, he works you through your high, a groan of satisfaction as he tastes your spend, your noises filling the air.

He lets you come down slowly, extending your orgasm slightly for his own pleasure as he detached from you, placing small kisses over your thighs and stomach before moving up the bed to lay next to you. You’re breathless as you stare at him, your hand finding it’s way to his bare chest as your fingers trace over the skin.

He lays on his side, one hand settled over your waist while the other plays with your hair, watching as your body settles from its high.

“How was that?” His thumb traces over your jaw,

“How long could you do that for?”

He releases a puff of air, “Hours, definitely hours”

You smirk, “Good”.

[floatmeintothesun-2]

Drunken Love

Pairing; Miguel O’hara x afab! Reader

Tags; grinding, lazy sex, smut, cumming in pants, word count 2.2k

Summary; Miguel really can’t keep his hands to himself when you’re sitting in his lap like this.

18+ MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

—

You’re intoxicating, Miguel reflects, watching you seat yourself on his lap with lidded eyes. He can’t get enough, you’ve got him utterly hooked. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips and ass at equal pace.

He had a glass of alcohol in his hand a moment prior before it was set aside and forgotten in the haze that had consumed him. He can’t get drunk anymore — not since he was genetically altered but he feels light headed and dizzy  just from your presence. 

He tilts his head up to look at you, lips curving in a smile as he reclines back into his chair. One of your hands is in his hair, carding through dark brown strands. The other is on his cheek, your thumb smoothing over warm skin. 

“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here in my apartment?” He asks with a grin, pulling you closer to him. You smile back.

“Mm… I don’t know,” You hum, “I’m looking for my boyfriend. Have you seen him?” Your index traces a light path down his jaw leading down his neck. He can’t help but shiver, tilting his head a little as you reach his collarbone.

“Well, you’re in luck, pretty girl,” Miguel nearly purrs, palming flesh and sliding his hands underneath your top so he can feel your skin against his. “I’m right here.”

You laugh and fuck, he doesn’t think he’s heard a sound sweeter than that. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you know it. He sucks in a quiet breath as your hand slides down to his chest, tweaking one of his nipples playfully through his shirt. He bares teeth at you with no heat, content to let you do whatever you want with him.

You shift so that you’re properly straddling him and Miguel can feel himself already half hard under you. He holds you at the place under your breasts, wandering hands slipping under your bra and unclasping the hook in the back nimbly. You sigh, deep and low as large hands palm at your tits greedily. 

“Someone’s impatient.” You kiss the corner of his jaw, and he turns his head so he can catch your next on his lips. 

“Hard not to be,” Miguel breathes, trailing his lips from the corner of your mouth to your neck. And truly, it’s hard not to be. How can he possibly be patient when you’re on top of him like this? You look practically ethereal as the dim light from the overhead light shines down on you.

“Take this off?” You pull at his shirt – it’s old, a simple black tee that used to hang off him in his college years. Now, it’s tight against his skin, easily displaying hard lines of muscle, stretching across broad shoulders. He obliges your request, pulling it over his head, feeling the chill in the air soak into his bare skin before your warmth chases it away. 

Hands, smaller than his, flutter down his bare abdomen, feather light touches trailing down his ribs before rising to settle on his shoulders. Miguel peppers kisses over your face, moving his own hands so he can press you down in his lap. He pokes at your bottoms, a finger tugging at the waistband. 

“Take this off?” He mimics you, raising his eyebrows a little as you laugh.  

“Don’t wanna get up,” You reply, and he shrugs, grabbing greedy handfuls of your ass. You give him a look and —

Miguel hisses, low in his throat at the feeling of your body grinding down against his and suddenly his dick is much more than just half hard. Sticky pre seeps out of him and he swallows dryly, your heady scent swirling in the air. If he was any lesser man, he would’ve passed out by now. And also probably busted. 

“You’re a minx, pretty girl,” He rasps, clenching his jaw. Fuck, he can practically feel how wet your pussy is, can fucking smell your damn arousal through the air. It’s making him dizzy with need, he can barely think. Your arms loop around his neck leisurely as you lean in to kiss him – something he welcomes readily. 

“Would you have me any other way?” You tilt your head, coy. He almost misses your words with the way he’s focusing on your gorgeous body. 

“No. I wouldn’t,” He whispers, big hands forcing your hips down onto the hard shape of his cock. Making you feel how bad he wants you right now. His tip is pressing against your clit through the fabric and god, he’s so big, tenting through his sweatpants. You swallow back a moan as his hips twitch up, pressing against you in just the right angle. 

Your panties are practically soaked by now, needy pussy pulsing to have him inside of you. But you’re too impatient to get up and discard your undergarments, heat coursing through your veins like molten fire. His huge frame dwarfs yours easily but right now, it’s you who’s on top of him, you who’s making this 6 foot 9 inch man moan and hiss with every teasing dip of your hips over his straining erection. 

His breaths come in quiet growls, and he squeezes his eyes shut as you tease and tease and tease.

“Baby, please,” He nearly whines, obedient hands resting lightly over your waist. Your cat-like grin makes sparks of halfhearted irritation and warmth dance through his nervous system. He knows you’re just as desperate as he is and he kneads your plush thighs as if trying to entice you. 

You’re addicting and infuriating, Miguel thinks to himself. He wants to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you until you’re sobbing in pleasure and he can barely breathe through the haze of overstimulation. He wants you to keep him right here and make him beg for just a scrap of your attention. Mostly, he just wants you. 

You finally decide to grant him some relief, messily slotting your hips against his and a ragged hum escapes Miguel’s throat, low and quiet. The shape of his dick is defined through his sweats, pressing and twitching against you through the fabric. You can’t help but moan as he rubs his tented half against you, almost like a dog in heat. You have half a mind to tease him for it, but the way he presses up against you makes your head feel foggy. 

The edges of razor sharp fangs glide over the sensitive flesh of your neck as he peppers kisses and nips to your skin indiscriminately. It’s slow, it’s messy, his hips roll upwards underneath you, searching for that sweet friction. A particularly harsh bite has you hissing lightly and Miguel soothes it over with his tongue. It doesn’t bleed, but you’re sure it’ll leave a mark. 

And he had to leave it in the most obvious place ever? Bastard. You shoot him an unamused look and he just gives you a smug expression. 

“Something wrong, hermosa?” He coos, all cloyingly saccharine, and you roll your eyes. If someone told you that this man was begging for your touch three seconds ago, you wouldn’t have believed them. 

“Don’t act cute now,” You grumble and he laughs, a wonderfully soft sound. His hands drift to the small of your back, putting pressure and lazily grinding against you, keeping your pussy anchored over his dick through layers of fabric. It’s like a haze has settled over you both, something sweet and heavy and sticky all at once. It’s languid and mind numbingly good — it’s different from the way he fucks you. You might even call it domestic. 

Something about the way Miguel stares at you feels almost reverent. He looks so pretty here, mussed up hair and heaving chest. He’s warm and you can feel it in the way his thick thighs tense and the way his hard cut abdomen presses up against you. Sticky sweetness seeps into your limbs like molasses, and you can’t help but kiss him, all teeth and tongue. His low pleased hum vibrates through his chest and vaguely, you think he tastes something like wine and spice. 

He’s sloppy and hungry, quickly deepening the kiss as he leans closer. It’s not until you’re running out of oxygen that you tap his shoulder and he pulls away, a pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. You’re panting, kiss swollen lips shiny with saliva and he’s groaning, rolling his hips upwards. His clothed cock catches on your clit deliciously and he catches on quickly, making sure to aim for that one fucking spot that makes you see stars. 

“Shit — Miguel, feels so fucking good…” you gasp into his mouth and he groans. You sound so sweet when you moan and whine on his lap. He’s head over heels for you, he decides. You could sit on his face for hours, suffocating him between plush thighs, and he’d say thank you. He’s almost tempted to pull you to the bedroom right now just so he can beg you to do just that, but fuck, with the way his dick is throbbing, he might not make it that far. 

“Just like that, baby, c’mon,” He nips at your neck lightly and licks into your mouth greedily, “you want it? Want this fat cock? I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all, j’st cum, baby, you can do it,” quick hands come up to palm at your breasts, squeezing stiff peaks and god damn, he knows how to use them.

Your back arches, pressing your tits against his bare chest and Miguel dips to litter marks around your collar bone and lower, humming in satisfaction as you thread a hand in his hair. You’re a mess, he’s panting and groaning, hair mussed up, dark crimson eyes squeezed shut. He might just be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen.

The thing that really does it for you is the way he says your name. Breathy and pleading, it makes your head spin, and you press a searing kiss to his lips as the knot that has been slowly building finally snaps. It’s filthy, sinful, and fuck, its everything you want. 

Miguel tenses underneath you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he shudders and twitches. He sounds almost drunk from the way he’s slurring your name, honey sweet and desperate. He cums with a quiet grunt, staining his boxers with it, soaking the light gray of his sweats.

You slump against his chest and he hisses lightly as you brush against his slowly softening cock. A burly arm comes to loop around your waist, pulling you closer while you gently move sweaty strands of hair out of his face.

“Good?” He asks, and you hum in affirmation. He grimaces at the feeling of slick cum dripping down his balls. “We should get clean.”

“My thighs feel sticky,” You mutter, trying to gently extricate yourself from your boyfriend’s hold so you can walk to the restroom. He shoots you a look and sweeps you up into his arms easily, pressing an easy kiss to your neck. Instinctively, you hold onto him, leaning against his bare chest as he carries you to your shared bathroom. 

He glances at you as he pushes open the door with his foot, considering.

“Bath or shower?” Miguel tilts his head, looking remarkably composed for a man who just came in his pants a few minutes ago. 

“Shower,” You answer immediately, and he puts you down, turning to strip off his clothes and hearing you do the same. You turn on the water, setting it to both of your preferred temperatures and slip into the stall, sighing in relief at the warmth. Miguel joins you after a moment, swiping your body wash off from the corner. Technically, it’s his, but you use it so often that he just delegates it as a shared item. 

You say that his is better because it’s fancy. He doesn’t object. After all, he really doesn’t mind you smelling like him.

Squeezing some into his hand, he cleans you up, soapy suds washed away by the spray overhead as you do the same for him. You pay special attention to his pecs and ass and he just sighs like he’s annoyed. He’s not. Honestly, he doesn’t care — you can touch whatever you want. He’s all yours and he relishes that fact whole heartedly. 

Your hands trail down his chest and abdomen. He smothers a smile against your hair, pressing you up against the shower wall and hooking strong hands under your thighs. 

“Wanna go another round?” He asks, looking down at you, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. You card a hand through wet curls and he leans into it.

“Sure, why not?”

—

Needless to say, you don’t come out of the bathroom until much later, littered with marks and sore between the thighs. Miguel follows after you, looking utterly satisfied with himself, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist as you both enter your bedroom. It’ll be a pain to wear a scarf for the next few weeks but with the way Miguel practically drapes himself over you has you not caring. 

A problem for future you. For now, you’ll just snuggle under the covers and exchange sleepy kisses with your boyfriend. 

[floatmeintothesun]

Drunken Love

Pairing; Miguel O’hara x afab! Reader

Tags; grinding, lazy sex, smut, cumming in pants, word count 2.2k

Summary; Miguel really can’t keep his hands to himself when you’re sitting in his lap like this.

18+ MINORS DNI

—

You’re intoxicating, Miguel reflects, watching you seat yourself on his lap with lidded eyes. He can’t get enough, you’ve got him utterly hooked. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips and ass at equal pace.

He had a glass of alcohol in his hand a moment prior before it was set aside and forgotten in the haze that had consumed him. He can’t get drunk anymore — not since he was genetically altered but he feels light headed and dizzy  just from your presence. 

He tilts his head up to look at you, lips curving in a smile as he reclines back into his chair. One of your hands is in his hair, carding through dark brown strands. The other is on his cheek, your thumb smoothing over warm skin. 

“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here in my apartment?” He asks with a grin, pulling you closer to him. You smile back.

“Mm… I don’t know,” You hum, “I’m looking for my boyfriend. Have you seen him?” Your index traces a light path down his jaw leading down his neck. He can’t help but shiver, tilting his head a little as you reach his collarbone.

“Well, you’re in luck, pretty girl,” Miguel nearly purrs, palming flesh and sliding his hands underneath your top so he can feel your skin against his. “I’m right here.”

You laugh and fuck, he doesn’t think he’s heard a sound sweeter than that. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you know it. He sucks in a quiet breath as your hand slides down to his chest, tweaking one of his nipples playfully through his shirt. He bares teeth at you with no heat, content to let you do whatever you want with him.

You shift so that you’re properly straddling him and Miguel can feel himself already half hard under you. He holds you at the place under your breasts, wandering hands slipping under your bra and unclasping the hook in the back nimbly. You sigh, deep and low as large hands palm at your tits greedily. 

“Someone’s impatient.” You kiss the corner of his jaw, and he turns his head so he can catch your next on his lips. 

“Hard not to be,” Miguel breathes, trailing his lips from the corner of your mouth to your neck. And truly, it’s hard not to be. How can he possibly be patient when you’re on top of him like this? You look practically ethereal as the dim light from the overhead light shines down on you.

“Take this off?” You pull at his shirt – it’s old, a simple black tee that used to hang off him in his college years. Now, it’s tight against his skin, easily displaying hard lines of muscle, stretching across broad shoulders. He obliges your request, pulling it over his head, feeling the chill in the air soak into his bare skin before your warmth chases it away. 

Hands, smaller than his, flutter down his bare abdomen, feather light touches trailing down his ribs before rising to settle on his shoulders. Miguel peppers kisses over your face, moving his own hands so he can press you down in his lap. He pokes at your bottoms, a finger tugging at the waistband. 

“Take this off?” He mimics you, raising his eyebrows a little as you laugh.  

“Don’t wanna get up,” You reply, and he shrugs, grabbing greedy handfuls of your ass. You give him a look and —

Miguel hisses, low in his throat at the feeling of your body grinding down against his and suddenly his dick is much more than just half hard. Sticky pre seeps out of him and he swallows dryly, your heady scent swirling in the air. If he was any lesser man, he would’ve passed out by now. And also probably busted. 

“You’re a minx, pretty girl,” He rasps, clenching his jaw. Fuck, he can practically feel how wet your pussy is, can fucking smell your damn arousal through the air. It’s making him dizzy with need, he can barely think. Your arms loop around his neck leisurely as you lean in to kiss him – something he welcomes readily. 

“Would you have me any other way?” You tilt your head, coy. He almost misses your words with the way he’s focusing on your gorgeous body. 

“No. I wouldn’t,” He whispers, big hands forcing your hips down onto the hard shape of his cock. Making you feel how bad he wants you right now. His tip is pressing against your clit through the fabric and god, he’s so big, tenting through his sweatpants. You swallow back a moan as his hips twitch up, pressing against you in just the right angle. 

Your panties are practically soaked by now, needy pussy pulsing to have him inside of you. But you’re too impatient to get up and discard your undergarments, heat coursing through your veins like molten fire. His huge frame dwarfs yours easily but right now, it’s you who’s on top of him, you who’s making this 6 foot 9 inch man moan and hiss with every teasing dip of your hips over his straining erection. 

His breaths come in quiet growls, and he squeezes his eyes shut as you tease and tease and tease.

“Baby, please,” He nearly whines, obedient hands resting lightly over your waist. Your cat-like grin makes sparks of halfhearted irritation and warmth dance through his nervous system. He knows you’re just as desperate as he is and he kneads your plush thighs as if trying to entice you. 

You’re addicting and infuriating, Miguel thinks to himself. He wants to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you until you’re sobbing in pleasure and he can barely breathe through the haze of overstimulation. He wants you to keep him right here and make him beg for just a scrap of your attention. Mostly, he just wants you. 

You finally decide to grant him some relief, messily slotting your hips against his and a ragged hum escapes Miguel’s throat, low and quiet. The shape of his dick is defined through his sweats, pressing and twitching against you through the fabric. You can’t help but moan as he rubs his tented half against you, almost like a dog in heat. You have half a mind to tease him for it, but the way he presses up against you makes your head feel foggy. 

The edges of razor sharp fangs glide over the sensitive flesh of your neck as he peppers kisses and nips to your skin indiscriminately. It’s slow, it’s messy, his hips roll upwards underneath you, searching for that sweet friction. A particularly harsh bite has you hissing lightly and Miguel soothes it over with his tongue. It doesn’t bleed, but you’re sure it’ll leave a mark. 

And he had to leave it in the most obvious place ever? Bastard. You shoot him an unamused look and he just gives you a smug expression. 

“Something wrong, hermosa?” He coos, all cloyingly saccharine, and you roll your eyes. If someone told you that this man was begging for your touch three seconds ago, you wouldn’t have believed them. 

“Don’t act cute now,” You grumble and he laughs, a wonderfully soft sound. His hands drift to the small of your back, putting pressure and lazily grinding against you, keeping your pussy anchored over his dick through layers of fabric. It’s like a haze has settled over you both, something sweet and heavy and sticky all at once. It’s languid and mind numbingly good — it’s different from the way he fucks you. You might even call it domestic. 

Something about the way Miguel stares at you feels almost reverent. He looks so pretty here, mussed up hair and heaving chest. He’s warm and you can feel it in the way his thick thighs tense and the way his hard cut abdomen presses up against you. Sticky sweetness seeps into your limbs like molasses, and you can’t help but kiss him, all teeth and tongue. His low pleased hum vibrates through his chest and vaguely, you think he tastes something like wine and spice. 

He’s sloppy and hungry, quickly deepening the kiss as he leans closer. It’s not until you’re running out of oxygen that you tap his shoulder and he pulls away, a pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. You’re panting, kiss swollen lips shiny with saliva and he’s groaning, rolling his hips upwards. His clothed cock catches on your clit deliciously and he catches on quickly, making sure to aim for that one fucking spot that makes you see stars. 

“Shit — Miguel, feels so fucking good…” you gasp into his mouth and he groans. You sound so sweet when you moan and whine on his lap. He’s head over heels for you, he decides. You could sit on his face for hours, suffocating him between plush thighs, and he’d say thank you. He’s almost tempted to pull you to the bedroom right now just so he can beg you to do just that, but fuck, with the way his dick is throbbing, he might not make it that far. 

“Just like that, baby, c’mon,” He nips at your neck lightly and licks into your mouth greedily, “you want it? Want this fat cock? I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all, j’st cum, baby, you can do it,” quick hands come up to palm at your breasts, squeezing stiff peaks and god damn, he knows how to use them.

Your back arches, pressing your tits against his bare chest and Miguel dips to litter marks around your collar bone and lower, humming in satisfaction as you thread a hand in his hair. You’re a mess, he’s panting and groaning, hair mussed up, dark crimson eyes squeezed shut. He might just be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen.

The thing that really does it for you is the way he says your name. Breathy and pleading, it makes your head spin, and you press a searing kiss to his lips as the knot that has been slowly building finally snaps. It’s filthy, sinful, and fuck, its everything you want. 

Miguel tenses underneath you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he shudders and twitches. He sounds almost drunk from the way he’s slurring your name, honey sweet and desperate. He cums with a quiet grunt, staining his boxers with it, soaking the light gray of his sweats.

You slump against his chest and he hisses lightly as you brush against his slowly softening cock. A burly arm comes to loop around your waist, pulling you closer while you gently move sweaty strands of hair out of his face.

“Good?” He asks, and you hum in affirmation. He grimaces at the feeling of slick cum dripping down his balls. “We should get clean.”

“My thighs feel sticky,” You mutter, trying to gently extricate yourself from your boyfriend’s hold so you can walk to the restroom. He shoots you a look and sweeps you up into his arms easily, pressing an easy kiss to your neck. Instinctively, you hold onto him, leaning against his bare chest as he carries you to your shared bathroom. 

He glances at you as he pushes open the door with his foot, considering.

“Bath or shower?” Miguel tilts his head, looking remarkably composed for a man who just came in his pants a few minutes ago. 

“Shower,” You answer immediately, and he puts you down, turning to strip off his clothes and hearing you do the same. You turn on the water, setting it to both of your preferred temperatures and slip into the stall, sighing in relief at the warmth. Miguel joins you after a moment, swiping your body wash off from the corner. Technically, it’s his, but you use it so often that he just delegates it as a shared item. 

You say that his is better because it’s fancy. He doesn’t object. After all, he really doesn’t mind you smelling like him.

Squeezing some into his hand, he cleans you up, soapy suds washed away by the spray overhead as you do the same for him. You pay special attention to his pecs and ass and he just sighs like he’s annoyed. He’s not. Honestly, he doesn’t care — you can touch whatever you want. He’s all yours and he relishes that fact whole heartedly. 

Your hands trail down his chest and abdomen. He smothers a smile against your hair, pressing you up against the shower wall and hooking strong hands under your thighs. 

“Want to go another round?” He asks, looking down at you, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. You card a hand through wet curls and he leans into it.

“Yes.”

—

Needless to say, you don’t come out of the bathroom until much later, littered with marks and sore between the thighs. Miguel follows after you, looking utterly satisfied with himself, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist as you both enter your bedroom. It’ll be a pain to wear a scarf for the next few weeks but with the way Miguel practically drapes himself over you has you not caring. 

A problem for future you. For now, you’ll just snuggle under the covers and exchange sleepy kisses with your boyfriend. 

—

AN; this was supposed to be 500 words omg

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Pairing: Astarion x reader

Prompt: In which you couldn't convince Astarion not to become the Vampire ascendant, but still do not allow him to do the ritual.

Description: You really did fall so hard, and so, so fast. No wonder when the ground came to meet you did it hurt just as much. But perhaps its not too late to stand back up again, if someone was willing to lend a hand.

Rating: sfw

Content Warning: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3018

Notes: I had to save scum this so much on my file that was romancing him. And well I be thinking about him a lot lately... I litterally have no idea where these words came from btw so I hope u enjoy them!

“It’s over,” Said with such disdain, such pain and hurt, directed your way. “I’m done with this, and I’m done with you.” Venom, dripping and cold. What happened to the warmth in those eyes? To the love that once shown in them, when he looked your way? “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.” He looked so broken, so hurt.

You hardly remembered what came next, beyond your own tears. Astarion simply… left. Walk away as you crumpled to the ground, in disbelief. As you begged him to say. When you told him, over and over again, that you loved him.

Karlach and Shadowheart must have dragged you out of those dungeons, otherwise you might still be there, wallowing in your pity. You don’t remember how long it had been since then. Since you had stopped Cazador from ascending, freed Astarion from his grasp… and tried to convince him not to ascend himself. Your words may have failed, but your actions didn’t; you didn’t let him use your eyes to copy his scars. You couldn’t.

All for him to walk away.

You hadn’t really been the same, since then. Where once you were the leader of your little ragtag group of adventurers, now you couldn’t find it in you to leave your tent. Well… Astarion’s tent, actually. You never had one of your own. And when the two of you got together, it just seemed natural to share.

Gale had taken over in leading everyone for day to day adventuring on your behalf. Even though you wished it, the world would not slow down because you were hurt. No kindness spared on your broken, broken heart. Yet you couldn’t stop wondering where you went wrong. Were the two of you not as close as you thought? Could you have been more convincing, hell, more intimidating, anything to have kept him by your side?

You think, right now, it’s night. Your candle’s are all stuffed out, the bustle of the streets beyond are quiet, and you can’t hear the patter and stomps of Scratch and the owlbear cub playing around camp. Your tears have all but dried, even if your sorrow remains as fresh as a new wound. No, all is silent in this moment.

You take a deep breath. Yes, it would be best to sleep. Maybe tomorrow, you would wake up and feel like a person again. One who could attend to all her duties. And maybe even get back on the path to save Baldur’s gate.

But sleep never comes for those whose hearts are so heavy. This isn’t the first night you’ve lied awake, thoughts wondering. All for the better, perhaps-- because in the heavy quiet of the cities dark night, you hear the flap of your tent open with the utmost quietness. And you, just as quiet, sit up from your laying position. Who ever has invaded your space must have dark vision, for they pause upon seeing your form and do not move an inch.

“I can see you there.” Your voice comes out, gravelly and rough. You don’t sense your in danger, though, even as your heart beats and pounds in your chest. Who would be stupid enough to steal from a camp full of adventurers, with an owlbear lurking around no less. Still, with some trepidation, you cast the cantrip for light, and watch as your messy tent (and new guest) are bathed in cool, blue light.

“Oh,” Is all you think to say. You can’t really trust your eyes, so you rub the days of built up sleep and sorrow from them. No, you can’t even speak his name as you stare upon him. But you dare not look away. Even if it was a dream, it was him. It was him.

“...You’re a mess.” His words are soft, quiet. He seems to relax a little when he sees you make no movement.

“...I suppose I am.” You clear your throat a little after speaking, if only because a new lump seems to be forming now that you look to him. “How… how can I help you, Astarion?”

“Gods…” He heaves a heavy sigh, looking over your pitiful form. “I’ve hurt you this much, and you still think to help me? Are you stupid?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Perhaps.” You nod softly. “Stupid enough to fall in love with you, after all.” You can only smile weakly at him.

“I came here too…” He frowns, looking away from you for a moment. “Well it doesn’t matter why I came back. You clearly need some sense knocked back into you.” With that, he moves in closer to you. Surprised, you move in a little in order to accommodate him. You try to ignore the beating of your heart, ignore the hope that rises within you like a phoenix from its ashes.

“What… are you going to do?” You turn to him, nestled into your side like he might have been not too long ago.

“Talk, as terrible as that sounds.” He keeps his gaze down, looking at the messed up bedding.

“Talk?” You repeat. “I thought you… didn’t want to see me again.”

“Well, that was then. This is now.” Astarion looks to you. To the bags built up under your eyes. Your cheeks, still rosy and sensitive with just how many tears you’ve shed (for him, no less). Your hair is unkempt and as gross as you are, all he can see is someone that loves him… “I… said and did some terrible things during that ritual. Things that… looking back, I may not have done were I in the right head space.” He swallows hard. “I was… scared. And the promise of power, the smell of blood… it was all so intoxicating, I forgot myself there for a moment.”

The two of you sit in the silence a moment, festering in it. Words dance on the tip of your tongue but Astarion isn’t done speaking. He, too, needs a moment to compose himself. “But… you never forgot who I was.” He looks to you, something soft, something sad, something gentle written into the contours of his face. Even as he turns to you, he struggles to meet your eyes-- shining, glimmering, with something sweet and promising and loving in them. Something that he doesn’t deserve; not after the actions he took that day.

“You did everything in your power to convince me what I was doing was wrong, but all I could see then was the security that power could bring me.” He closes his eyes, taking a sharp intake of air though his nose. “I was so blinded, I could not see that with you by my side, I was the happiest I’ve ever been these past 200 years…” As he opens his eyes, he looks down to his folded hands, then over to yours. You realize that even if he is so close… Astarion hesitates to touch you. Maybe he felt as if he wasn’t allowed to do so any more, or perhaps felt he was no longer worthy… Whatever the reason, it breaks your heart just a little bit more.

“I… see.” It’s a lot to soak up. That in the moment, you couldn’t reach him but in the days sense Astarion has realized… maybe this was for the better.

“You saved me from becoming the very man I lived in fear of, and all I gave you in return was heartbreak.” He seeks your eyes, his own wide and wet and you realize he’s crying now. Tears flood your eyes as well, because he was right; you cared for him so much, though, it almost didn’t seem to matter. Almost. “How can I ever expect you to forgive me?” With that, he breaks, closing his eyes roughly and crying out, sobbing into his own hands.

All you can do in that moment is cry with him. Two, love sick idiots broken and hurt but not beyond mending-- not yet.

“It’s okay,” You find yourself struggling to say the words, even as you usher him into your arms and hold him. He does not hesitate to hold you in turn, to cry unto you as you into him. “We’ll be okay, I promise, I promise.” Your words come out as prayer as you hold him close. “Just don’t leave again, please!”

“I won’t, I won’t.” Astarion seems to compose himself more quickly than you do, but he does not let go, even as you know your tears stain his shirt. “I’ve got you and I won’t leave you ever again.” He rubs his hand along your back slowly, doing his best to try and comfort you in the same way you have for him in the past. It’s a long moment before you feel yourself begin to breathe normally again, before your tears once again dry and you find yourself staring into his red eyes once more.

“I love you,” Your words are softer than a whisper, said with a trembling smile.

“I love you too.” Astarion responds in kind, resting his forehead against yours. You two stay content a moment before he speaks again. “But you’re disgusting-- let me take care of you.” He pulls away from you and your left no room to argue. You merely blink, owlishly, as he pulls back. He moves to stand but you grab his hand.

“Where are you going?” You hold on to him with both hands now, and he has to pause to take the sudden fear on your face. Astarion had planned to leave to return with a little wash bin and rag but seeing you so distraught makes him pause. Of course, the last time he walked away from you he didn’t return…

“We’re going to get you cleaned up.” With a bit of a struggle, Astarion gets you to rise to your feet next to him. “Don’t make it more difficult than it has to be.” He adds. You nod slowly, still a little on edge from the panic that just flooded your system but nonetheless, trusting Astarion.

So, with the difficulty that comes with only having one hand, Astarion pins open the flaps of the tent (your light cantrip soon goes out as well, but the inside is illuminated but the torchlight of your camp). Some of the stale air you had been living in gets to escape, and you’re able to take a fresh breath of air you hadn’t realized you needed.

Astarion gathers his wash bin, and the rag, and with you in tow, rummages through that the travelers chest you seem to toss anything and everything into. But, avoiding unmatched boots and careful not to prick himself on all the arrows that are in there (and trying not to think about how they were likely dumped in there after he left), he finds what he was looking for-- some soap. And though the water is cold, and the night is cool, at least with a little bit of soap and his careful hand, it’s not all bad.

“You need to wash these clothes too,” Astarion huffs. “I know you have other things, so let’s get you into something cleaner.” You’re guided back into your shared tent (which is already starting to smell better, but the scented water is helping as well) while Astarion rifles though your clothing. Here together again, you finally let go of his hand but stay close to him.

“Thank you…” You pause, watching him pick out something comfortable and warm. “I can take care of myself, though.” You add, taking the clothing from him.

“I’m sure you can-- but I want to take care of you.” He doesn’t let go of your clothing as you try and take it. “So, let me.” His gaze flicks up to your eyes and you’re surprised to see him look so stubborn.

“Oh,” You let go of the clothing, surprised. “I… That would be nice.” You say it quietly, still too caught up in him being here, being real and touching you, loving you.

“Now, out of the nasty clothing, if you would.” He persists, grabbing the hem of your current shirt. He pauses before lifting it though, looking to your face. “That is, if you’re okay with me…” he trails, unsure.

“It’s you, so it’s okay.” You assure him. You raise your hands so he can take off the offending, stinky shirt, and toss it aside. Next, he removes your pants, tossing them the same direction.

“This might be a little cold,” Astarion tells you, but it doesn’t stop the flinch (nor the shiver) as the cool rag touches your skin. Still, his touch is delicate and careful.

He first wipes your face (part of it, still covered in blood and dirt from that same battle). He dips and wrings out the rag, before continuing his work. Your chest, your arms, legs-- all of you, gently washed and cared for. You realize this is the first time he’s been so intimate with you in a non sexual way. It’s… nice. To see his brow furrowed in concentration, have his hands upon you just hold you. It’s not like the two of you went entirely without touching one another in that time, but to have him initiating it, warms you.

“Now, back in your clothing before you catch a cold.” You nod at him and smile, sliding on the familiar pants and shirt with comfort and ease.

“I already feel a lot better, thank you.” He smiles softly, but sits you back down.

“Just let me attend to this rats nest, and we can be done.” Astarion reaches for his comb, and sits beside you. “Lean back so I can wet your hair,” He guides you down, with your head over the basin, and cups his hand to gather water before wetting your hair.

You let his work quietly, until your hair is wet and he can begin working out the knots starting at the ends. When the comb runs freely to your hair, he grabs the soap and carefully massages it into your scalp, scratching here in there. You let out a sigh in content, and Astarion can’t help but smile softly.

He was still shocked that you even talked to him-- let alone let him touch you. But the two of you needed this. To hold and be held, to love and let go. He truly was a fool to ever think he could be without you. But he was lucky, then, that you were fool enough to let him back in.

With your hair washed, combed, and dried and the water dumped and wash bin put aside, Astarion let you sit back up and look at him. “So… what happens next?” You ask softly.

“Well… I’m not sure.” He admits. “I didn’t think you would forgive me so… I hadn’t really thought much beyond that.”

“I suppose we get our rest, then.” You heave a heavy sigh. “I know I’ve taken enough time off from adventuring… And you have some friends who deserve an explanation as well.”

“More talking?” Astarion groans softly, but makes no move to leave your side as you lie down and tug him with you. “But… you are right.”

“You’ll be okay.” You give him a good, full body squeeze. “Everyone here cares for you. They’ll be willing to hear you out.”

“Perhaps only with you by my side.” He lets out a little chuckle. “But… that’s not such a bad thing.” He readjusts in your grasp, snuggling close and turning towards you. “Rest well, darling.” He kisses the top of your head, and smiles down at your sleepy expression.

“I will, now that you’re here…” It didn’t take long for sleep to find you, wound up in Astarion’s arms. You hadn’t slept so well in days, and who was he to wake you when you looked so peaceful…? It seemed like time passed so quickly with you in his arms, and before long he could hear the sounds of everyone else waking in camp.

Astarion couldn’t help but grow anxious as footsteps grew closer to the tent. “Solider, you in there?” Karlach’s voice called out. “I know you haven’t been very hungry lately, but I brought you some breakfast…” Unable to do anything to stop her, Astarion watched as Karlach pokes her head into the tent. With the morning light, they could only stare at one another a moment.

“Shh, just let them sleep a while longer…” Astarion turned from Karlach, and brushed some stray hairs from your face. “When they’re ready to wake up, I’ll… I’ll be ready to.” He turns from you, back to Karlach, a look of surprise and glee on her face.

“Right! Right… I’ll be quiet!” She gives him a little thumbs up and quickly retreats from the tent. But… Astarion can hear Karlach, even if she is all the way across camp. First, she tells Jaheira, then Minsc, and Minthara and Lae’zel overhear… Then Wyll, Shaodowheart and Halsin of course overhear and then Gale finds out, and now the whole camp is aware that he’s back here even if they are being remarkable polite about it….

Still, it brings a smile on his face. To know they were so excited to see him again (maybe even if it was only to see you happy again) was a comforting thought. To be among friends… That was something truly special indeed.

“Astarion…?” You wake slowly, eyes barely open as you look to him, hold him a little tighter.

“I’m here,” Astarion assures you, giving you a squeeze in return.

“Good…” You close your eyes and cuddle back into him, letting out a small yawn. “Let’s stay alone for just a little longer yet.”

“That can be arranged.” He can’t help but smile, and relax into you. Everyone else could wait a little longer yet-- you deserved what ever you wanted in this moment. And if that happened to be him, well, Astarion was in no place to say no.

[gglitch1dd]

Valentines Day with Izuku

Midoriya Izuku x Reader

You spend your valentines day with your loving husband.

A/N: A gift from Glitch1d. This was sitting in my drafts and I just needed to tailor it to Valentines day. I hope yall love this little rare gift from me. I'm doing better health wise btw. Thank you for all the wishes.

Warning: NSFW, Smut, female reader, blowjob, rough sex.

Your eyes opened slowly, your mind feeling groggy as you woke up. Your body felt heavy and you still felt that you could sleep another two hours. You looked over behind you to where your husband was supposed to be but wasn’t. You reached a hand out to the empty space with a sad smile. He had told you that today he would have to work in the morning and into the early afternoon but he would be back later. You often missed him. You loved waking up to his warm embrace and gentle kisses and just his overall presence.

You vaguely remember waking up when he left but you couldn’t remember a thing of what you said or what he had said. You shook your head probably not finding anything important enough to remember.

You rubbed your eyes as you sat up, grabbing your phone from your desk, but that’s when you paused. You noticed something red peaking from the side of the bed.

That’s when you realised that you were surrounded by roses. Your eyes widened as a gasp left your mouth. Hundreds of crimson roses littered the floor. There was a path allowing you to the bathroom and out of the room as well as to your closet but otherwise, every single spot was filled with a rose. That’s when you also noticed that beside you was a little teddy bear on your bedside table that was holding a little round circle.

You recognised it as one of the recording devices that heroes used. You reached forward to grab it and tap it.  

“Good morning, my love and happy Valentine’s day.” You couldn’t help but soften at the sound of your husband’s voice. “I wanted to thank you for the amazing years we’ve spent together. There isn’t a single morning in which I wake up and not thank God that you are my wife and partner till the end. You are my everything and I am so blessed to have you. Enjoy the rest of your day and I’ll see you later for our dinner reservations. I love you so much. Your loving husband, Izuku.”

You couldn’t help but start giggling as you held the teddy bear to your heart and started to squeal in pure delight. You were so happy to have such an amazing man like him. You loved him so much, it often hurt your heart.

You quickly grabbed your phone and started face timing him.

It only took a few seconds before your husband’s face popped up. A smile was on his face as he looked back at you. “Honey, are you alright? I’m in a meeting and-”

“Oh my goodness! Izuku, did you do this!?” You shouted, it only made him laugh, realising it had to do with the Valentine’s surprise he had given you. “How did you do all this? It’s so beautiful!”

He chuckled and gave you a gentle smirk on his face. “A hero never tells his secrets.” He told you.

“Oh Izuku, I love you so much! You’re so amazing. When you get back, damn believe I’m giving you head for this.”

Your husband bloomed red in the face as he glanced up from the screen. He was always aware of your rather blunt way of professing your attractions to him but not on the phone like this. At least not when he was not alone. He let out a nervous laugh. “Uh… sweetheart... I’m still in a meet-”

“I promise you Izuku, the moment you get home I’m gonna be on my knees-”

“KEEP THAT SHIT TO YOURSELF!” You heard a voice shout from the background. Suddenly your husband’s phone was out of his hands and in the hands of your ex, Bakugou Katsuki. He was wearing his hero uniform which was why his dark eyes glared at you as he held the phone to his face. “No one wants to hear what you’re gonna do to that nerd today!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you gave Bakugou a pout. “Aww, woke up without a valentine Katsuki?” You teased.

Bakugou scoffed as he looked back at you, a fire in his eyes he always looked at you with even now. “You and I both know that ain’t true, sweetheart.”

Suddenly the phone was grabbed back and your husband appeared again. He glared off to someone which was probably Bakugou. “He woke up with something up his ass this morning, that’s what got him so pissed.” Your husband shot back earning a shout from the blond and a giggle from you. He completely ignored him and smiled down at you. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

You waved with a giggle. “Bye Zuzu.” You wished sweetly before hanging up the phone.

“Sweetheart!” Izuku called as he entered your home, left arm holding bags while he closed the door behind him. He closed the door before entering into your shared home. “I’m home! I got our clothes from our designer for this evening. She seemed pretty excited to dress us for dinner and-”

Now with that sorted, you could happily leave bed and go about your day, getting Izuku’s valentines day present ready in the meantime.

Taking him by surprised, you had managed to appear out from the sitting rom and pull him by his collar down to kiss you. His large green eyes went wide before they softened and closed with a low chuckle as he took his right arm to wrap around you and pull you into his side. At the feeling of his arm keeping you pressed to him, you gasped which he instantly took advantage of. You felt the tightening coil of desire deep inside you as you felt his tongue in your mouth. Your hands moved down his chest, feeling the expanse of his body underneath your fingers before finally getting to his belt. You started to unbuckle his belt and slipping back away from him. Your hand palmed him from over his pants.

A groan stumbled out of your husband’s lips as he looked down at you. You quickly moved down onto your knees as you had managed to unbuckle his belt already. “You weren’t kidding.” He let out with a low chuckle. “All this over flowers, honey?” He asked amusedly.

“All this for my husband.” You shot up at him with a gentle smirk as you carefully took his cock out of his boxers. You swallowed down hard as you looked at his already hard cock that you knew was just aching and ready for you. He held the heavy thing, looking up at it in wonder. It was the one part of his body other than his hands and feet that didn’t have freckles. You always found that so amusing. You looked back up at him, your eyes locking with his before you slowly took him into your mouth.

A stuttered breath left his mouth as he rolled his eyes back with a groan. “Oh fuck.” He let out lowly. You heard the sound of the bags he was holding drop onto the floor as he moved to cup the back of your head. His dark green eyes that were half lidded in lust looked down at you. He moved you further up his cock, trying to get you as far as you could go without deepthroating yet.

You moved back taking in a deep inhale, smelling the musk of sweat and his own scent. You let out a groan as you moved to take him in your hand. You moved your hand up and down his cock, using your saliva as lube. You moved your mouth to the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around it as you worked him up.

Izuku groaned in pleasure as he watched you service him. This was one thing he was not expecting from you so early in the day. You both were naturally very affectionate with one another but he was expecting to wine and dine you first before getting the privilege of touching you like this. However, he couldn’t complain. Not with the way your lips were wrapped around his cock like that.

You let out a gasp as you moved to try and suck on his cock more, moving a further inch. You felt saliva dribble down your chin, but you couldn’t seem to care. Something about this seemed all so erotic. Your husband had just come home, a hardworking man who spent his day risking his life for the city of Japan, providing for you so that you could live your best little life however you chose to without having to lift a finger.

There was a dazed look in your eyes as you bobbed your head on his cock, the taste of precum on your tongue spurring you on. Izuku knew that look in your eyes and it made him chuckle. You felt his fingers glide down the side of your face before wrapping around your neck making a groan stumble out of your lips and around his cock. Izuku moaned at the feeling before pulling you off his cock forcing you to look up at him, his grip on you tight and rough enough to make you clench. Your underwear was already sticking to your cunt, only fuelling the lust you had inside you.

He let out a low chuckle as he looked down at you. “Look at you, honey. Being such a good girl for me, on your knees for your husband the first thing he gets home.” His condescending tone had you letting out a whine. “You think you can make me cum before we have to go?” He asked with a tilt of his head. You nodded your head dumbly. “Oh you can? That’s good, honey. I’m so glad.” He praised.

Without a second to give you anytime to think, Izuku pushed his thumb in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue to keep your mouth opened wide enough for him to slip his cock inside your mouth. You gagged lightly as you felt the head of his cock tap the back of your throat making him shiver. Slowly, moving to hod your head securely, he began to fuck your mouth. He moved your face back and fourth, feeling the way your throat tightened around his cock.

Another groan stumbled out of his lips. “Good girl. So fucking good.” He praised as he looked down at you. “You’re so perfect. So perfect for me, but also such a fucking tease.”

You felt him bully his cock deeper down your throat as you had the entirety of his cock in your throat. You couldn’t breathe and yet you couldn’t help but love it. Your eyes watering as you flicked your eyes up to him just how he liked it, making him twitch inside your throat. Your nose was buried in curly green hair. You moved to grab his thighs as you took a moment to swallow around him, trying to breathe.

“Busy calling me in the middle-” He grunted as he finally pulled you off of his cock for a second making you gasp, a line of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. You reached forward, moving your hand up and down, squeezing towards the tip just like you knew he liked it. “in the middle of a meeting and saying such lewd things. Can’t have one day where you’re not begging for my cock, now can you?”  

You shook your head as you looked up at him with wide eyes. “No Izu. No, I can’t. Now please come for me.” You begged him.

He let out a low hum as he smiled, a thumb brushing against your swelling lips. “Who am I to say no?” He asked rhetorically before a moan tumbled out of his lips. “Holy-” You ran your tongue down the underside of his cock, up the prominent vein that went up his cock. You then wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking as you pressed your thumbs up the underside of his cock. A shiver ran through your husband as he tilted his head up in pure pleasure. “Don’t stop. Oh don’t fucking stop, sweetheart. I’m gonna… fuck you’re not making me last long.” His chuckle quickly turned into a moan as his grip on you tightened.

You worked harder to try and make him cum, disregarding your own pleasure right now for his, knowing that your husband would take care of you well enough that you’d be stuck in bed tomorrow. You took a deep breath before pushing yourself up to the very end, his thick cock pressing against your throat. You swallowed around him.

You felt Izuku’s big hands grip the side of your head tighter as he came down your throat, a groan tumbled out of his lips as he held you there. You swallowed everything he was giving you, half wishing you could have kept it in your mouth for him. Tears went to your eyes as you looked up at your flushed husband, so much cum going down your throat that you wished could go inside you instead.

It only took a few short seconds and Izuku eased up, allowing you to pull your head back. You gasped, inhaling air as you tried to feed your hungry lungs. You looked up at him with heavy breaths as he crouched down in front of you. You felt his hands move to your neck, always loving the hold he had of you, and pulling you to his lips, wanting to taste himself on your lips. You let out a giggle as you leaned closer to him.

Izuku let you breathe, allowing you to catch your breath as you rested your head on his shoulder. He let out a low chuckle. “Can we get ready for our reservations now?” He asked you, plans on what he would do later to return the favour to you already spilling in his mind. Angelica-Nina hopped over, rather unimpressed by the both of you but nevertheless greeted her owner by nudging him with her nose. The black furred rabbit flopped down next to him for love and affection making him laugh. “Happy Valentines day to you too, princess.” He chuckled as he pet her down her ears and back. “I swear I have such needy girls in my life.”

“IZUKU!” You cried out as you weren’t even out of your dress before your husband had bullied his cock inside you. You could barely breathe or think as his cock pushed inside you. The stretch was just what you were craving and aching for. Something so filling inside you, that was made to fit inside you like a key to a lock. Izuku was perfect for you like that. You gasped as you felt the fat head of his cock nudge a part inside of you that had you quivering for a second.

You chuckled as you moved your face up to look at him. You moved a hand to caress his face. “Just can’t get enough of you.” You kissed his jaw making him smile.

A grin went to your husbands face as he pulled off his jacket, throwing it to the side of the kitchen. A layer of pink was dusted over his skin but a devious look was in his eyes. He hummed as he moved to hold onto your lips, pulling out just enough to leave the tip in. You took in a breath almost in relief. A part of you wondered how you got into this situation.

Oh right. Izuku had cornered you there, you just wanting to fetch his present for him and said husband having the inability to wait five seconds. As usual.

He pushed right back into you, making you push yourself up with a gasp, your hands on the counter as you were fucked from behind. His thrusts became vigorous and sharp so suddenly, you felt like you could barely breathe. You let out a loud moan as you felt a large hand wrap around your neck as he forced you to arch your back.

Your cunt gripped his cock tightly, slick had been over your inner thighs as you could barely stop yourself in excitement. The entire dinner, you both could barely keep your hands off of each other. Izuku’s hands often found themselves between your thighs, gripping you too close for comfort and you had your foot wedged between his legs enough to keep him reminded of the reception he had received this morning.

To say the both of you had been aching to fuck like rabbits would be an understatement.

“Right there! Right fucking there Izuku!” You cried out as tears went to your eyes. The harsh slap of your ass against his pelvis nearly being drowned out by the sounds of your cries of pleasure. His thick cock always affected you just right, pushing against your walls and stretching you. Every slam to a place deep inside you that had you seeing stars made you sink more into his grip, giving him utter control to keep you against a counter and fuck you till you could barely speak. “Fuck! Come on baby! Give it to me.” You urged as you brought a hand to the back of his neck.

Izuku groaned as you moved his lips to kiss the side of your neck. “You feel so good, honey, fuck~” He moaned as he gripped your neck tighter making you groan. “Did you stretch yourself out all just for me? Your pussy is taking me so easily.” He smirked as he kept up his pace without problem.

A particular thrust had you squeal for a second. Izuku couldn’t help but chuckle as he pulled up the bottom of your dress, moving it over your hips. He lifted your right leg to let it lay on the counter before fucking up into you at a new angle.

“AH! YESS!” You cried out. “Yes! I couldn’t help it! I had t-to touch myself- AH!!” An orgasm took you by surprise as you found yourself coming around his cock. You were shivering, pleasure rendering you nearly useless as you moaned out.

Your velvety walls tightened around Izuku, milking his cock for what he could give you as you creamed around him, a ring of white around him. A low growl left his throat as he fucked you through it, letting go of your neck to allow you to collapse onto the counter as he gripped your hips and fucked into you harder. A flush over his face as he seemed determined to fuck you until you were mindless. You couldn’t even think with how good you felt.

“Izu!” You whined. You felt one hand move around you to deep down to your clit. One brush of his fingers and a loud moan left your lips. His calloused fingers, so thick and big and yet so experienced with your body expertly rubbed your clit in circles. A broken cry left you as the pleasure was becoming too much, tears in your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. “Izu, I just- I can’t-” You shook your head. “I can’t!”

“Yes you can, my love.” He spoke so sweetly but you could hear that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. His fingers wouldn’t stop and nether did his cock that was pounding into you like you were a living fleshlight. “I know you can. You’re my good girl, my perfect wife. You deserve it, don’t you think? Hm?”

You nodded your head stupidly, unable to respond with anything other than broken moans and cries that filled your house with tales of your ecstasy.

He chuckled as he nodded his head. “Yes you do. So how about you go ahead and come for me.” He hadn’t sped up nor slow down but his fingers were methodical and planned. Enough for you to know that he wouldn’t stop until you had down as he ordered.

A broken sob left your mouth as your hips jerked as another orgasm wrecked through your body. Your hips shaking as you were lucky that one of your legs were perched on the counter the else you would have fallen to your knees. Your husband smirked as he heard your cries of pleasure, tears in your eyes as he kept his fingers exactly where he wanted them to and fucked you through it. He groaned at the amazing feeling of your sex massaging him as you came.  

Pained cries left your mouth at your clit receiving more stimulation. You shook your head and cried but no real words came out of your mouth. Nothing but chants to your husband’s ears.

“That’s it. Good girl.” He praised as he finally moved his hand away from your clit and back to your hips, focusing on fucking into you and his own pleasure. Your relief was short lived as you jostled back and fourth still, the steady jingle of the diamond necklace that was around your neck still thumping against your skin.

You gripped onto the counter tighter. “Come on Izuku. Cum inside me. Please, I want you to.”

A low growl stumbled out of your husband as he pressed deep inside you. With a groan, a burst of warm cum spurt inside you, making you shiver at the delicious feeling. You let out a hum as you tightened your sex around him, not wanting him to be anywhere else. Izuku pushed deeper inside you, resting his head on your shoulder. “Yes… oh fuck yes.” He breathed out heavily, moving a hand underneath you to your lower abdomen where he could feel himself inside you.

Ever since marrying you, Izuku had an inexplainable need to be one with you, almost as if being a separate being entirely wasn’t enough for him. He ached for you more than anything. He let out a deep hum as he placed a kiss to your jaw, slowly moving to finally free you from being trapped between him and the marble counters.

He rested a hand on your lower back, where he kept your dress up from falling. He slowly pulled out from inside you. It didn’t take more than a second before thick white cum started to slowly trickle out of you, making you whimper. Izuku drew in a sharp breath with a low curse under his breath. If there was one thing that always got your husband going, it was seeing you stuffed with his cum like you were supposed to be.

He dragged two fingers to stuff back into you, keeping him seed deep inside you, making you whimper. He hummed.

Then something caught his eyes. Sitting on the counter to his left near the stove were carrot cupcakes all in the shape of a heart with red and white icing. A little card written with his name was on the front one.

“Aww, honey… you did this?” He asked as he motioned to the cupcakes. He grabbed one cupcake with his free hand and bite into it. He let out a groan at the taste of your baking. “Darling, you really know the way to my heart.” He praised as he nodded his head. “This is delicious.” He continued to ramble off with his mouth filled with cupcakes.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the fact that you weren’t even able to stand and here your husband was, praising your cooking with his fingers still stuck inside you, just like any regular Wednesday.

-Glitch1d

[melzula]

Hi, i love your stuff! Your writing is AMAZING!

Could you do a sokkaxreader fic, where reader gets majorly hurt saving sokkas life-and she almost dies and super angst but turns sweet/fluff?

-✨anon

a/n: ugh i love angst!!! tysm for requesting this <3

warnings: mentions of blood, injury,

summary: a fight gone wrong leads to an important revelation for you and Sokka

It all had happened so fast.

One minute your group is enjoying a nice breakfast together and the next you’re fighting off Azula and her minions. They’d ambushed you, catching you in a vulnerable position and striking the moment you least expected them to. You had the advantage of numbers against them, but these girls were immensely skilled, so you didn’t have enough of an edge to completely defend yourselves against their attack.

You were assisting Katara in trying to take down Azula when you happened to catch a glance of Sokka from across the way. His back was turned to you and his focus was set on trying to dodge Ty Lee’s chi blocks, so he wasn’t able to detect the blades that were being aimed in his direction. Your eyes widened with panic as you quickly make your way towards him; you wouldn’t be fast enough to stop Mai from throwing the knives, but you’d at least be fast enough to get in their path and stop them from hitting your friend.

“Sokka, move!” You urged, shoving him out of the way and effectively knocking over Ty Lee in the process as well. You weren’t given the time to process anything else as you immediately felt the blades make contact with your skin, digging themselves deep into your back. You cried out in agony before immediately collapsing to the ground, all while Sokka watched on in horror.

“Y/n!” He screamed before scrambling to your side. The fabric of your top was beginning to turn a deep red, and you could already begin to feel the effects of blood loss take over. Your vision was hazy and your body felt cold, and yet you were still able to make out the features of his face as he stared down at you with tears in his eyes.

“Just hang on, I’m going to get you out of here!” He insisted, some of his tears landing on your face. You couldn’t find the strength to muster up a response, so instead you simply let your eyes close and allowed the cold to consume you whole.

When you regain consciousness again you find yourself in a tent. Everything hurts and your body feels like it’s on fire, and yet you can’t find the strength to move. Blurry faces hover over you and muffled voices fill your ears, but no matter how hard you try you can’t make sense of any of your surroundings.

“-more water. I need more water!”

“Why isn’t it working?!”

A sharp pulse jolts up your spine and this time you do cry out in pain, effectively startling the figures in the tent.

“Y/n!” A voice cries. Sokka’s voice.

He’s beside you in an instant, kneeling before you and taking your hand tightly in his own. You’ve never seen him like this, so distraught and terrified. You wonder what happened when you passed out.

“Try to stay awake, okay? Please stay awake,” he begs you before looking frantically to his sister. “She doesn’t look any better!”

“Sokka, I’m doing everything I can here!” His sister shouts back, equally distressed as she exerts all of her energy into healing you. Progress is there but it’s slow, and she worries that if she isn’t fast enough the damage may be permanent. Why did the blades have to hit your spine so perfectly?

“Sokka…” you murmur quietly, your eyes beginning to feel heavy yet again.

“No, no, no, y/n, look at me! Don’t go back to sleep!”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears, and you’re swept back under.

You’re not sure how much time has passed since you were last conscious, but the lamp beside you must mean that it’s grown dark outside. You feel warm, the sharp pain is gone, and all that is left behind is a sense of exhaustion from your adrenaline inducing day. You try to sit up only to immediately collapse due to the soreness of your back, but at least you’re able to move now.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t move,” Sokka insists, alerting you of his presence beside you. You feel his palm carefully lift the back of your head towards the bowl of water he holds in his other hand, allowing you to take greedy gulps until you’re satisfied. “Katara says you shouldn’t try to get up yet or you’ll strain yourself. Your body is still adjusting.”

“What happened? How long have I been asleep?” You ask groggily.

“About twelve hours,” he replies sullenly, and it isn’t until this moment that you’re able to detect the exhaustion present on his features. “Those blades dug right through your skin and into your spine. Katara spent hours healing you; for a minute we thought you might not make it or that maybe you’d live but be paralyzed for the rest of your life. Why did you do it?”

“What?”

“Why did you do it?” Sokka says more firmly this time. “How could you do something so stupid like that?! You could’ve died!”

“It’s not stupid to risk my life for someone I love,” you correct him with a faint smile. Your admission takes him by surprise, his face immediately growing hot and his mind actually at a loss for words for once.

“You… you love me?” He asks gently, almost as if he doesn’t believe you.

“I thought it was obvious, dummy.”

“Not to me!” He cries defensively. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a small shrug. “I guess there’s never really been a good time; there’s always another fight to win or people to save. It just didn’t feel right.”

“I guess you’re right,” he murmurs faintly. “But I’m glad you told me now, and I’m glad you’re alive. Because I can’t stand to lose another person that I love.”

You smile tiredly at his words, a new sense of understanding now being shared between you both. You love each other, and neither of you can stand to lose the other. This is real now, and you’re in it for the long haul.

He presses a kiss to your forehead then and urges you to get some more rest, and so you do. And Sokka stays planted right beside you to keep watch over you in your vulnerable state. In that moment he swears he’ll never let anything like this happen to you again.

And that’s a promise he intends to keep for a lifetime.

[sepherinaspoppies]

Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.  

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.  

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible. 

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico. 

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?” 

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful. 

“The bus–” 

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude. 

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.    

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her. 

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her. 

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear. 

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting. 

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin. 

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it” 

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid. 

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.” 

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news) 

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?” 

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away. 

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist. 

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance. 

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision. 

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection. 

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together. 

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile. 

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies. 

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run. 

She ignored it, again. 

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit. 

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.  

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze. 

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen. 

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore. 

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family. 

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood. 

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have. 

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys) 

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair. 

Silver. 

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?” 

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth. 

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight. 

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.” 

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.” 

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever. 

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so. 

“I don’t—” 

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye. 

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist. 

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.” 

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down. 

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.” 

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her. 

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp. 

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic. 

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully. 

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic. 

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out. 

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.  

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative. 

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red. 

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe. 

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic. 

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand. 

Blood. Her blood. 

Run! 

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face. 

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor. 

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…” 

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there. 

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.” 

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.” 

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned. 

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.” 

Fuck. 

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?” 

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one. 

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass) 

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.” 

general taglist: @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @kittendoll05 @fullmoonworshipper @bunbunbl0gs @summerposie @dusicapopilic @tulips2715 @kckt88 @chaoticwinnercupcake @folksriddle @ficsandsin @nyx-daughterofchaos98 @qweencrimson @slytherized @qyburnsghost @tofujiji @saturnssrings @janeety @thought--bubble @theunburt @mandiiblanche

series taglist: @castellomargot @toodlesxcuddles @itsabby15 @diannnnsss @fan-goddess @zenka69 @a-beaverhausen @gabee-arts @bluebirdbts @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @absurduty @delulumhaggy @liannafae @aaaaaamond @ilikechocolatemilkh @bellaisasleep @ammo23 @alphard-hydraes-blog

if you'd like to be tagged on my general taglist click here

if you want to be tagged on this series comment here!

[munsons-maiden]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Here's a little oneshot for you, lovelies! I hope you enjoy 🖤

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader (no physical descriptions, though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Based on this request: could i request maybe eddie brings reader to a deal but wants her to stay in the van so she’s safe but the people he’s dealing to see her because she walked out to tell eddie something and it doesn’t go so well. and after the situation eddie and her argue but eddie’s upset and just what’s to protect her 🥺 but ofc it ends well🫡

- I hope you like it, dear!🖤

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | fights turning into love confessions, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst with a happy ending, attempted (sexual) assault

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

You can barely make out your surroundings, the little dirt path leading you deeper into the woods, in the darkness between the trees as you slowly draw closer – the moon and stars have vanished behind the clouds as if they’ve gone into hiding, and the taste of a summer storm already laces the stuffy air.

In all these years of being Eddie Munson’s friend, there’s been one simple rule when it comes to him meeting his customers for a drug deal:

Stay in the car.

The customers are harmless. It’s the cops I’m worried about, he tells you, expression stern, whenever you crack a joke about him being scared you could scare away a customer.

It’s tiny little Hawkins, and the deals gone wrong that sometimes make it into the TV news or newspaper headlines are over coke and heroin and all the hard stuff Eddie would never sell, not over something as harmless as weed or the occasional pill of ketamine.

Tonight has been no different.

It was supposed to be a quick deal on your way to the Carnival two towns over at Sycamore where you’re supposed to meet the rest of Hellfire.

Some new customer sent by Reefer Rick.

But the longer you’ve been sitting in Eddie’s van, in the dark, in the middle of the lonely road that cuts through the woods surrounding Hawkins…this nagging feeling started to grow in your chest. First into worry, then into outright panic when you’d watched the clock on the old van’s display tick, one minute turning into five, and five into ten.

What if something went wrong?

What if something horrible happened to him?

What if Eddie needs your help?

You wanted to tell him, tonight at the fair, beneath the see of glittering lights of the Ferris wheel. That you’re in love with him. That you’ve been, for a very long time. That even if he doesn’t feel the same, you need to say it out loud, how you first fell for all the tiny little pieces that make him Eddie and then wholly and utterly and completely.

When ten minutes bled into fifteen, and your mind had come up with the most horrid scenarios fueled by news coverage of drug deals breaking into violence, conjuring up gruesome images of Eddie bleeding out between the ferns and brambles covering the forest floor, blood soaking the moss, you couldn’t stay cooped up in the confines of his old van a second longer.

You broke Eddie’s one rule. You left the car and went looking for him.

As you’re now traipsing along the small dirt path cutting through the brambles and ferns, the fabric of your summer dress you’ve spent an entire weekend picking out at the mall just so Eddie might finally start seeing you as something else as his friend, sticking to your sweaty skin and thorns scratching at your legs, you realize that even if Eddie needs your help…how the fuck would you even be able to help him?

It’s not like you’re carrying a gun in the little bag you’re clutching at your side.

The sound of voices startles you out of your thoughts, and in the dark, your eyes lock on the two silhouettes in the little clearing ahead of you.

You recognize Eddie first – you’d recognize him everywhere.

He’s standing with his back to you. Even with the remaining distance between the two of you, the darkness of the woods, you can tell that his shoulders are tense.

His whole body is holding a kind of tension you’ve only ever seen on him once before, a few years ago, when his deadbeat father had shown up at the trailer park drunken and shouting curses into the wind before Eddie had dragged you into the safety Wayne’s trailer.

A twig snaps beneath your sneakers, and both Eddie and his customer whirl around to you.

And you realize you’ve made a huge mistake.

The guy in front of Eddie is no nervous classmate, not one of the chill stoner guys always hanging around beneath the bleachers. No friendly family dad or stressed housewife looking for a little relaxation or piece of rebellion.

The guy’s buzzcut does nothing to soften the harsh angles of his face, the lines around his mouth formed by the frown that seems to be engraved there.

There’s something menacing in his eyes as they lock on you.

Something evil and predatory.

The guy licks his lips, and his mouth curls into a lewd smirk, a twisted mirror to the abysmal panic in Eddie’s wide eyes as he stares at you.

You can read them like the pages of an open book.

What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the car!

The guy slaps a meaty hand on Eddie’s shoulder, hard enough to make Eddie sway a little on his feet with the impact. And contrary to what the jocks at Hawkins High believe, Eddie is strong.

“And at first I thought you’d brought the cops,” the guy laughs – but it’s not a friendly laugh. It doesn’t reach his eyes, either. He’s got muscles. A lot of them, flexing beneath his skin as he lets his arm sink from Eddie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t do that to your old friend though, would you? Instead, you brought me a present.”

There’s an eagle tattooed across the guy’s throat, wings spread wide. It’s fitting, this bird of prey marking him. You feel like a tiny little robin beneath his gaze.

Eddie’s eyes haven’t left you for a single second.

“I told you to stay in the car.” His voice is strained with barely suppressed fury and, above all else…panic.

“Nah, we’re good,” the guy grins, letting his eyes roam over you.

Making you wish you were wearing something other than a short little summer dress.

“Come on closer, little birdie,” he drawls, “Don’t be shy now.”

“Go back to the car,” Eddie says, louder, the vehemence of his tone flashing in his panicked eyes. His voice is trembling. “Now.”

“What, you don’t want to introduce us?” The man drawls. The threat in his own voice is as clear and tangible as the panic in Eddie’s umber eyes as he shakes his head, the movement subtle, barely visible. Go, he mouths. Now.

At the guy, he adds, “I thought we were here to talk about business.”

“You want me to focus on business when you brought your pretty girl with you, boy?” The guy makes a beckoning motion at you, still frozen like a deer in the headlights, rooted to your spot only feet away from him and Eddie. “Come closer, doll. Don’t be shy now.”

“No,” Eddie interjects, fervor smoothing his voice as it cuts through the rain-laced air of the clearing, despair flashing out beneath the panic, “She’s not part of this.”

You’re scared out of your mind.

But hell will freeze over before you leave Eddie alone with this man.

So you do what the guy told you.

You step closer, coming to stand beside Eddie.

“Tell you what, boy,” the man purrs, tearing his eyes off of you to meet Eddie’s, a flash of yellowed teeth in diffuse moonlight, as his smirk grows into a grin so devilish you wouldn’t have been surprised had they been pointed, “I’m gonna give you a few more bucks and you’re gonna give me a few minutes with your lovely lady here.”

Beside you, Eddie inches closer to you, shifting to place himself between the guy and you.

Trying to shield you with his own body, you realize.

Eddie Munson, who always swore he was no hero outside of D&D, is becoming your hero right now.

“I’ll give you everything I got with me right now, and you leave,” Eddie counters, voice hard.

A desperate attempt to get you out of this situation.

Almost completely hidden from the guy’s field of vision with Eddie having placed himself in front of you, his muscles taut and ready to fight, your hands slowly dive into the bag slung over your shoulder, fingertips carefully feeling for something, anything, to use to protect him, to protect both of you –

“Or,” the man drawls, taking a step closer, with the ease of a predator rounding in on a wounded fawn, “I’ll just take whatever you got and have some fun with your pretty lady.”

It happens too fast to see it coming.

There’s a snapping sound as the flick-knife the guy must have been holding, concealed in his meaty fist and the dark of night, is flipped open, the jagged blade flashing in the obscure beams of moonlight filtering through the clouds and the foliage of trees above your heads – and Eddie pushes you farther behind him.

Placing yourself between you and the knife’s path as he snaps, voice vibrating, “Stay the fuck away from her.”

The man lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. “And what are you gonna do, hm?”

There. Your fingers wrap around something smooth and cool nestled at the bottom of your bag.

And not a second too soon.

Before the guy can let the knife in his fist soar down to hurt Eddie, you duck around your friend, your own hand flying up as you press your index finger down in the spray bottle in your sweaty grip, sending a blast of hair spray straight into the guy’s face.

He screams, hands flying up to cover his eyes as he stumbles backwards, and the flick-knife lands between the ferns.

Eddie doesn’t waste a single second.

His hand finding yours, he pulls you away from the screaming, staggering man and pushes you towards the path that leads back to the road and the van and safety. Together, you break into a run.

You don’t notice the thorns of the brambles cutting your legs, the burn of your lungs, your muscles, because it all fades to white noise beneath the roaring of blood in your ears, the wild pounding of your heart, Eddie’s own racing steps behind you.

Only at the edges of your panic-addled mind you realize that he’s staying behind you to make sure you’ll get away, first.

The van comes up in the distance, a flash of white among the leaves and branches, and you feel the first tender burst of relief wash through you at the sight.

Eddie rips the driver’s side door open, all but shoving you inside and onto the passenger seat as he climbs in after you, and the old engine comes to life with a sputtering roar. The van jerks forwards with screeching tires as your hands shoot out to grab the door’s handle to avoid toppling over into the footwell.

As the vehicle bolts down the country road leading out of the woods, silence descends upon you, heavy and loud even beneath the roar of the engine, your own panting breaths slowly calming.

You cast Eddie a careful sideways glance.

He doesn’t look at you.

His eyes are glued to the road the way his foot is glued to the gas pedal, jaw set, and his knuckles clamped around the wheel are white.

You’ve never seen him so angry in all the time you’ve known him.

You’ve never felt so angry in all the time you’ve known him, either.

When the van emerges from the woods and lights of the carnival come into sight, the twinkling form of the Ferris wheel rising over the rolling fields of wheat covering the landscape, Eddie steers the vehicle to the side of the road.

By the time he cuts off the engine and pushes the driver’s door open with a force that makes you fear it’ll just rip off its hinges, he still hasn’t uttered a single word.

You reach for the latch in your own door, but before you can open it, Eddie has already rounded the hood, and the door is ripped open to reveal his face, unreadable and void of all the usual humor and goofiness.

“Are you okay?” It sounds strangely hollow, the way he says it.

“Eddie –“

“Are you okay?” It’s nearly a shout, but not an angry one. Only scared. So fucking scared that it makes his voice shake as much as his hands coming up to rake through his curls while his dark eyes roam over you in the diffuse moonlight over the field, the dim glow of the lights inside the van, scanning the tiny cuts decorating your face and arms and legs where the brambles and branches of the woods have left their marks during your flight.

You give a tentative nod.

The breath he seems to have been holding leaves in a sharp exhale as he rakes his hand through his dark curls once more, sending stray leaves falling out as he starts pacing at the edge of the road.

You climb out of the car.

And the storm that’s been building the past few minutes breaks lose – not in the sky, but down beneath it.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

Eddie has never shouted at you.

You’ve never shouted at him, either, but it breaks out of you like a flood-wave.

“ME?! THIS IS MY FAULT?!”

“YES! FUCKING HELL YES IT IS! SHIT. IF YOU HAD, JUST FOR ONCE, LISTENED –“

“ME?! I’M NOT THE ONE MEETING FUCKING KILLERS IN THE WOODS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!”

“THAT’S WHY I TOLD YOU TO STAY –“

“IF I’D STAYED IN THE CAR, YOU’D BE DEAD ON THE FOREST FLOOR NOW!” The thought of it, of Eddie, bleeding out between the ferns, scared and alone and in pain, makes the tears spill over and your voice shatter as you choke out the rest of the sentence in a miserable little whisper. “You’d be fucking dead!” Saying it aloud brings back the fury at him for being so fucking careless. “HE WAS ABOUT TO HURT YOU!”

“AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN WAY BETTER THAN IF HE’D HURT YOU! I CAN’T LOSE YOU, I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”

Eddie’s words shut you up.

They ring through the night, mingle with the soft summer breeze that ruffles the stalks of wheat in the nearby field, the rustling too loud in the shellshocked silence.

The tears which have been glittering in his dark eyes have started running down his pale cheeks.

For a few wild heartbeats, you just stare at each other in the moonlight piercing through the passing clouds, the glow of colorful lights of the fair at the edge of the field sending flares into the night, the stuffy summer night’s air pressing down on the two of you.

In a few quick strides, both of you cross the small distance between the two of you, meeting in the middle.

And then, you’re kissing.

And the world stills, heartbeat accelerating as panic and adrenaline bleed into something entirely else, something that’s been trapped within you for so long it takes a second to realize this, right now, is truly happening.

Eddie’s lips, soft and hot against yours, his palms cradling your face, the metal of his rings warm with the heat of his body as they press gently against your skin.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

He kisses you like he really, truly means it.

Because I fucking love you.

It’s better, so much better than even your wildest daydreams.

You know you’ll never want to kiss anyone else after this.

You know you don’t ever want this kiss to end.

It does, eventually. Eddie pulls away, wide-eyed and panting, lips slightly apart in a gape and curls in a tangled mess – from his own hands raking through it or yours right now, you can’t tell. Even in the half-dark of the night, you can see the blush dusting his cheeks.

“I – I’m sorry,” he breathes, the kiss-dazed gleam in his eyes making room for an appalled expression. “God, fuck, I’m – I didn’t think. I didn’t even ask –“

“I’ve been waiting for you to do this for a very long time,” you say quietly, giving him a soft smile.

For a moment, Eddie just stares at you, as if he’s contemplating whether his mind is playing tricks on him. “You, uh. You did?”

“Yeah,” you whisper into the few inches of between the two of you. “And now I’ll be waiting for you to do it again.”

He does. Not a single beat of hesitation.

This time, when Eddie’s lips meet yours, it’s softer, slower, yet just as intoxicating and feverish as that first kiss.

His hands snake up to cup your cheeks and angle your head as he slowly walks you backwards, until your back meets the side of the van, the metal still warm from the day and the sweltering night air, and butterflies flood your belly, your entire body, a colorful swarm of them making your skin tingle in all the places his body brushes against yours. His chest against yours, one of his knees between yours, his calloused fingertips gently trailing down the column of your throat.

Kissing Eddie Munson is as easy as breathing.

“I meant it,” he breathes into the kiss, before resting his forehead against yours, the curls of his bangs tickling you, “What I said. I’m so fucking sorry I dragged you into this mess. I’m so fucking sorry I put you in danger.” He swallows. “And I’m so fucking much in love with you.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, feeling his smile. “I’ve been loving you for a very long time, Eddie.”

You place your hands over his, still holding your face.

“I was so fucking scared,” Eddie murmurs, voice trembling again with new tears. “Fuck. I was so stupid –“

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers squeezing his, “We’re safe. You saved me.”

“Shit, you saved me. What even was that? Pepper spray?”

You chuckle. “Farah Fawcett hair spray.”

Eddie blinks, before he gives a breathless little laugh, as if he’s not sure he’d rather laugh or cry. Probably both. “Pretty fucking metal.”

“I wanted to look pretty for you tonight,” you amend, and Eddie’s expression grows serious again.

“You always look pretty, sweetheart. I’ve been having a pretty hard time not ogling you every second we’re together.”

“You need to promise me you’ll never ever meet clients in the middle of the woods. Not at night. Not by day either. And –“

“I promise,” Eddie interrupts, voice sincere. “I’m gonna stick to the clients I know. No expanding the business.”

“Good,” you breathe, letting your hands fall away from his to lock them at the nape of his neck, fingertips playing with his dark curls.

“Your hair is really soft,” you breathe, lips not an inch from his, feeling stupid all of a sudden for saying it out loud, but Eddie replies with an adorable little giggle that makes your heart soar and race and squeeze with love all at the same time.

“Thanks. It’s…uh. Don’t laugh. It’s Farah Fawcett conditioner.”

Your own soft laugh fades into the night as Eddie’s lips find yours again, the summer storm brewing over your heads and the glittering lights of the carnival in the distance and the moment of terror in the woods blurring against the radiant joy of knowing the one you love loves you back just as much.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

Requests for angst/smangst remain open. If you want to check out my works in progress, here's the list🖤

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Percy Jackson Reverse Harem x Reader|| Chapter Five

<<< Chapter Four

"My back hurts so bad right now"

"It must be the seats...There is no way this is what sacred smells like"

Percy whines, as all four of you sit in the back of the bus.

The blond boy feels bothered for not being able to sit beside you.

"We’re soldiers on a mission. It’s not a vacation." Annabeth shoots back.

You start scratching your back from the itchness and the pain.

"I will go to the bathroom in the store, be right back"

You announce and leave before they can say anything to you.

Percy stands up to follow you, but Annabeth forces him back in his seat.

"No, you will stay right there, I'm going to go check on her"

°°°

The moment Annabeth enters the toilet, she is shocked to see white wings on your back.

"Are those wings? And your eyes, they are red"

"Yes" you answer nervously.

"Oh...wow"

"I know, do you think I can fly with them?" you ask excitedly.

I mean it's every child's dream to have wings to fly.

And now you got the chance to do that.

"Your wings might cause a huge problem it will attract monsters"

"Don't worry, my dad gave me a music box to keep the monsters away"

You pull out the music box from your bag.

"Also, can humans see my wings?"

A woman enters the toilet after you ask that question.

She only washes her hands then walks out.

"No, they don't" Annabeth says after the woman leave.

"We need to leave, I sense that we are being followed by a monster"

You turn on the music box as a beautiful melody begins to play.

"This will keep us safe"

°°°

You and Annabeth walk into the bus with Annabeth shouting to the two boys to open the windows.

Percy only stares at you in surprise at your new appearance, then hurries off to break the window with Grover when he sees Mrs. Dodds.

As the passengers get off the bus when the driver announces emergency, one of the furies fly into the bus through the broken window.

The monster looks at you ready to approach you.

But the melody makes it scream in pain when it was close to touching you.

Annabeth takes her chance and throws her dagger at the fury, killing it as it turns into dust.

All four of you escape quickly.

°°°

"Hades has kidnapped your mother, (Y/n)"

Annabeth says, as you walk all together in the Satyr path.

"What? Why would he do that!" you exclaim, worried for your mother.

"Who told you that?" Percy inquires, looking at her in suspicion.

But before she could answer, Grover sniffs the air.

"Do you guys smell that?" 

"Grover, I’m not kidding..." Percy asserts.

"No, neither am I. Just shush."

"Hamburgers" you sigh at Grover, causing him to blush.

"I think you are just hungry, Grover"

"No, I'm not, somebody's making hamburgers in the middle of nowhere, on a satyr path. Whoever it is... they’re from our world."

°°°

You don't know what made you trust Percy and go inside Medusa's house along with Grover and Annabeth.

Probably because Mrs.Dodds is outside waiting to snatch you and Percy away.

"You're concerned I would hold a grudge against you simply because you are a daughter of Athena?"

You don't dare to look at Medusa even if she is hiding her eyes.

Medusa continues speaking to Annabeth.

"You shouldn’t be. We're not our parents after all. And you and I might have more in common than you think. Please, sit and eat."

Letting out a nervous breath after Medusa starts speaking to you.

"You must be the daughter of Calista, you look like her when she was your age."

Medusa notices that you are not looking at her, she could feel your fear.

"Your mother was a friend of mind, she visited me and told me about her encounters with the gods, poor thing, they wouldn't leave her"

"...They" you inquire.

"Your mother is the daughter of Nyx, her beauty attracted the attention of many gods including Poseidon, Hades, Apollo, Hermes, and Eros" 

Percy shivers at the thought that his father loved your mother.

Maybe he can succeed where his father failed.

"Your mother is an enchanteress not a demigod"

Grover jokes, but stops when Annabeth glares at him.

That must be why Hades kidnapped your mother.

Little do you know that you might up having a similar fate like your mother.

But with demigods instead.

Masterlist

[sinfulspencer]

Human

Prompt: Reader shows Spencer that prison might have changed him, but he's still the love of her life. She's going to stick by his side until he gets tired of her. Based on the song 'Human' by Daughter.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: angst, mature (18+)

Warning: self-doubt, self-pity, Spencer is just sad; implied unprotected sex

Words: 4.8k

A.N.: This is a fic I wrote last year around July-August and now it can finally see the sunlight. Thank you @andiebeaword for being my beta-reader for this!

MASTERLIST.

REQUESTS GUIDELINES.

TAGLIST FORM.

My mind’s lost with nightmares streaming

Woken up kicking, screaming

Take me out of this place I’m in

Break me out of this shell-like case I’m in

Underneath the skin there’s a human

Buried deep within there’s a human

And despite everything I’m still human

The bed creaked underneath the weight of his body and the blanket shuffled on top of me, while my eyes got used to the darkness of our bedroom. The silent sound of footsteps made me turn on my right side, trying to figure out what was happening and why I was about to wake up. 

Instinctively, my hand went to the side and touched the warm spot Spencer was supposed to occupy. His pillow was still there, but he wasn’t. 

I wasn’t surprised. 

My eyes fell on the clock on my nightstand and, just like the night before at 4 am, I was alone in our bed. The darkness surrounding me wasn’t as comforting as it was before, because it felt like it was swallowing me whole - but I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Spencer, on the other side of our apartment, was sitting on the couch with his weighted blanket wrapped around his shoulder and his eyes closed. He was rocking back and forth, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth with his hands clutching to the blanket.

That’s how I found him in our living room.

I didn’t want to get too close, terrified that I could’ve spooked him, but I couldn’t stand there and do nothing. 

The pained expression on his face broke my heart as a tear escaped from those kind eyes that watched me with love and tenderness. I couldn’t just stay there and not do anything, I needed to help him somehow.

“Spencer?”

I called out his name to try and take him out from that hazy state he was clearly in, but I didn’t succeed. His eyes were still closed tightly and his knuckles were white because of the tension on his fingers, still gripping the blanket.

I took another step closer. “Spencer, my love?”

He didn’t move, but I saw his body relaxing when my voice reached his ear. Like a knot coming undone, Spencer leaned back against the couch with his blanket falling down from his shoulders. 

His eyes didn’t open, but there was no need to. 

“My love, I’m here.” - I whispered, taking another step closer to cover his shoulders with the blanket again - “You’re home.”

When my right hand barely brushed Spencer’s skin over his elbow, his fingers gripped it tightly and moved it over his chest. I didn’t pull away, following the path of his fingers before caressing the tender skin right above Spencer’s heart. 

I could feel the quick beating of his heart underneath my fingertips.

I wanted it to match mine, calmer and more relaxed.

“Can I sit here with you, my love?”

Spencer didn’t answer me, but he moved to the side in order to leave space on the couch for me. His left thigh was slightly pressed to mine as his fingers lost their grip on my hand, cradling on top of my thigh. 

I didn’t know what he wanted to do, but it was fine. 

If touching me was what he needed to feel better, then I was more than willing to help him in that way. 

Once I got comfortable on the couch, kneeling by his side with my right hand on his chest and the left one behind his neck, I leaned forward. I rested my chin on his shoulder, as Spencer’s curls tickled the lower part of my face. 

He released a long sigh, tilting his head.

“Is there something I can do, my love?”

Spencer shook his head, pulling me closer to his body. I could hear the faint sound of his sniffles as he hid his face in the crook of my neck, clinging to the warmth radiating off me and the smell of home that embraced him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and climbed onto his lap.

“You’re home, my love. You’re not there anymore.” - I whispered, running my fingers through his curls - “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yes.”

Spencer’s voice came out broken by sobs, his body shaking as he tried to get as close as possible to me. My chest was pressed to his and my fingers were playing with his curls, a gesture that usually helped him calm down whenever he had those moments.

Prison changed Spencer, and not for the better.

Though his confidence peeked somehow, his whole demeanour changed whenever we were alone in our apartment. Spencer used to love having his space, but after his release from prison that changed: he never left me alone for too long, he always found a way to touch me and hold me close, as if he was scared I might disappear.

I knew it was all in his head, he knew it as well - but that didn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t stop holding my hand or asking me to come closer to him.

Spencer was terrified of losing me.

Before prison, losing me was just a temporary fear that would go away with my reassuring words. After prison, that fear became more irrational, more rooted in his brain to the point he would call me too many times on the phone just to make sure that I was safe and at work.

I couldn’t blame Spencer. 

He saw his friend getting slaughtered in front of him. He had to taint other prisoners’ drugs in order to stay alive. He had to spend three hellish months in a place where he didn’t belong, to a place that crushed his spirit and ruined all the progress he had made through the years. 

The nightmares were probably the worst part, though.

Endless nights of Spencer waking up screaming at the top of his lungs, where he would cry and cry in my chest because he thought I was dead, because he dreamed about being covered in my own blood branding a knife behind his back, because he thought that he hurt me. 

His hands would shake me to make sure that I was still breathing and then he would kiss me, apologising to me for waking me up because he was so scared, whispering that everything was okay and he was just scared.

Scared wasn’t even the right word for it, Spencer was.. panic-stricken. 

Shivers down my spine whenever I felt him shuffling out of bed and running outside the bedroom. I followed him every single time, everywhere around the house, fearing that he might do something awful, something drastic. 

It was exhausting. 

The more I tried to help him, the more everything seemed pointless.

But I wasn’t going to give up.

Underneath that shell of a man, there was my Spencer.

My darling Spencer, the man I’ve loved more and more each day. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay, we can sit here in silence and watch the sun come up.” - I offered, pointing to the purple curtain covering the glass - “How about that, my love?”

Spencer didn’t answer me, but he held me closer to his chest as he hid his face in the crook of my neck. His curls tickled my skin as his hands brought me down on his thighs, feeling the warmth radiating off every inch of my body.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was far from that.

Spencer was making sure that I was real, that I was alive and breathing, that I wasn’t a figment of his imagination and that he wasn’t having another dream. The gentle massage of his fingers all over my thighs stopped as soon as I turned to the side, looking at the closed window not too distant from us. 

The sky was still black and grey clouds were dancing ahead of us, but the faint lights of the sleepy sun were slowly peeking. I hoped the view could reflect Spencer’s episode as well: dark in the beginning as the poisonous thoughts clouded his brain, with the light slowly filtering through as the fear dissipated and my love lullabies him back to me, back to reality. 

“Are you going to work today?”

I leaned my head on top of his, nodding. “Yes, but in the afternoon. Do you want me to call in sick?”

Spencer released a frustrated sigh as he went quiet. 

I knew what he was thinking: he wanted me to stay at home with him, but he knew he couldn’t ask me that. Replacing me at work wasn’t easy, I knew my co-workers wouldn’t have appreciated that. 

However, I was willing to do anything in my power to help Spencer out.

If he needed me to be with him for the whole day to hold his hand, to cook him some food, to read him a book, I was ready to do it. I didn’t want Spencer to feel bad for keeping me away from my colleagues and my work, I didn’t want Spencer to think that I resented him for asking for help. 

I would’ve never done that. 

Asking for help is one of the hardest things the human kind has ever learned to do, and some people still struggle with it. Spencer always kept everything to himself before prison, but then he realised that there was no need to fight all alone.

There was no need to use all of his strength and keep on fighting when there was no one by his side because he pushed them away, because he built this hard, cold wall all around his heart. 

But he had to come to it on his own time, at his own pace. 

Unfortunately, what made him understand that asking for help wasn’t a weakness, was prison. In that shit-hole Spencer understood the power of love, the power of his own words and that his feelings were valid.

They were a part of him, they were what made him a person. 

Spencer had a really hard time processing that, but never did I push him. Never did I force him to speak when he didn’t want to. Never did I tell him that everything he did hurt me, because he knew that.

Deep down in his bright, warm heart, Spencer knew that by keeping quiet and never speaking he was hurting me. But who was I to tell him that? Who was I to kick a man who was already down? Spencer was well aware that communication meant everything to me, but I couldn’t force him to speak if he couldn’t. 

He had to find his own voice, he had to find the strength to ask for help.

And when he did, his whole world changed.

Spencer found everything more difficult as soon as he spoke the first time. He didn’t look into my eyes, he didn’t hold my hands, he didn’t get close to me because he thought that talking about his feelings would make me hate him.

It didn’t. On the contrary, it made me love him even more. 

Dealing with your own feelings is hard and dealing with your partner’s feelings, who’s not a big fan of processing them, is even harder. Sometimes people told me that it would’ve been much easier to leave him, to let Spencer deal with his own shit all alone and move on.

What kind of human being thinks that? What kind of person gives up on another person who just learned how to recognize and explain his feelings? What kind of person would let another deal with such a burden on their back, all alone?

Not me. 

“Alright, I’ll call Francis.” - I kissed Spencer’s forehead, looking down at him - “Do you want to go to the bookshop later? We can pick a book and…”

Spencer shook his head, interrupting my sentence. “No. I want to stay at home.”

His fingers gripped me tighter as I tried to sit by his side. “That’s okay. Do you want to take a bath? Or bake something?”

“A bath would be nice.” - his voice was small, shaky - “Can we do that?”

I smiled at him, bringing both my hands on his cheeks. “Of course! Whatever you want, my love.”

Spencer followed me to the bathroom in silence, basking in the excitement that was clearly rolling off each one of my movements. He knew how much I loved taking baths together, because it was one of the most sensual and romantic experiences one could have. 

In prison Spencer never had time alone, especially not in a room like a bathroom.

But now, in the comfort of our own home, Spencer could finally relax in the warm water as I massaged his shoulders and peppered his neck with kisses. He could bask in the happiness he brought me and the love I tried to shower him with, in order to make him feel like he didn’t change. 

Because his love for me didn’t.

Spencer leaned his head to the side, sighing softly as I ran the sponge up and down his neck. Drop of water ran down his skin while the soap covered the soap’s path and I wrapped my free arm around his chest.

“Does that feel nice, hm?”

Spencer nodded, intertwining his fingers with mine over his heart. “I’ve missed doing this with you.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, my love.” - I whispered, closing my eyes as I rested my head against his back while I moved the sponge down to his shoulder - “But…”

Spencer turned his head to the side, never letting my hand go. “But?”

Humming, I pulled away from him and started to bathe him again. “Maybe we should buy a bigger bathtub.”

A low chuckle escaped from his lips. “Hm, maybe we can buy a Jacuzzi.”

I laughed with him, shaking my head. “Spencer, that’s too expensive! But we can book a weekend at the Hot Springs they just opened to have that experience.”

“Yes, please. I want to go away with you for a few days.” 

“I’ll make a few calls later, then.” - I pressed a kiss on the back of his neck - “Okay?”

Spencer didn’t answer me but he gently tugged my arm, forcing me to press against his body one more time. With my cheeks against his back, my whole body was pressed to his while I stayed silent. 

The idea of going to the Hot Springs with Spencer filled me with joy, because it was our first get-away after he came home from prison. I didn’t know if he was going to fully enjoy it, but I was going to try my best to make him forget all the feelings he had within himself.

“Can you sit in front of me?”

Spencer’s voice interrupted my train of thoughts, echoing inside the bathroom.

He couldn’t see me, but I nodded as I stood up from the water. Spencer held my hands in order for me not to slip and fall onto the floor, making sure that I was steady enough to exit the bathtub. 

I didn’t know why he wanted me to sit in front of him, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it. It was probably because he needed to have me closer to him - and by closer, he desperately needed to have me on his thighs just like in the living room.

I wasn’t going to complain.

Spencer helped me get back inside the bathtub, watching me.

Those honey-coloured eyes were staring back at him with all the love and tenderness they’ve been showing me throughout the years, looking at me as if I was Spencer’ most precious possession - and I was, as he kept reminding me each day. 

I brought my hands on his cheeks, leaning forward to kiss his lips while Spencer lifted my hips and gently sat me on his thighs. 

“You look pretty.”

I bumped my nose against his. “Are you trying to get into my panties? That’s shameful, Doctor Reid. I am a lady.”

My words made him laugh as my heart swelled in my chest at the sight: when Spencer laughs, he has this cute, dumb, adorable smile on his lips and the most beautiful dimples on those soft cheeks. 

He was so fucking beautiful and he didn’t know.

“I don’t think I need to have you sitting on my thighs to get into your panties, lady.”

I hummed against his lips, running my fingers through the curls at the base of his neck. “True, you can have me anytime you want.”

Spencer closed his arms around my waist and hid his face in the crook of my neck, breathing in and out through his nose. I kept caressing his hair and playing with his curls, hoping that my words didn’t make him uncomfortable. 

It wasn’t unusual of me to make sexual innuendos at the most inappropriate times, Spencer knew me that well, but… I felt bad for saying that. I knew that Spencer didn’t want to have sex - if he wanted to, he would’ve told me or probably grabbed me by the waist and dragged me to the bedroom.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Shaking my head, I brought my hands down to his face and tilted it upward. “I decide whether you deserve me or not, Spencer.”

His eyes never left mine. “But it’s true. You’re always so good to me, and I haven’t been myself lately. I keep shouting, crying..”

“So? Do you think those things are enough to make me walk away?” - I asked, pressing a kiss over his lips - “I’m not going to leave you just because you’ve experienced something that caused you so much pain. I promised to stay by your side, I’m here for the long run.”

He didn’t have to speak because the way he leaned forward and closed the distance between us told me everything I needed to know. He was apologising through the kiss for claiming he wasn’t enough for me, but I understood his point of view.

Spencer knew he was being difficult to be with, but he also knew how much I loved him and cared for him. I wasn’t going to give up my love for him just because he had to go through such a traumatic experience. 

I was willing to do anything in my power to help him, even if it would’ve taken me years to get him back.

But Spencer never went away. He was still himself underneath that glass shell. 

He was still the man I fell in love with, just a bit bruised.

“I love you, Spencer. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I know.” - he replied with no hesitation - “But I really don’t understand how you manage to stay with me.”

I raised my brows, pulling away from him. “Did you forget what I just said?”

“Sometimes love is not enough.”

My heart broke at the pain in his voice. 

“Not in my case, my love.” - I reminded him, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip - “In my case, love is more than enough. I’m with you because I love you and I don’t think I can survive without you, honestly.”

Spencer kissed my thumb. “That’s not healthy.”

“Drinking almost six cups of coffee in one morning is not healthy either, but you do it anyway.”

“Actually, four or five cups of coffee a day…”

Interrupting him with another kiss on the lips, I huffed. “Spencer.”

He chuckled, running his fingers up my back. “Sorry. It’s just… hard for me to understand why you would want to be with me when I’m being like this.”

“I’m with you because I’m in love with you.” - I answered him - “I’m with you because the day I agreed to be yours, I promise you I’d do anything for you. And I’m not going to give up on you just because you think you’re difficult.”

Spencer looked down, sliding his hands over my thighs.

“You’re not being difficult, Spencer. You’re traumatised, there’s a big difference.”

“I’m scared that I will push you away because of what I’ve been through.”

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m doing the best that I can to be with you, Spencer. I know that I’m not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, so I can’t give you medical help, but I’m willing to support you and be with you every step of the way. That’s what a partner does.”

Spencer released a sigh as the water inside the bathtub moved under us. 

“I love you.”

I kissed his lips. “I love you too, more than words can say.”

In silence, I washed his curls with my strawberry shampoo. Spencer didn’t complain, keeping his eyes closed the whole time as he basked in the kindness of my touch over his scalp, his shoulders, his chest, his face. 

I took your time to rinse off the shampoo and the soap off his body, to make sure he was clean and felt like it as well. 

I couldn’t catch a glimpse of his thoughts, but I knew that at that moment Spencer felt safe in my arms. The way his body moved underneath mine made me understand that he didn’t want to let me go, that he was grateful to have me by his side and that he was going to do anything to be okay.

To get through this moment of his life. 

When I was done with his bath, I cleaned myself and got out of the bathtub with his hands in mine. I struggled to move inside the bathroom as Spencer kept me close to his body the whole time, not daring to step away for a second.

It felt like I had a koala attached to my back, but I never once complained.

Spencer’s skin against mine felt perfect.

Following me to the bedroom, Spencer left his phone on the nightstand while I pushed the blankets down. He was looking at me the whole time, admiring how my naked body looked under the faint lights of the bedroom. 

There was nothing sexual in what he was doing, even though I was naked and not afraid to show every part of me. I became so used to his eyes and his hands on me that when Spencer took a step back, I felt lonely.

I suddenly missed the warmth of his fingers on my waist and the hardness of his chest pressed to my back.

“I want to stop thinking for a while.”

I looked over to him, laying down on the bed. “How can I help, my love?”

Spencer didn’t speak, sitting on the edge of the bed. He twisted the little curls right behind his neck, with his eyes looking elsewhere. He was trying to gather the right words on his tongue.

“There is something, but…”

“Anything for you.” I frowned when he didn’t look at me

Lifting myself up, I crawled closer to him and wrapped my arms around his neck from behind so that my chin was pressed over his shoulder. I left an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck. 

“I’d do anything to make you feel better, my love.”

Spencer turned to his side, looking at me before gently grabbing my hand. Our fingers locked together as he looked to the window right in front of us: he was still silent, probably pondering the words and picking the better ones. 

I knew what he was silently telling me with the way he behaved, but I needed the words to come out of his lips. I needed Spencer to be honest and fully in control of the situation, because I wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Spencer brought our joined hands to his chest. “I don’t know how to ask this.”

I crawled closer to him until I was sitting, again, on his thighs. Our hands were still locked together, but Spencer moved them from his chest to mine and slowly, he pushed them down right above my belly button.

It was clear what he wanted, and I understood how difficult it was to ask for that kind of comfort in such a moment but I was willing to help him. 

I had to do all the talking, I wanted him to feel safe. And I needed him to know that I would’ve done anything for him.

“Do you want to make love to me?”

Spencer looked up at me as if I finally put a voice to his thoughts. Nodding his head, his lips touched mine as our hands separated. 

My fingers immediately travelled up to his neck as I kissed him even harder, hoping that the love I was pouring into the kiss could be felt. I needed Spencer to know how much I loved him, how much I cared about him.

Spencer deserved to know every emotion I felt for him.

By the way he laid back down on the bed, with his hands pressed to my back so that our chests couldn’t separate, Spencer hinted at me that he felt everything.

Every beat of my heart, every breath I took, every smile and laugh… They all belonged to him. 

There wasn’t a single part of my body that didn’t belong to him.

It didn’t take long for our bodies to connect, with me still sitting on his thighs and Spencer’s staring at me with those sweet, honey coloured eyes. I tried my best to stay still as Spencer brought his hands behind his neck, smiling at the sight of my body tightening all around him. 

I moved as slow as I could, kissing his lips and whispering how much I loved him while Spencer couldn’t do nothing but take all of me, feel my body welcome him and show him that nothing changed between us. 

We were still the same old us, wrapped in our own love bubble that nobody was going to burst - prison didn’t, Spencer understood that as I praised his name, whining in pure ecstasy the more our kisses became erratic and his hands flew on my waist.

His fingers dug into my skin, leaving the same marks my mouth was peppering his neck with. I painted his skin the way he painted mine, owning his body the way his was owning mine. 

I made sure to remind Spencer of how good I felt as he looked at me completely breathless, struggling to move his eyes off me. I didn’t want him to - he deserved to know that he was still able to make me crumble, to make me whine his name, to make me his all over again. 

Moans spilled from my lips like a chorus of prayers while Spencer kissed my throat. 

He dragged his nails up to my thighs, whispering my name in that soft tone I loved more than anything in the world. He looked breathtaking, just like every night I’ve spent on top of him, underneath him, by his side, all around him. 

We were one, that night.

With our eyes locked, I felt the euphoria crashing through my body as soon as his warmth filled me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I struggled to kiss Spencer while I let my pleasure blind me to the point I didn’t know where I started and Spencer ended, but I didn’t mind.

His hands were all over me, touching every inch of my skin as his eyes closed. Tears fell down his cheeks and mixed with mine, clashing onto our chests while we collapsed against one another. 

Still enthralled in our pleasure and our love bubble, we clung to each other as if we were pathetic grass in the middle of a tornado. A perfect metaphor of our life ever since his sentence, ever since he got locked him and I stayed out, waiting for him in our bed, in our shared home. 

But we were free, that night. 

We were with one another, because Spencer came back to me. 

He was still mine, he has always been mine even when his brain told him that I didn’t want him anymore, that I wouldn’t be able to be happy with a man like him by my side. 

When the air filled our lungs again, I rolled off his body. 

His right hand immediately clung to mine, with his fingers intertwined with mine. 

“I love you,” Spencer blurted out.

I turned to the side, looking at him. “I love you more, my love.”

Brushing the back of his free hand to his cheek, Spencer cuddled closer to me. His nose pressed to the side of my throat while his whole body shuddered, as more tears spilled from those beautiful eyes I kissed. 

I hugged him and held him as tightly as I could, caressing with the tip of my fingers his cheeks, his lips, his nose, his forehead. He kissed the skin he bit before as I sighed, holding back the tears. 

I hated to see him so broken, and I hated not being able to help him just by snapping my fingers. I knew it was going to be a long and difficult process, but I was going to stay by his side every step of the way. 

“Thank you.”

“For what, my love?”

Spencer looked up at me and his nose twitched. “For making me feel like a human being who deserves to be loved.”

I was going to turn this into my life’s mission.

With a weak smile, I closed the distance between our lips. 

Remember that liking, reblogging or commenting on the fic are the only ways for you to give me feedbacks - which is always appreciated. Being ignored is a shitty feeling.

[randombush3]

too sweet

alexia putellas x reader

it's based on the hozier song and i just got bored during my break

icl this might not make sense x

[...]

You aren’t sure how you ended up here. 

There was a path, there was a brick lane painted yellow and filled with singing and dancing, and, what? Did you spiral off it? Were you the hurricane, were you the destroyer? 

Maybe you are The Destroyed. 

It’s too late to think about it. 

Not because you are past repair, but because it really is late – later than usual. 

The door has been locked twice, meaning Alexia has given in and gone to bed. “Fuck,” you swear as your keys clatter to the floor, typical for you to be the one to break the peaceful silence. A rustle comes from the bedroom; a sigh, a muffled sob. “Ale?”

And it’s instinctive, the way you run to her. Once upon a time, that was all you ever did, back when you played, back when the path was good and smooth and clear.

Alexia doesn’t want to see you. She hates the smell of whiskey, she hates the gruffness of your voice. There comes a point where a person can no longer bear it. No matter how much love she wraps around you, weaving the thinning strings together to form a rope and begging you to let her pull you up from this, there comes a point where Alexia, perhaps blinded too much by her love, is destroying herself just so that you don’t go down alone. 

She’s tired. 

When you arrive at the bedroom door, she has turned over, the duvet slightly too cold and the bed slightly too empty. “Ale, are you awake?” you ask, drunken foolishness clouding your sense as the lump under the covers does not respond, does not feel she can. “Baby?” 

The bed doesn’t look inviting, and you feel unwelcome. 

You roll your shoulders back. 

“Alexia, don’t pretend.” 

The silence is haunting and you try to escape it as soon as possible, letting out a viscous laugh, directing it towards her back. The noise slashes welts in her skin, your tongue a whip, you her mistress and she, your slave. Alexia closes her eyes.

An alarm rings through the apartment. The sun is not quite up, so it would be dark if you hadn’t been staring at the soft glow of the lamp beside the TV for the past hour. 

The screen isn’t on. 

You don’t quite feel escaping this life just yet. 

“Bon dia.” Soft feet pad into the kitchen, face washed, training kit pulled on. Her nose wrinkles as the bitterness of coffee hurtles towards her, and she doesn’t make an effort to conceal her frown at the empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside you. “Are you planning to get some rest?” 

“Are you making coffee?”

“I read a study that says it negatively affects performance.” 

“Are you making me a coffee?” you amend with a smirk, sitting up and staring her down. Through the redness of your eyes shines what first attracted her to you, the devilish spark, the clearly set out intention of doing something stupid. 

She watches you haul yourself up, staggering towards her. Your hands are cold and clammy, but their grip on her waist feels just as good as it always does. She leans back into you. 

“The sun’s not up yet but Alexia Putellas is ready to train,” you murmur into her ear, kissing the skin of her neck as though to soothe where the dig must have sliced her. “No journalist tracks your morning routine, baby. You could’ve stayed in bed a bit longer, let yourself wake up later. Don’t you ever wanna?” 

Her body relaxes, choosing to hear your voice but not what you are saying. She lets herself fall into the pit you rot in; your most frequent visitor. “I am drunk on life,” she replies with a forgiving smile. 

You step back, Alexia stumbling with you, having been leaning on your body. 

“I’m not drunk.” It is far from a new lie. “Have fun at training,” you grit out. She sees the back of you as you lurch towards the bedroom door. Her tears try to fall, but she wipes her face with her knuckles and collects herself before she heads out into the real world. Her home feels like a dungeon, but one that is not meant for her. 

The girls undergo the usual ritual of asking after you. Your retirement was forced, but they all saw it coming. 

You were not sculpted from the same heroic marble, withstanding heat and terror. Nothing about you fit into training regimes and early mornings, sweetened energy drinks on promotion, discipline and determination. You got by on talent, rough and raw, and listening to your beloved prison warden on occasion. 

If Alexia is the Greek hero, you were, perhaps, the weapon she used. Deadly, yes. Sought-after. But, if dropped, clattering towards the ground lifelessly. 

She crouches down to pick you up, but your metal burns so hot that she is not sure she can touch you. 

When Alexia comes home, you are asleep. She opens the windows, self-consciously airing out the stench of alcohol before a few of her teammates come over for dinner, and she cleans the stickiness from the worktops. She lights a candle. She wishes it were an altar, a conduit to her saviour, and she prays, for a moment, that this will end soon. 

When she opens her eyes, she realises the only saviour she has been thinking of has been you. 

She crawls into the bed beside you. 

You stir at the feeling of fingers combing through your hair. 

Alexia is as bright as the morning sun, blazing above Barcelona. She is untouchable. 

The distance that has grown between you has grown because she is the zenith and you are the nadir. It is just too far to overcome. 

You are real. You suffer, you cry, you poison yourself and enjoy it. You like how you live, you like how free you are. 

Alexia’s gentle rousing – but rousing, nonetheless – sends you tumbling past your limit. 

This is not how she wants you to be, but you cannot be something you are not. 

“You’re too sweet for me.” 

She hears the rejection, but she shakes her head. 

“No, no,” she whispers desperately, pleading for it to not mean what it does, begging you to swallow it back inside. “No, I’m not. Remember?” 

She means her ACL, she means the venomous arguments and the early days where you’d watch her carefully as she inhaled your second-hand smoke. She means now, where she lets you live the way you do because she understands how life works and she gets it, she does, and she really only just wants you to be happy. 

You blink slowly. “Ale.” 

“No, I’m… I’m just still playing! I have to take my career seriously, but, but, the off-season! You know how I am in the off-season?” 

“Baby, you don’t give yourself an off-season.” 

“I can!” she vows. “I can, and we’ll go on holiday with the girls, and we’ll wake up dark as lakes and you can make me smell like a fucking bonfire, if you’d like.” 

“Ale…” 

“Please,” she asks. 

You wish you could go along with the farce. In all honesty, you’re a bit surprised that is has lasted up to now. 

You cannot do this anymore. Maybe one day, when she is done playing and training and conforming to the intense regimes the club upholds them to, you will come back to her. Maybe one day, she will have sat in the barrel long enough to have soured, bitter, now, and much more palatable. 

But you are certain about the present, about the woman lying beside you with tears running down her cheeks. You decide that if you were to taste the liquid, what is supposed to be salty would be sweet, and, with that, you have convinced yourself. 

“Alexia, baby, you’re too sweet for me.”