#Part XXVI

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XXVI/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et @aliciax3

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, blood, gore, violence

A/N: GOD WE MADE IT. Okay I hope y'all enjoyed the ride, because GODDAMN IT'S BEEN SIX MONTHS. What are we gonna do now huh? I'm kidding, I see y'all's requests and I'll be working on them. Thank you for sticking around for this long ass fic that took over my Tumblr. Enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The wind out on deck had teeth, but I needed the bite. Inside the ocean liner, there wasn't a single noise I could stand anymore; laughter, yelling, crying. I knew it was time to bolt when I saw some of the boys exchanging addresses—one last attempt to postpone losing ourselves to the real world.

I had made up my mind about it long ago. Contact would just make everything worse. What the fuck would I write, anyway? 'Hey, I hope you're good. Everything still hurts.'

I leaned against the railing, one palm braced against cold metal, the other flicking my lighter under the lip of a bent cigarette I'd pull out of a half empty pack on my way out.

Flick. Nothing.

Flick. Nothing.

"Piece of shit." I muttered, shaking it once. I gave it one more try. Still dead. Two set of footsteps walked by and stopped right at the turn. I didn't care, so I didn't look.

"How did you manage to get through the war with that shit lighter?"

My heart just about gave out.

I turned slowly, disbelieving. Y/n's eyes meet mine as she retraced her steps and approached me, mouth curled around the ghost of a tight-lipped smile. It read as a bittersweet greeting, as much as an apology.

"Fuck." I breathed, frozen halfway through the motion. She snatched the cigarette out of my mouth, trapped it between her teeth and lit its end in the blink of an eye. Handed it back and stared at the side, overlooking the fact that she had knocked the air out of my lungs with what had become a mundane motion between us.

Because I couldn't remember the last time we had shared a cigarette, nor the last time I'd seen her smile. I couldn't remember much, I was realizing just now, aside from blood splattered on the hotel's hallway and sheer fear and white-hot rage.

Three Months Earlier

Fist met cheek with a wet crack. Ramirez didn't hold back. None of us were. Not after what this bastard had done.

The private—the fucker who'd pulled the trigger—was sagging in the chair, split lip pouring red, eye already swelling shut. I had a fistful of his greasy hair, yanking his head up harsh enough to tear it every time his head dropped.

"Where's the damn gun?" Bull insisted.

The private didn't answer. He had stopped answering around thirty minutes ago. Maybe he thought he could sit through this, take the beating, walk it out. So I leaned forward for him to hear me loud and clear.

"You're gonna give us that fuckin' gun," I hissed through gritted teeth, voice steady and mean. "Then I'm gonna shoot your brains out with it."

I meant it. Every syllable.

The bloodshot eye he could still open dragged away from me and over my shoulder, widening with sobering recognition.

"Do I ring any bells?" she asked, voice lethal, carrying through the room and straight into the replacement's ears.

My hand kept the iron grip on his locks as I spun to check I hadn't gone insane. Sure enough, there she was, leaning against the far wall of the lounge. Her tank top clung to her like gauze, stained with the dark crust of blood that hadn't quite dried. Barefoot. Pale. Skin slick with sweat or fever—I couldn't tell which.

I couldn't tell much aside from the fact that she shouldn’t be standing.

"You sonofabitch." in the blink of an eye, she was on the move, stalking across the floor like death itself in cotton and blood. The lightbulb made a flash of metal flicker in her hand. A blade.

"Hey—no," I dropped the culprit's head to intercept her halfway. Her body crashed into mine, all heat and tremble, and I took the opportunity to keep the blade at bay by restraining her wrist. It felt wrong how easy that was. "What are you doing?"

Her breath came in short, hard puffs; her glare, glassy and furious, trained on the slumped man behind me as she spat, "I'm gonna bleed him like a pig."

"When you think she can't get more stupid," Martin muttered somewhere in my left, and God was he right.

She was shaking, too light and too hot, holding herself together by the same furious grief that had left my knuckles busted and my sleeves blooded.

"Let me go." She writhed in my grip, trying to push past me. I halfheartedly held firm.

"Not happening."

"Let her try."

"Shut up, Alton." Don jumped in, pushing himself off the chimney's corner. He moved closer, catching Y/n's elbow from behind to gently make her step back. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Y/n shook him off hard. Too hard. She gasped and staggered, one hand flying to her side as if pressing the dressing would stop the stitches from pulling.

"Shit—" I cursed, catching her again before she toppled over. "Stop. Fuckin' stop, alright? Please." With one arm desperately wrapped around her waist, I walked her back a step. Two. She was burning through the cloth and I couldn't do anything to fix it.

Her forehead hit my shoulder for half a second, like she was just so goddamn tired.

The door flung open with a thud, grabbing our full attention. Speirs' boots stopped right before the beaten up soldier, who was still trying to look smug through a face that was more pulp than person.

"Where's the gun?" Speirs questioned, faux calm reining in his ruthlessness.

The bastard had the nerve to smirk as he threw the same quip that had been earning him the punches. "What gun?"

The back of Speirs' sidearm caught him across the face, splitting the other cheek clean open.

"When you talk to an officer," Speirs' tone lacked patience and dripped with danger. Not a good sign. "you say Sir." He raised the pistol. Pointed it directly at the private's forehead.

Everyone stepped back, almost unnoticeably. We all heard the stories. No one wanted to look. No one but Y/n, whose chin was tilted just enough to watch the scene over my shoulder, her free hand holding onto my jacket for support.

The room held its breath for a second or a minute, before our commanding officer spoke again. "Let the MPs take care of this piece of shit."

On cue, More and Bull got a careless hold on the private by his arms and dragged him out of the room, a chorus of muted grunts echoing behind them.

Talbert, who had trailed into the lounge after Speirs, asked tentative, "Is Grant dead?"

"Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it." He announced while shoving his sidearm back into his holster. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Y/n straightened up the best she could, her palm rapidly tapping my shoulder. "Joe, let go."

I didn't have time to react before our Captain entered my peripheral vision, his crimson splattered hand wrapping around Y/n's bicep to pull her away from my arms.

"The hell are you doing on your feet, Sergeant?" He inquired, sharp gaze scanning Y/n's covered ribcage. She didn't get to make up an excuse. "First Sergeant Talbert, why isn't Y/l/n in the hospital?"

Talbert hesitated. "Sir, Spina—"

"Spina's a medic, she needs a damn doctor." He peeled her away from me, aiding her with more care than the man would admit to later. "C'mon, we're driving you to the hospital."

Maybe I should've said something. To her, to Speirs, to anyone. Should've gone with her. I just stood and watched them carry her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I willed my brain snap out of it, shaking my head imperceptibly as if to physically pull me out of the stupor.

"Thought you got shipped to the States." I attempted.

"Got shipped to England." Y/n corrected me. "Got word the Toccoa veterans were leaving, so I hitched a ride." She tucked the lighter into her pocket and leaned back against the railing, her moves obviously slower and more mindful despite her pretending otherwise. "Surprise."

I dragged hard on the cigarette, just to keep my hands busy. "No one said anything."

"Wasn't trying to make a big entrance."

"No shit." I turned back to the dark water, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, the sound of waves against metal echoing below. "Malarkey knows?"

"I'll look for him."

The Statue of Liberty was still a distant speck behind gray clouds.

"We won." she commented matter-of-factly, trying to build a conversation from scratch. As if that had ever worked with us.

Still, I indulged her effort.

"Yeah. We did."

"You hear about Japan?"

"Who didn't?" I flicked the ashes off board. "Whole world's gone to hell and back."

She nodded, foot tapping the planks. "Heard some of the guys stayed back in England."

"Can't blame them." I said, because 'I considered it' would arise questions I didn't want to answer. Not to her, not to anyone.

At the turn of the deck where Y/n had come from, movement caught my eye—someone lingering at a cautious distance, arms crossed, watching the scene. It took me a second to recognize Andrew. He looked different; older, duller. Out of place, just like we'd all be in a couple of hours.

"Where'd he come from?" I asked, nodding toward him, doing my best to keep my tone in check.

"He came to see me at the hospital." She threw a look over her shoulder, not so much to check what was I looking at as it was to make sure he was still there. "Found me pretty quick. Guess being the mail boy has its privileges."

I nodded, exchanging the sight of the man for the horizon's; the faint outline of New York parted the sky from the ocean.

I could've looked for her when we got to England. I should've asked around. Wouldn't have been too hard—tracking down a female paratrooper. Why didn't I?

"Why don't you go in?" I said after a while, mentally drawing a line in the sand. "Let the fellas see that pretty face of yours got the color back."

She shrugged, tugging at a loose thread on her fatigues' sleeve. "I'd rather stay here."

The silence stretched. Only the churn of ocean filled it, that and the creak of footsteps from restless soldiers wandering behind us. I glanced over at her.

"You going back to Norfolk?" I asked.

She breathed out a single laugh, almost amused. "Where else would I go?"

I bit back a reckless offering. 'You could come with me' wasn't something she'd like to hear. It wasn't something I'd like to lay out between us either, bare and desperate like a child begging not to go home yet.

What was home, anyway?

"You going back to San Francisco?" she echoed my question, her observant gaze skimming over me.

"We'll see about that."

Another pause. Another crack in the conversation we couldn't quite patch.

"Luz is asking for everyone's address," I said it like an afterthought, pretending I wasn't desperate to push her away before I spilled unwanted truths all over the outdoor deck. "You should go give him yours before he realizes you're on the ship and chases you for it."

"Maybe I will." She gave a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What's your address, Liebgott?"

I looked down at the cigarette burning between my fingers. Hesitated. "Can't remember." That was a lie, yet it felt cleaner than the truth.

Her face fell when she put together the pieces, reading between lines what I'd already decided. She took a breath. Resignation. "Tell you what," she folded her arms over her chest, the words sticking halfway in her throat. "I think I'm gonna miss you."

A joke, most likely, but it didn't land like one.

"Don’t worry," I ran my free hand through already disheveled locks. "one month with lover boy Andrew and you won't even remember my name."

She stared at me like I had offended her. Maybe I had. Maybe I deserved to see her scoff, turn heel and leave me there.

With a sigh, she reached for my hand. Took it in hers. Pressed something into my palm.

Her lighter.

"Keep it," she said. "Or throw it overboard, I don't care. I hate smoking anyway."

She lingered for a beat, then leaned in and kissed my cheek. Quick. Chaste. Soft enough to fucking kill me. I tried to catch her lips with mine on instinct, but she was already pulling away. Like she knew. Like she had felt me move and decided to purposefully beat me to it.

She squeezed my arm, warm and final, and walked back to her friend without another word.

I stared at the lighter in my hand.

America grew closer, and I felt my heart break.

We'd run out of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

The noise at the docks was deafening, overwhelming—cheering, crying, shouting names into the chaos. The second our boots hit New York's soil, the world broke open in celebration.

We were being swallowed by the crowds. Men from Easy jostled shoulder to shoulder, some already sprinting toward waiting families, others standing still, lost. Flags waved, hats flew, the scent of salt and steel mixed with perfume from people who hadn't known the inside of a uniform. Someone threw a bouquet. A woman screamed someone's name and collapsed into his arms.

In the middle of it all, I felt a hand close around my bicep, forced gentleness barely masking urgency, and tugged me slightly away from Andrew before anyone could clock it. The ruckus swallowed the movement.

"What's the lighter for?" Joe's clipped question went right into my ear.

Thrown by a question I didn't expect to hear, I turned to face him. We were being pushed and pulled by bodies on all sides, but he kept me tethered. "Smoking, hopefully." I tried. "Don't burn shit up with it. It's got my initials."

He exhaled sharp through his nose, tugging on my arm just enough to pull something else out of me. I didn't have it in me to fight it, so I gave in.

"Don't want you to forget me." I confessed, fear, heartache and embarrassment bubbling to the surface all at once.

His grip tightened, and his voice raised. "Don't need a fucking lighter to remember you."

I opened my mouth, but someone bumped me from behind. I stumbled forward, into him. His hands caught me like it was second nature at this point.

"You don't have to keep it," I insisted, placing a hand on his chest as a leverage to push myself a step back. "I told you to throw it away if you—"

"I'm in love with you."

It hit harder than a gunshot, straight to the chest.

"Head over heels for fuck knows how long," he went on, not looking away from me for a second. "It's fuckin' pathetic. I don't need a lighter to remember that, alright?"

My pulse was too loud in my ears. A lump in my throat blocked any response I would have wanted to give him. Someone shoved through again, knocking him slightly off balance. His hand left my arm for a second.

"Keep it," was the only sentence I managed without having my voice shattering. "Please."

Joe muttered something under his breath—'fuck', maybe—and reached for his dog tags. Before I could ask what he was doing, he slipped the chain over his head, the rusted star of David glinting under the sun, and looped it over my neck instead. They were warm from his skin.

His hand lingered at the base of my nape for a second before he leaned in, kissed my temple, and spoke against my hair, "Take care of yourself."

I grabbed the front of his jacket. My fingers found his collar and brought him into a kiss, quiet, barely there, but enough.

Enough.

He kissed me back.

And then he let go.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, into a hundred people moving in a hundred directions, oblivious to yet another goodbye among all the reunions.

"Y/n! God, I thought I'd lost you. C'mon!"

Andrew's voice called behind me, so I walked back toward him on reflex, leaving my heart somewhere on the dock.

'I'm in love with you'.

Too late for it to matter.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

“Thank You TikTok” Masterlist

~ a series of text imagines between you and Joe all inspired by random TikTok videos ~

Started: 12 September 2024

Finished: 1 February 2025

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

fluff - 🌞 smut - 🌚 mix - 🌗 angst - ☄️

most popular - 🌙 request - 💫

i. booktok ~ ever since he downloaded TikTok, Joe’s learnt a lot more about his beautiful bookworm 🌗

ii. say high ~ Joe takes part in some recreational activities and tries (and fails) to hide it from those who know him the best 🌗💫

iii. the real afterparty ~ y/n comes across a TikTok of a bride and groom doing a wardrobe change together, so naturally, she asks her fiance his opinion 🌚

iv. happy weight ~ nothing says a great relationship like two people falling in love while getting fat together, well that’s what TikTok says 🌖

v. pay attention ~ cons to working with your man... he's you're a distraction 🌞

vi. come home ~ it’s been a while since you’ve seen your man, so you left him a present🌒

vii. how that shit tastes ~ they say it's a man's drink so you've never tried it, so you ask your man about his drink of choice 🌗

viii. you like that ~ inspired by another TikTok, Joe compiles a list of things he likes about you🌖

ix. babies ~ you tell your husband about your daughter's supermarket antics, and he gets baby fever? 🌖

x. heroes & princes ~ everyone makes mistakes, even great boyfriends but especially if he has Tee and Ja’Marr as friends 🌞

xi. roses ~ you have a new favorite song and a certain TikTok gives you an idea on how to introduce it to your man 🌚

xii. you're enough ~ you and Joe feel losses hard, so you try your best to make him feel better after this one 🌖

xiii. i can fix her ~ you end up on Joe's fyp for the worst reason possible ☄️

xiv. im a fan ~ Joe finds your secret TikTok account in the best way possible 🌖

xv. it's just a trend ~ you participate in a certain dance trend with a song Joe does not like ☄️ 🌖

xvi. hey shawty ~ you watched a TikTok on how to domesticate your boyfriend, let's see how he does ☄️🌞

xvii. treat me ~ despite always receiving royalty treatment from your boyfriend, you decide to tease him with one of your favorite songs🌚

xviii. ruined me ~ Joe ruined you for all men, this is how he reacts when you tell him 🌗

xix. hey daddy ~ in order to keep your relationship fresh, you do what all couples do... send each other ridiculous pick up lines 🌘

xx. boyfriend blindness ~ your boyfriend becomes a comedian, so you have to show him who he's playing with 🌖

xxi. mini gossip girl ~ your daughter comes home and spills everything about her dad's life 🌞

xxii. daddy duties ~ Joe's left alone for more than a few hours with his boys and chaos ensues 🌞

xxiii. mini gossip girl 2 ~ your daughter is at it again, but this time it works out in Joe's favor🌖

xxiv. talkin nonsense ~ relationships should be fun, especially when you both are on the same level 🌘

xxv. speechless ~ you sent your friend Joe some messages that were not for him to see 🌖

xxvi. mini gossip girl 3 ~ now older, your daughter's mouth reveals some truths she was not ready for 🌖

xxvii. bye week ~ Joe gets caught lying to his pregnant wife 🌖

xxviii. wait, pause ~ you and joe are in the middle of a fight, but he has some tea to spill 🌗☄️💫

xxix. we listen and we don't judge ~ Joe has an idea, Joe regrets his idea 🌖☄️💫

xxx. tatted truths ~ your true feelings for Joe are exposed by decisions you made on one drunken night 🌘

xxxi. hearts on deck ~ Joe needs to apologize for his acts… in his fiancée’s dream 🌗☄️💫

xxxii. hold on, rewind ~ part two of 'wait, pause' includes more drama 🌖☄️💫

xxxiii. bending your rules ~ you just want Joe to come home, so why not tease him until he gives you attention ☄️🌗💫

xxxiv. nail day ~ you decide to prank your boyfriend by saying his best friend paid for your nails ☄️🌗💫

xxxv. 1:43 am ~ Joe decides to pull one last prank on you but of course it backfires ☄️🌞

epilogue.

[inurnctdreams]

it’s the way you are - l.dh

haechan x fem!reader

genre: fluff, comedy, strangers to lovers, college au, soccer au, smau with a couple of written portions

warnings: dark humour, suggestiveness, lots of swearing, mentions of general frat/college shenanigans (e.g. drinking, smoking etc.), the author’s lack of both fraternity and sporting knowledge lmao, mainly nct but idols from other groups are also here

status: ongoing (updates every saturday!)

y/n suh is going into her second semester of her sophomore year at snu. as a self-proclaimed snu lions fangirl, she can’t believe there’s a new player on the team she hasn’t met yet, especially one as cute and funny as lee donghyuck, who nearly everyone she knows seems to already be friends with. how did she manage to avoid him (even if unintentionally) for almost an entire year and a half? he seems way too good to be true… and then she remembers; he’s in the frat.

taglist (open): @ilovejungwonandhaechan @neozon3nha @sunflowerbebe07 @minkyuncutie @multifandomania @amrqxz @wonbin-truther @livingdoll-hara @gomdoleemyson @sehunniepot @remgeolli @gela0205

profiles:

the too broke for therapy squad

the mark take a break challenge (impossible) squad

the y/n’s fake older bros (1 real) squad

chapters:

i. HE’S MY HERO

ii. what is yuta putting in their water

iii. you’re a menace to mankind

iv. yay capitalism

iv s. does he not know

v. okay and what’s wrong with jeno?

vi. SO NO YANGY/N??

vii. rawr XD

vii s. alexa play hands up by 2pm

viii. are you starting a freshman babysitting service? (written)

ix. what’s the opposite of slut shaming

x. you’re not okay

xi. bros before hoes and all that

xii. men ain’t shit

xii s. that’s the goal… ha, get it?

xiii. just because you have the tastebuds of a five year old

xiv. rule two of sleepovers: never be the first to fall asleep 😈

xv. y’know they’ll hold you to that

xvi. you KNOW i love bitching

xvii. help they’re flirting on main now 😓

xviii. not a date

xix. normal day at the studio right?

xx. brownies take priority 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

xxi. i… was not aware he was doing that

xxii. SHOTS FIRED

xxii s. livin la vida loca 💚

xxiii. i’m not fuelling your ego even more (part-written)

xxiv. i don’t need a degree to be a clothing hanger

xxv. drippin should just hire me at this point

xxvi. this is bullying i hate it here

xxvii. lemme rephrase that

xxviii.

[rollingsins]

all hers, epilogue

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: Tara and YN try their hand at some healthier habits.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of violence. Smut.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: it's been a wild ride. thanks for all who have come along. all hers is over, but I will still be writing gf!tara drabbles in the same universe - maybe some college oneshots in the drabble files. Until then: enjoy the final chapter! :)) 

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months, slowly, the pain subsides.

Your normal? It’s potentially forever gone. It shouldn’t be a surprise, at this point.

Once you’d just been a teenage girl, crazily in love with another girl.

Who turned out to be a serial killer. Who’d somehow turned you into a killer.

Who’d made you cry, and laugh and love harder than you’d ever loved in your entire life.

In the grand scheme of things - the scar on your belly is probably the least of your worries.

But that doesn’t stop you toiling on it.

It always seems to be the way, doesn’t it? Worrying about the things that don’t really matter.

You worry nonetheless.

“It’s pretty,” Tara murmurs in comfort when you’re staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, shirt lifted slightly, eyebrows pinched in dismay.

It’s not pretty.

It’s wiry and long and stems from the tip of your bellybutton down to your navel.

“It’s hideous.” You say, voice a little fraught.

It’s hideous and permanent.

You’ll never be able to wear a bikini again. You’ll never be able to take your shirt off again without being reminded of it.

Of her.

The woman who had tormented you for weeks.

The woman who you’d tormented for weeks. The woman whose son you’d taken from her. The woman who’d repaid you in mental scars to last a lifetime.

A belly scar to last a lifetime.

“It’s beautiful,” Tara says, pressing her lips to your shoulder, “It means you’re alive.”

She squeezes your hips, then lifts her own shirt.

“And it matches mine,” She says, eyes shimmering, “Matching knife wounds. Like soulmates.”

You snort.

Because of course Tara tries to make stab wounds romantic.

But to her credit - it works.

Your heart sings.

Soulmates.

Because that’s what you are.

“Who needs a wedding ring, right?” You say, biting your lip, insecurities suddenly fading.

Tara entwines your hands, lifts the back of your hand to her lips.

“You do,” Tara says, “And you’ll have one. Soon. I promise.”

You pull back.

“Not before-“

“College,” Tara says, rolling her eyes, “I know, babe.”

You press a lingering kiss to her cheek.

“I just don’t want to be one of those couples who rush into marriage and fall apart the moment they turn twenty-one.”

“That won’t be us,” Tara whines, and then she pouts, “Plenty of high school sweethearts get married right after high school.”

You groan.

“Tara, we talked about this already-“

“I know,” Tara says, voice hasty, “I’m just excited. I want you to be Mrs. Carpenter already.”

“Mrs Carpenter, huh?” You say, ignoring the fluttery rush that blooms through you at the thought, “And what if I want you to take my name?”

Tara cocks a brow and considers this.

“I don’t care, babe, I’ll change my name to garden gnome if you want, as long as I get to be your wife.” She says after a moment.

You smile. Squeeze her hand.

“You’d suit it,” You tease, “But Mrs and Mrs Carpenter has a nice ring to it.”

Tara tilts her head hopefully.

“So, maybe a high school wedding?” She asks, voice sly, “Mrs Carpenter would look good on your college application forms.”

You press a warm kiss to her lips.

“There’s no rush, babe,” You tell her, “And I need to save up. Get you a pretty ring.”

Tara squints.

“I’m proposing first,” She says immediately, “You promised, babe.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yes, you baby, I know.”

Tara tilts her head, seemingly satisfied.

You press a kiss to her lips. She’s cured your insecurity, for now.

But a new feeling gnaws at the bottom of your stomach.

Dread.

As you realize what comes next. You try to keep your voice light. Lighter than the heavy pit at the bottom of your stomach.

“Come on,” You say, trying and failing not to sound anxious, “It’s time for therapy.”

-

Dr Colmann is a five foot woman with long, flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

Her office is bland. Gray walls. Little decoration.

Like she wants your attention on her.

You’d met her first, a few weeks ago. Like a pterodactyl scouting out a potential nest for her baby.

Your situation is tricky - there’s only so much you can tell her.

And you’re no doctor - but even you know surely it’s impossible to diagnose an illness without knowing all the symptoms.

“I want to get something out of the way,” You’d said after a long moment, clearing your throat.

Dr Colmann had looked over at you, pen tilted and ready to write. With all the intimidation of a woman who was about to change your life.

“I’m aware my girlfriend is…” You had paused, trying to think of the right word, “A little… possessive.”

Dr Colmann said nothing.

“I know that, and that’s why we’re looking for help.” You’d bitten your lip, nervous, “And I’m also sure the first thing you’re going to tell me is to leave her. But that isn’t going to happen. I love her. And she loves me. We’re looking for coping methods. I want to help her feel secure. But I will not break up with her.”

Dr Colmann had just listened.

Her silence, if possible, made you all the more nervous.

“She’s not abusive or anything,” You’d clarified, hastily, “She doesn’t hurt me. She just gets… jealous.”

“And what does she do when she gets jealous?” She’d asked, finally breaking her silence.

“Um-“ You’d said, voice a little high. Memories flashed before you like nightmares and you’d been entirely grateful your thoughts couldn’t be seen.

“She lashes out. Not at me. At other people.”

Dr Colmann scribbled something in her notepad. Long, wiry, black inky marks.

You’d squinted, trying to make up the words, but she’d looked back at you before you’d had the chance.

“Do you have any examples?” Dr Colmann prompted.

You paused.

You had a fair few of those.

None of which you could disclose.

“Little things,” You said, “I used to play soccer. But I had to quit because Tara thought some of the girls might become interested in me.”

You chew your lip.

“And… I was just in the hospital. She got jealous of the nurse.”

“The nurse?”

“She tried to… give me a sponge bath and Tara freaked out.”

Dr Colman stared.

You swallowed. The words out loud somehow seemed even more ridiculous than they are.

“How did she freak out?” Dr Colmann asked.

“She tried to…” You swallowed again, “She didn’t want the nurse to touch me again. Not even to change my bandages.”

Dr Colmann pursed her lips.

“I told her that was stupid,” You’d said, hurriedly, “But when she gets like that, nothing can stop her. She calls it The Rage.”

Dr Colmann tilted her head.

“The Rage?”

You’d nodded.

“Yeah. It’s like… it’s like something takes over her. Like a demon or something. Something she can’t control.”

Dr Colmann had closed her notebook. She’d looked over at you, surveying. You’d blinked back, eyes wide, surely screaming help me, or something to that effect.

Then, she smiled.

“When can I meet her?”

-

You’re no less nervous the second time.

You greet Dr Colmann with a tight smile, draw Tara down into the seat next to you. Your knee bobs up and down, unable to quell the tide of anxiety rising deep within you.

Please, you think, a little desperate, please help her.

As Tara and Dr Colmann exchange pleasantries, you blink. Too many times.

Like you don’t know how this is going to go. The worst case scenario flashes before you: Dr Colmann in a body bag.

Tara in a jail cell.

You in a jail cell.

Never able to touch her, or hold her, or kiss her ever again.

You need therapy, the little voice in your head leers, judgmental, not being with Tara is worse than a woman dying?

“So, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, when you’re all seated. With all the cheeriness of someone who isn’t aware you’re imagining her as a corpse.

“Tell me about The Rage.”

An awkward silence settles over the three of you.

Tara shoots a hesitant look towards you.

You squeeze her hand and nod.

Then, she looks over to Dr Colmann.

“It’s an anger thing,” Tara mumbles, not looking her in the eye, “I’ve seen shrinks before, none of them can fix it.”

Dr Colmann tilts her head.

“And what did these other doctors do?” She asks, “Anger management classes? Medication?”

“Both,” Tara says, “Nothing ever worked.”

Dr Colmann hums.

“I’ve read through your file, Tara,” She says gently, “Fourteen different therapists across the state. That’s a lot of doctors. Especially for such a young girl.”

Tara assesses her. Her face is tight, guarded. Like she’s not sure if she can quite trust her.

Dr Colmann scribbles something in her notepad.

“Lots of kids have problems with anger,” Says Dr Colmann, “But anger is just a symptom, like any other emotion. From what YN has told me, anger isn’t the problem. Sharing is the problem.”

Tara frowns.

“Plenty of children have issues with sharing,” Dr Colmann continues, “Usually, it’s the parents who stamp it out. But not always. I see in your file your sister used to bear the brunt of most of these anger issues.”

Tara folds her arms.

“Not always,” She says.

“But most of the time,” Says Dr Colmann, pointedly. She squints, reading through her notes, “It says here you attacked your sister when you were four years old because she tried to play with one of your Barbie dolls. Then again, later that week for taking a bigger slice of pie.”

“Four year olds are allowed to have boundaries, aren’t they?” Says Tara, defensively, “That Barbie was mine.”

“And YN? She’s yours too?” Asks Dr Colmann, evenly.

Tara blinks.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Tara says, diplomatically. The question is a trap, one she’s determined to avoid.

Dr Colmann tilts her head.

“And you don’t like when other people play with her? Is that right?”

Anger flickers through Tara’s features. You bite your lip, and squeeze her hand. Try to keep her grounded.

“I suppose not.” Says Tara, voice tight.

“YN told me about the nurse,” Dr Colmann says, “And the soccer team. You made her quit? Why?”

Tara looks over to you, a little helpless.

“I didn’t make her quit,” She says, slowly, like she’s being very careful with her words, “I just… suggested it. Strongly.”

Dr Colmann makes a noise of dissatisfaction.

Then returns to madly scribbling on her notepad.

Tara frowns again, looking self-conscious.

Dr Colmann looks up.

“And what if someone on the soccer team had been interested?” Dr Colmann asks, “What would you have done?”

You avert your gaze.

Kill them, is the answer.

It’s already happened.

More than once.

Tara shifts.

“I wouldn’t like it.” Tara says.

“No reasonable person would like that, Tara,” Dr Colmann prods, gently, “But what would you do?”

“I don’t know,” Says Tara, sounding aggravated, “Not let her see them anymore.”

“And do you think that’s an appropriate request?” Dr Colmann asks, “Do you really think you should have control over who your girlfriend associates with?”

Tara narrows her eyes.

“YN would do it for me,” She says, “We’re in a relationship. Relationships are about compromise.”

“That isn’t compromise, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, gently, “That’s you demanding she do something and her complying. Do you not trust her?”

Tara blinks.

She looks over to you, then back to Dr Colmann.

“Of course I do,” She says, voice soft, “It’s other people I don’t trust.”

“And what do you think these other people are going to do?” Dr Colmann asks.

“I don’t know.” Tara says, voice small, as if she’s never really thought that far ahead.

She looks like a little lost puppy. You want to wrap her in your arms and tell her you’ll never talk to anybody else again if that’s what she wants.

You resist.

Healthy wife, happy life, is what you tell yourself instead.

Dr Colmann’s face washes with sympathy.

“Jealousy is pointless, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, voice gentle, “Worrying is pointless. If YN is going to cheat on you, she’ll cheat on you. If she’s going to leave you, she’ll leave you. There’s nothing you - or The Rage can do about it.”

Tara blinks.

“I-“ She says, as if Dr Colmann has just spit in her face “What?”

Dr Colmann sits forward in her seat. Her notebook discarded.

“What you need to do - is trust. Your girlfriend loves you. Clearly. She wouldn’t be here with you if she didn’t.”

Tara frowns.

“You’re afraid of losing her,” Dr Colman says, eyebrows knit, as if Tara is a particularly difficult puzzle she can’t quite get her head around, “But why? We’ve already established she loves you. She wouldn’t be here with you if she didn’t.”

Tara blinks. You soothe a finger across the back of her hand. Resist the urge to press a kiss to her pretty forehead.

You let the doctor do the work.

“Have other people you loved left you, Tara?” Dr Colmann prods, gently.

Tara’s shoulders tense.

Dr Colmann waits a moment.

“Who?” She asks, "Your Mom? Your Dad?”

“Both.” Tara says, voice small, “They both left me.”

Your heart aches.

If you could - you’d sucker punch the two of them right now.

It isn’t an option. Instead - you grip her hand tight, offer her a small smile of encouragement as she speaks.

Tara swallows.

“My Dad tried to fix me,” Tara says, “For years. I was an angry kid. They could never figure out what was wrong with me. Eventually he just… gave up. He walked out on me and My Mom and my sister. Left us, just like that.”

“That must have been very traumatic,” Says Dr Colmann, “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Says Tara, “My Mom never left. I mean, she did. She threw herself into work to cope with my Dad leaving. She started going on these long business trips. But she never officially left.”

Dr Colmann offers her a small smile, “And that’s why you get so jealous, is it Tara? You’re afraid YN will leave you? Like your Mom? Like your Dad?”

Tara hesitates.

She looks down at her hands.

“Yes.” She says, after a long moment.

“Baby,” You say, voice hushed. Tara squeezes your fingers.

Dr Colmann hums.

“That makes a lot of sense, Tara,” She says, her voice kind, “That gives us something to work with.”

She closes her notepad, offers the two of you a reassuring smile.

“Your anger - we can work through that. We can figure out some coping methods. But the main problem here isn’t anger, Tara. It’s trust. I know you said you trust YN but you’re still scared. Deep down you’re scared she’ll abandon you, just like your parents did. We need to work through that.”

“Is it something we can fix?” You ask, a tad desperate.

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d promised Tara you’d never leave her.

And each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears the moment The Rage was invoked.

“We can try,” Dr Colmann says, “I can try. And it’ll take some hard work. But Tara, it’ll only work if you’re open to it. If you’re open to changing. Is that something you can do?”

Tara thinks for a moment.

And then she nods.

“Yeah,” She says, “I want to do it. I want to be different. For you, babe,”

She squeezes your hand. Thinks hard.

“And for me too."

-

You’re silent the entire way home.

Tara too.

She grips your hand so hard you think it might fall off at one point. It’s only when she pulls into the driveway, she speaks.

“I didn’t scare you off, did I?” She asks, chewing her lip as she looks over at you, “With all my… problems.”

“Never, baby,” You say immediately.

You lean over to kiss her cheek. She relaxes.

“I’m going to need a lot of therapy, aren’t I?” She says, sounding worried.

You press another warm kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll be with you the whole way,” You assure, “I'm not going anywhere, Tara.”

You hesitate.

“You know I’m not like your Dad, right?” You say, “Or your Mom. I’m not going to leave you.”

Tara offers you a small smile.

“I know, babe,” She says, “At least in theory, I know.”

You press a kiss to her lips.

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you then,” you say, “Everyday. I love you. You’re stuck with me. I’ll say it until you believe me in theory and in practice.”

Tara rests her forehead against yours.

“Okay,” She says, “And keep saying it after that, okay babe?”

You kiss her.

“Deal.”

-

Your Mom’s still in the hospital.

Her leg had been amputated after the attack, and the procedure hadn’t been easy on her or your Dad. She’d come home after two weeks and then been admitted once more when the wound became infected.

“Are you feeling okay?” You ask her now, chewing your lip, phone pressed to your ear.

Tara finishes up the dishes, setting down the washcloth to nestle in beside you, squeezing your hip comfortingly.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” She says, “Will you come and visit tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” You promise, “Sam is going to pick us up after school.”

“And everything’s alright at the house?” Enquires your Mom.

You were staying at Tara’s place until your parents came back home, a decision that was quickly agreed on, for once.

“Everything’s fine, Mom,” You assure, “Sam’s working now, but she’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

Your Mom hums.

“And Tara’s there with you, isn’t she?” She asks, sounding a little worried, “You’re not alone?”

“Tara’s here,” You say and Tara kisses the back of your neck, “You don’t have to worry, Mom.”

“Is that Tara?” Asks your Dad through the phone, a little gruff, “Can I speak with her?’

“Dad wants to speak to Tara, YN, bye for now,” Says your Mom, “See you tomorrow.”

You barely get out the goodbye before you hear your Dad’s voice once more.

“Tara?” He asks.

“It’s me Dad,” You say, and he makes a noise of vague disappointment.

You roll your eyes.

“We’re fine, thanks for asking.” You say.

“Yes, yes, I heard you speak with Mom,” He assures, “Put Tara on the phone.”

You hand off the phone to your girlfriend and pry yourself out of her grip, busying yourself with playing the leftovers into their containers.

“Hello, Sir,” Says Tara, the way you might speak to the President.

She bobs her head, eyebrows knitting.

“Yes, I did see the 49ers play.”

You huff.

Tara averts her gaze.

“Yes, I did think they played like a bunch of seven year old girls.”

You roll your eyes once more.

Tara’s newfound friendship with your Dad is better than the alternative, at least. You’d lived the alternative.

It hadn’t been much fun.

“We’re okay,” Tara promises, suddenly, “I have every door locked down, alarms set and cameras operating.”

Your Dad murmurs something down the line you can’t hear.

Tara smiles, and then reaches for your hand.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight, Sir, you don’t have to worry,” She says, “I won’t let anyone hurt her. I promise.”

She hangs up not long after.

You should be used to it by now, the flutter in the pit of your stomach every time she gets protective, or calls you hers, but you’re not.

Butterflies cascade through your belly, branching out to the tips of your fingertips where they settle. You curl in around Tara and press your lips to her neck.

She smells good. No perfume, just the tinge of her skin and her coconut body wash.

You squeeze her hips and nip your teeth against the nape of her neck.

“Oh.” Tara sighs as you slip your fingers into the waistband of your jeans. She leans back into your touch, titling your head to capture your lips.

“Really?” She asks, a little excited.

You laugh.

You’d not had sex in a few weeks, hardly in the mood. Your wound aches most days, and the rest are spent really remarkably unsexy, despite Tara’s constant reassurance you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

She turns in your arms, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Sam won’t be home for hours,” You murmur against her lips, “Just you and me. The way it should be.”

“Your stomach doesn’t hurt?” She asks, a little soft. Her eyes swim with concern, “We can just watch a movie, if you want?”

You shake your head.

She looks good. Her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. No makeup, her spill of freckles poignant, her pretty lips pouty and red and kissable.

“I want you, baby,” You murmur, nuzzling your nose to the side of her face, “Do you want me too?”

You don’t have to wait long for a response.

She presses a searing kiss to your lips.

“Do you even have to ask?” She says, biting her lip.

“No,” You smile, “But I want to hear you say it anyway.”

“I want you,” She says, immediately. She’s excited again, you can tell by the way her eyes flicker, “I want you all the time.”

“Come take me then,” You murmur against her mouth.

She doesn’t have to be told twice.

She leads you up the staircase, walking backwards. Her mouth fused to yours, her careful hands roaming every span of skin she can get her hands on.

She helps you onto the bed, far gentler than her usual gig of wild hands and wild lips. Instead, this time she touches you as if you might shatter into a thousand pieces.

You make an annoyed murmur as she pulls your jeans down your legs. It feels like an age, the way she softly untangles the button and the zipper. Her touch is light, so un-Tara.

When she finally pulls your legs from your jeans, you almost cry out of frustration.

“Babe, I’m not going to break.” You tell her, but it falls on deaf ears.

She’s pressing her lips to your thigh, tiny, gentle touches as she pulls your underwear down your legs at a pain-stakingly slow pace.

“Don’t rush me, babe,” She says as you reach down to help her, “And lie back. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I feel fine,” You say, tilting up to meet her kiss, “Please hurt me.”

Tara huffs, drawing back slightly.

“It’s not fair to say things like that when you know I can’t.” She pouts, “The things I want to do to you will almost certainly rip your stitches.”

Arousal coils deep in your belly.

Then annoyance.

“Now who's not being fair?” It’s your turn to pout.

Tara nudges her lips to your neck.

“I’m going to make love to you, baby-girl,” She promises, her eyes dark, “That’s more than fair.”

You tilt your head up and press a lingering kiss to her lips.

“Besides. If I rip your stitches I think your Dad will have something to say.”

You wrinkle your nose.

“Let’s not talk about my Dad when we’re getting naked, babe,” You suggest.

She hums in agreement.

And then you reach for her shirt.

“Off.”

If she’s going to spend the entire evening getting your underwear down your legs, the least she can do is give you something to look at, you reason.

Your touch is impatient.

You pry off her jeans like there’s a time limit. Strip her of her shirt and her bra until she’s hovering naked above you, making your mouth water.

And suddenly, what little patience you had left is gone.

You rise up, starling her.

“Babe-“ She protests, but you can’t be reasoned with.

You tilt her around, until she’s lying back on the mattress, nudging her bare legs apart with your thighs.

“Too slow, my turn.” You murmur.

Your lips are hungry.

You kiss her, fierce, groaning slightly as your hands get to work. They work down the curve of her hips, to her thighs. You squeeze her, a little rough, and then move your hands to take her nipples between your fingers.

She gasps, her hips involuntarily jerking up towards yours. You detangle yourself from her lips, leaning down to press hot kisses against her neck.

She threads her fingers through your hair, tugging, tugging, as she moves against you. She’s still holding back, being careful not to touch your stomach.

You can tell by the way she’s groaning it’s hard for her.

And so you make it easy.

Your lips move down from her neck to her breasts. You circle each nipple once, then twice, before you’re taking her in your mouth, curling your arms around each of her thighs.

“Baby,” Tara murmurs, “Baby, your stomach-“

You release her nipple with a wet pop and a frown.

“I’m fine, babe.” You say, and it’s true.

It aches, slightly, but it always does nowadays. No matter what you’re doing.

And if it’s her you’re doing, at least the ache is dampened by the forest fire of arousal surging through your veins.

You return to your pilgrimage down her body.

Your lips graze her belly-button, your tongue slips down over the jut of her hips to the crest of her thighs.

She sighs, seemingly satisfied as you slip down further. Moving your body to settle nicely in between her legs.

Then, she tilts her head up, biting her lip.

Her eyes are hesitant, though encompassed with want.

“Tell me if it hurts,” She says, “Tell me and we can stop. Or…re-adjust.”

You nod, impatient.

“Alright babe, I will,” You say, raising an eyebrow, “Can I go down on you now?”

Her cheeks flush red with arousal.

“Please.” She whispers.

She’s beautiful, as ever.

You press your lips against the soft skin of her inner thighs, grazing your lips just gently. You use your tongue to work your way inwards.

Your breath catches in your throat the moment you taste her. Wet, syrupy, bittersweet goodness.

You lick it up, greedy for more. You press your lips to her folds, use your hands to spread her open for you. You lose control of your tongue.

One minute you’re ready to tease, the next, you’ve worked yourself up too much.

Your tongue moves hot across her folds and then down to her entrance. Your top lip brushes her clit and she sings.

A low moan that vibrates through the room.

A moan that indicates it’s been far too long since you’ve touched her like this.

You apologize with your mouth.

Low strokes of your tongue at her entrance. The quiet murmur of your own moan as your tongue moves up to circle her clit.

Lazy, slow, movements.

Then fast.

Like you’re changing your own mind too quickly.

You settle for writing words with your tongue.

babygirl, is what you spell out against her clit.

Your name. Her name. You connect them with a heart.

And then: mine.

Tara lets out a quiet moan as you take her clit between your lips. Sucking gently until her thighs are gripping like iron bars around the side of your head and her nails against your scalp bruise.

You give up on using the alphabet.

You slip two fingers inside her, sighing as she encases you. She’s tight and wet and begging for more.

You give it to her.

Curl your fingers up in just the right way. Lap your tongue over her clit just the way she likes.

And then she’s gasping as she tightens around you. She cries your name in a breathy moan as she cums hard around your fingers and mouth.

It’s always over too quickly, you think briefly as you reluctantly slip out of her. You need to learn patience. You need to learn how to tease.

But there’s something about her, and you don’t know how she does it. You just have to give her what she wants.

She lets out a happy sigh as you climb up her body and press your lips to her forehead.

She’s still a moment, but you know better. She recovers quickly.

In less than a minute she’s shifting.

You groan as your back hits the mattress.

Her hands slip down to your thighs, gripping you like she has an agenda. And she does. You know it by heart.

First, the gentle touch of her lips against your neck.

Then she’s sliding your underwear down your legs.

She kisses your lips, slips her tongue into your mouth for only a moment. And then she’s trailing kisses down your body.

Your chest. Your breasts.

She pays special attention to your nipples. Her eyes locking with yours as she sucks, ever so gently.

Your body feels hot.

You grip her face, holding her in place.

And then she’s nudging out of your grip, dipping down to press her lips to your navel.

She doesn’t kiss your scar, but you can tell she wants to.

She looks up at you, eyes wide and vulnerable as she squeezes your hips.

“You’re beautiful.” She murmurs. She ducks down and presses a kiss to the top of your inner thigh, “You’re perfect. My perfect girl.”

“Tara,” You say, voice a little gravelly, “Baby, please.”

She doesn’t make you wait.

One moment she’s pressing her lips to your thigh. The next, she’s dipping down between your legs. You lean back onto the pillows with a sigh.

Her lips graze.

She kisses your inner thigh.

Drags her tongue over your entrance and you gasp.

Then, her lips are on your clit.

You moan as she snakes a hand around your waist. The other slips between your legs. She teases for only a moment before she’s slipping her fingers inside you. You gasp at the sudden intrusion.

It’s not as though you’re not ready for it.

You’re so wet you’d give her a snorkel if she wasn’t such an experienced sailor.

But she rides your high seas like it’s her full time job.

Lips on your clit, fingers working in and out. She squeezes your hip with her free hand. Her talented mouth is like fire. Dancing around just where you need it most.

You close your eyes and let out a low moan.

She’s being careful.

Gentle.

Loving you like she doesn’t want to hurt you.

You take back the impatience. You take back the need for more, more, more.

Your sweet, loving girlfriend is all you need.

Gentle mouth. Careful tongue.

Her between your legs, working you into oblivion like sex is just a vehicle to express how deeply she loves you.

“Tara.”

You cum with her name on your lips. Her mouth fused around your lips. You cum feeling safe and wanted and needed.

And when she’s done, she climbs back up your body and presses the softest kiss to your lips.

Nestles herself with her head in your chest. Right next to your heartbeat.

Where she should be.

You close your eyes once more.

Thread your fingers through her hair. Press the softest of kisses to her forehead.

And then she looks up at you, her pretty brown eyes shimmering.

“Love you.” She murmurs. She punctuates her words with a kiss.

Your chest is heaving. You allow yourself the moment. Body thrumming with your orgasm, the love of your life pressed tight to your side.

Tara curls into you. She waits a moment, then looks over at you,

“I’m going to be better for you,” She murmurs, “I’ve put you through hell, baby, and I know that. But it all ends now.”

You frown.

“I’m in heaven with you, no matter what you’ve done,” You say, after a quiet moment, “After what we’ve both done. Right or wrong, I love you. And you love me. And that’s all that matters.”

Tara tilts her head to yours.

She takes your lips in a long, searing kiss.

She says what she can’t with words.

You say it too.

And when you pull back, you know she understands.

She’s yours.

And you are undeniably, irrefutably, entirely:

All hers. 

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Pairing: Tamlin x reader

Summary: Reader lives an ordinary life in the deep forest without name, past, emotions and dreams until one day she saves wounded beast and takes it to her home. However beast isn't a beast at all and everything starts to change. The past storms into her life and turns it upside down. Will Y/N be able to withstand it and heal? And most importantly will she be able to return in time to save the person who matters the most?

Status: completed

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

Part XI

Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

Part XXII

Part XXIII

Part XXIV

Part XXV

Part XXVI

Part XXVII

Part XXVIII

Part XXIX

Part XXX

Epilogue

Series taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot @acourtofimagines @harahettania @talesofadragon @ceoofyearning @little-nightowl

[arc-misadventures]

Master Post Of Posts VII

Part I / II / III / IV / V / V.V / VI / VIII

Rebirth

I / II / III / IV / V / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI / XII / XIII / XIV / XV / XVI / XVII / XVII.V / XVIII / XIX / XX / XXI / XXII / XXIII / XXIV / XXV / XXVI / XXVII / XXVIII / XXIX / MFK / ?.V / XXX / XXXI

What Are Those?!

I / II / III / IV / IV.V / V / VI / VII / VIII / VIII.V / IX / IX.V / X / XI / XII / XIII / XIV / XV / XVI / XVII / XVIII / XIX / XX / XXI / XXII / XXIII / XXIV / XXV / XXVI / XXVI.V / XXVII / XXVIII / XXIX / XXIX.V / XXX / XXXI / XXXII

Salem

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part XXIX

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, Part XXIII, Part XXIV, Part XXV, Part XXVI, Part XXVII, Part XXVIII

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

“Satoru, this is [name]… Of course you know it’s me. Uh, anyway, I know you may not want to see me now, but I’m locked out of my apartment. You still have that spare key, right?... Could you come over?” your voice asked hesitantly. “Or send it with someone if you don’t wanna see me, but…” you sighed, ”I’d like to see you, Satoru. Really. I… I want to see you, okay?... Anyway, give me a call when you get a chance, please.” Silence. “I love you.”

How many times had he listened to that voicemail? Gojo was not sure, especially not now that time seemed to have slowed down for him.

He had come to the hospital as fast as he could, but he had not been able to see you yet. He had learned from Ieiri, who had made a brief stop by his side, that you were still in the operating room when he arrived. He wondered how bad your injuries were, what had happened in your apartment, who had hurt you, but above all, would you recover?

Yes, they will. They have to, Satoru told himself.

But it did not ease his concerns that Ieiri had not come back to give him an update in a while, or so it appeared to him, and those doctors and nurses parading in front of him from one side to another had not told him anything either.

What was taking them so long? Why had they brought you to that hospital? Shoko had explained to him you had been taken to the nearest hospital, and they had contacted her since she figured as your GP.

“I did some practices here in the past. The personnel are capable. They are in good hands,” Ieiri said after briefing Gojo on your current situation.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you treated them?” he asked without looking at her. Shoko could see just enough of that flash of blue behind Gojo's shades to know his eyes, as his mind, could not focus on anything now.

Crumpled shirt, wet hair...

She gave him a quick look before focusing on their surroundings. The hospital staff in white and blue threads, the other people waiting like them, and the persistent smell of antiseptic.

“I saw them,” she was talking about your injuries, “It wasn’t a curse, but I’ll do whatever I can as soon as I get a moment alone with them.”

It hung heavy over Ieiri that she had not been allowed into the operating room immediately after she arrived. However, she knew the medical staff were already doing all they could, all that was humanly possible, and what may be left for her to do was not meant for them to see.

She thought she saw Gojo nod in acknowledgement but when she turned to looked at him, he seemed to be entering a trance of his own.

“I’ll go in even if they kick me out and come to update you later, okay?” Shoko told the white-haired man sitting next to her before leaving him in the waiting room.

But it was already later, and Shoko had not come back, so Satoru turned to the only source of comfort he had right now and hit replay.

“Satoru, this is [name]…”

***

Shoko stared at your form.

Even after all bleeding had been stopped and a successful surgery to remove the bullet, and even after Shoko herself had treated you, she still did not like the numbers on your monitor or the fact that you showed no sign of coming back to consciousness.

She told herself it was probably a matter of time. You were to be kept under observation and if remaining stable, you would be moved to a room.

Now she was sitting close to your bed, doing just that, observing. She had been right, it was not a curse what did the most harm, but she knew cursed energy had definitely been used, and Gojo would pick on it too when he saw you.

“You asked me what the worst part of being a doctor was,” her voice was soft, without hesitation, although she did not usually talk to unconscious patients. “This is it, doing everything you can but not knowing if it has been enough.”

***

“Don’t you dare support this nonsense,” it was your mother’s voice.

Satoru had not meant to eavesdrop. He was there to visit, as he had kept doing over the last couple of years that he had been spending a lot of time in Tokyo, where he was to attend high school next year at Jujutsu High, with you. That if your mother allowed it.

“Aren’t there good schools here? They can attend any. It doesn’t have to be Tokyo. It doesn’t have to be that school.”

That school.

Of course.

Satoru had always known he would have to go to Tokyo. Unlike you, he had no choice. But when in the spring of your last year in junior high, you had told your mother you were planning to go learn jujutsu with him, she was not pleased. Anyway, it was surprising that six months later, she was still against it.

“Can you let them do what they want for once?” your father asked in that mild tone that made it difficult to say for certain if he was upset.

“Is it what they want or what you want?” she questioned with a hint of an accusation.

Your mother was not a sorcerer, never had been. Your father was, in fact, one of the few members of his own family who could see curses. Despite it, the woman he had married was familiar with the many caveats of the sorcerers' job and was not willing to let her child start a career that could likely lead them to their death, which she proceeded to state.

“Is that so? You either want you child dead or want them to continue following the Gojo heir even if it kills them,” she insisted.

“Enough,” your father barked. “It’s enough.”

She exited the room only to find the Gojo heir in the hall, who looked at her as if caught red-handed, but before he could give her any excuse, she spoke.

“[name] is not home yet but should be back soon,” and she left.

Satoru did not mind her sometimes straightforward treatment. She had looked as if she was about to cry.

When Satoru looked into the room your mother had fled, he found your father, looking at his untouched tea over the table, lost in thought. The sight of the boy pulled him back to his senses.

“Satoru,” he pronounced his name softly.

It was refreshing, Gojo thought. Most people at his family’s state had started to address him as they once addressed his father, treat him as the head of the clan he was bound to become despite him being just a teen. But not your father, to him, the powerful heir of the Gojo clan was just little Satoru, your friend.

“Did you..?” the man did not need to finish the question to know the boy had heard him arguing with his wife. “I see. I’m sorry you heard that.”

Satoru thought he should say something to him, but all he could do was ask the most natural question.

“Will [name] still come to Tokyo?”

He looked at him as if he had expected the question.

“If that is what they want.” Your father nodded. “I know the air is different there, and so are the curses. [name] has never left this town, so of course I worry.” He looked outside, half-expecting to see his wife’s disapproving stare from the yard, but she was not there. “But I know [name] will be fine because they will be with you.”

***

I failed you, sir.

I failed them too.

Satoru was not sure of how long he had dozed off. Maybe only a few minutes. That was fine, that was all the sleep he needed. It was enough to go through twenty-four more hours of waiting. Waiting for you to wake up.

He looked around the room you had been transferred to, spacious but small at the same time. Or maybe that was just his perception, the feeling that came with knowing he could not leave this room until you opened your eyes.

After your condition had shown little improvement, Ieiri had told him to go home, but there was no way he could leave. Never again.

“When was the last time we were this quiet in the same room?” he asked you although he knew there would be no answer.

After a moment of silence, he spoke again, feeling the need to talk to you even if you would not talk back.

“I’m sorry, [name].”

Had you been conscious, you would have known he was apologizing sincerely as his voice was almost a whisper.

“I shouldn’t have left you. I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

It came with a staggering sense of powerlessness, the realization that he had thought those same words after Suguru deflected years ago.

He put his hand over yours, the gesture was a silent plea for you to not leave him now too, and even if your hand was the coldest it had ever been and even if Satoru had never been religious, he allowed himself to pray to whatever gods there were that you could stay.

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

Note: I'll proofread at some point... Anyway, it's our beloved's birthday eve (at least for me). How are you all?

Thanks for reading!

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXVI // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) LDN -> LA

Chapter Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

“You might want to put this on,” said Ben, pulling a surgical mask from the back pocket of his jeans and handing it to you.

You took it from him with a raised brow. “Is this so you don’t get recognised?” 

“That, and germs.” He slipped on his own mask, adjusting it to sit comfortably over his nose and mouth. “Press tours are draining enough without being sick on top of it.” 

You put on your mask and slid on a pair of sunglasses - brand new, more money than you’d usually be willing to spend on something so superfluous. But you’d been pressed for time, caught up in the excitement of last minute holiday shopping.

The driver was taking your bags from the boot of the car, placing them on the ground one by one. The early morning was bright and crisp, making you shiver as you stepped out, teeth clenching with every brush of cold air across your bare arms. You’d dressed for California; soft, comfy trousers, a little white baby tee, stupidly forgetting the unpredictable British weather that would come first.  

A man was waiting near the airport entrance, his short greying hair and casual clothes making him indistinguishable from any other person around him. But Ben seemed to know him, acknowledging him with a nod and a quick wave as he grabbed your luggage and began walking towards him.

You turned to the driver and gave a quick smile; your numerous awkward moments alone in the back of his car making you feel like you somewhat knew him now. He nodded at you in response, before closing the boot with a heavy thud and making his way back to the driver’s side door. 

The man with the greying hair walked you briskly through the airport. It was emptier than you’d expected; short queues, no crowds, the sound of muted footsteps and hushed murmurs filling the vast, open space. Your suitcase rolled smoothly over the tiled floor as you dragged it behind you, while Ben was somehow managing to haul everything else on his own; his suitcase, his backpack, your large carry-on slugged over his shoulder. You’d offered to take it from him, but he simply shook his head, grabbing it before you even had the chance to protest. 

You were guided through check-in and security, following Ben’s lead as he followed his escort’s. The smell hit you first; the overwhelming blend of expensive perfumes and colognes, burnt coffee, food wafting from restaurants and cafés. It was such a familiar scent, nostalgic, exciting, no matter how long it had been since your last flight.

People were slumped in stiff chairs, some curled up like they’d been waiting forever. The cry of a baby echoed somewhere in the distance, while a muffled, metallic voice spoke over the tannoy. You continued past it all, past the people with their neck pillows and coffee cups, duffel bags tucked between their knees, past the shoppers with their duty free bags and a group of young women in matching hen party t-shirts. Yet here you were, drifting along in a surreal, peaceful current, bypassing the chaos.

Eventually, you were brought to a quiet corner of the terminal where a small welcome desk stood in front of a sleek glass door, a subtle, shiny plaque on the wall beside it that read: The Windsor Suite. There was a man standing at the desk in a shirt and gold coloured tie, a name tag across the breast of his long black tailcoat. He was wearing a bowler hat, and it took everything in you not to laugh at the absurdity of it all as you watched him reach out his leather-gloved hand and take your boarding passes from Ben.

Your escort seemed to disappear, making himself scarce without a word, or maybe you were just too focused on the man in front of you to notice.  

“The Windsor Suite?” you whispered to Ben with a raised eyebrow. 

He nodded towards the doors as the man pulled them open for you, gesturing for you to go inside.

And you did, your mouth falling open in shock as you wandered further in. The place looked like a luxury hotel penthouse; polished wooden floors and buttery leather chairs, fresh flowers in tall metallic vases. Everything was soft, neutral, warmly lit and beautifully decorated. A long, open bar extended the length of one wall, another wall filled with books and a large mounted TV. There was artwork everywhere, plush sofas and armchairs in textures of velvet, leather and chenille, a discreet butler standing near a serving cart.

You pulled down your mask as you looked around in awe. “This is… Insane.” 

Ben set down your bags, taking off his own mask to reveal a slight smile. “How else are we supposed to wait for our flight?” he asked, clearly joking. 

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “I usually just sit on the floor near a plug socket somewhere with an overpriced sandwich.”

He laughed, dropping into an armchair with a sigh. “Trust me, if I could still get away with doing that, I would.” 

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” You flopped into the armchair beside him, your body sinking into the soft cushions like a warm embrace. “Definitely not complaining.” 

He laughed again and checked his watch, before settling back into his chair and closing his eyes. 

You watched him for a moment before turning your attention to the rest of the room, eyeing the glossy sheen of the bar, the precisely placed books on the shelves and bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. There was a large, frameless window, providing an uninterrupted view of the runway outside, a private jet waiting on the tarmac, baggage handlers lugging suitcases onto the conveyor of a commercial plane. 

If you weren’t so tired, you were certain you’d be exploring; walking the entire length of the suite and back, touching every surface, peering into cabinets and smelling the flowers. It was probably a good job you were exhausted, saving Ben the embarrassment of his ‘commoner’ girlfriend acting like she’d never seen a coffee table before.

“Would either of you like a glass of champagne?” the butler asked in a soft, posh voice.

You hadn’t even heard him approach you, startling slightly when you saw him standing at your side.

“It’s half past six in the morning,” you said with a quiet laugh, before pausing for a brief moment. “Yeah, okay. Can you put a bit of Chambord in it as well?” 

He subdued his amusement, but the smile still managed to reach his eyes. He nodded and turned his attention to Ben. 

“No I’m alright, thank you. But could I possibly get some water?” 

“Of course, sir,” he replied, before quickly walking away. 

You leaned in towards Ben, speaking quietly. “You’re making me look bad.” 

“You said yourself it’s only half six,” he chuckled.

“Mm, well, I’d feel like we wasted this place if I didn’t at least do one extravagant thing. How much is this even costing you- actually, no, don’t tell me.” 

He laughed again, a deep, tired laugh in the base of his throat. 

The butler handed you a tall, thin champagne flute, the rosy liquid fizzing gently, tickling your nose as you brought it to your lips. It was sweet, slightly bitter, scratchy as it slid down your throat and cold as it hit your empty stomach. But it was undeniably satisfying, making your cheeks flush and your muscles relax as you curled your feet underneath yourself and settled back further.

You talked quietly for a while, the conversation drifting aimlessly from work schedules to bucket lists, stories, jokes, favourite things. The sun was getting brighter as the morning progressed, but the lighting inside the suite stayed soft and ambient, keeping you suspended in your relaxed, comfortable bubble. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you took it out to see a message from your mother.

Did you get to the airport ok? How long til your flight? x

“Everything okay?” Ben asked.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Just my mum worrying about me as always.” 

You leaned towards him, holding your phone up to take a selfie together. He tilted his head towards you, pulling a stupid face at the camera. 

“I’m sending this to my mum,” you said. 

“Oh.” He quickly adjusted his expression, smiling warmly and waiting for you to snap the photo. 

But before you could, your phone began to ring, an unknown number popping up on the screen. You looked at it with confusion for a moment before finally answering it with a dubious ‘hello?’ 

“May I speak with Quinn Armitage?” said a smooth, intimidating voice.

You knew immediately who it was, sitting up straighter in your seat and clearing your throat. “Yes, this is- speaking…” 

“Quinn, hello, this is Ellen Ford.” 

Ben was watching you with curious eyes, analysing your face. 

“Hi, Ms Ford, how are you?” you replied, locking eyes with him and watching his brows raise in surprise. 

“I understand you’re taking some personal leave so I wanted to catch you first,” she began, her voice calm, unbothered, a complete juxtaposition to your shaking hands and swirling stomach. “A piece came across my desk recently that I understand you wrote; ‘Still, They Watch’...?”

It felt surreal to hear the title of something you’d written come from her. “Y-yes that’s mine, I… i brought it to Julia a while back but she-”

“It’s very good,” she interrupted simply, as though she hadn’t even registered that you were speaking.

“Thank you.” 

“With some minor edits, I’d like to run it in the next issue.” 

Your hand instinctively lunged for Ben’s thigh, fingers gripping him like a vice. 

“However, with you being out of office for the foreseeable-”

“No, I’m,” you interjected, too excited to care about cutting her off. “I am out of office but I’m still working. If you send it, I can make the changes and get it right back to you.” 

“Excellent. I’d like to talk more with you about the piece when you get back.”

“I- Yes, definitely. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how-”

She’d already hung up. You looked down at your phone in stunned silence, the camera reflecting your awestruck face back at you. 

“What was that about?” asked Ben. 

“My op-ed. She wants to publish my op-ed.” 

He breathed out a single, quick laugh, smiling as he reached over and placed a hand on the back of your head, shaking you with restrained excitement. “That’s amazing!”

“I don’t even know how she got hold of it-” You paused, before looking up at him suspiciously. “Did you have something to do with this?” 

“What? No! I swear to god, no.”

You narrowed your eyes at him before quickly realising he was telling the truth, your mouth swiftly curling into a smile. “I wish I could see the look on Julia’s face when she finds out.”

“Maybe she’s the one who showed it to her?” 

“Definitely not. Maybe Nick snuck it into her office. I need to text him.”

“Text your mum first.” 

“Oh, yeah.” You lifted the phone, leaning into him and finally snapping the photo.   

You couldn’t stop giggling. Not as you were driven across the tarmac, or as you climbed the steps to the plane, not even when you finally got onboard. The whole thing just seemed so ridiculous to you; the special treatment and constant fast tracking, the flight attendants calling you ‘madam’ as they led you to your seat.

You’d stared out of the window during takeoff like a wonderstruck child, the reality of what you were doing finally starting to sink in - you were on a plane, tucked cosily inside your own personal business class cubicle as you soared towards the atlantic, your famous boyfriend sat directly behind you. Was this your life now? Would there come a day when trips like this no longer felt special? When boarding a plane and sitting in business class felt as mundane as catching the tube?

You’d been in the air for almost eight hours, and you were growing restless. You’d tried to sleep, took out your laptop and tried to write, you’d flicked through films on the TV, even resorted to playing word games on your phone.

You huffed and stood up, kneeling on your seat and resting your arms on top of the partition separating your cubicle from Ben’s. 

He glanced up at you before taking off his headphones. “Hi,” he greeted with a smile.

“Hi. What’re you watching?” 

“Hm? Oh, nothing, I’m listening to music.” He looked up at you for a moment. “Are you bored?” 

“Mhm.” You looked around the quiet cabin, then over to the toilets, then back to him, lowering your voice to a whisper. “Do you want to go and join the mile high club?” 

“Quinn,” he said, his voice low and steady, like a warning. 

“I’m only joking. I’m too loud to ever get away with that.”

“I know.” 

You rested your chin on your arms as you looked down at him, smirking slightly. “Well if you won’t meet me in the toilets, will you at least play scrabble with me for a bit?”

He rolled his eyes, giving in to a smile and reaching for his phone. “Fine, but you can’t get pissed off with me like you did last time.”

“No promises,” you replied, turning around and sinking back down into your seat.

It was noon when you landed in LA, but your bodyclock was still stuck on London time. The evening would be closing in there now, the temperature dropping, sun beginning to sink towards the horizon. Yet here, it was bright and busy, with air conditioning blasting from the ceilings and deafeningly loud crowds at every turn. You were exhausted as you followed another escort through the airport, your eyelids gritty, limbs heavy, wondering why your mind hadn’t let you sleep on the plane when your body so desperately needed it. 

Ben took you by the hand as you walked, while his other hand pushed a large luggage trolley. “You okay?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask covering his mouth. 

You nodded, giving him a slight squeeze. 

It was strange how different everything felt already, like the atmosphere itself was unfamiliar; the current moved faster here, more erratic, pulling everyone along in sharp, errant bursts. There was a restlessness, a sense that no one had time to walk slowly or speak quietly, not even inside the airport.

Ben kept hold of your hand as you were ushered towards a private exit, and as the doors slid open, you were hit by a wall of sudden, intense heat. It was thick yet dry, like stepping into a cloud of dust. You’d visited hot countries before, but none that had taken your breath away quite like this. It was exciting, to feel so far removed from home.

A black SUV was waiting outside, the windows tinted so dark they looked opaque. The driver stood beside it holding up a discreet sign; Ben’s initials and a string of numbers you didn’t understand. The escort handed you both off to him, like children who couldn’t be left unsupervised for even a moment. 

You climbed into the backseat as they piled your bags into the boot, breathing a sigh of relief to find the aircon blasting through the car. You leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes, listening as the door opened and Ben shuffled in beside you, his voice hoarse from tiredness and the recycled plane air as he spoke to the driver. 

His hand found your thigh, thumb stroking gently back and forth in a silently soothing gesture. You appreciated it, turning to look at him with a sleepy smile.

“How long until we get there?” you asked as the car began to move.

“About an hour.” 

You rolled your eyes and he laughed. 

“You just survived an eleven hour flight,” he said. “You’ll cope.” 

The car rolled to a stop, but you weren’t there yet. You peered into the front, watching the driver roll down his window next to a small wood-paneled outbuilding. Ben leaned over, handing him a small plastic card. The engine rumbled quietly as you waited, and after a moment, you saw a barrier rise to let you through. You flashed Ben a curious glance but he didn’t seem to notice, too busy directing the driver on where to go. 

You moved steadily along wide, winding roads, and even in your tired haze, your eyes stayed wide open. Huge gates stood before endless driveways, leading to grand entrances set into ivy-covered walls. Tall palms framed perfectly manicured lawns that stretched across hillsides, spanish villas with clay tile roofs, modern houses of glass and steel set like art installations against the dusty gold backdrop of hills and valleys. It was surreal, so perfect it almost seemed fake. 

You kept going further up the winding road, the houses growing larger and further apart like they needed room to breathe. When you finally turned a corner, you’d almost forgotten why you were there, finally snapping back into reality when Ben handed the driver another keycard.

He used it to open a gate, rolling slowly up a long private road lined with neat grass and pruned hedges, wild bushes, trees and shrubbery providing a sense of seclusion as you ventured further in. The car finally stopped in the middle of a large, paved driveway, the house surrounding it making your mouth fall open. 

You climbed out of the car, shielding your eyes from the sun as you stared up at the building before you. Lime Washed walls and terracotta roofs, arches and walkways, windows with wooden shutters and stone paths leading to standalone structures. The front entrance was like its own private courtyard; plants and pillars, another magnificent arch framing a glass front door. You stood gawping at it as Ben lifted your luggage out of the boot. And by the time the car had begun to drive away, you still hadn’t uttered a word. 

“Quinn, can you come and get your suitcase?” he called out. 

“When you said you had a house you stayed in whenever you came to LA, you failed to mention it was a fucking mansion,” you said, whipping around to face him. 

He shrugged at you, brow furrowed like he didn’t understand.

“Is this yours?” you pressed. “Like… You own it? You’re not renting it out, it- this is your house?” 

“Yes, this is my house.” He began, talking sarcastically slow, like he was explaining the concept to a child. “This is my California home. So when I am in California, I live here.” 

 You sneered at him and grabbed the handle of your suitcase. “Well go on then, lead the way.” 

“Why are you annoyed with me for having a nice house?” he laughed. 

“I’m not annoyed, I’m just- I keep forgetting you’re… you. Then suddenly it’s like boom, vip lounge, business class, sprawling fucking mansion in the hills.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched, threatening a smirk he knew better than to let spread. Instead he kissed the side of your head and hoisted your bags onto his shoulders, dragging his suitcase behind him. You followed, eyeing more details of the house as you went; the architecture and the greenery, the steps leading up to the front door framed with lanterns, how everything seemed so thought out and deliberate. 

He unlocked the door and let you inside, your footsteps echoing against the polished tile floor as you wandered in. You bit the inside of your cheek as you gazed around, knowing you couldn’t keep harping on at him about it, no matter how much you wanted to. The walls were smooth and rounded, the staircase curving perfectly up to the second floor. Everything was neutral and clean, earth tones and natural textures, tall ceilings and minimal clutter. There were more archways, providing small glimpses into other parts of the house, and you wondered how one man could possibly make use of so much space, if there were places he rarely ever saw. 

“Go on, lay into me,” he said with a joking sigh.

“This is… beautiful,” you replied sincerely. 

“Oh. Thank you. Do you want a quick tour?” 

“Quick?” 

He glared at you. 

“Sorry,” you said, biting back a smirk. “Couldn’t help myself.” 

The house echoed as you walked through it, the tall ceilings and generous windows making the place feel airy and open. Walls and archways seemed sculpted into the space, tones of clay and earth accented with black iron banisters, tiled floors and carved mahogany finishes. It was a far cry from his home back in London. There, his wealth was hidden in the foundations, in the pricey location and quiet luxuries. But here, it was impossible to miss. 

The kitchen alone was bigger than your entire flat, bordered with pale oak cabinets and shiny industrial-sized appliances. Dim, warm spotlights lined the exposed beams in the ceiling, casting a glow over the huge island in the middle of the room. You ran your hand along the polished marble top as you passed it, catching a glimpse of what looked like a small orchard beyond the window.

“This is the kitchen,” said Ben.

There were a bunch of flowers sitting in a vase on the island. You reached out and touched the petals, surprised to discover they were real. “How are these not dead?” 

“Hm? Oh, well I have people who come once or twice a week to look after the house when I’m not staying here. Y’know, gardeners, housekeepers, pool maintenance…”

You nodded, slowly learning to take this new reality in your stride.

He showed you to the first of many living rooms, where framed art and floating bookshelves decorated the pristine white walls. Curved couches sat low to the ground, angled towards the windows and sliding glass door on the back wall. He slid it open and gestured for you to follow him outside, a slight smile on his face, like he was excited for you to see what lay beyond it.

There was a fire pit on the patio, outdoor furniture still wrapped in its waterproof covering. You stood there for a moment in the dry, california heat, looking out at the well-kept grass that seemed to blend into the hills in the distance. Across the lawn was a swimming pool, a tennis court, statues and water features, flowers and citrus trees.

“It’s not like you to be this quiet,” he said. “Where’s the snarky comments? The criticism telling me this is all too much?” 

You shrugged and shook your head. “I think you’ve finally managed to make me speechless.” 

The tour continued with Ben doing most of the talking. He showed you rooms you wouldn’t have even known were there; a bar, a study, a sun room, all tucked away down curved passageways and across small courtyards connecting one part of the building to the other. There was a cinema room, with velvet recliners and a huge projector screen, a sleek home gym with accompanying sauna, and a cellar stocked full of whiskeys and gins, wines and bottles with labels you couldn’t even make out. 

He lugged your bags upstairs and you followed behind in awe, staring up at the skylight above the landing, natural light flooding another vast, minimal space. You peered into passing guest rooms and bathrooms, verandas and more stairs leading back down to places you weren’t sure you’d even seen yet. 

“And this is our room,” said Ben breathlessly, pushing open a set of double doors and dropping  the luggage on the ground with a huff. 

You stepped into the master bedroom and let out a soft, quiet sigh, too overwhelmed to muster anything more. It was huge, with smooth, curving walls and a glass door leading out onto a private balcony. The bed was perfectly made, all soft linens and neutral tones, the large wooden headboard built into the back wall. There was a sitting area, a fireplace, a television, and yet still, the room somehow felt sparse.

“What’s through there?” you asked, pointing to another door facing the bed. 

“That’s the wardrobe- Well, closet,” he said in an American accent, making you giggle. “And if you come through it, I’ll show you the master bathroom.”

You watched him open the door and disappear into the walk-in closet space, refraining from making a Narnia joke as you began to follow him. 

You could have slapped him for calling it a wardrobe. It was more like a hallway, each side lined with shelves and cupboards, glass cabinets filled with watches and cufflinks, shoes neatly organised on racks beneath them. There was an archway on the other end, leading through to a bathroom of marble and tile, glass and stainless steel. The deep clawfoot tub stood in the centre of the room, behind it a large window looking out on another stunning landscape. 

“Toilet’s through there,” said Ben. “And the shower’s in that bit over there.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I’m so embarrassed that I ever let you set foot in my flat.” 

He furrowed his brow and laughed. “What?”

“This. This is how you live, and then you come and stay with me where you need to punch the shower just to get it to turn on.” 

He laughed again, more heartily this time. “I did offer to get that fixed for you.” 

You rolled your eyes and made your way back through to the bedroom, your eyes immediately falling on the glass door. You walked across the room and slid it open, stepping out onto the balcony and resting your elbows on the railing. 

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back to let the sun warm your face, and after a moment, Ben was behind you, pressing up against your back and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I get why you want to live here full time,” you said softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Who said I wanted to live here full time?” 

“Faye.”

He inhaled deeply, letting it out in a low groan. “I thought we’d learned not to listen to anything that woman says…” 

“Yeah but, I wouldn’t blame you if this one was true. Why on earth would you ever go back to London when you have the ability to wake up to this every morning?” 

He hummed in thought. “Well, I might not appreciate it as much if I was here all the time.” He kissed the side of your head. “I like it here, but… London’s my home.”

You let your head fall back against his chest, eyes scanning the hills in the distance, the afternoon light pouring over them like honey. A gentle breeze rolled in, taking the edge off the heat, and for a while neither of you spoke.

His chest rose and fell slowly as you rested against him, the quiet strength of his arms snug around your waist. Every time you thought you were finally getting used to it all, to the odd reality he existed in, something always came to throw you off kilter again. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle against your ear.

“Mhm.” You nodded, leaning back further into him. “Readjusting.” 

He exhaled a laugh. “It’s been a long day. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” 

You turned your head slightly, intending to speak, but stopped yourself with a gentle sigh. The old Quinn would have corrected him, reminded him how far removed from normal his life was. But you no longer felt the need; understanding now that this wasn’t normal, but it was his normal. And, if you were going to stay with him, it would inevitably become yours too. 

For a short while, you stood there wrapped in the quiet, basking in the warmth and the soft brush of his thumbs over your hips. Until eventually you felt him shift, his hands moving to your waist to guide you back inside. 

“Shall we get a shower?” he asked.

His voice was low and casual, the same tone he might use when talking about dinner or the weather. There was no sly smile, no teasing edge, just an easy, simple offer.

It still surprised you how natural it felt; the idea of sharing something so intimate without expectation. Before him, you’d never have believed an invitation like that could be about comfort rather than sex. You wouldn’t have wanted it to be. 

*Yeah, that sounds nice,” you replied with a sleepy smile, letting him take your hand and lead you back towards the bathroom. 

You undressed together, throwing your clothes into a heap on the tiled floor. He opened the glass door of the shower and turned it on, holding his hand under the stream to test the temperature. And when it was ready, he gestured for you to step in.

He’d kept the water cool; a soothing relief from the California heat. You closed your eyes as you stood directly beneath the shower head, washing away the sweat and grime of your long journey. He got in behind you, pressing himself up close against your back and reaching over you for a bottle of shampoo.  

He washed your hair, his fingertips massaging your scalp with a firm pressure, making you relax into him with a grateful sigh. And when he was done, you turned to face him, tilting your head back to rinse away the suds before lathering him with shower gel. Your palms glided over his shoulders and down his arms, curving around his waist and trailing down his back. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips pressing against yours, just once, before returning his attention to your hair. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, lost in the scent of his soap and the sound of running water. Neither of you had spoken, moving with ease around the small space, taking turns under the stream and tending to each other carefully.

When you stepped out, your muscles felt looser, your skin fresh and clean, your mind pleasantly quiet. You wrapped yourself in a towel and wandered back into the bedroom, crouching at your suitcase and opening it to find the crumpled, disorganised mess of clothes you’d carelessly shoved inside.

Ben was sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped low around his waist, watching you as you rummaged for something to wear. His eyes followed you as you stood up and began to move around the room, drying yourself and peering at your reflection in the mirror.

“What?” you asked with a suspicious smirk.

He shook his head, leaning back on his elbows. “I just think you’re so beautiful.” 

You paused for a moment, pressing your lips together to hide a smile before continuing to dry yourself. “Well, that’s lucky. I imagine you’d find it quite challenging to sleep with me if you didn’t.” 

“I’m a man, darling. I’d manage.” 

You snorted. “Charming.” 

You slipped into your underwear and sat down to pull on a pair of leggings, your eyes flitting over to him every few moments as he began to get dressed too. Water stuck to his shoulders and chest like beads, his arms flexing as he unfolded a t-shirt, bottom lip sucked gently into his mouth. He was divine, mouthwatering, and there was a bed right there. Yet somehow, you were perfectly content on the other side of the room. 

"Oh no," you began dryly. "We've already hit the 'boring' stage, haven’t we." 

"What do you mean?" he asked with a laugh. 

"Beautiful place, huge bed, and we’re just… Getting dressed." 

His mouth curled in amusement as he realised what you were implying. Then his gaze drifted over you, his voice turning low and calm when he finally spoke.

“I’m letting you rest today.” 

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t punctuate his words with a wink or a smirk. Instead, he simply reached for his t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

“You’re letting me rest…?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhm,” he replied as he rolled the material down over his torso. “Because I’m working all day tomorrow. And by the time I get home, I’ll need somewhere to put my frustration.”

You glanced up at him, your fingers paused with your leggings halfway up your thighs. 

He met your gaze, the weight of his meaning settling in the space between you. “And you’ll be right here,” he said simply. “Won’t you.”

The air seemed to thin, your throat tightening, heat blooming deep in your stomach. “I’ll be here,” you finally replied.

His eyes flitted to your fingers as they clutched the waistband of your leggings, still half-forgotten at your thighs. The sight seemed to amuse him, a soft, brief smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby

[greyjoy-girl]

Salt and Snow Masterlist

Summary: After Balon Greyjoy's uprising fails, a young Theon Greyjoy is taken to Winterfell as a ward and hostage. Within the castle's looming stone walls, he meets Lord Stark's bastard daughter, a sharp-eyed girl who seems to look straight through him. As the years pass, their shared loneliness transforms their childhood rivalry into a complicated bond forged from shared loneliness and feelings of isolation. As tensions rise in Westeros, war breaks out and Theon is pulled between Pyke and Winterfell, testing the strength of their bond.

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Snow! Reader

Warnings can be found before each chapter. This work is 18+ and contains topics that may be triggering.

Notes: This is more of a slow-burn story that follows book canon primarily. It has canon divergence at some points, as this is fanfic. I don't describe the reader's physical appearance often (and try to be vague when I do) and Y/N is used at some points. After the source material is done, I am just going to ignore it lol.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

Part XI

Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

Part XXII

Part XXIII

Part XXIV

Part XXV

Part XXVI

Part XXVII

Part XXVIII

Part XXIX

Part XXX

General Masterlist

[dietmountaindewbae]

DILF ALEX PLEASE 🙏🙏

xxvi. teach me, teacher

alex turner x reader

word count: 3091

summary: Watching Mister (Early The Car!) Turner walk around class made you feel in a daze, hoping that one day he'll give you a valuable lesson. 

warnings: sp*nking, age gap, slapp*ng, a bit of v*olence, male dom.

playlist

──────────୨୧───────────

The bell rings, and the class is dismissed but you stay until you finish, focused on the details of each trace of your pencil. These past few weeks have been stressful, finals were soon, and the teachers were exploiting you with millions of projects and exams. But the only class you felt like you had things under control was during drawing class, in today's lesson with Mister Turner, you took your time to trace your pencil lines with black marker and some color. You were lost in oblivion when you suddenly heard the heavy door shut close.

"Still here?" Says Mister Turner coming inside with his second cup of black coffee.

"Sorry... I'll be done in a bit Mister Turner" Your soft voice made his ears ring, and his eyes couldn't escape you. Your hair under your ears, your big doe eyes, and long eyelashes, your pink lips, and cupid's bow, the little beauty spot on your chin like a little kiss, and his eyes rubbed down your soft bare legs, that little skirt in your uniform left plenty for his imagination.

Then, out of nowhere, your eyes cross, in the blink of an eye he goes back to grading more papers while you keep drawing. Your heart skipped a beat, and he shuffled in his seat, feeling a drop of sweat running down his forehead, that little scare made his heart jump.

Mister Turner was a nice teacher to everyone, but recently you were falling behind, you had to take your time with each drawing, and he often was right behind you telling you that you should be working faster for the semester you're in. All you wanted from him were his little notes in your papers congratulating you, and now all you got from him was his notices. When he walks into a room, his big voice makes everyone's heads turn, you always follow him with your eyes wherever spot in the class he is standing in when he moves his hands to try to physically explain something that only in his brain was drawn out perfectly, the way he crosses his arms as he speaks or when he puts his hands on his hips as he's explaining any subject at all, he had a way with words no one else had, you knew that he was blessed with some magic or ability no other man had, you often thought about him.

You were needy for his attention but you were too scared to talk to him, whenever he came to check up on you, all you could do was nod and pray for him to accept your work, that's all you ever wanted, that's all you ever needed. And when he leans in closer to you, you cling to his smell of black coffee and strong cologne, you often lose yourself as you look at the chain that hangs on his neck, looking at it bling.

You hear the pen on the paper grading, and you raise your eyes to look at him, and you catch his eyes stripping down your skirt and rubbing his eyes down your legs. His pupils dilate at the look of your eyes and he drags his eyes back to his papers, pinching the bridge of his nose, he felt as if as though he had exposed one of his weaknesses, one of his guilty pleasures, a secret. He could feel a string of tension begin to rise, many questions in his head, but only one way to solve them.

He stands up from his desk, the heel of his boot clashing against the wooden floor, standing next to you, "Hope you're doing the work that you own me" He says very quietly, almost as if he wished his voice was part of the wind that blew against the windows.

"I don't think I owe you anything," You said, looking at him directly, and confidently.

"Last time I checked, you did" He drawls and slowly walks back to his desk, and you put your pen down

"Well, if you let this one slide then I won't tell anyone that you were looking at my legs," He turns and looks at you with big eyes, a subtle smile crawling to your corners, and you put your things back inside your bag, "I'll see you on Monday" Your fingers brushed your hair back, and he jumped out of his chair as he sees you approaching the door.

He chases you feeling the rush of blood in his ears, "Wait" His arm stretches closing the wooden door before you even try to leave, "You're not gonna say anything, are you?" You stayed quiet, looking at him through your lashes, he sighed, regretting ever revealing the truth, he had no care about what the principals or counselors had to say, what he was deeply concerned about was what you had to say about his twisted and cheeky little perverted secret, "I promise I won't do that again" He says it like a promise, but it didn't feel like one.

"I never said I wanted you to stop," You whispered to him, his big brown eyes blinked slowly as the look in your eyes engraved on his, "Now if you don't mind... I-" You tried to open the door, but there was no need to say anything else when it was clear what he wanted from you.

"You should finish your homework, then you're free to go" You turned on the heel of your shoe, and walked back to the tall table pulling your things out of your bag to keep working.

Mister Turner had watched you bloom into an ungodly magnetic girl, always sitting in the back, quiet, and beautiful. Something stirs inside him whenever he sees you putting on your lipstick and brushing your hair, whenever you sit cross-legged and he's able to see a little bit of your thighs. When you came back to school with your hair cut to your chin, he couldn't stop looking at you as you worked, admiring how your hair fitted and framed your face so perfectly, your big eyes took all of the attention.

Now, you both were alone, based on the words you said he decided to test how far he could go, compared to his hand on your shoulder whenever he congratulated you when you turned in good work, or when your fingertips brushed as he thought you how to solve your questions.

With his hands on his hips, he's determined to stand behind you as your hair reveals a little bit of your nape, "Maybe you should trace that line again,"

"Which one?" You asked with innocence.

He takes a step forward, pointing his finger to the line while his other hand lands on your back, his index and middle right on the clasp of your bra, you're eyes light on fire as his gaze turns darker.

"I liked what you did with your hair... looks pretty on you" You smiled as you tried to hide the redness in your cheeks as he dragged his fingers up your back to caress your hair.

"Thank you" You don't utter another word as he keeps playing with your hair, pretending to be way more invested in your homework than his hands on your hair. He catches onto that, taking a step behind you, he tears his hand from your hair, and you try not to act on it, still pretending to be distracted but he could feel how your body yearns for more.

His hand lands on top of yours, taking it away from the table, and putting it in your belly, sliding it down until it's in between your legs, pressing down on your weak spot, you unconsciously rubbed your legs together but he pressed his crotch against your ass, the bulge on his pants heavy and hard, you rubbed yourself against it.

"You can't pretend you don't want some of it" His hand that was on top of yours now slides down inside your panties, his fingers spreading your wetness all over your cunt, "You're crying for more" Your pencil dropped to the floor as he slowly begins to grind his hard-on against your ass, bending your back so your little holes can drool for more. Your voice didn't make a sound but your face and your body were arching for more, "Tell me that you want it" He says, waiting for your consent. He pressed your cheek against the table, pushing his hips closer to where you needed him, "Stop acting like a dumb fucking cock warming whore" You giggled at the things he has called you.

"You really want me to say that, Mister Turner?" You said with a smile on your face, he took his hands away from you, feeling as though he had made a massive mistake, you turned to look at him right in the eyes, rubbing your thighs together, "But what happens if I don't?"

He catches on to your games, and that little playful smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know, "You want to learn that lesson?"

"You're my teacher... teach me" You smirked, his lips hungrily kissing your mouth, his tongue eager to slip inside your lips, crashing against yours but he took over you so easily that you instantly melted into his arms and hands that gripped your short hair so tightly, into his roughness, you were delighted to do so.

He tossed you back onto your table, raising your skirt and spreading your legs open, his hand in between your legs, dragging your panties down to your ankles, "Arch it" His hand pushed your hips down so you were completely exposed to him.

"Is that the way you like it?" You tease, turning your face to look at him, watching his hand stroking his cock very softly. You played around with him, wiggling your hips just to tease him.

You didn't expect him to hit your bum with his rough hands, sliding his fingers inside you testing how wet your walls were, "I see you like learning the hard way, I gotta repeat meself over and over until you understand"

"Until I understand what?" You joked.

"You're in my class, you follow my rules" A laugh bursts out of your lips, causing him to flip out on you, hitting you harder than the first time, you hissed and he kept hitting you and slamming his hand against your flesh harder, pulling your hair back, each time he hits you, a tear rolls down your cheek but more wetness drips down your thighs, something you couldn't understand. All your fantasies were coming true, "You understand who's in charge right?"

Your legs and arms shaking, he turns you over to face him, whipping a tear from your cheek, squishing your cheeks together, nodding your head to tell him you understand, "I'll do anything for it" His little evil smirk spreads across his lips as he sees your almond colored eyes sparkle beneath his touch.

He grips your hips tightly, smothering his lips against your mouth, pinching your cheeks together, and ripping apart the kiss, "There are no other better words" He bends you over against the table, kicking your feet to spread open your legs, grabbing a fist of your hair, the tip of his slippery head right in between your thighs, teasing you slowly until you couldn't help yourself anymore, you stupidly tried to grab him and let loose, he pulls harder on your hair, sticking a slap right across your face, "I told you to not play around like that, you think this is funny?" He spat into your ear, slowly easing himself inside you.

Your teeth bite your lower lip and hum as he gently drags back his dick and slides it back inside your little hole, his fingers in between your legs going in circles, but as he pulls his hips back you can feel your walls tightening around him, begging him to stay inside you, "Oh my fuckin'- please... just please... I need you" You cry out miserably trying to convince him.

"Toughen up, I don't wanna hear a single noise coming' out of that mouth, you understand?" You nod your head as a tear rolls down your face, waiting impatiently for him to fuck you senseless, the anticipation getting the best of you, "You're drooling for more..." He teased your entrance, coating the head of his cock with your juices, "Didn't know you were like that..." Your name rolls out of his tongue like glory, and it sounds deathly and precious.

He eases his way inside you, your breathing gets stuck in your nose, and you try to keep up with the way his hips collide against your bum slowly at first, but with each moment you drag your hips back at the same time as him, he went deeper and deeper, and your legs started to feel it, you felt something burning inside you, something that tingled away in between your legs, and you were oozing for more, for something that put an end to it.

Your body tensed up as he suddenly grabbed a fast and hard pace, you could feel his skin burning against yours, digging his nails into your thighs, tearing and bruising your skin, there was no better pain, no other man that you ever desired. His fingers slipped inside your mouth until your throat closed, a burst of saliva coming out of your mouth as you pushed his body away from you.

He burst into laughter as you try to catch your breath, "What the fuck is your problem?" You gasped for air, "That was-"

"Too much?" He says with a smudged smile, "Thought you wanted me to teach you, you're not up for it anymore?" The cheeky tone in his voice mocked yours perfectly, you knew what this was all about.

"No, it's not that-"

"Oh come on, I knew you weren't serious, always laughing at me like I'm some sort of joke, and now you come here with all of this crying and whining, God! You can't handle anything" Your eyebrows frown together, "Don't look at me with those eyes" All you wanted was to scream and spit into his face all those vile words on your mind, but your tears ran down your face, the anger causing your insides to fire up and evaporate through tears. He set all of that fire at first glance.

He drags you closer to him by the elbow, "You can't say you don't feel what I'm feeling right now" Your nose reddened, his intentions just as clear as his writing on the chalkboard, he wanted you to fight for him "If you want me to be yours, I'll be part of you in any way you want... but just do it now, because I want you" Your arms around his neck, he kisses your cheek tasting your salty tears. But he was on top of you since the beginning, and like the man he is, nothing is really good enough for him, "I said I would do anything for you and I will, just keep me" You blinked your eyes slowly, his arms dragging your body closer to his.

His hands flew across your face, a spank of wind drying up your tears. He bends you over against the desk, hearing the weakness in your voice and the need for him had his mind so fixated on you, this fight had stopped and now he felt like the winner, he liked the triumph and the fulfillment of feeling your body twist and bend just the way he wanted, and you felt happy he could feed of your body like a vulture.

Your body relaxed as his arms hugged you close, lips on your neck, nose in your hair, not a single noise coming out of your lips, your mind was off wondering how long it took him to end you. His body smashing yours repeatedly, you looking at him through the crack of your neck, watching his eyes turn black, "You're enjoying this, you can't hide nothing from me" Your eyes closed tightly as you can feel him forcing himself deeper in that tight space, "You love when I get all mad on you, don't you?" Your cheeky smile burst onto the surface, he had caught you since the beginning, but he didn't want to fight anymore, there was no need for that. He can feel his heart palpitating so fast at the look of your pillowy pink cracked lips, his hands running down your soft hair, your body rocking against his so nicely that it makes his whole body vibrate, he's at a loss for words, so he wraps his arm around your waist, grabbing your hand and closing shut your mouth as your eyebrows push together and your walls began to contract and he pushed himself deeper inside feeling you burst like bubblegum, and your walls began to slowly ease up as your body gets covered with little flickers of electricity.

His eyes feel heavy as he smothers his cock in all your wetness, his gasps for air humming your name, playing around with your clit, and you were so sensitive and he couldn't get enough, but you were willing to handle more just for your man. His body was slowly losing balance and he grunted and you could feel him sliding outside of you so easily, feeling something warm splash into your inner thigh. That last warm breath of lust breezing your cheek.

"Here" He whipped down your thigh, and you adjusted your panties and your hair, and as you turned around, he pulled you close to him, giving you a gentle and caring kiss on your head. Your hearts warm up to each other instantly, "You did great, me darlin'"

"Thank you" That's all you needed to hear from him. He didn't call you by any other thing but his.

A/N

This was a special one, dedicated to my girl, my real, my best friend, and ofc thank you anon for your request but this was like two birds in one bullet sort of thing. She's my number one fan, and I gotta thank her for reading all of this, and for making me feel good about telling her about this, I thought I would take many things to grave but turns out, she's taking some of mine and I'll be taking some of her's, because that's what love is.

I lob u 😈💋

[coe-olivier]

PART VIII [LAST ONE] So sad that's the final part, it was fun :(( I need to came up with something new

XXV. Asterix and the Picts - Camomilla She's the goddess! I adore her braids as they float in the wind and tattoos on arms. Like her colors palette! 🤍 She is the definition of pure beauty ✨

XXVI. Asterix and the Missing Scroll -Legionary with his pigeons I'm sorry but this man stole my heart *inner screaming from excitement* Give this lovely legionary more pigeons, he's so gently with them. I'm going to cry, look how he holds this chubby pigeon jdhgfdsjdrhfghdj MY HEART IS MEALTING 🤍🤍🤍 IIII LOVEEE HIIIMMMMM he's absolutely adorable 😭🤍

XXVII. Asterix and the Chariot Race - Venetian Guy He has the perfect hair and outfit. Also adore his little freckles heheheh He's good looking guy ✨

XXVIII. Asterix and the Chieftain's Daughter - Vercingetorix I think I don't need to explain, huh?

XXIX. Asterix and the Griffin - Veteran Sententius Handsome man mmmm He's so sweet Btw love every legionary in this volume with beard, they look so nice! Also like the fact that they gave names to so many legionaries 🫶

Thanks for reading my last yapping about side characters looks haha

[rogue-durin-16]

HEAD-TO-HEAD MASTERLIST

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Prologue

Part I: Same Playbook

Part II: Not Your Call

Part III: First Blow

• Part III.½: The Night Before

Part IV: Celebrations And Drunken Kisses

Part V: A Crammed Trip Overseas

Part VI: Worth The Trouble

Part VII: The Big Jump

Part VIII: Gory Days, Rainy Nights

Part IX: Moonlit Ghosts

Part X: Jealousy, Jealousy

Part XI: Pub Brawls And Unspoken Truths

• Drabble: Something familiar (×××)

Part XII: Star-Crossed Glances

Part XIII: Exhaustion Causes Slip-ups

Part XIV: How Bad?

Part XV: Liebgott

Part XVI: New Year's Eve

Part XVII: Making it personal

Part XVIII: Haunted

Part XIX: Feel Something

Part XX: Did The Trick

• Drabble: Cherry-flavored conversations

Part XXI: Trying To Breathe (×××)

Part XXII: Happy V-E Day, Lieb (×××)

Part XXIII: Hunting Officers (×××)

Part XXIV: Wear It Like A Trophy

Part XXV: A Fateful Patrol

Part XXVI: Out Of Time

Epilogue

Extras:

>>> Head-to-head edit by @jupiterberriez

>>> Liebgott's character study

>>> Liebgott's character study 2

>>> Song rec 1 • Song rec 2 • Song rec 3 • Song rec 4 • Song rec 5 • Song rec 6 •

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

[bengals-barnesbabe]

#Track 9 Masterlist

Pairing: Joe Burrow x RnB Singer!Fem Reader

Summary: When the secret relationship between a famous singer and a popular quarterback is revealed no one could be happier. But when lyrics to an unreleased song are released, the strength of their relationship is questioned and tested when fans, reporters and exes start coming into the mix. Will you get your happy ending or is this the beginning of the end?

Main Masterlist 🤍

Character List🩷🧡🖤

Warnings: 18+, mentions of sex, foul language.

Last Updated: 20 November 2024

*slow updates*

a/n: #track9 taglist is open! if you would like to be added to my taglist for this series comment 'tag me🧡' and you'll be added. If you want to be taken off at any point dm me -babe :)

* ~ flashback chapter 🩷 ~ social media post

🧡 ~ private dm

🤍 ~ group chat

🖤 ~ written chapter

Chapter I: Valentine’s Day Tease

Pt.1: 🩷 Pt.2: 🧡

Chapter II: Clothes Are So Obnoxious

Pt.1: 🩷 Pt.2: 🧡

Chapter III: Tell Me

Chapter IV: You Love Me

Chapter V: #Track 9

Pt.1: 🩷 Pt.2: 🧡 Pt.3: 🤍

Chapter VI: Crazy 4 Me

Pt.1: 🩷 Pt.2: 🤍

Chapter VII: Kisses 4 My Exes

Pt.1: 🩷 Pt.2: 🤍 Pt.3: 🤍 Pt.4: 🤍 Pt.5: 🩷

Chapter VIII: Real Shit

Chapter IX: #TMYLM

Pt.1: 🩷 Pt.2: 🤍 Pt.3: 🧡

Chapter X: Training Camp

Chapter XI: Press Week

Chapter XII: prayer for the broken

Chapter XIII: ‘i love you, goodnight’ tour

Part1 :🖤 Part2: 🩷

Chapter XIV: Domestic Tingz

Chapter XV: ‘The Reynolds Pamphlet’

Part1: 🩷 Part2: 🤍 Part3: 🧡 Part4:🤍 Part5: 🩷

Chapter XVI: Robbed*

Part1: 🖤 Part2: 🤍 Part3: 🖤

Chapter XVII: Operation Tiger*

P1: 🩷 P2: 🧡 P3: 🤍 P4: 🧡 P5: 🤍 P6: 🖤

Chapter XVIII: Run Joey Run*

Part1: 🩷 Part2: 🖤

Chapter XIX: #WLT*

Part 1: 🤍 Part 2: 🩷 Part 3: 🤍

Chapter XX: Wish I Never

Part 1: 🧡 Part 2: 🩷 Part 3: 🤍

Chapter XXI: Let’s Be Strangers*

Chapter XXII: Messy Gal

Chapter XXIII: Tour Countdown

Part 1: 🩷🤍 Part 2: 🤍🩷

Chapter XXIV: Mr. Perfect

Part 1: 🖤 Part 2: 🩷

Chapter XXV: Showtime

Part 1: 🤍 Part 2: 🖤

Chapter XXVI: Homecoming

Chapter XXVII: Champions*

more coming soon ♥︎

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.* ° :⋆ₓₒ

Misc/Blurbs/Extras

#Mars V Chase

[admiringlove]

the world will be saved by beauty.

hello everyone! i've been wanting to do this for a few years now. but i haven't really gotten the chance. so this year i've taken the initiative. and i'm doing it. i'm taking part in @angstober. obviously, i won't be doing all 31 days. but i'm going to do a few.

this is the masterpost, so everything will be added on the respective dates!

↬ the event.

vii. you still don't get it ; gojo satoru

viii. growing pains ; kageyama tobio

ix. promise ; oikawa tōru

xii. rotten touch ; xiao

xvi. no one else to turn to ; suna rintarō

xviii. falling stars ; zhongli

xix. tear-stained cheek ; alhaitham

xxiv. dark sunrise ; kaeya alberich

xxvi. persuasion ; fushiguro toji

xxviii. perfect ; geto suguru

xxxi. it ends here ; nanami kento

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xxvi

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: In the aftermath of everything, back to Woodsboro YN and Tara go.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of violence.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this is a bit of a nothing chapter, apologies in advance. This is also the penultimate chapter, part of why I've been procrastinating so long. but alas, all good things must come to an end ;'))

The trip back to Woodsboro hospital is smoother than anticipated. 

The morphine does wonders for your pain, but not so much for your coherence. By the time you’re rolled out into the ambulance, you’ve told Tara how pretty she is at least six times and declared Sam ‘best sister-in-law in the world’ at least three. 

Thankfully, Nurse Rosario is nowhere to be found. 

Although Tara had mellowed slightly after your last talk, you’re not keen for a repeat. After she’d plied you with enough morphine to take down a horse, she’d disappeared. Perhaps heeding the warning of Tara’s stormy glare. 

Tara rides in the ambulance with you, her hand pressed in yours. Sam sits beside you (Dewey had re-romandeered the car they’d stolen with a sigh and a forgiving smile). 

By the time you’re rolled into Woodsboro hospital, it’s near noon. Your Dad’s insurance has paid for a private room for him, your Mom and you and so you tilt your neck eagerly as you’re rolled onto the floor, searching each face for the familiarity of your parents. 

“Your parents are here,” Says one of the EMTs, noticing the way your head tilts around madly, “Your Mom is getting a scan done, your Dad is with her. They’re both okay. They’ll be here soon.” 

“Thanks,” You say, though it doesn’t sate your anxiety. That won’t be gone until they’re both here with you.

The floor is awash with busy doctors and nurses. 

Most don’t give you a second look. 

Except for one. 

Nurse Dawson is standing near one of the nurses stations when you’re rolled into your room. 

You see her first, though Tara doesn’t notice her. 

And when Nurse Dawson turns and sees your girlfriend, her face falls. 

Only for a moment. Her face conflicts, but the professionalism wins out. 

She straightens her shoulders. 

And you can tell by the look on her face she’s the one assigned to you. 

Tara smiles at you as the EMTs settle you into your new bed. Oblivious to the carnage she causes. 

It’s like some sort of reverse superpower. 

The ability to somehow irritate every medical professional assigned to her. 

You sigh and lean back into your pillows as the nurse approaches. 

“YN. Ms Carpenter,” She says politely enough, “Nice to see you again.” 

Tara looks over impatient. You can tell by the lack of recognition in her face she doesn’t recognise the nurse. Instead, she looks over to Sam. 

“Sure,” Says Tara, nonplussed, “I’m going to need another bed in here for my sister. She spent last night on a couple of plastic chairs.”

You look around the room. 

There’s two empty beds - presumably for your mother and father. It’s cramped in here, more so than usual with your family reunion. You can tell before the Nurse speaks Tara isn’t going to like her answer. 

“We don’t have beds to spare for visitors, Tara,” Nurse Dawson says pointedly, “Perhaps you and your sister could come back in the morning.” 

Tara stares a moment. 

Then her eyes narrow. 

You tug gently at her hand trying to draw her attention. 

“Babe,” You touch her arm gently, “Maybe it’s not a terrible idea. You and Sam could both go home and get some rest.”

“Absolutely not,” Tara says, voice indignant, “I’m not leaving you alone, baby.”

“Mom and Dad will be here with me,” You assure, but Tara’s turned her glare towards you, “Seriously babe. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Says Tara, voice final. She shoots a look over to Nurse Dawson, “I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.” 

-

Your Mom is wheeled back in first. 

You sit up in your bed so abruptly you almost knock Tara to the floor. 

Your Mom is misty-eyed, gaze a little unfocused, undoubtedly strung out on pain medication. Her eyes well when she sees you, hand twitching as she sits a little taller in her seat. 

“Mom,” You croak, “Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, darling,” She says. The nurse wheels her into the slot beside you and she reaches for your hand, “Are you okay?” 

Sam wanders off to leave you to your reunion, but Tara stays nestled into your side. Your Mom’s leg is gone, and you can’t help the flood of tears that burst through each time your gaze wanders down. 

“It’s alright, YN,” Your Mom assures, “I’m alive. Dad’s alive. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” 

Your Dad follows in, shortly after. 

He’s in a wheelchair, looking so frail with dark circles under his eyes and milky, pale skin. He squeezes your hand and leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

And then he surveys Tara. 

She’s sitting up now, your hand still pressed firmly in hers. He watches quietly for a moment. You almost think he’s about to ask her to leave when he reaches out, and outstretches his hand. 

Tara blinks in surprise. 

Your eyebrows furrow. 

Your Dad looks serious. The kind of seriousness usually accompanied by a raise in tone or the promise of his shotgun. But there’s none of that now.  

Hesitantly, Tara takes his hand. 

“Thank you,” He says, as she clasps her hand in his. He shakes it firmly, “Thank you for saving my daughter.”

Tara doesn’t say anything. 

You look at your Dad. His voice is earnest, his brows pinched.

He looks open.

Like he’s about to cry. 

“Dad,” You say, voice soft.

He squeezes Tara’s hand once, then lets her go. Slowly, he wheels towards you, eyes misty. 

“You,” He says as he pulls you into a hug, “Are never leaving my side again.” 

He pulls back slightly and thinks. 

“Or hers.” 

-

When the dust settles and your Dad has got the last of his dewey, sappy words out, the room moves back into normality. 

Normality now, it seems, is absurdity. 

Tara and your Dad are watching a ball game together. You survey them, eyebrow raised, sharing a look of bewilderment with Sam as she walks back into the room. 

“Hey,” Says Sam, tray of donuts in hand. Tara and your Dad don’t look up from the TV, “What are we watching?” 

“Giants,” Says Tara. She lounges back into your hospital bed, nestling her head on your shoulder, “Flores is killing it.” 

“About damn time,” Grumbles your Dad, “He spent the last game striking out.” 

“Speaking of striking out,” You say, eyebrow raised at Sam, “Did you speak to Nurse Dawson about a spare bed?” 

Sam shakes her head. 

“It’s fine,” She says, “I’d rather sleep in my own bed anyway. Besides,” 

She eyes your Mom and Dad.

“It seems like a family affair in here anyway. You’re sure you don’t want to come with me, Tara? The nurse seemed pretty insistent that no more beds would fit.” 

“I’m sure.” Tara says, voice flat. She curls a protective arm around your waist. 

You flash Sam a small smile, “It’s fine, Sam. She can sleep with me. She’s little, she fits.” 

Sam purses her lips. 

Tara glares up at you. 

“I am not little.” She says, frowning. 

You press a kiss to her lips. 

“Okay, then big guy, better go home with Sam.” You tease. 

She pouts. Nudges her face into your neck. 

“I fit,” She tells Sam, and then turns her attention back to the ball game. 

Sam makes her departure, shortly thereafter. Your Dad falls asleep midway through the game, your Mom is wheeled off for an MRI at just the moment Tara’s friends make an appearance. 

Liv’s bought flowers, Chad and Mindy follow in with wide eyes. They hug you, settle down into the seats by your bed, careful not to wake your snoring Father. 

“Hey,” Mindy says, “How are you feeling?” 

“She’s okay,” Says Tara, smoothing your hair back, “Now the morphines kicked in, right baby?” 

“Right,” You echo, sitting up slightly. 

Liv smiles. 

“These are for you,” She says, “Tara said they were your favorite.” 

“Thanks Liv,” You say with a smile. 

Mindy settles on the chair to your left, Chad and Liv hover near the end of your bed. 

Mindy leans over to you, a little wide eyed. 

“The Sheriff,” She says, chewing her lip, “Damn it. I should have guessed.” 

“I just don’t understand,” Says Liv, eyebrows pinched, “Why would she kill her own son?” 

Tara shifts, uncomfortably. Mindy rolls her eyes. 

“She didn’t kill her own son, dumbass,” Says Mindy, “Isn’t it obvious?” 

You swallow. 

“There’s no body” Mindy says, leaning forward in her seat, a little excited, “When Ghostface kills, there’s always a body.” 

Liv blinks back at her. 

“What if…” Mindy says, eyes squinted like she’s thinking hard, “What if Wes isn’t dead at all. What if that’s just what he wanted us all to think? What if there’s a third Ghostface, and it’s him?”

Your heart hammers. 

A wave of nausea rises at the theory, but before you can voice your displeasure, Chad beats you too it. 

“Give it up, Nancy Drew,” He says, shaking his head, “You haven’t been right a single time. All those powerpoints for nothing. I think it’s time to pack it in.” 

Mindy pouts, slumping back in her seat.

“I could have been right,” She says, but Chad raises a hand. 

“But you weren’t. Jesus. Leave it alone.” 

He pats your hand, not unkindly, “The important thing is Ghostface is gone and YN and Tara are okay.” 

“Thanks Chad,” You say. 

He leans back in his seat, eyebrows pinched. 

“I just don’t get why she did it at all,” Says Chad, tilting his head in a frown, “Same with Richie. Why? It all seems so pointless.” 

Tara stirs, pressing a comforting kiss to the side of your neck. 

“That’s for the police to figure out,” She says, squeezing your hand, “For now? Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.” 

-

The days pass by in a blur of morphine, and nausea and the blare of Tara and your Dad’s newfound hobby of watching sports games together. 

Tara sleeps at your side, dotes on you like a baby bird who has fallen from the nest. 

Sam stops by in the afternoons, Nurse Dawson avoids the two of you as best she can, coming into your room wordlessly and appraising Tara with a resentful glare everytime she changes your bandages. 

Dewey returns to take your statement, takes Tara and Sam away for hours to question them, but ultimately, the case is clear cut. 

The Sheriff is Ghostface, Richie her accomplice, and by the seventh day of your hospital stay, Dewey informs you the police are closing the case as solved. 

It would be worrying - the police’s utter lack of comprehension - had it not been in your favor. 

So you nod your head and squeeze Tara’s hand as you accept his apology for the Woodsboro police failing you both. 

“We’ll be suing the police department,” Says your Father curtly, before Dewey can make his exit, “For gross negligence and endangering the life of my daughter.” 

You sigh. 

Tara cocks her head, as if she’s about to list off a variety of law firms she’s learned of through her extensive research before you squeeze her shoulder, and pull her back down to you. 

Your Mother huffs before you can say anything. 

“We’re not suing anybody,” Says your Mom firmly. She offers Dewey the smallest of smiles, “Thank you, Deputy Riley.”

“We should be suing the police,” Tara grumbles later, when she’s helping you into the back of Sam’s car. 

You’d be discharged by a happy Nurse Dawson. Your Mom and Dad would stay a little longer in the hospital while you slept over at Tara’s for a few nights. 

Hospitals give you the creeps, and you didn’t want to spend any more time there than necessary. 

Tara slips your seatbelt around your waist and you pull her in for a brief kiss. 

“What’s all that about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?” You say quietly as Sam slips into the drivers seat and Tara falls quiet. 

Your stomach is still a little sore - you feel it now as Tara and Sam help you up the staircase to her bedroom. 

“Watch it Sam, you neanderthal,” Tara snaps as Sam almost steps on your foot as they're half-carrying you to bed. 

You scold her if you had the strength. Instead, you focus all your energy into trying not to focus on the searing pain in your side as Tara slips you into her sheets. 

“Sorry, YN,” Sam says quietly before Tara shoos her out. 

You’re sweating a little, gone is the morphine. Nurse Dawson had put you on something else - something a little less addictive, and a little more prone to letting the pain in. 

You groan as Tara slides into the spot next to you, soothing your pain with the press of her lips. 

“Does it hurt, baby?” She asks, brown eyes mournful, “Do you want me to get you your pills?” 

You shake your head. 

The pain stings, like a dull ache, but it doesn’t hurt so much you need more. You touch her arm, nestle yourself into her side. 

“Just stay with me and I’ll be fine,” You say, as she curls her arm around your waist. She leans down and places a protective kiss to the top of your head. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” She admits, softly. You lean up and she presses the softest kiss to your lips, “Do you want me to see if Chad can get you something stronger?” 

“No babe,” You chide, gently, “I’m fine.” 

Tara thinks. 

“Do you want me to go down on you?” She asks, hopeful, “That might make you feel better.” 

You laugh. 

“Might make me feel better, or you feel better?” You ask. 

“Both,” She says with a pout. 

You lean up to her, press another warm kiss to her lips.

“Just stay with me,” You say, “As long as you’re here I’ll be fine.” 

Tara rubs her hand along the stretch of your back. 

“Okay,” She says, voice soft, “I’ll just stay here with you.”

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 1700+

Warnings: some swearing, but otherwise a dripping sugar

Really, in this chapter nothing happens, yet I got overheated just writing it and had to refill sugar bc this sucked all the sweetness from my system. It's too much fluff for me🤯😵‍💫

Part XXIV | Part XXVI

After both of you calmed down, Tamlin insisted on carrying you back, claiming that it was too dark and you could get hurt. You were in awe of his strength. It was quite a long walk yet he wasn't panting, not even broke in sweat. It seemed as if he was carrying a feather, easily jumping over fallen trees and shallow holes you didn't see. He seemed to be unmoved by what just happened between you.

However, you were a different case. Only mere minutes passed since you basically told him you loved him, despite the mess in your head and heart, not fully comprehending the weight of such words and what it would do to you. Every nerve in your body was tense, sensation of his body touching yours leaving you breathless. Your heartbeats were too loud even to your own ears, your palms were sweating. You clenched them into fists where they were resting on Tamlin's shoulders, praying you wouldn't sweat through his shirt. You were so nervous that you couldn't enjoy this moment at all and when he finally put you down at the threshold of your cottage, you were happy it was over.

Too embarrassed to look him in eye, you swiftly walked in, washed your hands and once again picked up the knife to finish the cutting. You were relieved to find out that he made sure to remove the pot from the fire and cleaned the blood before he ran after you.

Tamlin watched every your move so intensely that the tingling sensation on the back of your neck was almost unbearable. You took in a deep breath, readying to get back to work.

Tamlin's long fingers wrapped around your hand, gently taking the knife from you.

"Let me do this," he murmured near your ear. His rich deep voice combined with tickling of his breath on a sensitive skin of your neck made your heart miss several beats.

You blinked, trying to get over the fog of your hazy mind. Whatever you felt around him before, grew suddenly more stronger. It wasn't the first time you were in love, but this was so different from what you'd experienced in the past. Could it be because he accepted your feelings but didn't share them? He said he needed you, yet needing someone wasn't the same as loving them. And he didn't say he loved you.

You just speechlessly nodded, gazing up at him. He chuckled. Another wave of heat climbed up your neck, settling down on your cheeks. It was a long time since you heard him laughed like this. It was hard to believe that just mere minutes ago he was broken and full of self loathing. This situation, it was so..confusing.

High Lord watched you with eyes full of mischief, corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

You quickly stepped aside and putting the pot back on fire you pretended to be too engaged in mixing and adding seasoning.

"That colour suits you," Tamlin cooed while cutting carrots. You even forgot how to stir the contents of the pot.

"Carefully. Don't burn our dinner," he teased you.

This was the Tamlin who danced with you on Solstice, who liked to tease you and laughed happily and often. Although his smile still carried a hint of shadows and caution was present in his bright gaze, he seemed to be really back. On one side you were happy for that, but on the other hand, it was too nerve-wrenching.

You didn't know how you managed to finish cooking the soup. Not remembering what you actually put in you sceptically took a spoon to taste it, expecting the worst. You were pleasantly surprised that despite your absent-mindedness it was edible even delicious.

"May I taste it too?" Tamlin suddenly stood next to you with bowls.

"Sure," you stuttered, offering him the spoon, but he didn't take it. He just stood there waiting with half-open mouth.

Shakily exhaling you filled the spoon again, cooled the hot liquid and offered it to him. Without breaking the gaze he leaned in. Your sight fell to his perfectly shaped lips, the way they closed around and smoothly slid down the spoon leaving it clean.

"Delicious," he licked a droplet from his bottom lip.

"Yeah," you sighed still gazing at his mouth. He grinned. Realizing how it sounded, you blushed fiercely.

"Would you set the table? I'll bring bowls," he purred playfully.

Welcoming the offered way out, you took spoons and glasses and put the distance between your bodies. Room suddenly felt too hot, so you opened window and looked out.

Cool night breeze caressed your burning face and you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling. What was wrong with you? Why your heart couldn't calm down? It was just Tamlin, the very same person you had spent months with before your life turned upside down. The very same person you held when he felt bad and needed help. The same male who held you at night after nightmares haunted you, who smiled at you, caressed you, hugged, danced with you... You hid face in your palms, scolding your mind.

"Everything alright there?" Tamlin asked softly, watching you.

"Yes, I just need fresh air," you called back over your shoulder.

For the rest of the evening he didn't tease you anymore. He helped you clean up after the dinner and then you two spent some time sitting in your separate armchairs, sipping the tea and reading. It was so relaxing moment that you wondered whether you were only imagining all the things before.

However when the time to go to bed came, Tamlin didn't bid you goodnight. He stood up and trailed after you to the stairs. You were too tired and noticed it only once you were halfway up the stairs. You spun to face him and found him hesitating with hand on railing and one foot on the step.

"What's wrong?" you asked him, wondering why he didn't go to his bed as usual.

His eyes looked you up and down and then wandered behind you to the door of your bedroom.

"I-.." he bit on his lower lip. Your brows rose, you blinked waiting. "I wonder if I could sleep with you tonight."

"Sleep with me?" you repeated, your mind already giving you all kinds of ideas, one more embarrassing than the other. You felt warmth pooling between your legs and you shifted uncomfortably.

Tamlin probably felt the change in your scent. His eyes widened and he..blushed. It was very adorable sight. It was just a slight pink tint of his cheeks, but it caused your body heat rose even more. You again shifted and looked down suddenly finding your feet to be very interesting.

"I-.. I didn't want to imply anything inappropriate," he stuttered, ashamed. His scent grew stronger now.

"I meant to sleep together like sleep together. Fuck," he swore under his breath, stumbling over the words. He ran fingers through his long golden strands in frustration and inhaled deeply.

"What I meant is," he started slowly, taking time with his next words, "to sleep next to each other, with space in between us if it makes you more comfortable."

"Or as until now," he added in a smaller voice.

Tight embrace, enveloped in his pleasant scent, his hands on you, warmth of his body seeping into yours. Yes, that's what you wanted. You didn't even need to think about that.

Your mind brought out the imagine of his lips. How would they taste like? What would they feel like? You shook your head, convincing yourself that that wasn't what you really wanted.

"Fine," you whispered to the empty space between you and ran up the rest of the steps. "But give me a moment."

You'd never been this nervous. After changing into the nightgown which was already quite challenging because your hands wouldn't stop shaking, you brushed your hair and then again and again.

You were going to just sleep, nothing else would happen. You had to repeat this words in your mind at least thousands time, but it didn't work. With wildly beating heart you climbed to the bed, covered yourself with blanket and called to the too silent house.

The door opened and closed, mattress dipped under his weight. Slowly he slid under the blanket next to you. Your bed was too narrow for two people, so whether you wanted or no, your bodies were touching. Tamlin was lying on his side facing you, you were facing the window, your back to him.

Even without seeing him, you were aware of his every breath, his broad chest brushing your back. You felt his eyes on you, heard his every swallow and his heart racing just as fast as yours.

You were certain you wouldn't be able to fall asleep like this and wondered how you could sleep so soundly every previous night.

Sheets rustled when he moved, lightly touching your shoulder.

"May I?" His deep but soft voice vibrated through your body, your eyes closed with delight on its own accord.

You just nodded. He so slowly wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you closer to his front. You had to bite down on your lip to stop the moan that threatened to escape you.

His other arm slid under your head, replacing the pillow.

"This way it should be more comfortable." His breath fanned over your hair to your face. It smelled of tea you drank before going to bed.

He started humming a soothing melody, his hand lightly running up and down your stomach in lazy small circles. It worked wonders and you finally relaxed.

"What you said back in the forest, did you really mean it?" he asked when your eyelids became heavier, sleep slowly overcoming you.

"Yes, each word," you mumbled sleepily.

You could feel his face in the crook of your neck, gently rubbing against your skin. You chuckled when his breath tickled you.

"Thank you," he whispered to your hair, now both arms embracing you firmly. "I.. like you, too."

Those were the last words you heard before drifting into a dreamless sleep, smiling happily. Tamlin followed you soon after.

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot @acourtofimagines @harahettania @talesofadragon @ceoofyearning