#Twisted Tree Line | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marscardigan · 28 days ago

Text

some protector

ellie williams x female!reader

main masterlist

summary: being mute wasn't easy. especially in a cruel world like this one. but meeting ellie made it easier. it made everything easier.

word count: 9.7k

BY THE TIME they arrived, everything had been reduced to ashes.

Smoke hung heavy in the air, and the screams had long since faded into silence. Half the village's population laid dead, and most of the survivors were critically wounded. Tommy and the others from Jackson had tried to offer aid, but it was futile. There was no saving what remained.

Ellie arrived at dusk, accompanied by other members of the patrol sent to assist. Her stomach churned at the sight. The village was a graveyard. The smell was unbearable; blood, char, and rot. The auburn haired girl stood just behind Tommy, her face partially hidden by the scarf wrapped around her mouth and nose. Her eyes scanned the broken skyline, resting briefly on each ruin, as if trying to memorize every scar the city now wore. They were here to help—if that was even possible anymore.

Jackson's people moved between rubble and collapsed storefronts, pulling out the few who were still breathing, if they could be found. The silence was worse than the screams, it made it feel like the world had already ended.

Tommy looked over his shoulder at her. “Ellie,” he said, voice rough from smoke and exhaustion, “check the perimeter. There might still be people hiding. God knows I would be.”

She nodded without a word, shouldering her backpack and tightening her grip on the rifle slung across her chest. She didn’t need to ask where. She knew how these things played out. Survivors fled to the woods if they could—out of instinct. Somewhere, anywhere, away from fire.

She passed the last burned building and moved through the tree line, her boots sinking into damp, scorched soil. The deeper she went, the quieter it became. Just wind and trees, the faint whisper of smoke following her like a ghost. Then she saw something, some odd movement, just barely.

Ellie froze. “Hello?” she called out softly, not too loud to startle anyone, or anything.

No answer. Just the rustle of leaves. Cautious now, she took a few steps forward, her eyes narrowing at the form ahead, curled up beside the base of a tree, almost camouflaged by dirt and blood.

That was when Ellie found you. Filthy, bruised, covered in cuts—some old, some fresh. Your clothes were torn, bloodied, and your skin had a ghostly paleness that made Ellie stomach twist. She dropped to her knees beside you, reaching out carefully with trembling fingers.

“Shit,” she breathed, kneeling. “Hey… Hey.” She gently pressed her fingers to your neck. Nothing. She pressed again, harder this time. There, a faint thrum. Weak. But it was there. Ellie exhaled in relief. “Holy shit,” she whispered.

But the moment her hand lingered a second too long, your eyes shot open. And then the screaming started. Or... at least, it should have been a scream.

Instead, your mouth opened wide, terror erupting in a voiceless shriek, body convulsing in panic. Arms flailed, and your fists struck weakly against Ellie’s jacket, lips moving rapidly in a silent scream that clawed at Ellie more than sound ever could.

“Hey, hey—no, no, no—” Ellie backed off slightly, raising her hands. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear, I’m—”

But you weren’t hearing her. Your mouth moved in desperate gasps, and your hands jerked in odd, frantic patterns—almost like you were trying to say something. Something important. But there were no words. You clawed backward until your body was pressed against the tree trunk, chest heaving, and tears running down your cheeks, blurring your vision.

Ellie’s heart pounded. “Shit… okay, okay, slow down.” She lowered herself into a crouch again, moving like someone approaching a wounded animal. “I’m not gonna touch you, alright? I’m with good people. We came to help. We’re not the ones who did this.”

You were desperately shaking, head darting side to side, as if still expecting the attackers to leap from the trees. Your lips moved again, but still, no sound. Only tears now. And those trembling hands.

Ellie noticed it again. Those movements. Your fingers twitching in repeated, frantic motions. Not erratic. Repetitive. Intentional. Were you trying to speak?

“You’re—” Ellie hesitated. “You’re not talking. Are you mute?”

Your wide eyes locked with hers. Your hands stilled. Then, slowly, you nodded.

Ellie let out a slow breath, her voice gentler now. “Okay. It’s okay. I got it.”

She moved closer, keeping her body low and her hands visible. “I don’t know what you’ve been through,” she said. “But you’re not alone anymore. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

You looked at her—really looked—and something shifted. You didn’t flinch when Ellie reached into her bag, pulling out a flask of water and setting it on the ground between you.

“I don’t know sign language,” Ellie admitted, her eyes never leaving yours. “But… we’ll figure something out.”

You blinked slowly, still tired. Your hands twitched once more—this time slower, more careful—but Ellie still couldn’t understand.

“It’s okay,” Ellie repeated, voice quiet and steady. “You don’t have to talk. Just… nod if you trust me, alright?” A long pause. And then, finally… a tiny, hesitant nod. Ellie smiled. “Good. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

She gently wrapped her jacket around your shoulders, ignoring the flinch that followed, then reached for her radio.

“Tommy,” she said, pressing the button. “I found someone. She’s beat up bad. Young. Alone. Looks like she’s been out here a while. Prepare a medic or two.”

“Copy,” Tommy’s voice crackled back. Ellie looked back at you, who now sat curled beneath her jacket, eyes glassy but no longer wild with panic.

She crouched beside you again, softly: “You’re safe now. I promise.” And for the first time, you didn’t recoil when Ellie reached out.

THE ROAD back to Jackson was long. Too long.

The snow had picked up again, dusting the road ahead in cold silence. Smoke still curled in the sky behind, faint against the horizon, like the town they’d found you in was still screaming. Even if no one could hear it, not anymore.

You sat bundled in the far corner of the transport vehicle, if you could call it that. It was an old military truck with benches bolted to the inside, just enough room for the wounded survivors Tommy had ordered to be brought to Jackson. Ten of them. Mostly women. A few kids. One old man who hadn’t stopped crying since they pulled him from the rubble.

They all needed help. Badly. And yet somehow, you looked like the worst of all of them. You hadn’t looked at anyone. Your hands gripped the blanket Ellie had given you like it was your lifeline, fingers white-knuckled around the fabric. Blood still crusted on your face and arms. Dirt smeared your cheeks. But every time someone tried to touch you—to help—you flinched, trembling so hard your teeth chattered, and recoiled like they were going to burn you alive.

Tommy had tried once. He’d crouched beside you, speaking gently. “You’re alright now. You’re with us.”

But you didn’t look at him. Didn’t move. Your eyes stared ahead like you weren’t even there. Like your body had made it out of that place, but your mind was still buried somewhere near the ash and the blood. Tommy stood back up, exchanging a glance with Ellie. He didn’t say a word, but the worry was clear on his face.

Ellie never left your side. Not for a second. She didn’t try to talk much. She didn’t push. She just stayed close. Always between you and everyone else. Like a silent promise that whatever had happened before—no one here was going to hurt you again. Not on her sight, at least.

The closer they got to Jackson, the more tense everyone became. The survivors were coughing. A child had developed a fever. One woman was clearly suffering from internal bleeding, her skin pale, lips cracked. They weren’t going to make it much longer without help. When the gates of Jackson came into view, Ellie finally exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. You didn’t even lift your head.

At the gates, Maria was already waiting. She scanned the truck as it rolled in, taking in the bloody, battered survivors. Her mouth pulled into a tight line.

“What the hell is this, Tommy?” she asked as he jumped down from the front. The man grabbed his wife’s arm gently and pulled her aside. Still, you could hear their conversation perfectly.

“People,” Tommy said simply. “What’s left of ‘em.”

“I can see that,” Maria snapped. “But we don’t have room in the medical wing. We’ve got our own people who need care. You were supposed to be bringing back supplies.”

Tommy stepped closer, voice low but firm. “Maria. These people are dying. Kids, too. We couldn’t leave them. They need our help.”

The blonde’s jaw clenched. Her gaze flicked toward you—slumped in the corner, unmoving—and for a moment, just a moment, her expression softened.

“Alright,” she said finally. “Triage in the rec center. I’ll talk to the medics. But if anyone from Jackson dies because we couldn’t spare the meds... this is on you.”

Tommy nodded. “I can take that.”

As people started helping the survivors down from the truck, Ellie reached out gently, touching your shoulder. You didn’t flinch—not from her. Just stared down at the floor.

“She’s with me,” Ellie told Tommy, her voice lower now. “I’ll make sure she gets looked at.”

Tommy frowned, watching the way your eyes still hadn’t moved. “What’s goin’ on with her?” he asked. “She hurt or…?”

Ellie hesitated. Then she replied, “I think she’s mute.”

The word hung heavy in the air. Tommy didn’t press. He just nodded and stepped aside.

Later that day, the rec center looked more like a war zone than a gym.

Medics moved between bodies, and in the corner, on a thin mattress with a frayed blanket, you sat curled up. Ellie was nearby. Sitting in a folding chair, elbows on her knees, watching you. But you hadn’t glanced at her way. At least you stopped shivering, and you finally agreed the medics to check on you, to run a few tests.

Still, her knee bounced. She couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so... small. Not just physically. You looked like someone who had been shrinking for years.

The door opened, and Joel walked in. Dusty from the road, beard longer than usual, with Dina trailing behind him, scarf around her neck and bow slung across her back. They both looked tired. Patrol had taken them out past the rivers this time. Almost a week gone.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, taking in the scene. “What the hell happened?”

Dina’s eyes swept across the room—until they landed on Ellie. Then you. She moved toward them quickly. “Ellie—hey. You okay?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her jaw was locked tight. Joel followed her gaze, landing on you in the corner. “She one of the survivors?”

Ellie nodded, slowly. “She was alone when we found her. Barely breathing. Beaten up, bruised.”

A medic passed by, glancing at the group. “The girl in the corner? She’s the one with the damaged vocal cords.”

Joel frowned. “What do you mean?”

The medic lowered her voice. “We ran tests. She’s not just mute—she’s been that way a long time. Her vocal cords are scarred. Chemical burns, maybe. Poison. Acid, even. Could’ve happened years ago.”

Ellie felt it all hit at once—revulsion, fury, heartbreak. The kind that rises like bile in your throat. She looked at you again, your back still turned. Your shoulders hunched. Your silence now explained, and still unbearable.

“She never had a chance,” Ellie whispered, mostly to herself. “Not even to scream for help.”

Dina stepped up, arms folded tightly. Her voice broke the silence.

“My sister taught me sign language,” she said gently. “She worked with non-verbal kids in New Mexico.” Ellie turned to her, startled. Dina gave a small nod. “I could try talking to her.”

Ellie didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she nodded. Grateful. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Joel stood silently, staring at you. Something heavy behind his eyes. Something haunted. “Whatever she went through,” he said, his voice low, “we make sure it ends here.”

Ellie looked at you again. You hadn’t turned. But now… maybe they were finally close enough to reach you.

THE MORNING LIGHT in Jackson was comforting. The storm had passed, but everything still felt heavy.

You sat curled in a chair near the window of the medical wing, blanket pulled around your shoulders. Someone had brought tea. It had long since gone cold on the little tray beside you.

You weren’t shivering anymore. You weren’t flinching when people walked by or whispered. You were just quiet. Still. Like the air before snowfall.

When footsteps approached, you didn’t turn.

“Hey,” Ellie’s voice came from the doorway. Softer this time. Less like she was afraid of scaring you, more like she didn’t want to break whatever fragile moment you were wrapped inside.

You turned your head slightly. Just enough to see her standing there with Dina.

“Mind if we come in?” the brunette asked.

You hesitated. Then gave the smallest nod. They moved in quietly, settling on the bench near your chair. Dina took the spot closest to you, while Ellie sat beside her, leaning forward, hands between her knees.

Ellie tried first. “How are you feeling?”

You blinked. Looked down at your lap. Then, slowly—almost unsure—you raised your hands. Your fingers moved with care, like it had been a long time since someone had truly watched you speak this way.

Dina leaned in. “She’s saying... she’s better today,” she translated, glancing at Ellie. “Tired. But not scared.”

Ellie smiled, just a little. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

You watched her for a moment. Then signed again, slower this time.

“She wants to tell us something,” Dina said. Her voice dropped. “She’s going to tell us what happened.”

Ellie’s posture stiffened. She glanced at you, her chest already tightening. No survivor have had the guts to explain what happened. A man tried once, but panic overtook him before he could finish.

You began signing. Dina translated, her voice quieter now, more careful. Like she was laying out pieces of you with every word. “She says… after her father died, she lived in that village for a few years. Alone mostly. The others… they knew she was there, but no one really asked her about it. She couldn’t talk, so they just… let her be. She fixed broken things. Helped tend the crops. People were kind enough, but it wasn’t home.”

You paused. Your face was blank, but your fingers tightened before moving again.

Dina continued. “She had a place at the edge of the houses. Close to the woods. Far enough that she could sleep without hearing people at night.” Your hands kept going. “She says one morning, a group of men came. Not infected. Just people. They looked like they’d been traveling for weeks—scarred, armed, desperate. They claimed they were traders at first. But they started asking about supplies. Ammunition. Medicine.”

Your hands stopped briefly, fingers trembling, then continued.

“They found out the village had nothing to offer. No luxuries. Just the basics. So they… they took what they could. Someone had hidden away rations, alcohol, painkillers—things scavenged over the years. When the men couldn’t find more, they got angry.” Dina paused, her throat tightening. “They lit the houses on fire.”

You looked away now, your shoulders hunching inward. “She tried to help. Tried to pull someone out of a burning home. But one of the men hit her—hard. Threw her against a wall. And when they noticed she couldn’t talk, they took her to the forest. The men—uh—”

Dina stopped talking. Ellie didn’t need to hear the rest of it. You didn’t look at her, but you heard it. The room went quiet. You finally looked at Ellie. And signed, slowly: “And then you found me.” Dina translated it. But she didn’t need to. Ellie understood that one.

Ellie’s eyes met yours, and something cracked inside her. Not pain. Something warmer, something painful but… human. She didn’t say anything. She raised her hands awkwardly, fingers a little stiff. Then, slowly, clumsily, she moved them. “You. Safe.”

It wasn’t perfect. Not even close. But you understood it. Your throat tightened. You gave her the smallest nod.

A WEEK had passed since your arrival.

The snow had finally started melting around the outskirts of the town, revealing muddy patches of earth where winter had gripped too tightly for too long. Ellie stood near the wooden gate, arms crossed, watching the group of survivors getting ready to leave.

The ones from the burned village were chattering quietly, packing up what they'd been given. Fresh food. Blankets. Maps. A promise of an escort back to whatever scraps of family they still had waiting. They were smiling. Everyone was grateful. Excited, even. All except you.

Ellie spotted it immediately. You were off to the side, near the stone edge of the wall, body drawn in tight, like you were trying to disappear into yourself. Your arms were shaking. Your fingers twitching against your thighs.

She took a step toward you just as Dina’s voice called from behind her, “They’re almost ready to head out. Maria’s gonna do the final check-in.”

But Ellie wasn’t listening. Her eyes hadn’t left you. You looked like you were about to vomit. Then it happened: a sharp shake of your head. Violent. Repeated. Your breath caught. You stumbled back, and then you were trembling, hands raised, desperate to sign something, anything, but your fingers were sloppy, frantic. You couldn’t get the shapes right.

Ellie was already moving. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” she said, dropping beside you.

Dina and Tommy were just behind her, closing in. Maria walked fast from the other side of the gate, frowning. Tommy crouched, reaching gently for your arm. “It’s okay, kiddo. We’re gonna get you back to your people—”

But you yanked away like his hand burned. The panic boiled over. Your eyes wide, breath sharp, and you were signing in quick bursts now, so messy even Dina had to pause before translating.

“She says—she says she doesn’t want to go back,” Dina murmured. “She says there’s nothing left fot her there. No family. No one waiting. It’s… it’s bad there. She says she can help here. That she wants to help. Please—she’s saying please over and over.”

Maria frowned. “We agreed Jackson doesn’t—”

“She can stay.” Ellie’s voice cut clean through the air.

Everyone looked at her. Maria blinked. “Ellie.”

“No, listen.” Ellie turned to her, stepping between you and the others. “She’s not sick. She can learn to help here.”

“She needs care—” Maria started, but Ellie didn’t flinch.

“—so give her care,” she said. “You did it for me. For Joel. You do it for people all the time when it’s the right thing. This is the right thing.”

Maria looked like she wanted to argue. But Tommy stepped forward, hands resting on his hips. “She’s right,” he said quietly. “Let her stay.”

Maria turned to look at you then. You were still shaking, eyes wide and full of raw, silent fear. But you weren’t signing anymore. You were just… watching. Waiting. And something in Maria’s face cracked.

She exhaled slowly. “We’ve got one unoccupied space down by the south end. It’s small, but it’s clean. I’ll clear it with the board. But this is your responsibility, Ellie. If it doesn’t work—”

“It will.”

Maria nodded, tight-lipped, and turned away.

The space wasn’t much more than a glorified shed.

An old maintenance room near the edge of the farming district, with one small window and thin walls. The mattress was clean, the oil lamp on the table was half-full, and someone had left a knitted blanket at the foot of the bed—blue with crooked stitches.

You sat on the edge, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor.

Ellie knocked once and stepped in.

“You, uh… you decent?” she joked half-heartedly.

No answer, of course. You looked at her slowly, eyes rimmed red from earlier. She walked in anyway, looking around. The room was bare. White walls. No posters. No clothes. No books. Just a silent girl and an untouched space.

“No pressure or anything,” Ellie muttered, “but this place kinda sucks.” Your mouth curled, barely. Just enough for her to notice.

Ellie reached into her jacket and pulled something out. A folded square of paper.

She handed it to you and waited while you unfolded it. A sketch— rough pencil strokes, smudged shading. A moth, wings spread wide, drawn on the corner of a windowsill.

You traced the wings gently. “I dunno,” Ellie said, fidgeting with her fingers. “Figured maybe you could put something on the walls.”

You didn’t sign anything. But you nodded. It was the first nod you’d given all day.

Ellie stayed until the sun dipped low, and the light faded into that soft blue shadow you only get in the mountains. When she stood to leave, you reached out—not to stop her, but to hand her the drawing again.

She shook her head, smiling at you. “It’s yours now.”

You didn’t smile. But when she left, you pinned the drawing to the wall above your bed. And for the first time since you’d arrived, you slept through the night.

YOU WEREN’T used to peace.

At first, it made you feel anxious. Like quiet was something dangerous. But days passed, and nothing shattered. No fires. No screams. No alarms. Just the thump of boots on snow-soft ground, the whinny of horses, and the occasional dog barking across the fencing.

And people? They weren’t what you expected. No disgusted stares. No cruel whispers. No pity in their eyes. Just… quiet nods. Respectful distance. Some even smiled when you passed. They didn’t expect you to speak. They didn’t press. They just treated you like a normal human being.

It felt strange. But not bad. You kept yourself busy, anyway. Staying in your room made the silence loud again, so you found ways to fill the hours.

At the stables, you brushed and fed the horses. At the medical wing, you helped sort herbs, stitch torn blankets, organize kits. The nurses didn’t talk much, but they smiled in thanks when you caught their mistakes. You were good at reading patterns. Noticing things.

And at the storage barn, you worked beside Dina. She didn’t say much at first. Just stacked crates with you, passed you water, bumped your shoulder when you looked tired. But by the second day, she started moving her hands in a way that caught your attention.

Sign language. Half of it wrong. You raised a brow. She laughed, shrugging. Then signed: “My sister taught me, but lost practice.”

From then on, every time you worked together, she practiced. She corrected herself when she got it wrong. You teached her simple phrases that could be useful for patrols, like— “Are you okay?, help me, stay quiet, Danger.”

Sometimes, Ellie joined you both during free time and watched, arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t interested. But you caught her mouthing the words. Her fingers twitching, trying to mirror yours.

Still, there were people who found odd your… limited vocabulary, to say the least. You were mute, but not deaf. The elders sometimes offered fake kindness, and a couple of teens treated you like you were a sideshow. Whispered jokes behind your back. Laughed when you turned, knowing you couldn’t call them out.

You were at the stable, finishing your chores for the day, when a group of young teenagers snuck inside. As you stepped into the storage room to grab some tools, the door slammed shut behind you. The door slammed shut behind you. At first, it was just the sound. The thud of it. Then came the click of the latch. And then, darkness.

You froze. No light. No cracks in the wood. No way to see the space around you.

And just like that, it hit you. The woods. The smoke curling up into the treetops. The cries. The screams. The pain. Your body limp and bloody in the snow. Now here you were again. Trapped. Powerless. Alone.

Your breath caught. You pounded your fists against the door, over and over. You wanted to scream. Your body tried to scream. But nothing came. Just air and desperation.

You crumbled against the wood, nails scratching at it like an animal. Tears blurred your vision, heart hammering. You were shaking. Falling back into yourself, into the dark part where the only thing that existed was fear.

Time slipped away. You didn't know how long you were in there. Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? It didn’t matter, because it was long enough. Long enough to collapse into the floor, fear and guilt eating you alive.

Ellie noticed you were gone the moment she got to her room.

Your notebook was still on the table. The CD player she'd brought you was untouched. The blanket folded the way you always left it when you planned to come back. Something was wrong.

She went to the medical wing first, and asked if you'd stopped by to help with the supply run. Then the town hall. Then Dina’s greenhouse. Each time, her voice got tenser, sharper.

“No, haven’t seen her.”

“She was supposed to help with the stables today, wasn’t she?”

Ellie froze. The stables. Of course. You always stayed late there. Shimmer was like your therapy, your comfort. If something had happened—

She was already running. By the time she got to the stables, the sun had dipped low, and the place was nearly empty. Most of the horses were asleep in their pens, the lights dimmed to a faint amber glow. It was quiet.

Too quiet. Ellie’s stomach dropped.

She walked past the rows of stalls, listening. Nothing. Nothing but the quiet huffs of horses and the creak of old wood. Before she could leave, she heard a sound. Muffled. Faint. Almost too soft to notice.

And it was coming from the supply room.

Ellie rushed over, her heart now pounding in her ears. The door was closed. No light leaked from under the crack.

She pressed her ear to it. And heard a whimper. A cry. Shaky, broken. Yours.

“Shit—”

She threw herself at the door. It didn’t budge. Again. And again. On the third try, the old hinges groaned, and the door burst inward.

The sight stopped her breath.

You were huddled in the corner, back against the wall, arms wrapped around your knees. Your chest was heaving. You were soaked in sweat. Your nails had blood under them. You didn’t even look up at first— just shook violently, stuck in the loop of whatever memories had come rushing in.

“Hey,” Ellie said, dropping to her knees. “Hey, hey—look at me. It’s me. I’m here.”

Your eyes flicked up, wide and full of terror. Then softened. But the tears kept falling.

You reached for her. Barely. She pulled you into her arms. She held you so tightly, you could feel her heart thudding against yours.

“You’re safe,” she whispered into your hair. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

She stayed there with you until your breathing slowed, until the shaking lessened. Until the memory began to dissolve just a little. She didn’t let go.

Later that night, wrapped in a blanket in Ellie’s garage, you sat beside her on the old couch. Your eyes were red and tired. Your hands moved slowly, shakily.

“I thought I was back there,” you signed. “In the woods.”

Ellie nodded. “I know. I know.”

“It felt the same.”

She reached out and gently brushed your knuckles with her thumb. “I should’ve been there. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “It was not your fault.”

Ellie sighed, then moved closer. “You're here now. That’s what matters. You're safe. And I won’t ever let anyone do that to you again.”

You let her lean her forehead against yours. You exhaled softly. Your fingers moved once more.

“I was scared.”

She pulled you against her side, her arm around your shoulders.

“I was scared too,” she admitted quietly. “When I couldn’t find you. I thought—” she stopped, swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

You nodded, slowly. Then leaned your head against her shoulder.

Outside, Jackson carried on with its usual rhythm. But in that garage, all that existed was the hush of breath, the warmth of touch, and the unspoken promise that Ellie would never let you fall into the dark alone again.

She couldn’t wait to speak to those kids and show them real fear.

THE GARAGE Ellie had turned into her room was dim and quiet that night.

Her guitar sat in the corner, dusty but cared for. A pile of comic books sat untouched next to her bed. And pinned to the wall beside her drawings was something new.

A sketch. It wasn’t finished, but it was clearly you. It was you, brushing Shimmer’s hair. A gentle expression on your face, eyes closed in focus, hair loose around your shoulders. Ellie had started it the night before, couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how peaceful you looked.

She didn’t hear the footsteps at first.

“You drawin’ again?” Joel’s voice broke through the stillness.

Ellie jumped, stuffing the sketch under her pillow in one sharp motion. “Jesus—don’t sneak up like that.”

Joel chuckled, arms crossed. “I knocked,” he said. “You just didn’t answer.”

Ellie shifted, awkward. “Just… sketching. Helps me sleep sometimes.”

Joel looked around the room, taking in the quiet. He nodded toward the pillow.

“That her?”

Ellie’s face went red. “None of your business.”

He smiled, soft. Not teasing, just… knowing.

“She’s a good kid,” he said. “Saw her helpin’ over at the stables this morning. Gentle hands. Real focused.”

Ellie looked down, playing with her fingers nervously.

Joel leaned against the workbench. “Listen. I was talkin’ to Maria. Said some patrol members were askin’ about hand signals. Quiet communication. Stuff you can use when there’s infected close and you don’t wanna make a sound.”

Ellie blinked. “Like… what Dina’s teaching me?”

Joel nodded. “Exactly. She told me the new girl has been helpin’ with that.”

“She’s smart,” Ellie said quietly. “Learns fast.”

Joel gave a low hum. “Sounds familiar.” Ellie shot him a look, but he was already walking toward the door. “She keeps it up,” he said, “it might be worth havin’ her on patrol. Not now, but down the line. Could teach the others what she knows.” Before he left, he added, without turning. “You’re good with her, kid. She trusts you.”

And then he was gone. Ellie exhaled. She pulled the sketch back out from under the pillow. Then pinned it to the wall.

IT WAS A Thursday when Ellie showed up at your door holding something behind her back. You opened it slowly, a blanket still draped around your shoulders, hair messily braided from the day before. You blinked sleep from your eyes.

Ellie grinned. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a bomb or anything.” You tilted your head. “I brought you something,” she said, stepping inside without asking—because by now, she didn’t need to.

From behind her back, she pulled out a CD player. A real, beat-up, scratched little thing, with worn buttons and cracked volume dials. But it had a soul. And inside it, she'd already loaded the first disc.

“I figured… I dunno. You’ve probably never had time for music. Not real music, anyway. Not the stuff that doesn’t come from a panic radio signal.” You reached out, gently touching the top of it. Ellie was already kneeling, plugging in the cord to the wall, twisting the dial.

A click. A soft whirr. Then the warm crackle of static turned into music. Not loud. Just enough to fill the room. The guitar riff was old-school. Something from the seventies, maybe. You didn’t recognize the song. But Ellie was tapping her foot and mouthing along.

“Fleetwood Mac,” she said with a smirk, glancing at you. You gave a ghost of a laugh. Silent, but real. Then nodded. You liked it. Ellie watched your face carefully.

She sat down cross-legged beside the little player, then reached into her coat and pulled out three more CDs. She fanned them out on the floor like they were cards in a game.

“This one’s The Police. This one’s the Talking Heads. And this—this is my personal favorite.” She held it up proudly. “Aerosmith: Greatest Hits.” You squinted, amused. “Don’t give me that look,” Ellie muttered, clearly flustered. “I know the covers are cheesy. But it slaps, okay? You ever heard Crazy? No? Oh man, you’re in for a ride.”

You reached out slowly. You didn't sign anything, but your eyes said enough. This meant something. Ellie just smiled at you, cheeks red but eyes proud.

“Press this button to open the tray,” she explained, showing you patiently. “And this skips tracks. Here’s the volume. And if it makes that grinding noise again, just smack the side like this.” She did it and immediately winced. “Okay, maybe not that hard.”

Two days later, Ellie woke up to a soft knock on the garage door. When she opened it, no one was there.

But lying on the step was a gently folded note, creased twice, smudged in the corner where a thumb must have pressed too hard. Ellie’s heart jumped. She recognized your handwriting immediately. It was small, tidy, with the slant of someone who’d taught themselves without anyone ever correcting them. She unfolded it slowly. Inside, in careful words, was a list:

CD 1 – Fleetwood Mac: Landslide CD 2 – The Police: Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic CD 3 – Talking Heads: This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) CD 4 – Aerosmith: Dream On

At the bottom, just beneath the last line, was one more word, written in smaller script: “Thank you.”

Ellie stared at the page for a long time. She read it once. Then again. Then a third time, tracing her fingers over each song like they meant something more now. Like they were your voice. Oh. Your voice. There wasn’t a day she didn’t grieve your voice. She was sure it was the best melody of all. Above from every track. Above from any music note.

But maybe, just maybe, this was enough. Ellie sank down into the chair near her workbench and smiled—really smiled, one of those rare, crooked things that made her freckles stand out and her nose scrunch just a little. “She likes Dream On,” she mumbled to herself.

From that day on, music became part of your language. There wasn’t a day when your small cabin wasn’t flooded with melodies from decades ago.

Ellie would bring new CDs each week—stuff she bartered for, stuff she found on abandoned shelves, anything that might work. And every time, two or three days later, she’d find a note on her doorstep. Your handwriting. Your picks. Sometimes you’d even underline lyrics. Other times you'd draw a little doodle beside a title—a heart, a star, a tiny sketch of Shimmer or a cassette tape.

It wasn’t long before you started leaving music playing in your room when Ellie visited. The sound would greet her before you did, like a secret message. One day, she walked in and found you swaying slightly in your chair to David Bowie, and she nearly dropped the water canister she was carrying.

“You're gonna give me a heart attack,” she muttered, trying not to smile too big.

And you? You just gave her a thumbs up and kept dancing.

Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened. The shift.

She’d always liked being around you. She liked the quiet, the lack of pressure. But somewhere between the notes and the signs, something deeper started to bloom. Something that made her stomach twist in weird, ridiculous knots.

She caught herself watching you more.

Not just because she was worried or curious. But because she liked the shape of your laugh, even if it was silent. She liked the way your face lit up when she remembered something you didn’t think she would—like how you always skipped track three, or how you preferred peppermint tea over chamomile.

She liked how your eyes crinkled when you teased her with hand signs, “slow down, you talk too fast.”

And she really, really liked when your fingers would brush hers while passing a note, and you didn’t pull away.

WHEN spring came, you were a completely different person.

Gone was the ghost of the girl who’d arrived trembling and blood-soaked on the edge of Jackson’s woods. The one who wouldn’t let anyone near. Who flinched from a soft touch and couldn't fall asleep without checking the windows five times.

Now, you stood taller. You looked people in the eyes.

Your hair had grown longer and shinier, often braided back with a little green ribbon Ellie found in the trading post. You’d gained weight, enough to make your clothes fit better, and your eyes look less sunken. You looked healthy. You looked present. And you looked happy. Words weren’t necessary to notice it. They never were.

By now, sign language had spread across Jackson like wildfire.

Dina had started it—volunteering to teach lessons in the evenings at the town hall for anyone who wanted to learn. What started as a curiosity quickly turned into something vital. Because once people realized how useful quiet communication could be during patrols, it was no longer just a gesture of kindness. It was about survival.

There were stories—a team who spotted a runner too close thanks to a signed warning. A pair of patrol members who navigated around a horde without making a single sound, all because they could speak with their hands.

You became the unofficial teacher, alongside Dina.

Some nights you’d stand in front of the room with a small notebook, writing down sequences and watching the crowd mimic you. Kids learned fastest—teenagers who liked how slick it felt to talk in silence. Old folks struggled with the finger speed but didn’t give up.

And Ellie? Ellie learned just for you. She still fumbled sometimes. Signed something completely wrong and ended up telling you she was a “sad fly” instead of “feeling tired.” But she always made you laugh. And the look she gave you every time she got something right? Pure gold.

It was early, the sun still low behind Jackson’s rooftops, when someone knocked gently on your door, The Cure making everything softer. You opened it to find Maria, hands in her jacket pockets, eyes kind but serious.

She waited a beat before speaking. “You’ve been doing real good around here.” You tilted your head, unsure where this was going. “You’ve been… helping. At the stables. Organizing supplies. Teaching.” She paused. “We’ve been watching. You’re steady. And smart.”

“Thing is, there’s a patrol scheduled tomorrow,” she continued. “North route. We could use someone with your skills. Think you’re ready to head out there?”

Your heart pounded. Ready? You hadn’t left the gates since the day you were brought here. You looked down, fingers twitching slightly, signing the word for yes, slow but certain.

Maria smiled softly. “We thought you might agree to that.”

Ellie was the first one to volunteer. The only one, really. The next morning, you stood by the gate—nervous but prepared. Bow slung over your back. Hands steady.

She grinned when she saw you. “Got your game face on, huh?”

You signed “fuck off,” and she burst out laughing.

“You’re too good at that, it’s not fair.”

You rode side by side out into the woods. The snow had mostly melted. Green was returning to the world, shy and slow. Birds chirped above you, and the air had that damp, earthy smell of thawed soil and new beginnings.

Ellie showed you how to spot tracks, how to tell the difference between deer and runners, where to look for broken branches and disturbed dirt. You, on the other hand, taught her how to signal danger in complete silence, how to hold up a closed fist to stop, how to sign clicker or infected or hide in seconds.

You worked like you'd been doing this together for years.

And when a pair of clickers stumbled too close to a creek where you rested, you didn’t panic. You touched Ellie’s shoulder and signed two, right, close— and she nodded instantly, pulling her knife free. It was very effective, to say the least.

That patrol became two. Then four. Then a dozen. You and Ellie became a team. Every time your name was on the board, so was hers.

The rhythm of riding out, scouting, signing small jokes, and sharing your rations. Watching the sun rise over misty hills. Sitting in watchtowers with your boots kicked up and her shoulder brushing yours.

Sometimes you caught her staring. Sometimes she caught you doing the same. Neither of you said a word about it. But everyone else could see it.

IT HAD STARTED like any other patrol.

The clouds were heavy that morning, hanging low and gray over the mountain ridge. You rode out alongside Jesse and another scout, Cal, toward the outskirts of an abandoned rail line two hours away from Jackson. You were tracking a runner sighting someone had reported near the water tanks.

Ellie was on a separate route that day. She’d offered to switch with Jesse when she saw your name on the roster, but Maria insisted she stay on her scheduled path to cover more ground. You kissed her knuckles before separating at the gates, your silent way of saying, be safe.

She signed back, “always.”

You felt something wrong about five minutes before it happened.

Cal had to take a break a few minutes ago, staying by the station, leaving you alone with the other man. Jesse walked ahead, scanning, his rifle slung over his shoulder. You stayed back, close to the train tracks, half-swallowed by grass. You were just signing to Jesse that you thought something was off when a gunshot cracked through the trees. Then pain. The next few seconds blurred into chaos.

You hit the ground, hard. Your ears rang. Two masked men came out of nowhere—one of them slammed Jesse’s head into the ground with the butt of a rifle. You tried to pull your knife, but a boot pinned your wrist to the mud.

They weren’t infected. They weren’t raiders looking for supplies. They were looking for you. Sudden flashbacks of that one night came running through your mind as more hands grabbed your arms. You kicked and thrashed, but they hit hard and fast, knocking the wind out of you. You reached for your belt, trying to scream for help. But nothing came out.

Just air and silence. Your throat pulsed, desperate and useless.

They laughed when they realized you couldn’t scream. One of them leaned down close, breathing in your face. “That’s new. Ain’t that something?” He shoved your face into the mud. “Try to scream. Come on. Do it.”

You gasped, silent, your body wracked with panic.

They started to beat you then. Not enough to kill you, but almost. One of them held your arms while the other kicked your ribs, again and again and again. Another hit your face with a rifle stock, splitting your lip, knocking your head sideways.

“Let’s see what sounds she makes when we break her.”

You couldn’t scream. So they kept going.

By the time they dragged you into an old barn nearby, Jesse was still unconscious, and you were barely breathing. Where the hell was Cal? Did they got them too? Blood trickled down your jaw and pooled in your shirt. You tried to sign for help, your hands shaking uncontrollably. The tall man laughed and tied your wrists.

And that’s when they brought Ellie in.

Tied. Kicking. Bloody from a fight of her own.

Her eyes met yours across the barn, and she screamed.

“NO! No, no— DON’T YOU DARE TO TOUCH HER!”

They slammed her into a beam and tied her arms above her head. One man punched her gut hard enough to make her gasp, but Ellie barely flinched. Her eyes were locked on you, face contorted in pure rage.

“What the fuck did she ever do to you?! HUH?! You cowards!”

“Leave her alone!" Ellie shouted. "She didn’t do anything!”

They laughed. One of them stepped close to you. He grabbed your face, turning it side to side. When they saw how Ellie screamed for you, cried for you, they smiled. That was the fuel they wanted.

They pulled you forward again, cut your shirt open, and shoved you to the floor. Ellie thrashed wildly in her restraints.

“Stop it! STOP—PLEASE!”

“STOP! YOU FUCKING COWARDS!”

You couldn’t scream. You could only gasp, your body shaking violently, your lungs burning as you tried and failed to make a sound.

And when they got tired of you, they started hurting her.

One of them stabbed her leg. She howled in agony. Another one broke a rib with the heel of his boot. You could hear the sickening snap. And you couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t save her.

Until something inside you twisted. The man pinning you laughed as Ellie cried your name. Something feral surged through your chest. You watched as his arm pressed roughly on your throat. And you bit it down. Hard.

So hard, you tasted blood and tendon.

He screamed and tried to jerk away, but you didn’t let go. You bit through him until he fell back, blood pouring down your chin. You grabbed the knife he dropped in panic, and before the others could react, you plunged it into his neck. Once. Twice. A third time. Screaming silently, stabbing again and again, the blade punching through soft flesh and cartilage.

You acted fast. One of the others lunged toward Ellie. He had no time to react. You tackled him and drove the blade into his chest, over and over, until your hands were slick with red, and his body stopped moving.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not until Ellie—barely conscious, bleeding out—whispered your name. “Hey. Hey, it’s me. It’s me.”

Your hands trembled as she reached for you.

Her fingers were slick with blood— her own. You dropped the knife, gasping in silence, eyes darting across her wounds.

“Blood. Blood.” You signed frantically. “Blood. You. Blood. Bad.”

Ellie reached up, her touch featherlight.

“I’m okay. I’m okay. You saved me. Look at me. Look at me.”

Her voice cracked with emotion as she whispered, “We’re okay. You did good. You did so good.”

You curled into her, hands clutching her jacket like a lifeline, heart pounding against hers. Ellie, still bleeding, still aching, pulled you closer like she could protect you from everything.

You sobbed without sound. And she held you until the others found you both.

THE RIDE back to Jackson was a blur.

You didn’t remember mounting the horse. You didn’t remember Cal helping Ellie stay upright in the saddle, or Jesse—bruised but alive—riding close behind.

You didn’t remember the whispers. Or the way people gasped when they saw the blood all over you, sticky and dried in layers.

You kept your eyes on Ellie the whole way. Her head leaned against your shoulder, barely conscious, breath hitching with every step the horse took.

You’d already cleaned the blade before anyone found you. You didn’t know why. Maybe instinct. Maybe shame. Maybe you didn’t want her to see how much you enjoyed it— how much of yourself you'd left in that abandoned building.

They took Ellie straight to the med bay.

You refused to let go of her hand. Even as Maria shouted for you to step aside. Even when they pulled back her jacket and revealed the cuts, the bruises, the deep gash along her thigh. You stayed. Not a single nurse tried to fight you on it.

You sat beside her as they stitched her up, cleaned the wounds, reset the cracked rib. She didn’t flinch once. She kept watching you the whole time, her green eyes tracing the dried blood on your cheeks, the tremble in your fingertips.

“...You okay?” she whispered, voice hoarse.

You nodded. But you weren’t.

Later that night, when the sun dipped behind the mountains and Jackson returned to its soft yellow haze of warm lights and guarded walls, Ellie knocked at your door.

She looked tired. Wrapped in a blanket. Her face was pale, the bruises starting to darken. A strip of gauze around her arm, another across her ribs. But she was walking.

And she was alone. “I can’t sleep,” she said quietly. “Wanna come to mine?”

You nodded and followed. The garage was dimly lit, smelling faintly of old leather, music, and a little bit of her. Posters lined the walls, drawings pinned in uneven rows.

You’d been here before—but never like this. You sat cross-legged on her mattress, across from her. Hands tucked in your lap, still trembling a little.

The silence stretched long. But it didn’t hurt. You watched the way she stared at her hands. The gauze on her fingers. The small cuts beneath her chin. The melody of Take On Me was caressing the walls of the garage. Ellie knew how much you loved that song.

You smiled sadly. Then your hands moved. “I’m sorry.” Again. “I’m sorry.” Your signs were shaking. Urgent. Repeating. Over and over.

Ellie moved to sit beside you. Close enough to touch. She placed a hand gently over yours. “Stop,” she said, softly. “I’m not sorry. Not for what you did. Not for any of it.”

Your breath caught. You looked at her. Her fingers trembled as she raised her hands.

She signed—slowly, carefully, but certain. “I love you.”

No stutter. No mistake. The motion was clear. Firm. Honest.

Your lips parted. Not for sound. Just for breath. You stared at her, eyes wide. And then, you smiled. For the first time since the barn, a full, real smile. And you leaned forward. Ellie met you halfway.

Her lips were warm, soft, trembling against yours.

She tasted like peppermint and tea, and the metal tang of healing wounds. Her hand cupped your jaw gently, thumb brushing the bruise on your cheek. She was careful with you, and you were careful with her.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Not ever.”

You nodded, and your fingers rose again. “Me neither.”

A FEW WEEKS had passed since the attack.

Your injuries had healed for the most part. The bruises faded, the cuts scabbed and softened to scars. But the ache lingered. Neither of you spoke about it anymore. Not in words. Not in signs. But you both knew. You always did.

Ellie had promised you one thing the night she kissed you, forehead to forehead in the garage: that someday, she’d take you somewhere no one else knew about. Somewhere quiet. Safe. Yours.

And one morning, when the sun broke through the trees in soft shafts and the air smelled like early spring grass, she showed up at your door with a half-smile and a bag over her shoulder.

“Come with me,” she signed.

And you did.

It was a three-hour hike outside the west perimeter of Jackson. Off patrol routes, through pine forest and over mossy, half-rotted logs. The deeper you went, the quieter it got. Just birds and your boots and the sound of Ellie humming under her breath, almost unconsciously.

By the time you reached the lake, your chest ached with how beautiful it was.

It wasn’t large, but the water was glass-clear and edged by smooth, sun-warmed rocks. Pines framed it like watchful giants. A single wooden dock jutted out near one edge, old and mossy but still solid.

You smiled, wide and open, and turned to Ellie in a flash of excitement.

She was already looking at you, grinning.

“Told you it was worth it,” she said, brushing a curl behind her ear.

You nodded, signing, “Beautiful.”

Ellie shrugged, bashful. “Yeah. You are.” You blinked, and she coughed. “I-I mean—yeah, it’s beautiful. It. The lake. Shut up.”

She scratched the back of her neck, trying not to look at you directly as you began to pull your jacket off. You stripped down to your underwear slowly, mostly because the sun felt good on your skin and your bruises no longer hurt. Your scars caught the light, silvered now. You stood barefoot at the edge of the lake and glanced back.

Ellie was very visibly trying not to stare. Her face was beet red. You smirked at her.

“Come on,” you signed, beckoning her.

She cleared her throat and peeled off her flannel, boots, and jeans until she was in her tank top and boxers. When she joined you at the water’s edge, she couldn’t meet your eyes.

Then you both dove in, gasping at first, then laughing breathlessly, flailing for a moment before adjusting. You swam circles around her, light and weightless in the water, while Ellie trod with a smile so big it almost looked painful.

You splashed her. She splashed back harder. You dove under and tugged at her ankle. She yelped and nearly went under, laughing.

It was like time slowed down. The world, so often filled with tension and noise and pain, had simply fallen silent. The only sounds were water ripples, quiet laughter, the distant call of birds.

At one point, you floated on your back beside her, arms out like wings.

Ellie watched you, eyes soft. The cut across her nose had faded, but her lip still had a tiny scar where the stitches had been.

You signed to her lazily, hands moving across the water’s surface. “So pretty.”

She blinked. And then she realized you meant her.

Her cheeks flushed deep red, like the sun had suddenly turned up just for her.

“Oh,” she muttered, blinking fast. “Um. You too. I mean—not that you didn’t already know that. You’re, like—yeah. You’re a lot.”

Later, you both climbed out of the lake, dripping and shivering but grinning. Ellie laid out her flannel and you both sprawled on it in the sun, half-dried, steam rising from your clothes.

Your hair was damp and tangled. Her arm was loosely draped over your thigh, fingertips idly tracing the old scar above your knee. You were still. Safe.

You’d been practicing something all week in your cabin, when you arrived at night after doing your daily chores. Ellie had shown you a few times, patiently, her fingers in her mouth, her whistle sharp and clear.

It had taken days to figure it out. You couldn’t hum or sing or shout. But this—this was yours. So, you puckered your lips and whistled. A little shaky at first. But then steady. A tune Ellie liked—one she’d played on her guitar months ago. Future Days.

She froze, and looked up at you.

You kept going. The little melody warbling gently into the air.

Ellie stared, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly. She leaned up on one elbow, and her hand stayed on your leg.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “You are the best.” You tilted your head, a questioning smile. She just shook hers. “You don’t even know, do you?”

You shrugged playfully. She leaned in and kissed your shoulder. Then your cheek, and finally your chapped lips. Then rested her head just below your collarbone, eyes closed.

“Stay here a while longer,” she murmured.

You wrapped an arm around her. Fingers tangled in her damp hair.

The sun was warm. The water glinted. And for the first time in what felt like years, the world didn’t feel cruel.

Before the sun set, you were already packing to go back home. Ellie was checking Shimmer when you nervously opened your bag. Inside was a folded-up piece of paper. You chewed your lip and stared at it for a second before finally walking over and nudging Ellie’s shoulder gently. She turned, and you held the drawing out with both hands. Immediately shy.

Ellie sat up straighter. “What’s that?”

You didn’t sign. Just pushed it gently into her hands, already starting to blush.

She unfolded the page slowly, and her eyes widened the moment she saw it.

It was her. A little smudgy in some areas, sure. Maybe the proportions weren’t perfect; her jaw was a bit too square, her nose slightly off-center, but it was her. Sitting under a tree with her guitar in her lap. Her brows furrowed in focus. Hair curling beneath her ears. A little crease at the corner of her lips like she was about to smile.

She stared at it longer than she probably realized.

When she looked up again, you were biting the inside of your cheek, shoulders hunched slightly, like you were bracing for her to laugh.

Instead, Ellie smiled. Soft. Real. Almost awed.

“Are you serious?” she said. “You drew this?” You nodded, sheepish. Ellie looked back down at it. “Holy shit. This is awesome. Like— actually awesome.”

“You're just being nice.”

She looked up, scandalized. “I am not just being nice!”

You signed with a playful grin. “Says the girl who draws like a professional comic book artist.”

Ellie huffed. “Okay, rude. Yours is just… different. It’s good. Like, warm, you know?” You tilted your head. “Like,” she continued, waving the paper, “you didn’t just draw me. You got the way I sit. That stupid thing I do with my fingers when I’m thinking.”

You lifted your brows. “Stupid?”

She gave you a look. “Yeah, you know, the thing where I— okay, you’re making that face again. Stop!”

You laughed silently, shoulders shaking. She carefully placed the drawing in her pocket, smoothing the edges.

After a few moments of quiet, you signed again. “You’re my favorite thing to draw.”

Ellie’s ears turned red. She didn’t say anything for a second. Then, shyly, “...Will you show me more sometime?”

You looked up at her with a small nod. Ellie leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“I wanna hang that one up,” she whispered. “Right next to our music notes.”

“You’re such a loser”

“Yeah.” She signed back, now more smoothly. “Just for you, baby.”

perm taglist !

@valeisaslut @firefly-ace @sevslover @twopeoplee @mayfldss @elliesfavtoy @usuck @avalovesmus1c @samcvrpenters @mars4hellokitty @prettyinpink69 @yashirawr @furtherrawayy @maximumdreamlandcoffee @elliesfavgirlfriend @abcline006 @marieeeluvsyou @smaugayra @eriiwaiii2 @d1psht @creativedespaitr @leaaavesss @yasmilks @piastorys @nemesyaaa @elliewilliamskisser2000 @mascspleasegetmepregnant @oatmatchalatte @leeidk87 @morticeras @eddiesdrummergf @vahnilla @incog-nizo

1K notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 10 months ago

Note

what are some ways to describe people other than eye and hair color

I am assuming you are looking for physical descriptors. Here are some examples. I may just make a different post on psychological descriptors.

Arms: Long, Muscular, Pudgy, Short, Skinny, Thin

Back: Bent, Hunched, Ramrod Straight, Rounded

Build: Anorexic, Athletic, Beefy, Brawny, Burly, Chubby, Coltish, Compact, Fat, Gangly, Gaunt, Gawky, Haggard, Heavy-set, Herculean, Husky, Lanky, Lithe, Muscular, Obese, Overweight, Petite, Rangy, Reed-like, Scrawny, Skinny, Slender, Slight, Solid, Spindly, Statuesque, Stocky, Strapping, Sylphlike, Taut, Thickset, Thin, Trim, Underweight, Voluptuous, Well-built, Willowy, Withered

Cheeks: Blushing, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Disturbed, Glorious, Glowing, Hairless, High (cheekbones), Hollow, Honey, Livid, Pale, Pallid, Pink, Plump, Puffy, Radiant, Reddened, Rosy, Rounded, Ruddy, Shining, Smooth, Soft, Sun-burnt, Sun-bronzed, Sunken, Sun-tanned, Tanned, Tearful, White

Chin: Angular, Bony, Bumpy, Chiseled, Defined, Doughy, Firm, Protruding, Round, Smooth, Soft, Square, Strong

Ears: Jug-like, Large, Protruding, Tiny

Eyebrows: Arching, Bushy, Emphasized, Near, Spaced, Thick, Thin

Eyelashes: Artificial, Beaded, Beautiful, Blinking, Dark, Dark-fringed, Dense, Dusky, Heavily-fringed, Long, Mascaraed, Sandy, Sooty, Sopping, Tear-drenched, Thick, Uplifted

Eyes: Almond-shaped, Bright, Bulging, Expressive, Frightened, Gentle, Languishing, Little, Luminous, Made-up, Round, Shining, Shortsighted, Smart, Stunned, Thin, Wide, Woeful

Face: Baby, Blood-stained, Bold, Chiseled, Contorted, Dead, Expressionless, Fair, Familiar, Fierce, Flat, Frightened, Furrowed, Honest, Indifferent, Little, Pale, Poker, Pretty, Radiant, Rough, Ruddy, Sallow, Square, Stained, Swollen, Trim, Weather-beaten, Wry

Feet: Athlete's, Big, Flat, Pigeon-toed, Small, Sore, Stinky, Stubby, Swollen

Fingers: Gnarled, Long, Short, Stubby

Finger Nails: Bitten, Broken, Claw-like, Dirty, Hooked, Long, Painted, Sharp, Talon-like

Hair: Afro, Bald, Beehive, Braided, Bristles, Bun, Chignon, Coiffure, Combed, Corkscrew, Corn rows, Cowlicked, Crew cut, Curly, Disarrayed, Disheveled, Dreadlocks, Dry, Flattop, Flecked, French braid, French twist, Fringe, Greasy, Grizzled, Knotted, Layered, Locks, Matted, Messed up, Mohawk, Mussy, Muttonchops, Neat, Oily, Page boy, Perm, Pigtails, Plait, Pompadour, Ponytail, Ragged, Receding, Ringlets, Ruffled, Shaggy, Shorn, Shoulder-length, Skinhead, Spiky, Split-ended, Straight, Tangled, Thick, Thinning, Tidy, Topknot, Tousled, Twisted, Uncombed, Unshorn, Untidy, Wavy, Wiry, Wisps

Hand: Big, Elegant, Small

Height: Big, Knee-high, Medium, Short, Shoulder-high, Sky-high, Small, Tall, Towering, Waist-high

Legs: Amputated, Bandy, Bony, Bowed, Brawny, Bulging, Fluted, Gartered, Gouty, Graceful, Hacked, Hairy, Jagged, Knotted, Leaden, Long, Lower, Muscular, Pitiful, Rickety, Shapely, Shivering, Short, Sinewy, Slender, Slim, Spindle, Stockinged, Sturdy, Thin, Thread-like, Tinder, Tiny, Toothsome, Tree trunks

Lips: Blue, Cracked, Cupid's Bow, Downturned, Dry, Fat, Full, Grim, Large, Luscious, Parched, Parted, Red, Ruby, Small, Smiling, Thin, Wet

Mouth: Arch, Ascetic, Baby, Cavernous, Churning, Compressed, Cooing, Coral, Cracked, Cruel, Delicate, Dumpled, Distended, Dry, Fine, Firm, Frothy, Full, Funnel-shaped, Gaping, Grim, Handsome, Hungry, Insistent, Irritable, Large, Luscious, Munching, Musty, Perilous, Puckered, Querulous, Relaxed, Resolute, Sardonic, Sensuous, Serious, Slobbering, Small, Sulky, Sweet, Tender, Thin, Wide, Winsome, Wrinkled, Yawning

Neck: Bullnecked, Elegant, Long, Short, Swan-like, Thick

Palm: Broad, Oval, Rectangular, Square

Skin: Acned, Alabaster, Albino, Apricot, Black, Blemished, Blistered, Blooming, Blotchy, Blushing, Bronzed, Cadaverous, Calloused, Caramel, Clear, Craggy, Cream, Ebony, Fair, Flush, Freckled, Glowing, Greasy, Ivory, Jaundiced, Leathery, Lily-white, Lined, Milky, Mottled, Nut-brown, Olive, Pale, Pallid, Pasty, Peeling, Pimpled, Pink, Pitted, Pockmarked, Red, Rosy, Rough, Ruddy, Russet, Sallow, Scabby, Scarred, Smooth, Splotchy, Spotty, Sun-burnt, Tan, Wan, Waxen, White, Wrinkled, Yellow

Stomach: Bulging, Distended, Empty, Firm, Flabby, Flat, Heroic, Hollow, Lean, Paunchy, Protruding, Unbounded

Teeth: Artificial, Black, Blunted, Buck, Canine, Chattering, Clenched, Clinched, Compressed, Crooked, Dagger-like, Dazzling, Decayed, Deciduous, Extracted, False teeth, Feeble, Ferocious, Filed, Flashing, Fluoridated, Foam-laced, Fractured, Gap-toothed, Gleaming, Glistening, Glittering, Gnashing, Goofy, Grinding, Hooked, Horrid, Ivory, Jagged, Lacquered, Large, Milky, Mottled, Neglected, Pearly, Perfect, Pretty, Protruding, Razor-like, Sharp, Shining, Short, Small, Snowy, Sore, Spaced, Straight, Sweet tooth, Tender, Tiny, Toothless, Toothy, Ugly, Unrelenting, White, Wisdom, Wolfish, Yellow

Hope this helps! If it does, do tag me or send me a link to your writing. I'd love to read your work.

More: On Character Development

4K notes · View notes

classyrbf · 9 months ago

Text

THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE WOODS! — GETO SUGURU

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE

SYNOPSIS...walking home from a halloween party, you decided to take a shortcut, but an eerie feelings creeps up your spine and it feels like eyes are watching your every move

INFO...stalker!geto x fem!reader, for the sake of the story everything is consensual, a fantasy between geto and reader, stalking, groping, fingering, ripping clothes, sex in the woods, choking, hair pulling, oral (m!receiving), deep throating, rough, name calling, degradation, slapping, spanking, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

kinktober 2024 masterlist

The wind howled in your ears and the moon was illuminating your every step home. You were cold, the costume that you had on was no help, shivering as you hugged yourself tightly. It was a stupid idea to go to a Halloween party without thinking of how you were going to get back home. Everyone was either drunk driving, or their cars were already filled with other passengers, and to put the cherry on top…your phone had died so you couldn’t call anyone to pick you up. You mentally cursed at yourself for staying so late in the first place, it had to be at least three in the morning. Everyone else was asleep and done with their trick or treating activities, lights off at every house in your sight.

“Fuck me,” you sighed, stopping when you came to a fork in the road. You took the left path knowing that it was a shortcut to your house and you didn’t plan on walking any longer than you needed to in these godforsaken heels. The wind brushed against your exposed skin, goosebumps climbing their way up your body. The further you stepped into the forest, darkness began to surround you. The large, twisted branches allowing very few rays of moonlight to shine through. Tall trees hovered over you, casting shadows. You’d be lying if you said this shortcut wasn’t one hundred times creepier at night compared to day.

Leaves rustled in the wind, branched snapped under your feet and you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder every five seconds to make sure no one was following you. It felt like eyes were watching your every movement, dark figures in the tree line stalking you like prey, waiting to pounce. “It’s all in your head,” you mumbled to yourself, walking faster. Though, your words were no help. Your eyes darted in every direction, barely paying attention to what was in front of you causing you to trip over a tree root sticking out. You fell to your knees, wincing in pain when you saw little blood droplet stain your stockings. “You gotta be kidding me,” you whined.

As you sat there on the floor trying to regain yourself, you heard a twig snap in the distance. With wide eyes, you got up as quickly as you could and looked around. “Hello?” You called out, your voice echoing through the forest. And just like that, you heard it again. Your feet moved before you could even think and you began to run as fast as you could in the shoes you were wearing. It would be better to take them off but you couldn’t stop now.

Your breathing quickened with each passing second and just a few feet behind you, you could hear footsteps. Fear struck your heart and you could only focus on the clearing up ahead. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it or if it was some animal, but you weren’t going to stop and check. Something didn’t feel right and that’s all you needed to know to get your ass out of here. The clearing was only so close now and your chest burned from the cold air that filled your lungs. Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears and the pain from your busted knee dissipated from the adrenaline rushing through you.

The streetlights came into view and just before you could make it, you felt a hard tug on your dress, a rough hand pulling you back into the darkness and covering your mouth as you screamed into it, squirming around in his tight grip. Each kick and punch to his body didn’t do a thing and the clearing soon began to grow smaller. “Shh, shh, shh.” His breath tickled your ear. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. He pushed you up against a tree, slowly appearing in your view. You couldn’t quite make out his face, but his tall silhouette, muscular frame, and long dark hair was quite obvious. “Promise me you won’t scream? If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.”

Your entire body was shaking, weak. You had no idea what was going to happen. You didn’t know if he had a weapon, but you didn’t want to find out the hard way. He slowly removed his from your mouth, and let out a chuckle with how hard you were breathing. “Please don’t hurt me,” you sniffled, tears pouring from your eyes. You felt your body was glued to the tree, any sudden movement would make you drop. “What do you want? I don’t have any money…here,” you handed him your phone, “take it, it’s all I have.” More tears streamed down your face.

He looked at your phone with disinterest before looking back up at you. “Don’t you recognize me?” He questioned. You meekly shook your head no. “I guess I did a good job then,” he laughed. “I thought you noticed me but I guess not.” He brushed his hand against your cheek, wiping away your tears. “I was watching you the whole night. Watching you get drunk, dance with your friends, kiss random strangers, and I kept thinking how pretty you were. Ever since you walked in that door.” He gripped your chin tightly, leaning in closely in the crook of your neck.

You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as he smelled you. “Please, let me go. I’ll do anything.” You weren’t sure if negotiating with him was going to work, but you were willing to do anything in order to just go home. But, he completely ignored you and continued rubbing up on you. His hands roamed freely, down your stomach and back, up to your tits where he gave them a squeeze. It wasn’t until he moved away from you that you saw some of his features. His chiseled face, and dark, narrow eyes, his slightly tan skin, and plump lips. His hair flowed with the wind, the leaves falling from above.

Within a split second, he pushed his lips onto yours, roughly kissing you, his tongue forcefully pushing inside your mouth. His hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you to the tree while his other hand reached under your dress to rub your cunt through your stocking and panties. You whimpered into the kiss, pulling away to catch your breath. “These are in the fucking way,” he grunted, ripping your tights with one hand. He pushed your panties to the side, smirking as he ran his finger up and down your slit. A small gasp left his lips when he could feel your juices coat his finger. “You’re wet. This turn you on? Being chased and caught in the woods so some stalker could fuck you?” His slipped his finger inside, watching the way your jaw fell open.

“You’re just as sick as I imagined,” he let out a deep chuckle, curling his finger inside of you before adding another. He still had you pinned against the tree with your legs spread, your dress bunched up at your waist while he thrusted his long, thick fingers inside of you. “You’re sucking my fingers right in.” A smirk formed at the corner of his lips, your pussy squelching the faster he went, your juices dripping down his fingers.

A small whine escaped your throat looking at the man in front of you. You weren’t sure whether to be scared or turned on. Maybe you were both. Was it wise to entertain this? That question ran through your head over and over. He leaned back towards your lips, hungry for another kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers. Without thinking, your arms wrapped around him as your legs grew weak, nearly falling from how good his fingers felt inside of you.

His dick strains against his slacks, damn near painful from how hard he was. “Get on the fucking floor.” He slips his fingers out from inside you, pushing you down to your knees and against the tree. You look up at him confused before he sticks his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself on your fingers. He’s quick to undo his belt, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers. Your eyes widen as his dick springs out, swollen red tip, and pulsating veins on either side of his shaft. Precum drips from the tip and he smears it over his cock, slowly jerking himself off to the sight of you sucking his fingers.

“Stick out that tongue for me, baby. Open up.” He removes his fingers from your mouth, grabbing a fistful of your hair before he slaps his heavy dick on your tongue. “Good fucking girl,” he sighs. He rubs his dick all over your face, slapping you with in, pushing it between your lips. He grips your hair tighter, pushing your head down onto his cock. “Fuckkkk,” he moans as feels your warm tongue rub along his shaft and your throat squeeze around him. You immediately gag as he goes further, eyes watering before you gag again, your nose touching his pelvis. “Stay just like that, don’t you fucking move.” He holds your head down for a few seconds before he lets go, allowing you to breathe.

You gasp for air, letting out dry coughs as he laughs at you. Strings of spit connect from your mouth to his dick, dripping down to his balls. His hand grips your hair again and you let out a pained whimper. “First time taking dick down your throat, huh?” He mocks you, stilling laughing in your face. You stare up at him with tearful eyes, wiping your mouth of all the spit. But before you could blink, a sharp pain spreads across your cheek, your head jolting to the other side. Did he just slap you? “Did I say you could wipe your mouth? No, no I don’t think I did. I like it messy, so get used it.” With force, he shoves his dick back in your throat.

You throat closes in around him again, gagging. Tears stream down your face as he fucks your mouth. Glug glug glug glug. You place your hands on his thighs in attempt to get him to slow down but he just goes harder, the back of head pushed against the tree and trapped between his thighs. He pushes your nose against his pelvis once more, spit dripping down your chin and from his balls. “Ugh, fuck! This throat feels so good!” His abs tense up and your eyes roll into the back of your head before he removes himself from your throat.

You’re coughing again, chest heaving up and down while you sit there on your knees trying to catch your breath. “Please, I can’t, my throat hurts.” Your brows furrow.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Someone’s gotta teach you how to suck dick properly, baby. I don’t give a fuck if your throat hurts,” he harshly says. He slaps his dick against your face, smearing your spit all over. “Come on, impress me.” He stares down at you with those dark eyes. You’re quick to understand that he wants you to suck his dick yourself. “Remember, I like it messy.”

Both hands wrap around his cock, jerking him off as you move your wrist in a circular motion, taking the rest of him in your mouth. Your tongue swirling around his head, gathering as much spit as you could. You look up at him, taking him slightly further down your throat before coming back up. “That’s it, keep those eyes on me. Don’t you dare fucking look away.” He grits his teeth, eyes rolling back when you bob your head up and down his shaft. Your jaw grows tired, pulling away to give yourself a break, your hands still gripping his length.

Streaks of mascara stain your cheeks, your lip stick smeared across your lips. He reaches down to pet your face, admiring the view. He can see that your scared, but he can also tell that you’re enjoying this. It only makes him want to get your blood pumping more. “Make me fucking cum. Put it back in your mouth.” He places his hand on the back of your head, pushing it down, your throat accommodating to his size. “You’re such a quick learner. Taking it like a fucking whore.” He bites down on his bottom lip, thrusting his hips at a sharp pace. “Open up that throat. Come on,” he growls.

You body jolts forward as you gag, your nails digging into his thighs as he pushes your nose against his pelvis. You can feel him twitch and pulsate in your throat and before you know it hot spurts of cum coat your throat. “Uh huh, fuck, fuck. Take it, baby. Mmmph!” His jaw goes slack, holding your head down until your slapping his thighs to breathe. Luckily, he lets you pull away after he drains all of his cum. You barely have time to recover before he’s snatching you back to your feet, spinning you around and pushing you against the tree. “Did such a good job sucking my dick. I wanna know if this pussy can do the same.” A swift slap to your ass makes you whimper, holding onto the tree for support while it scratches at your skin.

“Go slow, please,” you beg. You wish you would’ve never said anything because your words only added fuel to the fire. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone and slipping him that piece of information made him do the opposite of what you asked for.

“Go slow? Huh? No, no.” His hand snaked around your throat, pulling your back against his chest while he whispered in your ear. “I’ll do what I want with you.” He smacked your ass again, tearing off your panties and tossing them somewhere into the woods. “Say you want me to fuck you,” he ordered. You silently stood there in his arms, biting down on your bottom lip as you braced for whatever he was going to give you. “Say it!” He huskily whispered, rubbing his shaft up and down your sopping slit.

“Fuck me,” you meekly spoke.

“What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He kissed your jaw so softly, his other hand reaching down to toy with your puffy clit. He let out a blissful sigh as your moans, continuing to rub it in circles in such a teasing manner. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, please,” you said a little louder this time. “Ah!” A yelp left your lips when he slipped inside, pushing his entire length in, the burning stretch making you wince. “Oh fuck!” You whined. His thrusts were brutal, his cock reaching your deepest points. His arm wrapped your torso, holding you up while simultaneously pulling you back on his cock. The sudden sensation of him inside you became so overwhelming, you couldn’t help but squirm in his grip.

The sound of skin to skin echoed through the woods and your lewd moans along with it. Ripples of pleasure shot through every part of your body. Your hands reached out for the tree, finding stability to hold yourself up. His breath shuddered against your neck, desperate moans and grunts filling your ears. “You’re so fucking wet—nnngh fuck!” He growled. His fat tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, tears pricking your eyes before spilling over. Suddenly, he slowed down his thrusts, going harder and slower, allowing you to feel every throbbing inch.

“Ah!” You squealed when he slammed his hips against yours, only to slowly pull back out again. Each hard jolt of his hips sent your body forward, your knees already ready to give out. “Ah!” You screamed in pleasure, reaching down to grip onto his forearm.

His hand shot over your mouth, muffling your cries and moans. “Go ahead and scream, baby. You think someone is gonna hear you? It’s just me…and…you.” Each of his words were punctuated with hard thrusts. You moaned into his hand, your eyes screwed shut. He could feel you clench around him, letting out a blissful sigh. He pressed against you, going as deep as he could and stayed there. A sharp gasp escaped your throat, eyes widening as you tried to move your hips. “You’re mine now,” he breathily whispered.

“Mmph! Mmmph!” As he began pounding into you again your eyes rolled back, feeling him in the deepest parts of you. “Please, please, please,” you cried, voice breaking through your tears. Your mind grew hazy, too clouded to even think clearly. His thrusts were so sharp, so animalistic. He roughly grabbed your chin, forcing it in his direction before planting a hungry, sloppy kiss on your lips. Both of swallowed each others lewd moans, gasping for air between wet kisses.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” He rasped, staring into your eyes. All you could force was a nod. “Yeah? Gonna cum all over your stalkers dick, baby? Do it. Give it to me. Show me how dirty you are.” He pressed deeper, your entire body trembling. The feeling your pussy pulsating around him only fueled him to go faster, his grip on your entire body tightening while you came. “That it’s—f-fuck!” His voice trembled.

Your entire body quivered with pleasure, high pitched whines spilling from your lips, barely able to form proper words. His brutal pace sent your mind into a spiral. Each greedy stroke sent him closer to the edge, his thrust growing sloppier and his thoughts growing dirtier, thinking of filling you up with his cum and watching it leak out of you. “Oh my god! S-slow down! Gonna cu—nnngh!” Before you could even say it, you were already cumming a second time, your orgasm ripping through your entire body and sucking the air of your lungs.

“Yes, yes! Cum on my dick. You’re gonna make me cum, baby. Fuck your self on my dick. Work for it.” He pushed your weak body against the tree, his chest rising and falling as you so desperately fucked him, throwing your ass back. He looked down, watching the way he disappeared inside your messy cunt, creaming around him and sucking him in. You circled your hips, moving back and forth, feeling your ass ripple against his pelvis. “Fucking work for it.” His hand swatted your ass several times, the stinging sensation that lingered on your skin making you whimper. “Atta girl. Right fucking there…shit, baby. Just like that, just like that,” he whined, reaching down to squeeze the plump flesh.

Low guttural groans collided with your moans, echoing through the lonely forest. He was so close to cumming, you could tell. His big strong hands took ahold of your hips as he pushed himself all the way inside of you. “Ah…oh fuck…mmph—s-shit!” He shuddered, hot spurts of cum painting your walls. You pushed back into him, biting down on your bottom lip, not wanting one last drop to go to waste. After several seconds, he slowly pulled out, trying to catch his breath. He forcefully grabbed you, standing you upright even though your entire body was shaking.

After coming down from your high, you realized you just fucked your stalker and let him cum inside you. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. Both of you stared at each other, eyes searching deep within. You were left confused, speechless. You flinched when he brought his hand up to your cheek, gently stroking it with the pad of his thumb. His eyes flickered down to your lips, placing the most gentle kiss on them—the most gentle one since you’ve met him. Yet, you found yourself kissing him back. “Who are you?” Your voice broke the silence, nervously scanning his features.

His lips quirked up into the slightest smirk. “Just the boy who saw you at the Halloween party.” From the very beginning he was never going to give you his name. “Your stalker.” He seemed to take pride in his words, now smiling at you.

You gulped, blinking up at him. “My stalker.”

taglist (closed):

@roronoaslover @skychapt-blog @prettylil-teine @freakadelick @adamaisfav @tadabzzzbee @ourfinalisation @marlenemckinnonsleftfoot @heliumshorns @ninani-nanina @blankwashed @sadkaomoji @tojis-ball-sack @blkpotionss @sunjayist @cryptxdslxt @aweebthatsjustthere @angelrulez21-blog @lemonintrovert21 @vertigoandvirtues @cloudxluv @kkataleena @eclipsi-shadow @sugusmonkeyy @greatwizardangel @cybersomn1a @screamlast9 @purpleheart835 @ramiiroll @purp1eha1o @veraiku @yu22tas @wrldtups @4evrglow @sugarsticksss @fos-tis-zois @lisvanrouge @asiancupid @bluejayreadsanddreams @sincerelyaixii @digitaltrippers @chuuminn @lolimmafuckings1mp @jellyfishlord @therealest06 @terminosdevozsauve @keanureevessmile @nekoxvi @starlightglimmersworld @m0nsterzl0ve

#—☆classyrbf #kinktober #jjk kinktober #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto smut oneshot #geto suguru smut oneshot #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut oneshot

5K notes · View notes

buckysleftbicep · 18 days ago

Text

little rabbit 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, primal play, chasing, unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation, oral sex (f rec), light degradation, loads of aftercare (please take care to read the warnings)

summary: you wanted to play prey and bucky was more than happy to hunt.

word count: 2.3k

author's note: hi loves! this fic reminds me of the foot pursuit challenge on tiktok, where partners get their significant other to chase and catch them and my gosh, i get why being chased (consensually) is a kink. based on this request | requests are open!

and suddenly my pants are gone

The forest swallowed you whole.

Dusk draped itself over the trees like a velvet veil, thick and breathless, shrouding everything in deepening shadow. Every snapped twig beneath your bare feet echoed loud in the quiet.

Still, you ran. Low branches clawed at your arms. Thorns kissed your legs. The thin fabric of your dress snagged and fluttered behind you, a ghost of surrender, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t. Not when you could feel him.

The weight of his presence stalked you from behind—unseen, but undeniable. The almost inaudible crunch of leaves. A shift in the air. That creeping prickle along your spine that told you that he’s close.

Bucky had given you a five-minute head start. It was a mercy. Time enough to let your pulse spike, to feel the adrenaline kick into your bloodstream. Not fear—never fear. This was anticipation, sharpened to a razor’s edge. Because you had asked for this. Planned it, begged for it. Every line, every rule, every dark little detail etched in the safety of shared trust.

He would chase. You would run.

And when he caught you… you were his.

You ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, stumbling over roots slick with moss. Your breath came in short, frantic bursts, chest heaving as sweat kissed your skin. The air felt electric, every sound amplified—every rustle, every breeze, every bird gone silent.

Then— A sound. Too heavy. Too close. Intentional.

You twisted mid-step, eyes wide, just in time to catch a blur of movement before something crashed into you, full force.

Not something. Someone.

You hit the ground hard, bark and soil tearing at your skin, the wind knocked from your lungs in a startled gasp. But even before you could react, you knew. His weight settled over you—solid, hot, commanding. Breath brushed your ear. A metal hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged it over your head, pinning it into the dirt. His other hand found your waist, gripping hard, keeping you still.

“Got you,” Bucky growled, his voice ragged and low, more breath than sound.

The sound of him went straight to your core.

You squirmed beneath him—reflex, instinct, desire. “You said five minutes,” you panted.

He leaned down, mouth brushing the edge of your jaw. “You had four.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, cut short the moment his hand slid up and curled around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to anchor you. Enough to make your breath catch.

His other hand traced down the torn side seam of your dress, slow, deliberate. Fingertips dragging fire across your skin. His touch was reverent and rough all at once, equal parts worship and promise.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Mouth open like you’re already fucked.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. He didn’t want you to.

Instead, he kissed you—if it could be called that. It was teeth and tongue and breathless desperation. His stubble burned your chin. His mouth stole the air from your lungs. It was a claiming, not a kiss. And when he pulled away, you were already dizzy.

“Get up,” he said roughly.

Your brows furrowed. “What—?”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t explain. Just hauled you to your feet and spun you around so your chest hit the nearest tree trunk with a thud. His hand flattened between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward, and you barely caught yourself before your knees gave out.

Then you felt him.

His cock, already hard, already leaking pressed hot and heavy against your ass through his pants. He rutted against you once, slow and deliberate, making sure you felt it. The power. The possession.

“You made me chase you,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You made me earn this. You think I’m just gonna take it easy on you now?”

His teeth scraped your neck, and your head dropped forward against the bark with a shudder.

“I’m gonna take my time,” he growled, fingers already hiking your dress up around your hips, exposing your thighs to the night air. “And you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

Your breath hitched as rough bark scraped against your chest, grounding you. The tree was unyielding, but so was he—pressed flush behind you like a furnace, all sharp heat and coiled restraint on the verge of snapping. You barely had time to catch up before his hands were on you—gripping, dragging, claiming. One curled possessively around your hip. The other fisted the neckline of your ruined dress.

And tore.

The sound of fabric splitting echoed in the dark like a gasp. Cold air kissed your bare skin, sending a shudder through you—part from the chill, mostly from the anticipation. The dress fell in tatters around your waist, exposing your breasts to the open night.

Bucky made a low, guttural sound behind you. “Fuck,” he rasped, voice strained and rough with hunger. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too busy shaking as he dropped to his knees behind you, slow and heavy, like a man worshiping at an altar. His metal fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them apart with forceful ease until you had no choice but to brace yourself against the tree.

Then—his mouth.

A single, filthy lick dragged up your center, and your whole body jolted like you’d been shocked. You cried out, loud and unfiltered, legs already trembling.

His breath hitched against you, rough and heavy, sending vibrations through your core that made your legs tremble.

And then he devoured you.

His tongue was relentless—sloppy, fast, desperate. Every stroke made your knees weaken, every flick against your clit sent stars dancing behind your eyes. He sucked, licked, teased, and when he pushed a metal finger into your dripping heat, you almost collapsed.

“Bucky—fuck, please—”

He didn’t stop. Just added a second finger, thrusting deep, curling up until your thighs started to quake. His other hand held your ass in place, keeping you pinned as you instinctively tried to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Too much,” you gasped. “I—I can’t—”

But he didn’t stop. Not until he chose to.

But when he finally pulled back, your whine of protest was almost pitiful.

He stood, chest rising fast. You could feel the tension rolling off him in waves—his breathing uneven, hands rough now as they grabbed your hips again.

His voice was a low snarl against your ear. “You think you get to come?”

Your whole body clenched, heat rushing to your core like you hadn’t just been on the edge of release.

“You ran,” he continued, biting down on your shoulder. “You teased me. And now you think you get to fall apart without permission?”

You whimpered. “Please…”

He grabbed your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “You begged for this. Remember?”

You nodded weakly.

“Said you wanted to be used.”

Then you felt it. The thick, hot weight of his cock nudging against your entrance—bare, leaking, ready.

“Then take it.”

He slammed into you with a single, brutal thrust.

Your scream tore through the woods, raw and involuntary. There was no gentleness. No easing in. Just the full length of him stretching you, filling you, splitting you open as your breath hitched and your eyes fluttered shut.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t let you adjust. Just snapped his hips into yours, over and over, fucking you hard enough to make your body jerk forward against the tree.

His grip bruised. His rhythm was punishing.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “Tight little cunt—jesus—meant for this.”

Every thrust forced a choked moan from your lips, your forehead scraping against the bark. His metal hand snaked around to grab your breast, pinching your nipple between cold fingers until you sobbed.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You—Bucky, you.”

His mouth found your neck, biting hard, and that was it. You shattered. The orgasm hit you like a freight train—violent, sharp, sudden. You cry out as you clenched around him, body going rigid, stars bursting behind your eyes.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you through it, deep and fast, chasing his own release. You were limp, barely holding yourself upright, when he finally slammed into you one last time with a grunt, his cock pulsing as he filled you. Warmth spread between your thighs, dripping down as your muscles twitched.

And then, for a long moment—silence.

Only his breathing. Only yours. The wind through the trees.

He stayed pressed to you, his chest against your back, forehead resting on your shoulder. When he finally moved, it wasn’t rough. It was careful.

He pulled out slowly as you whimpered. His hands smoothed over your waist, then wrapped around you, holding you upright.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured softly, lips brushing your skin. You nodded, too dazed to speak.

“Still with me?” A hum was all you could manage.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed close, breath still ragged against your neck, one hand on your waist like he was grounding himself with the feel of you.

The heat of him clung to your skin, everywhere, your chest, your thighs, the slick mess between your legs. Your pulse hadn’t steadied yet, and neither had his.

His forehead came to rest against your shoulder. “You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, your voice slow and slurred. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”

He didn’t rush you. Just waited. His hands softened where they held you—no more grip, no pressure. Only presence. Only warmth.

“I didn’t go too far?” he asked after a pause, quieter now. Like he needed to hear it.

“No,” you said softly, eyes closed. “You didn’t.”

He let out a slow breath, tension finally slipping out of his frame. Behind you, he shifted carefully, pulling out with a gentleness that made your breath catch. The stretch still ached, your thighs trembling from exertion, and the cool night air wrapped around the places he’d left warm and ruined.

You pressed a hand to the tree, steadying yourself.

“Come here,” he said gently, and when he turned you around, you didn’t resist.

Your legs were unsteady, but he was solid. You let yourself fall into him, cheek to his chest, breath still shallow. He held you with one arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell beneath your face in a steady rhythm, anchoring you.

It was quiet for a moment. Then, without letting go, he said, “So… I take it that worked for you.”

A soft laugh escaped you, hoarse and tired. “That was insane.”

“You sure?” His tone was light, but you felt the nerves under it. “Didn’t think I was gonna find you that fast.”

“You nearly tackled me.”

“You said run,” he said, lips brushing the side of your head. “I took that personally.”

You smiled, breath catching slightly. “You were scarily good at that. Honestly.”

His fingers threaded gently through your hair, grounding you. “You weren’t exactly innocent either. All wide-eyed and breathless. The dress helped.”

You huffed a laugh. “Told you it’d rip.”

“And I said I wouldn’t tear it.” “You absolutely tore it.”

He grinned into your hair. “I’ll buy you another one.”

You nodded, letting silence settle again, warm between your bodies. Then, softer, he asked, “You really okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, and this time you met his eyes. “I liked it.”

His expression shifted—something softer in the lines of his face, something quieter. “Good,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Because I didn’t know how to stop once I had you.”

The confession hit low in your chest, but not in a bad way. It settled deep.

“I know,” you said.

For a while, you just stood there. Breathing. Letting the night move around you while everything inside you slowed.

Eventually, he shifted. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside. Get you cleaned up.”

You blinked, then grimaced. “My legs feel like jelly.”

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, already crouching.

“You don’t have to—”

But he didn’t let you finish. Just swept you up without effort, arms secure beneath your legs and back. You looped your arms around his neck and let your head rest on his shoulder as he started the walk back through the woods.

The world was still and dark around you. The crunch of leaves beneath his boots was steady, the rhythm of it soothing. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, and his grip on you never wavered. It was careful. Thoughtful. Safe.

After a while, you brushed your fingers along the line of his jaw. “Thanks for doing this,” you murmured.

He glanced down at you. “For what? Nearly fucking you into a tree?”

You let out a tired exhale, half a laugh. “For making it feel real. And then making it feel safe again.”

His eyes softened, and he didn’t hesitate. “You never weren’t.”

You nodded, eyes closing. You knew that, but still, it meant something to hear it out loud.

The compund's lights came into view, glowing soft and golden through the trees. He shifted you slightly in his arms, settling your weight.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he said. “You want food?” You groaned. “God, yes.”

He smirked. “Didn’t know primal play gave you an appetite.”

“It’s the trauma,” you deadpanned, and he laughed, a real one, low and warm and full.

You smiled, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Next time,” you murmured, voice already slipping toward sleep, “you better give me more than five minutes.”

He huffed. “You barely lasted four.” You smirked, eyes still closed. “Didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

His hand moved in slow circles along your back. “Yeah? Because I’d do it again. However you want.”

You just nodded, the edge of sleep tugging at you now, soft and easy. “Just like that,” you whispered. “Don’t change a thing.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair, steady and certain. “Wasn’t planning to.”

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! i love you all, and please stay safe out there!

1K notes · View notes

abbotjack · 2 months ago

Note

aaahh hi hello! :)

first thing, i just wanted to say how much i love the way you write for jack and robby. you capture their personalities so well! reading your works are an absolute treat. <3

second, would it be possible to request something for robby? he finds out that his wife was in a really bad accident on her way to work, so she's rushed to the hospital and admitted to their icu?

tysm, and keep up the amazing work!

And You Came Back to Me

content/warning : Serious car accident, medical trauma, cardiac arrest, emergency resuscitation, hospitalization/ICU setting, emotional distress, PTSD symptoms, brief combat/military reference, grief response, partner fear, sibling care, recovery from near-death experience. Heavy emotional themes including flashbacks, guilt, and the fragility of healing.

word count : 3,791

a/n ; Wrote this as an exploration of what happens in the quiet after chaos—the weight of routine, the people who stay, and the small ways grief and love show up at once.

He should've kissed you longer.

That's the first thing that slams through Robby's chest when the officer says your name. Not doctor. Not sir. Just: "Mr. Robinavitch, your wife's been in a serious accident."

It doesn't register, not fully. Not until the following words hit him like shrapnel: "She was unconscious at the scene. EMS is transporting her to Allegheny General now."

And suddenly, time snaps backward, throws him hard against the wall of the morning. Back to the kitchen. To the faint hum of NPR on the radio. To the faint smell of burnt toast from the toaster, because you always forget about it halfway through brushing your teeth. He's told you a hundred times to stop using the "max crisp" setting. You always say, "It's faster." Back to the sound of your heels on the tile as you rushed in, already dressed, hair still damp and twisted into that messy bun you always called "professional enough."

"Shit," you muttered, digging through your purse. "I'm running late. Can you zip me up?"

He should've stopped what he was doing. Should've set down the mug. Turned fully toward you. Looked at you the way he used to, like you were something he still couldn't quite believe was real. But he was distracted. Reading the news. Checking an overnight lab update. Half-listening to McKay's complaint in the group chat about last night's board decision. So, instead, he reached out automatically. Took hold of the zipper. Pulled it up the back of your dress like he's done a hundred times before. A quiet, familiar ritual.

"Thanks, babe," you said, glancing over your shoulder with a delicate smile.

He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck, right where your hair curled against your skin. "You look beautiful," he said. Distracted. Sincere, but distracted.

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

You laughed and turned away to grab your keys. He should've stopped you. Should've surrounded his arms around your waist, relaxed his chin on your shoulder, whispered something mindless and tender and marriage-soft like, Don't go to work. Stay home. Let's be irresponsible. Should've asked about the dream you mumbled in your sleep. Should've paid attention when you said, "I might take the highway if traffic's clear, I'm too late for the long route."

You hated the highway. Said it made you feel like one incorrect action could ruin everything. Said the backroads felt safer, tree-lined, steady. He teased you for it. Called you dramatic. But he always agreed. Take the long way. What's ten more minutes if it means peace of mind? And this morning, God, he hadn't even thought to remind you.

"You driving in or Ubering?" he questioned, eyes still on his phone.

"Driving. Highway if I have to. Don't yell."

"Just… text me when you get there."

"I always do."

You smiled. He didn't look up. You walked out the door. Now a stranger is telling him you were rear-ended at 70 miles per hour, spun into a guardrail, crushed on the driver's side. That EMS pulled you from the wreckage with the jaws of life. That you weren't responsive. That you lost a lot of blood. That they're bringing you in. To him. To his ER. His trauma bay. His staff. And you might not survive the trip.

He should've kissed you longer.

He should've kissed you like it was the last time. Because maybe, it was.

He drops the phone in the stairwell. He's moving before his mind catches up—down the steps, through the ER corridor, and straight into the trauma bay. The doors slam open so hard they shake on their hinges. "Where is she?" His voice breaks as it rips out of his throat.

Dana's the first to reach him. She's just stepped off the elevator—chart in one hand, coffee in the other. "She just came in," she says immediately. "Langdon's leading. Mateo is on the vent. Santos and Javadi are in the room—"

"Where is she?"

The way he says it this time, it's not procedural. It's not about who's on what. It's you. There's a tremor in his voice now, something raw enough to cut through Dana's usual calm. She steps in his path. "Robby," she says gently, too gently. She never uses that voice. Not with him.

"She coded in the rig."

He flinches like she slapped him. The hallway tilts. "They got her back," Dana rushes to add because the look in his eyes unravels something in her. "But it's bad. She's not... she's not conscious."

He doesn't stop to respond. Robby just shrugs off Dana's hand and barrels toward Trauma One, like his body's moving on instinct, like it never forgot how to find you. And then he sees you. You're nearly lost in the swarm of bodies around you, but he'd know you anywhere—even battered and broken, even with your hair soaked through and clinging to your face in tangled strands. One of your feet is bare. Your dress—that dress, the blue one you joked made you look like a lawyer even though you worked in a nonprofit, the one he remembers zipping up hours ago—has been sliced clean down the center. Blood saturates the fabric, blooming across it like ink in water until there's barely any blue left at all. Mateo is squeezing the Ambu bag. Javadi's covered in sweat, glove smeared in something dark. Langdon is barking orders like his throat is full of glass.

Robby freezes in the doorway.

Langdon doesn't even look at him. Just shouts, "Get him out of here!"

Dana's behind him again. This time, she doesn't touch him. Just steps into his line of vision and holds it. "You know better. Let them work."

"That's my wife. That's Jack's sister."

Santos' voice breaks, just barely. "She's got internal bleeding. If we can't stabilize her, we're opening the chest."

And there it is. Robby's hand slams against the doorframe. He backs away without realizing he's doing it.

He ends up in Observation 2. He doesn't remember walking there. Doesn't know how long he stands in the dark before someone, maybe Perlah, sets a bottle of water beside him. He doesn't touch it. He's never felt like this before. Like the air is too thick. Like he's breathing cement. Jack shows up ten minutes later. Not in scrubs, he's in a weather-beaten field jacket and dark jeans, the kind of outfit that's survived its fair share of long nights. There's rain slicking his shoulders, water dripping from the cuffs like he didn't bother with an umbrella. Or didn't care.

"They told me," Jack says, low.

Robby doesn't move.

"I came as soon as—"

"She took the fucking highway."

Jack is quiet.

"She never takes the highway. I—I always tell her to take 51. She hates the on-ramps. Says they make her feel like she's gonna die. She said it, Jack. She said it."

Jack nods slowly, but his posture is all wrong, too still, too rigid. Like he's holding something in. His jaw is locked, eyes fixed somewhere over Robby's shoulder like if he looks at him directly, he'll break. "Yeah," he finally says, voice hoarse and frayed. "She told me that too. Said the on-ramps made her feel like the road would disappear underneath her. When we were kids, she'd make me walk the long way to school just to avoid the underpass near 18th. Three extra blocks. Every morning."

He exhales, sharp and uneven. "She'd hold my sleeve like she thought the wind might carry her off if she let go."

The pause that follows isn't empty. It's full, tight with every year Jack spent being the big brother. Every time, he covered for you. Every scraped knee, every school project, every time he stood between you and the door while your parents screamed. Robby sinks down against the wall. His voice is hollow. "She asked me to zip up her dress this morning." He swallows hard. "I didn't even look at her. Not really. I was reading emails. I kissed her neck and said, 'Text me when you get there.'"

Jack doesn't answer. Doesn't offer reassurance, statistics, or hope. He just lowers himself to the floor beside Robby, head bowed like he's praying to no one in particular. "You love her," he says, and there's no bitterness in it. Just something steady. "You take care of her in a way I never could. You know how to make her feel safe when it's quiet. How to be soft when she won't ask for it. I've spent my whole life guarding her from the world, and now…" He trails off, staring at the floor. "You're the part of her world I trust the most."

Robby closes his eyes. His shoulders shake once. "I don't know how to be okay if she doesn't wake up."

Jack reaches out and sets a hand firm and grounding on Robby's shoulder, steady like he's done for you a hundred times before. "Then it's a good thing you won't have to be," Jack says. "Because she's too damn stubborn to leave either of us."

And for the first time since the call, Robby lets himself breathe.

The updates come like clockwork.

"She's holding."

"We've got the bleeding under control."

"She's going up to the ICU now. Sedated. Ventilated."

Robby follows the bed upstairs like a shadow. No one stops him. Not even Langdon, who looks like he's aged ten years in a single shift. They set you up in 312A. You're pale. Still, your wedding ring sits in a plastic cup on the tray beside your bed. He takes your hand. "Hey," he whispers. "I'm here. You're okay. You're safe."

You don't move. He tilts forward, pressing his forehead to your arm. His voice catches.

"Baby, please. Please come back."

And then, he talks. About the cat, how she followed you to the door that morning, meowing like she knew something was wrong. How you paused, scooped her up, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, "Hold down the fort, okay? Back before dinner." Then, you blew her a kiss like you always did, keys already in hand. About the coffee mug still sitting in the sink. The one with the chipped handle and the faded red lettering from that anniversary trip to Vermont—the kind of mug that never matched anything else but somehow became your favorite. You used it every morning, even when there were clean ones on the shelf. He used to mock you for it. Then he stopped. About the basket of laundry half-folded on the couch. A pair of your socks tucked inside one of his. Your blouse is still soft from the dryer, draped across the armrest like you might come back and finish putting things away. Like you'd walk in and complain that he always left the fitted sheets for you to deal with. About the dress you pulled from the closet the night before—how you held it up in the mirror and said, "If this still fits, maybe I'll wear it next weekend. The red one. You like this one." And how he didn't say anything. Just looked at you like you'd already won the room.

It's those things. The little ones. The ones that never get written down or photographed. The pieces of a life you don't realize you're building until everything goes quiet.

"You can't leave me yet," he mumbles, voice rough. "I haven't seen you hold our kid yet. I haven't told you enough times that you saved my life just by saying yes."

Day Two

He doesn't sleep. Javadi comes by. Says nothing. Just looks through the glass and nods. Collins leaves coffee on the table without a word. He doesn't leave your side. Jack shows up again late that night. Sits with him in the dark. Neither of them speaks. Not until Robby, voice shredded and barely audible, says, "I can't lose her, Jack."

Jack just nods. "You won't."

"I always figured I'd go first," Jack says quietly like the words slipped past his guard. "She's always been the brave one. Ran toward things I would've flinched from. I was the one who hung back, scanned the exits, counted the risks."

His jaw clenches. He stares at the floor like he's trying to make sense of it all from the grain of the tile. "But when I saw her in that trauma bay…" His voice falters, and he has to force the following words out. "Even in combat, I never felt fear like that. Never felt that kind of helpless."

Robby doesn't speak at first. Just sit with it, like the silence might soften the blow.

Then, quietly: "She told me once she felt safest when she was with the two of us. Like the world couldn't touch her." Jack exhales, slow and uneven. His eyes drift toward the bed—toward where you lie, still and silent beneath the tangle of wires and monitors. Still unmoving. Still too quiet. Like if he looks long enough, maybe something in you will stir. Perhaps you'll meet his gaze and say his name like it means something.

"She better wake up," he murmurs. "Because she still owes me twenty bucks. And I'm not letting her off the hook just because she got hit by a truck."

Day Three.

The room is still. Quiet in a way that feels deliberate, It feels as though the air itself is holding its breath. Pale morning light creeps in through the ICU blinds, catching on the sharp corners of machines and the softer curve of your shoulder beneath the hospital blanket. Everything hums: the ventilator, the heart monitor, the sound of plastic tubing shifting slightly when you exhale.

Jack arrives before sunrise. He doesn't announce himself. Doesn't knock. Just moves through the doorway like someone crossing into sacred ground. He sets a cup of black coffee on the counter for Robby—no cream, two sugars, just the way you always made it for him, and then takes the same spot by the wall he's stood in every day since you were brought in.

Robby hasn't slept. He's still in yesterday's clothes, eyes ringed with exhaustion. His hand hasn't left yours all night.

They don't talk for a while. Don't need to. Jack watches you breathe. Robby counts each peak and drop of your chest as if he's tethered to it.

The moment happens quietly. Just after nine. Your fingers twitch. Small. Involuntary, maybe, but real.

Robby jolts forward. "Jack."

Jack is at his side in an instant, already reaching, already watching. "Do it again," he whispers, knuckles white where they grip the bed rail. "C'mon, kid. Come back to us."

And then you do. Your hand tightens around Robby's. Weak. Barely there. But deliberate. Robby exhales like he's been underwater for days. A strangled sound escapes him, half sob, half stunned relief, and he bows his head to your hand like it's the only thing anchoring him to the world. Jack grips the back of Robby's chair with one hand, the other dragging down his face. His mouth is tight. His eyes were wet. But his voice, when it comes, is steady in the way only older brothers can manage.

"She's fighting."

The nurses rush in. Langdon appears within minutes. Orders are called out. Sedation is reduced. The ventilator settings are dialed down. But Robby doesn't move—not from your side, not from your hand. The change is slow. But it's there. Color returning to your cheeks. Lashes twitching. A soft wrinkle between your brows like you're dreaming, or hurting, or both.

When your eyes finally open, it's dusk. They're glassy. Unfocused. But they find him.

"Hey, baby." His voice cracks. "You with me?"

You can't speak. Not yet. But your eyes do the work. Then, your fingers constrict in his again.

Jack moves to your side, each step careful. Measured. He doesn't speak. Doesn't trust his voice not to crack the quiet wide open. And for a second, something flickers across your face. Recognition. A tear. It rolls down your cheek, and Robby catches it with a shaking hand. He kisses your fingers. Your knuckles. Your wrist. "You came back to me."

Jack looks at you, jaw tight, throat working. Then he mutters, almost to himself, "Damn right she did." He doesn't say more. He doesn't have to.

You're awake. And they're both there.

That's everything.

Three Weeks Later.

The apartment smells like lavender and laundry detergent. Your favorite blanket is folded over the back of the couch, and someone—probably Jack—restocked the kitchen with your exact tea and oatmeal brand, like muscle memory. There are flowers on the table, half-wilted, and a stack of unopened get-well cards beside them that you haven't yet had the energy to read. You're home. And you're alive. But nothing feels normal yet.

You're thinner than you were. Your ribs ache when you turn too fast, and your hands shake when you try to open pill bottles. But you walk. You breathe on your own. You wake up in your own bed next to Robby instead of tangled in ICU tubing. And Robby, Robby hasn't let you out of his sight. He tries to be subtle. Tries to hover without hovering. You catch the way his hand spasms when you bend down to pick something up. The way he stays awake two hours after you've fallen asleep, just to make sure your breathing stays steady.

"I'm not going to break," you tell him one morning, finding him standing in the hallway just outside the bathroom door.

He doesn't smile. Just step forward and cup your cheek like it's second nature like his hand was always meant to rest there.

"You did," he says, voice low and frayed at the edges. "You almost died. And I stood there and watched it happen." His thumb moves against your skin gently. Reverent. "So yeah," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna be careful with you for a while. You don't get to scare me like that and expect me to walk away unchanged."

You don't argue. Just press your forehead to his and breathe with him.

Jack visits like clockwork. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays. He always calls ahead, even though you stopped asking him to. He comes with practical things, groceries, multivitamins, takeout from that one Thai place you craved when nothing else would stay down. He never makes a scene of it. Just moves through your kitchen like it's routine. Like you didn't code in the back of an ambulance while he was somewhere else, driving home, bone-tired and still smelling like antiseptic, unaware that your heart had stopped without him there to catch it. He acts like nothing's changed. Like you didn't almost leave him without warning. But the way he watches you when you walk across the room says everything.

"You gonna let me in, or am I just supposed to enjoy the doorframe?" he jokes the first time you're strong enough to answer it yourself.

"You gonna keep looking at me like I've got a ticking clock strapped to my chest?" you fire back.

Jack shrugs. Steps inside. Kisses on the top of your head. "You're still annoying. Good. I was worried."

That night, you all end up in the living room, curled into Robby's side on the couch, a blanket tucked around your legs, while Jack settles into the armchair nearby. His prosthetic leans against the side of the chair, balanced carefully where he left it as if it belonged there. He sits back, one socked foot up, the other leg stretched out and relaxed. Comfortable in a way he rarely lets himself be. The TV plays some half-watched game on mute, casting flashing lights across the room, but no one's really paying attention. The silence between you feels lived-in, not awkward. Familiar. But still edged with something tender. Like you're all waiting to exhale at the same time. The kind of evening that feels hushed on purpose.

The kind that says: We're still here.

"I think I scared you both more than I scared myself," you murmur, eyes still on the screen.

"You scared the shit out of me," Jack says, voice low. Honest. Not sharp, not teasing, just stripped down. Like it costs him something to say it out loud.

Robby's grip around your waist tightens almost instinctively like he can still feel the echo of that moment, the call, the drive, the trauma bay. His fingers curl against your side, anchoring himself to something warm and alive. "You don't get to do that again," he says, hardly above a whisper. "Ever."

You turn your head then, eyes flicking between them, one sitting too still, the other holding on too tightly. And for the first time all day, you let yourself feel the whole shape of what almost happened. What nearly broke you. "I didn't say this earlier," Jack says, softer now, voice rough around the edges. "But I meant it. Back at the hospital. You have him. You're not doing this alone."

You don't look at him right away. Just nod, slow, like the words are settling into a place they hadn't quite reached before. Your eyes sting, but you don't blink them away. "I know I'm not," you murmur.

And you do. Even on those days, it's hard to feel it. Healing isn't linear. Some days, you get through without tears, almost like nothing ever happened. Other days, it hits you sideways—over coffee, in the shower, folding laundry—and you're crying without knowing why. You haven't driven yet. Not because you can't, because you don't want to.

And everyone understands that.

Robby never asks. He just grabs the keys and opens your door first. Jack doesn't comment, doesn't tease—he just takes the driver's seat without question when it's his turn. Even Dana understood. On Saturday, she showed up with oversized sunglasses and a tote bag full of snacks, knocked twice, and said, "Girls' day. Non-negotiable. Collins is already in the car."

And sure enough, Collins was in the passenger seat, sipping an iced tea and pretending not to be amused. Dana took the wheel, flipped the radio to something from the nineties, and announced you were starting with pedicures and ending with overpriced appetizers—"and maybe a shoe sale if we're feeling emotional."

But tonight, the air is still. Your body is tired but not heavy. There's a blanket over your legs, the low hum of the dishwasher in the next room, and two people who never let go—even when you tried to disappear. You close your eyes.

And for the first time in weeks, you don't brace for the fall.

#the pitt #jack abbot #the pitt fanfiction #dr abbot #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #dr robinavitch #robby #dr robby #michael robinavitch #noah wyle #the pitt x reader #the pitt 2025 #the pitt hbo #angst #shawn hatosy

1K notes · View notes

thewriteadviceforwriters · 7 months ago

Text

🐚⚓️🫧List of Random Things For Your Dark Coastal Settings | For Writers🐚⚓️🫧

Since you all loved the list of random things for Dark Academia, here’s a list of items, things, sights etc.. you might find in a Dark Coastal setting.

The Cliffside 🌊

Jagged slate-gray rocks jutting out from the churning sea

Swaths of wild, windblown grasses and mosses clinging to the cliffs

Crumbling stone ruins half-hidden in the fog

The eerie cries of seabirds circling overhead

Gnarled, salt-weathered driftwood scattered across the shoreline

The Cove 🐚

A small pebbly beach tucked into a sheltered inlet

Seaweed-covered tide pools teeming with mysterious marine life

Centuries-old fishing nets and lobster traps hung to dry

Weathered wooden rowboats moored at a rickety dock

The salty, briny scent of the sea lingering in the air

The Lighthouse 🗼

A tall, round stone tower with a flickering lantern on top

Faded nautical charts and weather-beaten log books inside

An antique brass telescope trained on the horizon

The heavy thump of the lighthouse bell in the distance

Coils of fraying rope and a tarnished brass spyglass on the windowsill

The Shipwreck 🛥️

The rusted, half-submerged hull of an ancient sailing vessel

Tangled knots of kelp and barnacles clinging to the metal

Fragments of shattered wood and twisted metal debris

The eerie, echoing creaks and groans of the wreckage in the waves

Fragments of weathered, sun-bleached bones glinting in the murky depths

The Coastal Cottage 🏠

A small, weathered wooden house with peeling paint

Tattered sheer curtains fluttering in the salty sea breeze

Shelves lined with antique glass bottles and driftwood sculptures

A wood-burning stove with a teapot whistling softly

The distant sound of foghorns cutting through the mist

The Shipwreck Cove 🚢

Jutting black cliffs, their bases strewn with the bones of broken ships

Seaweed-covered ribs of an old shipwreck, barnacles clinging to the wood

Rusted metal and shattered glass glittering in the crashing waves

Cawing of crows circling overhead, their shadows flickering on the rocks

The hollow, echoing sound of the wind whistling through the caves

The Seaside Cemetery 🪦

Rows of crumbling tombstones covered in moss and lichen

Twisted, windblown trees casting long, ominous shadows

The faint scent of night-blooming jasmine on the breeze

A rusted wrought-iron gate creaking open to the path

Fog rolling in, obscuring the distant sound of the surf

2K notes · View notes

yua0ra · 5 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠…

WARNINGS: mattheo riddle x fem!reader, porn with some plot, unprotected sex, p in v, dominant!mattheo, dirty talk, fingering, oral (fem receiving), position change, rough smut, established relationship, (consent although not explicitly stated), mattheo stating one day he will do anal with reader (there’s no anal in this post), pet names, sex in a public space (no one is there), NSFW, proofread, english is not my first language. smut 🂡

SUMMARY: After a playful bet with Pansy Parkinson, you find yourself in an intense, unforgettable encounter with Mattheo Riddle. What starts as a challenge quickly turns into something far more consuming, as Mattheo’s fiery passion gives way to a surprising tenderness. Despite his rough edges, his genuine admiration for you, shines through as he cares for you in the aftermath. The thrill of risk, the weight of unspoken emotions, and the undeniable chemistry between you and Mattheo.

WC: +5K AN: Finally! Your girl has managed to write some smut. ENJOY! MDNI

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Mattheo turns around, unable to hide the goofy smile that’s spread across his pretty face. His dark curls fall into his eyes as he glances down at you, the mischief in his expression softening into something warmer. The way his hand tightens around yours feels like a silent promise—steady and sure, as if he’s anchoring himself to you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, though your own lips are betraying you with the faint curve of a smile.

“Ridiculously in love, baby,” he quips, his grin widening as his thumb absentmindedly brushes over your knuckles.

The two of you continue walking, his laughter bubbling softly in the crisp evening air. The world around you fades, the sounds of distant chatter and rustling leaves blurring into the background. All that matters is the warmth of his hand in yours, the easy joy that spills from his lips, and the way his eyes light up every time he looks at you.

“What?” you finally ask, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“Nothing,” Mattheo replies, his voice light but sincere. “I just like this. You and me.”

The simplicity of his words sends a flutter through your chest, and you squeeze his hand back, hoping it says what you can’t quite find the words for yet.

The path twists ahead, lined with skeletal trees swaying gently in the breeze. The glow of the moon casts an eerie silver light over the ground, making the old stones beneath your feet gleam faintly. Mattheo doesn’t falter, his pace steady as he guides you closer to the looming silhouette of the Shrieking Shack in the distance.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” you ask, your voice low but teasing, though there’s a hint of nervousness hidden behind it.

Mattheo smirks, glancing back at you with that familiar mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Because you’re secretly as much of a troublemaker as I am,” he says, his tone light, though his thumb still traces calming circles on the back of your hand.

You roll your eyes. “Or maybe because you dared me, and I’m too stubborn to say no.”

“Same thing,” he shoots back, his grin widening. “Admit it, love, you like a little danger.”

The Shrieking Shack comes into view now, its crooked frame outlined against the night sky. The windows are dark, the whole structure seeming to exude an unnatural stillness. Despite the chill creeping up your spine, you can’t help but match Mattheo’s excitement, his energy infectious as he slows to a stop in front of the fence that surrounds the infamous house.

“Ever been this close before?” he asks, his voice soft but daring as he peers through the broken slats of wood.

“No,” you admit, your fingers tightening around his. “And I’m starting to think that was a good thing.”

Mattheo chuckles, low and rich, as he steps closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Relax,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’d never let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

The sincerity in his tone makes your stomach flip, and for a moment, you forget about the dark, foreboding shack looming in front of you. His gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, and the shadows around you don’t feel quite as ominous anymore.

“Alright,” you say softly, drawing in a breath. “Let’s do this.

His grin returns, wide and triumphant, as he reaches for the fence. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure you’re following, he climbs over with practiced ease before extending a hand to help you over.

As your feet touch the ground on the other side, you hear a faint creak from the house, the sound echoing in the still night. Mattheo looks back at you, a flicker of excitement and curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“After you,” he says with a mock bow, gesturing toward the front door of the Shrieking Shack.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips as you step forward, his hand still firmly holding yours.

Turns out, the whole escapade was Pansy’s doing. The other day, she’d dared you and Mattheo to spend the night in the Shrieking Shack, her laughter ringing out as she leaned against the Slytherin common room couch. She was so sure you’d pull out at the last minute, claiming there was no way you’d go through with it. Mattheo, of course, jumped at the chance, a smug grin on his face as he’d said, “We’ll see you in the morning, Pans.”

Now, standing in front of the creaky old shack, you couldn’t help but think about the look on her face when you’d agreed. You weren’t sure what had made you so bold in that moment—maybe it was the way Mattheo had immediately taken your side, his confidence infectious. Or maybe it was the simple fact that you refused to give Pansy the satisfaction of seeing you back out.

“Do you think she really thought we wouldn’t do it?” you ask, glancing at Mattheo as he leans casually against the rickety front door.

He smirks, his dark eyes twinkling in the faint moonlight. “Oh, she was counting on it. Pansy lives for the drama.” He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around the rusty doorknob. “But what she didn’t count on was that you’re wilder than you look.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of pride in your chest at his words. “And you? What’s your excuse for agreeing to this ridiculousness?”

He shrugs, pushing the door open with a groan that seems to echo into the night. “I’m a sucker for a good dare. And,” he adds, looking over his shoulder at you with a cheeky grin, “I couldn’t let you do this without me. Someone’s gotta protect you from all the ghosts, right?”

“Ghosts,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow as you step inside. “You’re not seriously buying into all the stories, are you?”

“Maybe.” His tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of something playful in his eyes. “What if the stories are true? What if we’re not alone in here?”

“Then it’s your fault we’re doing this,” you quip, your voice braver than you feel.

The inside of the Shrieking Shack is exactly as you imagined: old, creaky, and covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. The wooden floor groans beneath your feet as you step further inside, and the air smells faintly of mildew. Despite the eerie stillness, Mattheo seems completely at ease, his hand brushing yours as he walks beside you.

“See? Not so bad,” he says, his voice breaking the silence. “A little dusty, sure, but cozy.”

“Cozy?” you repeat with a laugh. “You’re delusional.”

“Delusional or charming?” he asks, throwing you a grin as he drops his bag onto the floor near an old, tattered sofa.

“Both,” you mutter, though you can’t help but smile.

The two of you settle in, laying out blankets and snacks that Mattheo had insisted on packing earlier. The night stretches on, and as the hours pass, the initial nerves start to fade, replaced by the easy comfort that always seems to come when Mattheo is around.

- ★、

He glances at you, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight as he leans in closer, his voice low and soft. "Baby, are you not bored? We've been here for hours now, just the two of us..." His gaze drops to your lips for a moment before flicking back up to meet your eyes. "Is this really what you want to be doing on a night out with your boyfriend?"

He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. His touch is warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the chill in the air. "Because if you're not having fun, we can always find something else to do. Something a bit more... exciting." His voice drops to a low, intimate murmur on the last word, a hint of mischief glinting in his eye

“Matty… here? Really?” You softly giggle, looking at him trough long and heavy eyelashes.

Mattheo leans in closer, his eyes fluttering shut as he closes the distance between you. His lips meet yours in a soft, gentle kiss that sends a spark of electricity through your body. It's a tender kiss, almost reverent in its slow, deliberate exploration of your mouth. His hand slides from the back of your neck to cup your cheek, his calloused fingers a pleasant contrast to the smooth skin of your face.

As the kiss deepens, Mattheo's other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the firmness of his chest, the way his heart beats steadily beneath his ribs. His fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back slightly as he explores your mouth with a growing hunger.

When he finally pulls back, breaking the kiss, his eyes slowly open to meet yours. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, a gentle caress that makes your breath catch in your throat. His thumb making its way to the inside of your mouth as you suck on it.

Not for long though, as he pulls it back, straight into his own warm mouth.

He slides his hands under the hem of your shirt, his fingertips skimming over the smooth skin of your lower back. He pulls you flush against him, the heat of his body seeping into yours as his hands begin to explore the curves of your waist and the gentle flare of your hips.

He breaks the kiss, panting softly as he looks down at you with hooded eyes, a fierce intensity burning in their depths. "Can I... can I take this off?" he asks, his voice low and rough with desire. His fingers tremble slightly as he waits for your permission, the anticipation almost too much to bear.

Without waiting for your answer, he starts to slowly peel your shirt up and over your head. The cool air kisses your newly exposed skin, making you shiver. Mattheo's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over your body with a hunger that makes your heart race.

"Fuck, doll," he breathes out, his voice filled with awe and longing. "You're so fucking fit. You see these?" He cups the soft mounds of your breasts, his thumbs teasing over the hardened peaks of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. He looks up at you, his dark eyes smoldering with desire as he leans down, his mouth hovering just above the swell of your breasts. “These are mine baby… all mine.”

Without warning, he tugs the cup of your bra down, exposing your nipple to the cool air. His eyes flick up to yours, a wicked glint in their depths, before he leans in and takes your nipple into his hot mouth. He suckles gently at first, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, before growing bolder, sucking harder as his hand kneads the soft flesh of your breast.

A low, breathy moan escapes your lips, your fingers tangling in his dark curls as he lavishes attention on your breasts. The combination of his hot mouth and the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive skin sends jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, making your core throb with a needy ache.

Mattheo's other hand slides down your stomach, his fingers dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of your jeans. His touch is maddeningly light, not quite touching where you need him most, but close enough to make you squirm with anticipation. "Mattheo," you gasp out, your voice thick with desire. "Please..." You're not even sure what you're begging for, but the way he's touching you, tasting you, has set your body on fire, and you need more.

"Fuck, so perfect for me, huh?," He growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "I could spend hours worshipping these perfect tits, worshipping your beautiful body, face, heart…. You drive me insane."

His hand slides further down, cupping your mound through your jeans, applying a teasing pressure that makes you gasp. He chuckles darkly, a sound that vibrates through your chest. "Is this what you want, baby? You want me to touch this pretty little pussy until you're shaking and aching for me?"

He starts to slowly rub your clothed sex, his fingers moving in maddeningly slow circles. The denim of your jeans grows damp as your arousal builds, your hips starting to rock subtly against his hand. "Oh, look at you, my princess is so, so, so needy for me."

Mattheo leans down to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth as he grinds the heel of his hand against your clothed clit. He swallows your moan, his voice a low rasp against your lips. "Tell me how badly you want it, gorgeous. Tell me how much you need my fingers buried deep in your tight little cunt, fucking you silly until the only thing you’re thinking about is how good your Matty takes care of you."

His other hand kneads your breast roughly, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers as he breaks the kiss to growl in your ear. "Beg for it, baby. Beg for my fingers, for my dick. Let me hear how desperate you are for me to fill you up and make you come all over me."

“Please baby…” Your voice merely a whisper, your tone laced with embarrassing neediness, “Want to feel good, need to feel good.” You keep begging. “Want to feel your fingers filling me up so badly, keeping me warm, until I cream messy and my pussy is stretched enough for you big cock.” You let a small whimper.

Mattheo's eyes darken with lust as he watches you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Merlin’s beard, babe, I love it when you say shit like that," he growls, quickly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. His chest is lean and toned, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin in the flickering candlelight. The sight makes you legs turn into jelly, unable to take your gaze off him.

He’s just… so fucking hot.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as his hands make quick work of your jeans, practically tearing them off your body in his haste. He breaks the kiss to look down at you, his gaze hungry as he takes in the sight of you laid out beneath him, clad in nothing but your soaked panties.

"Look at you, spread out like a fucking feast," he rasps, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. He tugs on them making you exhale heavily, your pussy clenching to the fabric, to then drag them down slowly, his knuckles brushing against your sensitive skin, your arousal coating his fingers. "I knew you'd be dripping for me, baby. Fucking soaked and ready."

He tosses your panties aside and settles between your thighs, his breath hot against your dripping sex. He looks up at you, a wicked grin on his face."I'm going to make you feel so fucking good, doll. I'm going to eat you out until you become so fucking desperate,” He laughs, “such a perfect pocket pussy.”

He finally lowers his head, blowing air towards your heat and drags the flat of his tongue along your slit, a low groan rumbling in his chest at your taste. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, as he starts to make out with your warm and moist lips. Eating you out like a starving man, his tongue delving between your folds to lap at your dripping essence.

You’ll never get tired of the feeling of Mattheo’s tongue in your body. “Oh, shit… mmhm.” You start to feel dizzy, the overwhelming sensation of pleasure too much to cope with, making you close your eyes.

Mattheo groans against your sex as he feels your body trembling beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you hold him close. He can feel your arousal coating his chin, your juices dripping down onto the blankets below. The taste of you is intoxicating, and he can't get enough.

He starts to suckle on your clit, his lips wrapping around the sensitive bundle of nerves as he teases it with the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he slides a long, manly finger deep inside your tight heat, curling it just so to stroke that spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the floor.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your sex as he starts to pump his finger in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your pussy. He adds a second finger, stretching you wider, filling you up just the way you need.

His other hand slides up your body, cupping your breast, kneading the soft flesh as he pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers. He's touching you everywhere, stoking the fire building low in your belly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, baby. Fucking coat my fingers," he growls, his eyes never leaving yours.

The vibrations from his mumbles and growls shake your body, building up such an addicting feeling at the centre of your stomach, your insides knotting together in pleasure just waiting to be undone. “Oh my God, Matty… you-you’re so good to me, bloody hell.”

His fingers shiny with your arousal as he pounds them into you, his tongue flicking rapidly over your folds. "I can’t wait to feel this pretty cunt squeezing the fuck out of my cock when I slide inside you. I want you all over me. Fucking drench me in it."

He curls his fingers just right, rubbing that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids as he suckles hard on your clit. Addicted to the way your body shakes and trembles as he pushes you over the edge.

“Oh shit! Fuck! I’m-I’m close baby…”

Mattheo can feel your body tensing, your inner walls starting to flutter around his plunging fingers as your climax approaches. He doubles his efforts, fucking you harder with his firm digits as he messily slurps and spits in your clit, spurred on by your desperate moans and the way your body writhes beneath him.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and intense as he growls, "Come on then, baby.” He lovingly urges, “Come all over my fucking face. I want to taste your cum, want to feel it coating my mouth, want you inside of me."

He continues pumping in an unbelievable force, fingers curling and twisting inside you, stroking that spot that makes your vision go white. At the same time, he closes his lips around your clit and sucks hard, his teeth carefully tugging the sensitive bud as he teases out your climax.

He can feel your body starting to shake, your thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashes over you. He doesn't let up, continuing to stroke and suck, drawing out your pleasure until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him.

"Fuck yes, just like that…" he demands, his voice rough and ragged. "Let me hear how fucking good it feels, baby. Let those pretty sounds escape,” You can only moan louder, whine louder, barely able to pronounce words. “Yeah, that’s it, good girl… oh! Thats it, that’s it… so fucking precious” He chuckles, the sound so rich and full, turning you even more horny.

He keeps praising you, his movements impossibly harder, faster, deeper, fucking you through your climax as he pushes you to new heights of ecstasy. Your body convulses, your head thrashing on the blanket as the waves of pleasure consume you, leaving you gasping and shaking in the aftermath.

Mattheo finally pulls back, his face glistening with your climax as he looks up at you with a wicked grin. "Fuck, that was so hot," he rasps, his voice low and filled with desire. "You came so fucking hard, baby. I could feel you squeezing the life out of my fingers, fucking messy bitch.… My messy, filthy play bunny, am I right?"

He crawls up your body, his hard cock pressing against your thigh as he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "I'm going to fuck you now, baby. Can I fuck you?” He asks between sloppy and wet kisses “I'm going to slide my big, hard cock deep inside this tight little cunt, fuck”

You can only nod and whimper in pleasure, still high form the orgasm, but you crave more, you crave Mattheo in ways that are unhealthy obsessive. Not to worry though, because just as he has you wrapped around his finger, he is simply the same, kissing the floor you walk on, a heavy need in his chest to show you how much you mean to him.

He only smirks at your needy whimper, his ego boosted by the way you're still trembling with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. He can see the desperation in your eyes, the hunger for more, and it spurs on his own desire.

He reaches down, his pants long gone, wrapping a hand around his hard, throbbing cock and giving it a few slow pumps. It's hot and heavy in his hand, the pretty pink tip already leaking with big pearls of need. He rubs the head through your dripping folds, coating himself in your arousal, letting out a low groan at the feeling of your slick heat. The filthy scene making his mind fuzzy.

"Fuck, you're still so tight," he grunts, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He lines himself up with your entrance, the thick glistening head nudging against your opening. "I don't know if I can be gentle, baby. I want to fucking ruin you, want to make it so you can't fucking walk for days."

With that, he starts to push forward, his rock hard dick slowly sinking into your tight heat. He has to pause, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he fights the urge to just slam forward and bury himself to the hilt. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and intense, a bead of sweat dripping down his brow.

"Breathe, darling," he commands, his voice low and rough. "Breathe and relax, baby. Let me in, let me fucking warm you up."

He starts to push forward again, his pulsing shaft sinking deeper into your tight channel with each slow, steady thrust.

He's stretching you, filling you, the sensation of being so utterly complete by him that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

Mattheo leans down, capturing your lips in a hot kiss as he finally bottoms out, his hips pressing flush against yours. He groans into your mouth, his tongue plundering as he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, setting a hard and fast pace.

He fucks into you with wild abandon, his hips slapping against yours with each powerful thrust. He's lost in a haze of lust, consumed by the feeling of your tight pussy gripping his cock like a vice.

"Take it, take it, fucking take it!" he snarls, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he pounds into you. The floor creaks and shakes beneath you, slamming you against it with each thrust of his hips. "This is what you fucking wanted, isn't it? To be fucked into stupidity by my big, hard dick?"

He leans down, capturing your sensitive nipple between his teeth and biting down just shy of pain. His other hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it in hard, fast circles.

As you savour the overstimulation, Mattheo flips you over onto your hands and knees, your plump ass pointing up in the air. He takes a moment to admire the view, his eyes darkening with lust as he grips your ass cheeks roughly, kneading the soft flesh. "Fuck, this ass is perfect," he growls, giving your ass a sharp smack that makes you gasp. "Just for me… to be grabbed, spanked, fucked hard and raw."

He lines himself up with your dripping entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against your swollen, sensitive folds. Mattheo leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he grinds slowly against you, you juices mixing with his, the noises from the friction too lewd, too dirty, too fucking hot.

"I'm going to fuck this ass one day," he whispers hotly against your ear, his voice low and filthy. "Gonna shove my cock in this tight little asshole and make you scream for me. Bet it's never been fucked before, has it? Never had such a big, thick cock stretching it wide open?"

He doesn’t let you answer as he starts to push forward, the head of his veiny member popping inside your entrance with a loud squelch. He pauses, letting you feel the thick intrusion stretching you open as he reaches around to rub your clit in hard, fast circles.

"Push back, baby. Push this hot ass back on my cock and take it deep," he demands, his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts, working more and more of his thick length inside your tight heat. "Gonna fuck this cunt so hard, baby. Pound this pussy until you're fucking screaming, until the whole fucking school knows what a dirty girl you are for me."

Mattheo keeps one hand on your hip, gripping you tightly as he starts to pick up the pace, slamming into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The other hand stays on your clit, rubbing and stroking the sensitive nub as he fucks you harder and faster, his heavy balls slapping obscenely against your insides with each thrust.

"Yes, yes, fuck, fuuuck baby girl…" he snarls, holding into your ass with wild abandon."Take my fucking cock, you bitch. Milk it with this greedy cunt, fucking choke on my dick as I ruin this gorgeous pussy!"

Mattheo pounds into you with inhuman fervor, his hips moving in a blur as he chases their explosive release. The room fills with the carnal symphony of flesh slapping against flesh, your irresistible moans, and Mattheo's guttural, feral grunts echoing off the walls.

He leans over you, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to your back as he snakes a hand around to maul your bouncing breasts, pinching and tugging at your stiff nipples. His other hand flies back over your clenching, almost hurting clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in tight, frantic circles, pushing you ruthlessly towards the edge of literal oblivion.

"That's it, baby, shit! You make me feel so good. You know that? Ughh… !" Mattheo moans, his voice a primal, animalistic sound that sends shivers down your spine.

Your body starts to seize, back arching sharply as a mind-shattering orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clamps down on his pistoning cock like a velvet vice, rippling and fluttering wildly around his thick shaft as you come undone.

"FUCK, YES!" Mattheo bellows, slamming into you one last time as your climax triggers his own. His large shaft throbs and pulses, swelling even thicker inside your spasming walls before erupting like a volcano.

Scorching ropes of thick cum erupt from his cock, painting your insides white as he floods your womb with his seed. It feels like he's cumming for an eternity, his potent release seeming to go on and on as he grinds into you, pushing his come deeper with each twitch and jerk of his hips.

Your mind goes blank, your vision whiting out as pleasure more intense than you've ever known consumes you. You convulse and thrash beneath him, your body wracked with sensation, overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy of your shared climax.

Mattheo collapses against your back, his body blanketing yours as he trembles and shudders above you. He pants harshly, his breath coming out in ragged bursts against your neck as he slowly comes down from his release.

With a soft grunt, he carefully rolls off of you, pulling you with him so that you're both lying on your sides, facing each other. He drapes a strong arm around your waist, tucking you close to his chest as he studies your face with a furrowed brow.

"Are you okay, baby?" he murmurs, his voice now low and gentle in contrast to the primal, lust-filled growls from before. His fingers come up to brush a sweat-dampened strand of hair out of your face, his touch sweet and tender.

"My beautiful baby… you're shaking... did-did I hurt you?"

Mattheo's thumb skims along your cheekbone, tilting your chin up so that you're forced to meet his gaze. There's a flicker of concern in his dark eyes, a hint of guilt as he takes in your flushed skin and the way your limbs feel heavy and weak.

You shake your head to dismiss his concerns, too tired to physically answer him.

"Fuck, I got a bit carried away there," he admits with a grimace, his arm tightening around your waist as if to keep you safe and close. "I didn't mean to be so rough, gorgeous. I know I was fucking hard, but you just... you felt so fucking good, I couldn't control myself."

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before trailing his lips down to press a passionate kiss to your lips. It's different from the hungry, desperate kisses from before - this one is slow, sensual, almost reverent.

"Let me take care of you," Mattheo whispers against your lips, his voice low and soothing. "Let’s go back to the castle so I can run you a bath, yes?." The bet long forgotten.

He starts to sit up, keeping you cradled in his arms as he sits.

He rummages through his bag, taking out his wand, and with a swift movement, you both aparate to his private dorm.

Mattheo leans down to press another kiss to your pouty lips, his hot breath lingering on your skin. “I love you like no other baby,” He mutters sleepily, the intense sex, catching up to him.

“Now breathe for me, pretty girl….”

1K notes · View notes

inbabylontheywept · 5 months ago

Text

a silly ode to the first mitochondria, with waaaay too many religious allusions

(the mormons put me in seminary for four years and now it's everyone's problem)

the garden was not made of trees the snake did not exist when Eve was formed inside the seas and then was set adrift

she drifted in the tidal pools prokaryote divine producing simple molecules acids and alkalines

but paradise can never last and every god must fall some swallowed by a cytoplast (entrapped by a cell wall)

what do you call the dead that rise? what name is there for this? an Eve that finds that eden lies inside of the abyss

the wall no longer trapped her in but locked the monsters out the freedom only she could win to swim, and grow, and sprout.

she tinkered with her molecules And in a twist of fate Created one of life's crown jewels Adenosine Triphosphate (1)

what was before a simple wall could bloom with organelles a garden grown from former falls a paradise in hell

a fortress swam inside the brine, a thriving little town where tiny citizens could shine and ride the ups and downs

a golgi apparatus strove to package safe proteins a lysome found a nice alcove and kept the whole cell clean

the centrioles rebuilt the walls whenever they grew weak and eve was known and loved by all as something quite unique:

the powerhouse of the first cell the mitochondria (2) the Jonah that became the whale the jesus of bacteria once eaten by a macrophage then made through death anew the founder of our current age the sprout from which we grew

(yeah, yeah - you try and use this line in a poem)

(gah. this paragraph killed the syllable counts. i was challented to fit the phrase "powerhouse of the cell" into it, and mitochondria had to fit somewhere. both of which were gonna be doozies. decided to put them back to back and break the scheme at the end.

#biology #poem #the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell #i was googling so much biology shit for this #and i still know that someone is going to go #HEY #IDIOT #YOU THINK X?#NO #IT Y #STUPID #and i will slink off to the saddest darkest corner of the earth #and mope until i die #its like a whole prophecy now #strike me down apollo you incandescent bastard #if you couldn't get me back in arizona you cant do shit to me in utah

1K notes · View notes

oceantornadoo · 11 months ago

Text

persephone (simon riley x f!reader) age gap, a bit coercive, dark

—

it started with fruit.

you were simon riley’s secretary, working for a man clouded in darkness and gold. you’d hear whispers on the street, see pitying faces when you mentioned who you worked for to strangers. to them, he was a cold, hard beast. to you, he was a king.

he started by bringing you fruit, pomegranate seeds and ghost-white pears. small quips about eating healthy now while you were still young enough. ms twenty something meets mr not-yet middle aged, the lines of his face just starting to crease but the beer belly nowhere to be found. he mined diamonds, you heard. he owned cemeteries, said another secretary. they call him ghost, whispered a personal assistant. you didn’t care, didn’t need to when that wasn’t your job.

he had scarred hands, craggly things winding into the cuff of his midnight black suits. didn’t wear a mask but always seemed to be covered in darkness, his face unrecognizable in half lit rooms and empty offices. he always stayed late so you did too, indulging in the extra car he ordered for you, his driver called charon. simon never held long conversations but simply beckoned you, some string in your belly pulling tight at his recognition. at least a third of his day spent with you, murmuring soft nothings, inquiring about your mother and the upcoming winter, the beauty in the death of the trees. “y’ smell like spring, love.” he’d said one morning, and you resolved to wear that same pomegranate spritz indefinitely.

and then it moved to jewels. congratulations on your one year preceded by a tennis bracelet. a trinket of a three headed dog, something small to keep on your desk. the hours draw on later and later, canceled plans with your mother and nymph-like friends piling up like leaves. his touch starts lingering, hard calluses on soft skin.

a hand on your back, guiding you into a conference room. your hair brushing against his torso, the intimacy of it jarring. you twisted your ankle one day, the height of your heels overindulgent. ended up on the couch in his private office, his hands massaging your foot. “like a delicate flower.” he’d murmured, rewarding you with an anklet of diamonds once the pain wore off.

three years in, an invite to his private island. no service, leave your phone at home. sign an nda, we’ll work remote, gone for a month maybe more. pack some nice clothes, maybe a white dress if you’ve got one. take my card if you don’t.

stepping off the helicopter, charon at the helm. you weren’t there against your will but the hairy arm around your waist was heavy, a reminder of the cost you’d paid to visit the underworld. two weeks in and you couldn’t even act surprised when he proposed, on one knee with a glint in his eyes. “you and me, love, against th’ world.”

and if you said yes to the fruit, the diamonds, the care, the attention - saying yes to this was just the next step. an elopement, he’d already drawn up the license - “why wait, dove? y’r so fragile already.” you’re not, have a hidden strength under you, but ghost doesn’t care, ghost takes what he wants, and you, legs spread and eyes soft, are it.

when he fucks you, that’s when it’s settled. cunt dripping on his fingers, his face, his cock. he mutters something about a vasectomy and you’re taking him bare, making eye contact with a ghostlike gardener who walks past the window. your jaw unhinged, drool at the corner of your mouth as he fucks you from behind, one hand on your throat.

“such a good secretary, hm?” and you nod ferociously like the three-headed puppy on your desk. you’ll never work again, too busy with his cock in your mouth or his remote vibrator in your cunt at dinner. the jewels drip into a roar - diamond encrusted toys you’re not sure are entirely safe, bejeweled handcuffs, glittery collars. he’s pluto, the riches of the earth following his orders when he chases you in his private woods. simon’s presence is otherworldly, taking you with the strength of a god as you squirm against his grip. his oldness disgusts you but makes you gush all the same. “gonna be good for daddy?” and you agree vehemently at the king before you, on his knees.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #tornadothoughts #ghost call of duty #simon riley smut #dark!simon riley #persephone #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader

2K notes · View notes

toyourheartandback · 4 months ago

Text

SKINNY DIPPING (18+)

luke castellan x reader

in which luke loves winning

word count: 1.12k

MDNI! warnings: smut, handjob, fingering, swearing, nudity and reader has a female anatomy

a/n: i feel like i’m starting to have way too much fun writing smuts. hope you guys will enjoy it just as i much as i do!

you had made a bet with luke castellan. whoever won capture the flag could make the other do anything they wanted without negotiation or backing out. and that was how you found yourself on the edge of a small cliff, just outside of the protection of thalia’s tree, watching the head counselor of the hermes cabin strip in front of you.

“c’mon, beautiful” he said with a smug smirk on his face as he grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, tossing it aside without a care. you let your eyes scan his toned abs a bit longer than you intended as the moonlight highlighted the sharp lines and faded scars. “it’s not like i haven’t seen it before” he drawled, fingers now working at the button of his shorts.

your hands hesitated at the hem of your own shirt. “i swear, if anything happens, i’m cutting your balls off” you warned, voice sharp despite the heat creeping up your neck. luke only laughed, clearly enjoying every second of his victory while his gaze never left you as you reluctantly peeled off your clothes. then you were both bare in front of each other. you could see all those hours he spent training were definitely paying off as the sight alone made your stomach twist, heat creeping in places you didn’t want to acknowledge. luke wasn’t any better, looking at you with unmistakable lust.

you took the hand he offered, fingers tangling together as you stepped closer to the edge. “you okay?” luke gently asked, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. his dark eyes were as soft as his touch. the night breeze ruffled his curls and for a split second you almost forgot to breathe. the drop below wasn’t even terrifying, but the handsome boy in front of you was. then you smirked. “don’t be a pussy, castellan” and before he could react, you yanked him forward, pulling both of you off the edge.

you flew for only a few seconds before the icy water swallowed you whole and a firm grip pulled you upward. “asshole!” luke’s voice was sharp as he surfaced in front of you, his wet curls plastered to his forehead. his scowl would’ve been more intimidating if you weren’t still laughing, breathless from the jump. “oh, come on” you teased, grabbing his wrist as he let you tug him toward shallower water.

his hands pushed wet strands from your face before cupping your cheeks, his touch surprisingly gentle. his thumbs traced your skin, sending a shiver down your spine despite the warmth of the water. “you’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he murmured, voice low and serious. your heart stuttered. his plump lips hovered dangerously close, so close you had to grip his biceps just to steady yourself. “you’re gonna be the death of me right now if you don’t kiss me” just as you whispered those words, luke crashed his lips against yours, claiming the space between you in an instant.

the kiss was desperate, heated, like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he’d ever admit. and gods, you kissed him right back. his tongue slipped into your mouth, teasing, demanding, but there was no real battle. you let him take control, let him deepen the kiss until your head spun. his hands roamed your body, before settling on your ass. a firm squeeze had you gasping, your hips instinctively yanking against his. luke groaned, low and rough, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “you must really like me,” you teased, still breathless, “if you can get this hard in cold water.” a breathless giggle escaped before you could stop it. his gaze stayed dark and intense. his lips found your sweet spot on your neck, sucking just enough to make your knees threaten to give out. “you know it’s more than that,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than lust as he pressed himself against your stomach, letting you feel every inch of him.

one of his hands slipped between your bodies, fingers tracing slow and teasing circles on your clit. each stroke sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, your body unconsciously following his lead. your hand found his cock, fingers wrapping around his length and the moment you started twisting your wrist, luke let out a guttural moan against your ear. “fuck,” he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure. the deep and desperate whines slipping from his lips alone had you aching for more. his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “you’re already making me regret not bringing a condom,” a breathless giggle escaped you, but it was short-lived because just as you captured his lips in a kiss, two of his fingers plunged inside you. you loudly gasped, gripping his shoulders as he pumped them mercilessly, curling just right to hit that spot that had your vision blurring. the water around you swayed violently, mirroring the rhythm of both your hands.

it felt like the world had stopped. all you could process was luke. his woodsmoke scent, his hand gripping your hair, his starved mouth on yours, the warm slickness of his precum as you stroked him, and the way his fingers worked you closer to the edge. “guys!” it yanked you both back to reality just as you were about to come undone. “shit,” luke groaned, his grip loosening as you pushed him away, your brows furrowing in sync. “are you there?” chris’s voice echoed through the bay, and you silently prayed to every god on olympus that your friends hadn’t see you getting fucked by the hermes counselor through the dense trees. “weren’t they suppose to come later?” you whispered, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. “i don’t know,” luke muttered, looking even more spooked than you. “but I’m currently trying to think about the oracle to make this boner go away.” a laugh burst from your lips before you could stop it.

a few moments later, when he looked composed enough, luke finally called out: “we’re down here!”. within seconds, your friends came crashing into the water, completely naked. as they splashed around, he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. “you bet I’m gonna get the rest of my prize later,” his voice was low, teasing, but the dark smirk on his face promised he was dead serious. you always honored your bets, but something told you luke would make sure you never stopped losing to him.

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #luke castellan #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader

732 notes · View notes

wandasaura · 7 days ago

Text

PRETTY GIRLS

summary — acting like it never happened when the sun comes up is easier than leaving her husband

warning(s) — established relationships, lavender marriage, ongoing affair, milf wanda maximoff, age gap, alcohol consumption, dom!top!wanda maximoff, flirting, russian dialogue, neck kissing, biting, bratty reader, hair pulling, brief humiliation, choking, face grabbing, public shenanigans, probably underlying exhibition kink, hickies/marking, face slapping, begging, light condescension, ass slapping, doggy style, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), multiple orgasm, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, making out, asking to cum, orgasm control, implied multiple rounds, morning after, men/minors dni

authors note — inspired by pretty girls by renee rapp! highly recommend listening!

A hand snakes around your waist without any warning, but it doesn’t take you by surprise as you lean against the bar, waiting for your drink with haphazard disinterest. The tropical landscape around you is breathtaking; the palm trees and pale sand is truly something astonishing to experience personally, but even the twinkle lights strung along the loveshacks awning do little to hold your attention for long.

Your eyes glance down at the hand on your hip. The lilac wristband tells you that it's a coworker who's joined you at the resort's exclusive beach bar, and the dainty gold bracelet twisted around it narrows your options down to only one pretty girl on the trip. The thin chain is accented by three elegant letters — V, B, and T; her husband and her sons. She’s married, with two eleven-year-old boys that think the absolute world of her. They’d be astounded to know this isn’t the first time her arms linked around you like this; like you’re the one she’s married to. You're not. You’ll probably never be.

Wanda’s twelve years older than you. You remember that when she smiles at you, and the lines on her cheeks are deep and sweetly aged. The boys, William and Thomas, are twelve years younger than you. They’re good enough kids from what you’ve overseen and been told, but they assuredly reflect too much of their fathers short fuse to be perfect angels. That doesn’t bother you; not even when they visit the office and one of them routinely dissolves into a fit beyond your thin door.

Her husband, Victor Shade, is another executive beneath your company’s wide branch, but only one of six that are sanctioned within New Jersey, and only one of three who are sanctioned in the same Westview complex. It’s just you, Victor, and Wanda, and a sea of other employees, but none who share the same job description or Monday morning meetings. That’s left you with more than enough time to form a friendship, and disrespect her marriage on more than one occasion.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Wanda’s teeth scrape up the sensitive side of your neck without shame. You’re over three thousand miles away from home right now. None of the other executives had fancied a drink when you’d extended the offer after your scheduled excursion; rightfully so, the unrelenting sun had scorned your cheeks raw in the few hours you’d been out on the water, and the repercussions of the burn were catching up to you as your face felt scorching. “I’m officially yours until tomorrow.” She breathes the scent of you in, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t replace all of your resentment and sadness with burning desire.

This is how it went. This would always be how it went. The first time she’d told you that Victor wouldn’t mind her slipping away to be with you — though she’d called him that stupid nickname you despise hearing — she’d thought it would flatter you to know you weren’t going to be a secret kept fully in the dark, just beneath flickering candlelight. What’s pathetic is that it did at the time, and it still does now as your lips curve into a grin as you twist in her arms.

“Mmm, I like the way that sounds.” You hum, craning your head to sink your teeth into her neck. A satisfied hum tickles her soft skin when your tongue juts out to lick a sweet stripe along her collarbone, testing the faint remains of salt and tequila that had splashed out of her glass when you hit a rogue wave on the Caribbean. “I never got to tell you how hot you looked in that bikini.”

Wanda hums, she’s putty beneath your hands. She’s been wanting this all day. Her longing stares across the yacht weren’t discreet, nor were they ever. It’s a mystery how you haven’t been found out, but you thank every star that aligns when her desire is somehow concealed beneath the natural happenings of the world. It’s a treasure to have it all to yourself; to have her all to yourself.

She cranes her neck, pulling back to watch your face. ”Good thing I haven’t changed yet.”

You take the invitation to trail you gaze across her body. The bright orange straps of her bikini poke out from beneath a knit coverup. Your instinctive hum of appreciation warms Wanda’s chest, the taut apples of her cheeks flaming with lust. She leans in close, one single step all it takes for your chests to brush, pert nipples crashing together in the center of a Cancun bar. Wanda’s emerald gaze flickers to your lips, more specifically your cupid's bow, and her pupils blow with tantalizing want. Every stroke of her gaze over you is a test to your patience.

“Yeah. Good thing indeed.” Your drone, and if somebody tapped your shoulder and told you there were hypo-disks on Wanda’s exposed, freckled, sun kissed shoulders, you would’ve believed them. The ambient glow of flickering string lights washes across her sunburn like a shower of light, bringing attention to the darker patches and abstract spots around and beneath delicately thin straps.

Her waist is a silhouette beneath the coverup. The slender hourglass figure is hidden enough to evade stares, but not enough to be insignificant to your watchful eyes. Your own pupils are blown with arousal, lust wrapped around your spinal cord controlling your every movement at will. Her navel gleams at you, taunting you. A particularly wide hole has just enough of a shadow cast around it that your eyes can’t help but trace the dip in her skin, where your tongue has dragged a plethora of times.

“Your daiquiri.” A sultry voice cuts through the tension being established between you and Wanda, your stares charged and equally electrice as you evade the others eye in a game of cat and mouse, willing yourselves to see who’ll last longer before somebody pounces. You haven’t fed Wanda an ounce of alcohol yet; that’s what gives her the courage to kiss you at all.

You spin around, letting Wanda’s arms hold onto your hips. The bartender, the same one who’d asked your order initially, wore a charming smile on her lips and bright blue eyes. They didn’t shine as bright as Wanda’s. They weren’t as magically light and incandescent either. “Thank you, Kantyi.” Your eyes flickered to his nametag, a charming aura of suggestion wafting off of your buzzing frame. Not even Wanda’s possible grip, the pressure of her nails digging into her hips, the irritation rolling off of you could dissuade your show. Kantyi, who had definitely taken the hint that you were not open to his company, was thoroughly enjoying whatever was happening though. “Can I do a Cancun Blue for the pretty girl, too?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Kantyi dipped his head, perfectly in time with your pillowy lips wrapping around the clear straw, and Wanda’s nostrils flared beneath his oblivion.

Thankfully, he didn’t bother glancing back at you; slipping away to fulfill your order with a laugh jostling his shoulders. “Vestí sebya. (Behave)” Wanda hadn’t taught you many Russian phrases, but she’d taught you a few, and you’d gathered even more just from hearing the daily conversations that happen between her and Victor and the boys. This is one that she’s taught you specifically though, and it churns your belly with something electric until you’re squirming beneath it, thighs pinching together when a sensation of warmth spreads across your core beneath your bikini bottoms.

Your head lulls back, your hair sprawling across her shoulder. Wanda can’t decipher if you're flush from her touch, or simply that bad at applying sunscreen regularly. Her lips pull upwards regardless, and she smirks at you. Desire is bottled beneath your glare, sparkling impatience at the surface too. “What if I don’t want to?” You reply, your hips pushing back into hers to emphasize that point.

“Dostatochno pary chasov bez moikh prikosnoveniy, i ty ne smozhesh' nichego podelat', krome kak vesti sebya kak shlyukha. (All it takes is a couple hours without my touch and you can’t help but act like a slut)” Wanda marvels at your evident desperation, and it annoys you how easily she can read through your misbehavior. You don’t know what all she said. The music is loud, the waves are crashing just out of reach, and your Russian is choppy enough when she’s speaking it slowly to you. The last word hangs around you though. It’s one you’ve learned, never been taught, just slowly began to recognize when she used it interchangeably with English. Slut. You’re in the middle of an exclusive bar, on an all inclusive retreat with your company, and she’s brazenly calling you a slut with her fingertips creating half moon bruises on your hips.

“No.” You have a mind to reply, even when the majority of her muttering was gibberish to you. Wanda huffs in amusement. You’re cute, even when you’re attempting to provoke her. She’s falling for it too. How can she not when you bat your eyelashes at her, lips wrapped around a straw that sucks up a frozen beverage just a few shades too cartoony to match your core, but the sentiment is the same as Wanda imagines utilizing your tongue for other things.

“Don’t test me, detka. We’ve got an entire villa to ourselves, or have you forgotten? I can make you scream, as loud as I want, for as long as I want.” Wanda’s breath fans across the shell of her ear, but even without the heat and vibrato of her insinuations against your skin, you would’ve shivered anyways. A weight drops in your belly, turning into sparks of live energy and butterflies. Your clit throbs, the muscles in your thighs tense. ”I would rethink being a brat now.” Her eyes lock with Kantyi’s over the bar as she says it, and humiliation flames across your cheeks as your pliant eyes take in his bold amusement.

“Your drink.” His accent is heavy, it takes no genius to consider that English is his second language. It seems to dawn on Wanda, and her lips curve into a sickening smile that doesn’t convey an ounce of sincerity. It takes all of your might to conceal the whimper of defeat clawing up your throat, her reserve cracking as she bestows her best glance of indifference at the friendly bartender, pretending like she didn’t care that he’d just overheard a private conversation, one that makes her belly churn without the liquid confidence he’s still patiently extending.

“Gracias, Kantyi.” The way the words roll off of her tongue does you in completely. Her own Sokovian accent is muted, forgotten over time, only revisited when you wind her up with enough pleasure or a topic from her past comes to light; namely her mother or her other. But, the way she can encapsulate a Spanish accent without trying is maddening. She’s been pulling it out all week. Tripping you up when she sneaks up behind you and orders something strong and sweet in a dialect you haven’t stopped trying to learn since you were five.

The only thing that reminds you that this level of boldness is abnormal for her are the large gulps she takes of her margarita, not even letting her tongue taste the salt rim or savor the burn that splashes across the back of her throat and taste buds. She's fervent as she takes half the margarita down before she comes up for air, and by the time she’s glancing at you again, you’ve regained your flame of passion that she’d previously quenched.

”Do I make you nervous, pretty girl?” You bat your eyelashes up at her, choosing to simply feel the ripples of arousal in your belly rather than be controlled by them entirely.

In a single moment, Wanda’s fingers twist into the hair that’s still sprawled across her shoulder in tangled waves crisp from salt residue. There’s no way to replicate the waves that form when you get back to Westview, so you take full advantage of the humidity and beachy aroma. A gasp falls off of your lips at the dull sensation. She hadn’t been able to grab enough for it to hurt, or truly even phase your oversensitive nerves, but the undertones of the simple action spoke for what she would never dare to say. Not here, around all these ears and watchful eyes. She’d never say it, but the expectation remains — you’re hers, and she’s in charge.

“Pretty girl,” She turns the tables on you, and your mouth goes dry. Her emerald stare is intoxicating, warm with heat and explicit excitement. Her arm twists around your waist tighter now. You’re not wearing a cover up like she is. Your bathing suit top had been enough coverage in your opinion, but you’d paired the tankini with olive linen shorts. The very ones that make Wanda’s eyes gleam like shimmering jewels when she sinks to her knees in front of them. “Let’s not forget that I’m the one who makes you nervous.”

Wanda’s fingers ghost across your neck, like she’s fixing the clasp of your necklace. She’s not. Her fingertips feel heavy as they press into the side of your neck for a moment and then two. “I can feel your pulse, honey. Are you nervous right now?” She taunts you, and your throat bobs with a dry swallow. Your lips find your straw again, sucking down another quarter of your drink that’s beginning to melt beneath the heat of your palm and the humidity of Cancun. You’d even say that it was melting beneath the heat of sexual tension budding between you and Wanda, but that would be insane.

“I’m going to kill you.” Your eyes narrow into daggers, but you’re sure there's not even an ounce of venom conveyed in your expression right now. Your every sense is clouded with lust, pupils blown as evidence.

Wanda’s jaw hardens, and in a moment of confidence you hadn’t known she possessed, her fingers curled around your jaw, holding you firm. Her thumb presses into your cheek, but her ring finger and pinky hold the base of your neck, feeling the pulse in your jugular. It’s quick, unsteady. It only quickens even more when she squeezes just once, as if she’s not already holding you in a near death grip.

Your eyes become disks, an abyss of black that conveys what words can’t. You can’t even try. The confidence you’d held dissipated beneath her touch. It stood no chance of returning anytime soon when her hand slid lower, her fingers wrapping around your throat. She squeezed tight, holding the pressure there for a moment. She wasn’t restricting airflow, but that didn’t negate the total control she had right now in any way. She can feel your throat bob beneath her palm, and she hums in satisfaction.

Your body is aching for her. You’re desperate at this point. All day she’d been touching on Victor. All day you’d watched her flaunt around a yacht in that bright orange bikini and you couldn't even take a taste. Your nipples are sensitive beneath the triangle cutouts. Your core pulses with need. If your bathing suit bottoms were dry before, they’re not anymore.

“Finish your drink. It’s time to go.” Wanda’s eyes are darker than the sky beyond the loveshack. You think it’s a fitting name, considering your eyes flicker across the little bar for only a moment and you’re certain you witnessed three identical sights of people luring others back to private rooms. It eases the flush on your cheeks just the slightest bit, enough to encourage you to finish the rest of your drink in one breath.

Your head pulsed with a sudden cold rush, and for a single moment, Wanda laughed at your squinted eyes and scrunched nose. In the summertime, freckles brush her cheeks in bold clumps. They’re on display now, some scrunched up and half moon shaped as she mimics your expression. It’s a single moment of wholesomeness. A single moment that forces you into the ever typical spiral of what could be if you just tried. You knew that conversation well if you brought it up, so instead you settled for being okay with this arrangement — with getting her when the world can’t see her for who she really is.

Everyone was placed in the same private section of the resort, with a pebble path that led directly to the Loveshack. You’d walked the pebbled path for the last five days, sometimes barefoot, sometimes racing to catch up with Maria, already past drunk. Regardless of your familiarity, Wanda guided you the whole way back to the room with a hand on the small of your back.

You turn the corner toward her villa. It’s directly across the path from yours, but Natasha’s sits in the middle. The shape reminds you of a kuldesac. Wanda’s hand is around your waist now, she pulled you into her side affectionately. Your breath catches when her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. It’s not innocent to start, but it’s beyond what you could’ve expected when she pulls at the string holding your bottoms up. It unties with ease, and you hate that Wanda knows you don’t double knot anything.

“Wanda.” You seeth, your hips swaying awkwardly as you try not to think about the string beginning to slip down your leg. Every step shifts the loose linen, and with every shift the string loses its structure. If one side falls, it won’t take long for the other to as well, but now isn’t the time to stop and adjust your bathing suit. Somehow, the path is clear. None of your fellow executives are currently leaving or going, which is some kind of miracle because it means Wanda hasn’t pulled away from your embrace at all, but the idea of being so exposed in public is still unnerving no matter if an audience is present.

Wanda only laughs, her head tipped backwards as she lets her eyes close. Her jaw clicks when she opens her mouth to let the sound fall out, and you admire how the muscles in her chin strain and flex with the synchronized movements. You huff, digging your fingers into her side.

Wanda’s elation sobers instantaneously, and that lulled submission you’d felt in the bar overcomes you again in a rogue wave. “I’m getting really sick of your attitude, moya lyubov.” She seethes, and your mind goes fuzzy around the edges with muted electricity as it sparkles something innate deep in your core. Something about her aggregation when it’s channeled so intentionally into sexual release is encouraging to say the least.

”So do something about it.” Your repose is breathy, a desperate pant that holds no candle to the suppressing heat of Cancun’s humidity. It doesn’t affect Wanda in the slightest, but you don’t notice that.

She rolls her eyes at you, because quite frankly, it’s all that she can stomach doing when anyone’s around to see her engage in something so… not wrong, but… not who she claims to be. Her threats aren’t entirely empty. She’s not above prolonged punishment if it means settling a score in private, but something tells you there isn’t going to be much patience involved once you get into that hotel room.

“Where is Victor exactly?” You ask when she opens the door, the keycard between her nimble fingers like the string of your bathing suit had been. You don’t want to think about him, not when you’re minutes away from having her body beneath your wanting fingertips that twitch with the need to have her completely, but you can’t help but dwell when he’s scattered around the villa so easily. His suitcase by the closet, his cologne by the television, his trunks that don’t match Wanda’s bikini, but are also orange thrown over the back of the chair as the small table in the corner to dry. He could come back at any time. He knows. This has all been approved and discussed, but you can’t face him walking in on you while his wife takes you apart.

Wanda closes the door with her hip, and you make note of how hers seems to be lighter than yours as it swings shut with a heavy thud. It’s a satisfying sound. One that you’ll hear far too soon against tomorrow morning.

She pushes you up against the wall. Her hands are on your hips, holding them down against the cream walls that support you fully. The sudden collision of your body with the hard surface stole the breath from your lungs, wide eyes searching for answers in Wanda’s for a million questions and none at all. She laughed at the state of you, leaning in until her lips found that soft spot behind your ear.

“With Tony.” She sighed, marking kisses on your burning skin. The heat of her kiss is like a branding, but when she pulls away, there’s no mark left behind to prove she’d even been there at all. “He won’t be back until tomorrow.”

You’d never explicitly known that Tony Stark from one of the New York districts swung for the same team, but it didn’t fully surprise you as you nodded along to Wanda’s words blindly. Your hands clawed at her coverup, annoyed with the layers keeping you from her slowly bronzing skin. The Mexican sunlight was truly doing her well. As was the silence of a kid-free week outside of scheduled phone calls she was more than mentally prepared for.

“Great. Take me to bed now.” You demand, attempting to pry the cover up off of her shoulders. Your fingers force one sleeve down her shoulder, so close to seeing only orange straps, but you don’t get much farther than that.

You should’ve known it was coming. The slap that landed against your cheek with a force that burned between insignificant and uncomfortable. Wanda had practiced control over her blows, and that always startled you. Your eyes, practically permanently blown and wide beneath her gaze at this point, snap up to her with the same dumbfounded expression you’d worn countless times already tonight.

“I know you’re a desperate slut, but I thought you were at least capable of remembering how to ask for things correctly.” She snapped, finally at her limit with your continued disobedience. It was hot. The way her eyes darkened, became grey. She was an entirely different woman now. One you’re certain Victor has never met. “The next thing out of your mouth better be something sweet or I‘ll leave you like this until tomorrow. And we’ve got a long day tomorrow, baby. I can make your life a living hell until then.”

You know she can. She’d made every day this trip absolutely miserable even when she hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t because you wanted to be the one she held onto when you hit rocky waters on the yacht or she felt uneasy walking around the outskirts of the resort, but because you

d wanted to rip every piece of clothing off of her body like you had no sense of the law. Relationships be damned. You’re just glad you get to have her body when everything is all said and done with.

“Please.” It falls off of your lips like low hanging fruit that’s perfectly ripe. Wanda beams an sadistic grin, canine teeth digging into her plush bottom lip that curves upwards.

“What was that, pretty girl?” Wanda frowned, pretending as if she hadn’t heard you, as if she didn’t know what it was that you were begging for. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please Wanda.” Your hips attempt to raise off the wall, press into hers. She doesn’t allow it. She slams them back down hard, her eyes slotted into unimpressed daggers. “Please touch me. Please. I’ve wanted you all day. You don’t know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself when you looked that damn good. Please, I… I need you.” There’s a wanting edge to your pleas, your mindless babbles, that finally breaks her reserve though not her harshness.

She’s still sinister beneath the dark lighting. She hadn’t reached for the lights when she’d guided you inside, and moonlight falls around the palm trees and white sand outside. The only shadow in the room comes from the bathroom light, and even then it's dimmed to the lowest possible brightness. You don’t need to see anything right now, and the things that you do need to see will assuredly be close enough to make out every intricate detail and fold with what you have to work with.

“You looked so pretty today.” Wanda hums as she unties the single knot keeping your tankini upright. It stays up for the most part on its own, but she doesn’t test its strength. Her hands are greedy as they force your arms above your head and pull it off. Your hair sweeps across your back when it falls,and you shudder at the soft sensations. “I could’ve kissed you right then and there.” Your belly warms, and your lips chase hers.

Wanda lets you kiss her. She lets your tongue explore her lips and her tongue, she doesn’t even pull away to chastise you when your teeth stake their claim on her lip. Her fingers are busy, working secretly beneath your distraction. The small act of pacifying you with a make out session pinned against the wall while she works your shorts and bottoms off is worth it. Even if it's bound to go to your head.

You whine when your core is exposed to the air conditioned villa in one abrupt motion. The linen shorts are eased down your thighs easily, and follows are you bathing suit bottoms that have been entirely untied by her skillful fingers. You think it’s a waste that she exerts her potential on frantically typing and responding to emails at the office. The slender digits with pronounced knuckles bearing deep ridges move fast and quick. You hadn’t even noticed she was working at your bottom half until suddenly nothing kept you concealed from her eye.

“Get on the bed.” Wanda demands, and there’s a hint of impatience in her tone that you’re finally getting somewhere. One that wall breaks completely, there will be only the frailest line between you, her, and anything even remotely holy. “On all fours.” She adds as an afterthought, stepping away from your body and letting you pass.

Her hand claps against the globe of your ass in a blow that's less controlled than the one to your face had been. A delicious sting spreads through the neglected flesh, and you’re certain a handprint resides on your skin that isn’t as tan as the rest of your body anymore. Wanda makes a soft noise, something between a chuckle and a hum as she watches you stalk toward the bed. Housekeeping came this morning. After you’d already left on your excursion and cracked over High Noons on the boat. Victor's body hadn’t touched these sheets yet, but something twists her belly with arousal when she considers him falling into sheets tainted with her love with you tomorrow night. That thought doesn’t make her as sick as picturing you in a bed that she’s taken him out of commitment to their marriage.

You’re vaguely aware of how she strips out of her coverup and bikini before you even have a chance to properly worship her in it like you’d anticipated doing, but you can’t bring yourself to care about the little things when the bed dips beneath her weight. She presses her knees on the edge of the bed. She’s not quite on it, but her weigh is hardly pressed into the floor anymore.

The orange bikini is discarded on the floor beside yours. You peek over your shoulder to steal a glance. Wanda doesn’t appreciate that. Her fingers tangle into your hair again, pushing you face first into the bed. Your head cranes to the side only so that you can breathe, and only because it's to avoid suffocation does Wanda allow you to have any kind of control.

Her fingers prob your entrance with no warning. You’ve gone from feeling like you were moving in slow motion to everything happening at once, but you don’t mind. There’s no capacity in your head to mind that she hasn’t even eased you into taking two of her fingers up to her second knuckle when she’s filling you so good, so deep, so unrestrained. You know this dance just as well as you know the conversation about becoming more than friends that hookup with her husband's permission. It starts slow. Stealing looks, stolen laughter. It builds from there. It becomes longing touches, whispers of innuendos. Somehow there’s more steps after that. There’s the whole eight counts you have to make it through before she’s willing to climb into bed at all, but once you get there, midway through, the melody changes. The beat that’s been building from the very first chord drops, and then when you think it softens, it blows even more, and everything that had felt muted comes screaming to life at you until it all goes quiet in one silent moment of settling aftermath.

“Fuck, you’re so warm. pretty girl.” The unnecessary use of that term drives you crazy. Your hands fist the sheets beneath your body, fight fistfuls painting your knuckles stark white. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Those pretty walls are just fluttering around my fingers, moya malen’kaya babochka. (my little butterfly)”

A guttural moan claws up your throat, and it's embarrassing how close you are already, but she’s been toying with you all day, she’s had you in the palm of her hand since she wrapped her fingers around your neck so brazenly in the crowded bar without a considerable amount of alcohol to guide her. All odds have been against you since this morning, but that had only sealed your fate. Anything she wanted out of your body, she was going to get.

Wanda seems to know that, because she didn’t shy away from the pressure she was applying to your g-spot or your clit when it became evident that you were on the verge of falling over the edge into pleasure. Her thumb, slick with residual arousal that had either damped your thighs or dripped onto the digit straight from the source, rubbed figure eights around your throbbing button. Exposed to her assault, your hips stuttered and rocked in time with Wanda’s ministrations, and before long, you were writhing uncontrollably.

“Please!” You beg, the familiarity of it washing over you. It came easier than it did when she had you pinned against the wall in the hallway. You sound so soft, so breathy and beside yourself with fireworks of red-hot pleasure that heel a lot like her hair looks in the summertime beneath burning heat. “Wanda, please, please, please. I’m sorry for being a brat! Please, just let me cum! Please, let me cum on your fingers?! Fuck, p-please. I can’t hold it, I-I can’t hold it. Please, may I cum!” You're desperate and it’s pathetic. So much about this is pathetic, but you can’t care about anything outside of her fingers jackhammering into your cunt now, the tempo suddenly different.

“Apologizing on your own? My my, maybe you are my smart girl.” Wanda crones and you whine high pitched, your back arching as you stick your ass out toward her fingers. Her hand slaps against your ass, once, twice, and then three times. It’s not an even succession, but it events out the total amount she’s distributed all evening. Something about that warms your heart. You cry out, and the way you clench around her fingers is entirely unholy. She considers your pleas for a moment, but with the consistent flutter, she can't deny you or herself the feeling of an orgasm. “Go ahead. Cum for me, pretty girl. Konchi dlya menya, krasotka. God, you’re my favorite. Good girl. Fuck, that’s it.”

Lust has become authenticity. This is who Wanda Maximoff is. Wanda Maximoff loves women. Wanda Maximoff has on inhibitions about living freely and genuinely. Her accent, the one that comes from her childhood, from Sokovia, coats her words, and it drives you over the edge like a single blade to the gut. Wild moans and curses fall off of your lips, and before you have a moment to recover, or even fully ride out the remaining flickers of the high that's still coursing through your melted veins, she’s on her knees on the mattress.

Her tongue laps at all of the juices you’ve spilled. The ones that have splashed your thighs, her fingers, the bedsheets below. The essence of you is everywhere now, and it's only traveling farther as she rubs her face into you. Her nose probes your entrance, her tongue jutting out to kitten lick your clit until she grows impatient and uncaring of your sensitivity and licks broader strikes from your core to your weeping, pulsing, ever so slightly gaping hole.

“Fuck, fuck!” You gasp, grinding your hips back into her face. Wanda groans, grabbing a handful of your ass. She squeezes, pulling it away from the other cheek. It’s humiliating, even without words partnered with it. You know she’s grinning coyly. It spins that coil right back up in your core. You gasp when she spanks you, pairing the sting with a harsh suckle on your clit. That’s all it takes. It’s embarrassing how quickly you’ve come undone twice now, but Wanda doesn’t register how much time has passed as she continued to lick you clean until you’re writhing, pushing her away and wrestling her onto the mattress until you can straddle her naked hims

She’s not usually clean shaven. Most of the time she supports a nicely trimmed bush, always mindful of her bikini lines, but never entirely hairless. She shaved this week specifically for Cancun, but she’s keeping up with it — for now at least. The smooth feel beneath your fingertips never gets old, but you wouldn’t want it every time.

You hover your lips over hers, your forehead flush against her own. Your breath fans across her lips. You still smell like strawberries. “Let me take care of you.” You trail your fingers along her thighs. She’s dripping. Stringy evidence of her arousal coats your fingertips before you even reach her labia. When you do, you can’t help but groan aloud, your eyes pinching shut as you sink into wet warmth. “Let me take care of you.” You pleaded softly, evening the playing field for a moment, though not entirely.

Wanda had no qualms, relaxing into the pillows beneath her head. “Be my guest.” She groaned, dropping her head slack when you wasted not a second before getting to work between her thighs like your life depended on it. Quite frankly at this moment — it does.

The next morning, after you’d gone back to your own villa across the path to shower and select an outfit for your hike, you’d run into Wanda and Victor at the coffee shop. You’d been with Maria. Victor caught your eye first, and he nudged Wanda at his side. She smiled, waving at you brightly. Nobody would know that four hours ago you had her coming apart beneath your fingertips.

#wanda maximoff #dom!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff oneshot #minors dni ৎ୭

715 notes · View notes

hischiershoe · 10 days ago

Text

─── COLD NIGHTS AND SLOW DANCES | PART ONE

─── NICO HISCHIER X FEM!READER

[ overall summary ] Last minute wedding guests lead to sleeping arrangements being shifted around, forcing you to share a room with your brother's very attractive best friend. Old sparks and suppressed feelings come to light, but you're not entirely convinced that it's not just the wedding getting to everyone's head...

[ word count ] 5.6K

[ content warnings ] some cursing, some awkward moments, maybe some minor angst if you squint and tilt your head a lil, unedited!!!!

You had never liked weddings all that much. You’ve gone to a few over the years, most of them for old high school friends or cousins you only spoke to at major family events, and you were always forced to make small talk about your love life, or lack thereof, due to never showing up with a plus one. You were always able to pick up on the judgment and slight pity woven in their carefully curated responses, and the last thing you wanted was to subject yourself to that again. However, you couldn’t exactly not attend your only brother's wedding.

Fortunately for you, he and his soon-to-be wife had elected to have a smaller ceremony and reception. One that was mostly composed of family members and close friends of the couple, and that certainly helped dissipate some of the dread that formed in your stomach. Though it was easily replaced with the overwhelming reminder that, for four whole days, everyone was going to be crammed into one cabin together to celebrate all of the wedding festivities.

On second thought, maybe you could have someone FaceTime you during the ceremony instead…

While that idea was tempting, you still find yourself loading all of your bags into the trunk of your parents' rental car and getting comfortable in the backseat before they jet off into the middle of nowhere. They had thrown a couple of questions about your work and personal life around, but you were able to shift the topic to something less straining fairly quickly. Sometime during your mom's rambling about the wedding, you let yourself drift off and managed to stay asleep until your dad was shaking you awake to tell you that they had arrived.

When you stepped out of the car, you slowly dragged your gaze across the tree line, across the short empty clearing that gave you a brief view of the lake, until you landed on a house so big that you had to twist your neck in order to take all of it in. The sound of your dad aimlessly calling out to you was falling to deaf ears as you gaped in awe at everything around you, and suddenly you weren’t so opposed to the summer camp-esque weekend ahead of you. Not if you got to have this view and so much space that you weren’t going to feel like everyone was on top of one another.

“Sunshine,” Your mom grasps your elbow and pulls you out of your trance, “Dad pulled your stuff out of the car, but you have to take it inside. He’s got his hands full.”

“What kind of vacation is this,” You playfully groan, throwing your hands up in mock frustration as you toss your dad a mischievous smile, “Can’t believe I have to carry my own stuff.”

“Is that complaining I hear? My sister must be here.”

Zack’s laughter echoes into the trees as he descends the steps, Marni gently slapping his shoulder and rolling her eyes while she follows closely behind him. You narrow your eyes at him and throw up a very unpleasant finger, which your parents immediately scold you for before you’re grasping the handle of your suitcase and slinging the strap of your bag over your shoulder. The two of them greet your parents first and Zack has to talk your mom down from nearly crying when she starts talking about how beautiful the place is.

Marni is the first to break away from them, making her way towards you with a gentle smile on her soft face. She excitedly calls out your name with outstretched arms, and you welcome her embrace without any hesitation.

“I’m so glad you guys made it safely,” She earnestly says as she pulls away from you, “My parents had a bit of trouble with the directions since the cell service out here is a bit spotty.”

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you if they had any trouble. I slept almost the whole way,” You admit, making an amused chuckle fall from her lips, “It is really gorgeous out here, though. You guys picked an amazing spot for all of this.”

“Oh my gosh, I know! Zack is the one who found it, honestly. He’s amazing,” She gushes with the kind of look in her eye that makes you slightly jealous.

Not because she was talking about your brother, obviously, but because she looked so in love. You wanted to feel that way about someone one day. To be so undeniably and unequivocally in love with someone that the simple act of talking about them makes your face light up. You keep that to yourself, though. This weekend isn’t about you.

“You bring out the best in him,” You matter-of-factly state with a curt nod, “He’s always been a great guy, but you really changed him for the better. You help him thrive and grow in ways I never thought were possible.”

“Quit that, you’re gonna make me cry,” She sniffles, swiping her fingers at her eyes, “Let me show you to your room before everyone else gets here!”

You hastily follow after her, falling into casual conversation as she haphazardly gives you a tour of the house and introduces you to a few of the people who have already arrived. You do your best to keep up, but you can already see yourself convening with your parents to try and make sure you remember all of their names correctly once the rest of the guests make their way there. She guides you up the stairs and as she points out various rooms, you notice that someone has gone through the trouble of making small little nameplates for all the doors. Whoever it was, you appreciate them more than they probably know.

“This one’s yours,” She pushes open the second to last door on the left, “Your room has its own bathroom, so you won’t have to share with anyone. I think the only people who have to share a bathroom are the kids, but they’re at the front of the hallway next to their parents so it shouldn’t be a bother.”

“I get the room to myself,” You raise your eyebrows as you step around her to scan the area around you.

“You do! We managed to find a house within our budget that had enough rooms so everyone can have their own, but obviously the couples are roomed together,” She brightly explains as you toss your bag on the end of the full-sized bed, “Except Thomas. He’s been assigned to the couch downstairs.”

“Good,” You snort.

“Zack said you’d say that,” She laughs, “I’m gonna head back downstairs and let you unpack. Feel free to explore or do whatever when you’re done!”

Marni closes the door behind you, leaving you to your own devices, which is code for checking out your room top to bottom. You open the bathroom door first, humming in satisfaction when you see the walk-in shower with one of those fancy waterfall shower heads at the top. There’s plenty of space on the counter for your various hygiene and makeup products, and you can’t help but be impressed. You knew they had spent a fortune on this place, but if a random guest bathroom was this nice, you can’t even imagine how nice the rest of the house was.

You were in the middle of pulling open all of the drawers when you heard the faint sound of someone rushing down the hall, shortly followed by Zack bursting into your room with a slightly panicked look in his eyes. Quickly sliding the drawer back in its place, you turn towards him with raised eyebrows and crossed arms.

“What happened?”

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” He breathes out a nervous chuckle before he averts his eyes, “So, Marni’s aunt and uncle initially weren’t going to be able to come, which meant that the room situation was going to work out perfectly, but they just showed up and now I need you to share a room with Nico!”

The words flew out of his mouth so fast that you nearly didn’t catch a single thing that he said, and you still weren’t entirely sure that you had heard him correctly. Something about Marni’s aunt and uncle? Something something you have to share a room with Nicole? Who the hell is Nicole?

“Dude,” You groan as you shake your head, “Redo that like you’re speaking to a human this time, please.”

“Basically,” He sheepishly draws out, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “We have to move the rooming situation around because of some late additions, and Nico is going to be in your room since the two of you are the only single people with a room.”

Oh.

Not Nicole. Nico.

Oh.

Nico, one of your brother’s longest friends and old teammates. Nico, someone your brother talked to and about nearly every time the two of you spoke. Nico, the guy who taught you how to properly skate. Nico, the guy who taught you how to properly kiss. Nico, the guy you’ve had a crush on for the last ten years despite rarely ever seeing him. That Nico.

“Or,” You shakily let out, a daunting pit of anxiety forming in your stomach, “I can take the couch and then he and Thomas can share the room. I think that’s probably the best idea.”

“Trust me, if that was an option, I would’ve done that,” He sighs, running his hands over his face, “But Thomas and Nico don’t get along at all, and you also don’t really like him, so this was the only choice. I promise I’m not really too fond of you sharing a room with one of my friends, but Sunny please. It’s only for the weekend.”

Zack’s eyes are frantic as he pulls out the nickname he only uses when he’s truly pleading, and you can tell that this entire ordeal is stressing him out a lot. The last thing you wanted was to pile more onto his already full plate. You could handle sharing a room with Nico for a few days if it meant making things easier for Zack and Marni. This was their weekend, and you would do what you could to make it as perfect as possible. Besides, it’s not likely that Nico cares that much, so why should you?

Well, because he was wildly attractive and you always forget how to speak around him, that’s why.

“Okay,” You slowly nod, and you can practically see the weight lift from his shoulders, “That’s okay with me.”

Before Zack left your room, he told you that Nico wasn’t going to be arriving until well into the evening, and that made you even more nervous. It gave you time to overthink, to worry about any negative possibilities that could happen, and it was driving you crazy. You tried busying yourself with many of the various tasks Marni and Irene, her maid of honor, were more than happy to give you, but the jittery feeling never left your chest.

By the time dinner had come around, Nico was one of the few people that had yet to arrive. You wanted to ask your brother about it, but you kept your lips sealed because you knew he would twist your curiosity into something else. Would he have been right? Sure, but that doesn’t mean you wanted him to, and you knew that if he did, word would spread around the cabin quicker than gossip in middle school. You’re just going to have to wait it out and do your best to focus on one of the dozens of conversations flying around the living room instead.

“Goodnight, sunshine,” Your dad sleepily mumbles as your mom slips into the room, “We love you. See you in the mornin’”

“Goodnight, love you guys,” You yawn, lazily walking the rest of the way down the hall until you reach your door.

You briefly glance at your nameplate, but you nearly fall over when your eyes dart to it again once you notice that it’s been changed. Someone had redone the entire thing to add Nico’s name right next to yours, and while it’s not necessarily a big deal, it still made heat rush to your cheeks. You can feel what was previously a mostly dormant crush threaten to claw its way back to the surface, but you were determined not to let it. You only had to see him for four days, and then it was likely the two of you would rarely see each other ever again.

A long and relaxing shower has been calling your name all day, and you used it as an opportunity to try and wash away everything that had been worrying you all day. When the pads of your fingers start to wrinkle, you finally force yourself to get out and finish up with the rest of your nighttime routine. You brought your pajamas in with you in case Nico had arrived while you were in there, and you were glad that you did because when you stepped out of the bathroom, you came face to face with two boys.

“Thank God you have clothes on,” Zack dramatically gasps, earning an eye roll from you and a light chuckle from Nico, “We’ve been waiting for you for ten minutes. What were you doing in there? Actually– I don’t want to know. I’m just making sure you’re both cool with everything before I go to bed.”

“You’re so annoying,” You groan, trying to avoid the intense gaze of Nico, who hasn’t stopped looking at you, “I’m cool with everything. We can make a little pillow wall or somet–”

“Wrong,” Zack quickly cuts you off as he shakes his head, “I brought all the spare blankets I could find because he,” He jams his thumb in Nico’s direction, “Will be sleeping on the floor. Not in bed with my sister.”

You hope neither of them noticed the way your shoulders deflated in disappointment.

“Zack, that’s so rude! You can’t make him sleep on the floor for four days,” You protest, finally letting your eyes drift towards Nico, but you don’t let yourself linger for too long, “We’re adults, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s okay,” Nico speaks up, his voice deeper and more accented than you remember. The melody sends a shiver down your spine that you cover up by shifting on the balls of your feet, “I don’t mind.”

“See! It works out,” Zack hastily affirms as he claps Nico on the back, “Now, I’ve got a shower with my future wife calling my name, so I will see you guys tomorrow!”

With that, he practically runs out the door, leaving you with a grimace on your face and Nico with a proud, amused look on his. You hear Zack’s loud footsteps bounding down the hallway and down the stairs, and you feel for whoever got stuck with the room next to or above theirs. Hopefully, they brought earplugs or slept hard enough that no noise would wake them.

Suddenly, you’re hit with the heart-stopping reality that you are now very alone in a room with Nico, and you will soon be sleeping only a few feet away from him. You can feel his eyes on you as he stands to your left, his stare making the hair on the back of your neck stand, and you have to force the air into your lungs before you face him.

This time you really look at him, taking in his messy hair that had likely been tucked under a beanie all day and noticing that his shirt was riddled with wrinkles. Your focus slides to his suitcase at the end of the bed, and you catch sight of a familiar airport tag wrapped around the handle. He’d flown from Switzerland, which makes sense as to why he was arriving so late in the day, but it amazed you how he still managed to look so good after a travel day like that.

“Nice to see you again,” Nico’s the first to shatter the silence, the corner of his lips turning upwards into a smile, “It’s been a while.”

“Few years,” You gingerly point out with a quiet snicker, “It’s nice to see you, too, Nico.”

There was a subtle shift in the air around you as you held his gaze, the tension slowly crawling up your body until it enveloped you entirely. It oddly felt like you were being embraced in the arms of an old lover you had lost contact with somewhere along the way, but it also felt like you were standing under a blinding spotlight as he scanned every inch of your body.

“Is it okay if I go ahead and take a shower,” He casually asks, “I want to clean the plane air off before I go to bed.”

“Yeah,” You rush out a bit too quickly, your voice cracking, “Yeah, of course. I’m all done in there.”

Nico mutters his appreciation before he grabs his smaller bag and tugs it into the bathroom with him. You let out a long, deep breath when you hear the door click shut, squeezing your eyes shut as you take a moment to gather yourself. You always thought Nico was nice to look at before, but he’d filled out a lot since you had seen him last, and it was making your mind foggy. The beard he had going for him didn’t help you either.

This might be a bit more difficult than you thought it would be.

Shaking your mildly impure thoughts from your head, you quietly pad across the floor and begin to pull the decorative pillows off the bed and pile them in the corner before you flip the overhead light off, leaving only the small lamp on the desk to fill the room. You throw the blanket back so that you’re able to slip under the covers, but your movements come to a halt when your eyes snag on the clump of blankets Zack had haphazardly thrown on the floor for Nico’s makeshift pallet. You contemplate the idea ringing in your ears for a few moments, eventually deciding against it because you felt like it could potentially cross boundaries that had been unknowingly set.

You can hear the faint sound of the water shutting off, and it makes your heart ram into your chest even more than it already has been. You further bury yourself beneath the blankets, tucking your chin under as you roll onto your side and try to steady your breathing. The possibility of seeing Nico fresh out of the shower was making the room spin, and you knew if you didn’t force yourself to lay with your back facing the bathroom, you wouldn’t survive the night let alone the weekend.

After a few minutes pass by, you hear the door creak open followed by a small stream of light illuminating the dimly lit space around you. You can tell Nico is trying to be careful and quiet based on his small and gentle steps, and you almost roll over to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, that you were still very much awake, but you stayed silent. You didn’t even let out a single breath as you focused on remaining still until you were certain he had found his way into his cocoon of residual comforters. Only then did you allow yourself the opportunity to finally fall asleep.

However, it turns out that was easier said than done because it was your room that was above Zack and Marni’s.

When you woke up the next morning, you had forgotten about your weekend roommate until your tired gaze drifted toward the mound on the floor. You could tell that Nico had attempted to make his corner look neat, but there was only so much he was able to do with what he was given. No sounds were filtering in from the bathroom, and the door was cracked enough for you to see that the light was off, which was enough evidence to prove that he was gone for the morning. You couldn’t help but let a small sense of relief wash over you at the fact because you were going to need the extra alone time to prepare yourself for the day ahead.

The sun was harshly beating against your skin and voices were echoing throughout the woods around you, but there was only one thing that you could focus on and he was standing a few feet away from you. Nico was leaning against the wooden railing clad in only light blue swim trunks with a beer bottle in hand as he talked with a few of the other guys, and you were deeply appreciative of the dark-tinted sunglasses that sat on your nose. They allowed you to ogle in peace, or so you thought they did.

“Whatcha lookin’ at,” Your mom's light and airy voice forces your attention to her.

“Nothing,” You clear your throat, readjusting your position in the chair, “Just people watching.”

She purses her lips in amusement before she leans her head back and hums, “Does it count as people watching if it’s only one person?”

You nearly choke on your own breath as her words ring in your ears, but you manage to cover it up by faking a hiccup. You can feel the tips of your ears burning as your eyes dart around you, trying to gauge if anyone has noticed the sudden change in your demeanor. If Nico had noticed. Luckily, they were all far too engrossed in their own things that you were able to go unnoticed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You brush off, doing your best to appear nonchalant and unbothered.

“Okay, sunshine. If you say so.”

You avoid looking in Nico’s direction the rest of the time you spend outside in fear that others might be as perceptive as your mom was. Not that you assumed that anyone cared enough to pay that much attention to you, but you were more than aware enough that all it takes is one person to catch you staring, and before you know it, an entire story was written and published for all to hear.

After wading through the lake water at the demand request of your brother for a while, you were more than eager to get up to your room and take a shower. Nico had gone out with the rest of the guys on the boat, which left you with the room to yourself and free of worry that he would pop up before you were expecting him. It also allowed you to shamelessly play your music while you cleaned up before everyone gathered for dinner later.

Steam filled the bathroom as you stepped out of the shower and quietly sang along to the song playing on your phone, securing the towel around your body. Swiping your phone off the counter, you began to look through the notifications you hadn’t seen while you blindly pulled the door open. With your gaze trained on the screen in your hand, you didn’t see the six foot wall in your way before you were physically running into him.

A startled screech slipped through your lips as your phone clattered to the ground and your hands instinctively moved to brace yourself before you fell backward. However, Nico was quicker than you and he was grasping at your hips to keep your body upright while apologies rapidly tumbled out of his mouth.

“Shit, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

You could barely hear him over the blood that was rushing in your ears, but his voice brings you back to reality and you’re hyperaware of the fact that you’re standing in front of him in nothing but a towel. That, even through the material of the towel, his hands lit the skin underneath them on fire in a way that pulled all of the air from your lungs. Stepping out of his grasp, you hastily pull at the hem so that it’s secure against you and there is no chance of any sort of slip up occurring. You’re mortified enough as it is.

“You’re supposed to be out on the boat,” You squeak, trying to steady your breathing and bring your heart rate back to a normal speed, “What are you doing here?”

“Thomas got sick so we all came back,” He explains, his eyes looking everywhere but at you, “Zack wanted to go out on the trail, so I came up to grab different shoes. I didn’t know you were in the shower, I swear. I wouldn’t have come in if I did.”

You believe Nico. Of course you do. He was always on the more chivalrous side than most of the men you knew, and you would never assume he would knowingly try to catch you in a situation as vulnerable as this. Besides, you weren’t technically all that innocent, either. It wasn’t just your room and you should’ve known that Nico could walk in at any moment since he had just as much of a right to the space as you do.

“It’s fine,” You breathe out, casting your gaze to the floor, “I should’ve known better, I’m sorry.”

It was taking all of Nico’s willpower to not look at you, but his resolve was crumbling the longer he stood there. The fifteen year old inside of him was remembering the way your lips felt on his and the twenty-five year old in him was itching to feel them again. He needed to get out of there before he got himself in a position he wouldn’t be able to come back from.

“Well,” He clears his throat, “I’ll let you finish up.” Before you could respond, he was harshly turning on his heels and leaving you frozen in your spot without another word thrown in your direction.

With the door securely closed behind him, you finally let your body relax as you let out a long exhale followed by an exasperated, “Fuck.”

You do your best to avoid Nico for the rest of the day, going as far as offering to corral all of the kids upstairs to shower and get ready for dinner. While you’re not sure if he picked up on your efforts to evade, your mom and Marni certainly did and they didn’t shy away from dropping hints that they had. Your mom was leaving lingering comments about how handsome Nico had gotten over the years, and Marni kept mentioning how she thought the two of you could be a cute couple. Each time the words left their mouths, heat would flood your cheeks and you would brush them off like they were seeing things that weren’t there.

Though, of course, they didn’t believe you.

Luckily, dinner was far more chaotic than it was the prior night, which made it easy to stay away from Nico. You were able to fly under the radar as playful arguments and reminiscent stories were being thrown around the room, but there were moments you felt like he was watching you. Like he was purposely seeking you out in the crowded room, but you were still far too embarrassed from the shower ordeal to confirm your suspicions. Not that you needed to, anyways. Your mom was doing a good enough job at keeping you in the loop despite your hushed pleas for her silence. Eventually, the night winds down and everyone begins to retreat to their rooms, and you know that you won’t be able to avoid Nico for much longer.

When Zack drags Nico and a few of the other guys to the back patio, you take it as an opportunity to get to the room first and get ready for bed. Marni lets you part with a sly wink that you dutifully ignore before ascending the stairs, making what was supposed to be a quick stop at your parents door to tell them goodnight. By the time you managed to find an opening to break away from them, you could hear your brother’s voice echoing from the floor below, and you knew you needed to make quick work of slipping into your pajamas and into your safety net of blankets.

You managed to finish your nighttime routine in record time, which was simultaneously a good and a bad thing. While it made avoiding Nico easier, it also gave you the opportunity to stew in your own thoughts. What if he got grossed out from seeing you in a towel? What if he told your brother about what happened and now he thinks you’ve got some elaborate plan to get with his best friend? Oh God. You would never be able to live that down.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door is being pushed open so slowly you feel like Nico was doing it on purpose, like he knew how tortuous it was for you. You stay tucked beneath the blankets, unmoving and resolute as he goes through the same motions that you had done only minutes ago. A few times, you hear him mumble under his breath when he accidentally makes too loud of a noise, and you have to bite your lip to fight off the smile that threatens to break through.

By the time he was finished up and making himself comfortable over in his corner of the room, you were shivering. It felt as if the temperature around you had dropped ten degrees, and no matter how many times you rolled yourself up in the blanket, you could not get warm enough. A part of you wanted to get up and investigate the sudden arctic blast, but a much bigger part of you knew that if you even cracked that door open, everyone in the house would stumble out of their rooms and that was the last thing you wanted. All it takes is one small question to start something that would last for hours on end. You would rather suffer in silence. However, there was still one thing, one person, that lingered just enough to keep your brain from quieting down.

“Nico,” You hesitantly call out into the darkness, grasping at the edge of the comforter as you let out a shaky breath, “You can sleep up here, if you want. If I’m this cold, I know you are, too. I remember enough from grade school science to know that heat rises, and you’re on the floor.”

“It’s okay,” He responds, though the wobble in his voice gives him away, “I’m alright down here.”

“Dude,” Your tone is firm as you sit up and throw the blanket off of you in a way so dramatic that he can hear it, “I can literally hear your teeth chattering. Get your ass up here so I can go to sleep instead of worrying about you.”

“You’d worry about me?” His question is rhetorical, and you know that. You can hear the smirk he undoubtedly has on his face, and it makes sparks of nerves crawl up your spine. Whatever flash of confidence that had washed over you was gone as quickly as it came, and all it took was four measly words.

“I worry about everyone,” You try to deflect, nervously shifting in the bed as you slowly sink back down and pull the blanket to your chin, “Besides, if you die of hypothermia I have to walk down the aisle with Thomas. The offer is purely for my own benefit.”

“Ouch,” Nico playfully chuckles, though you can hear him shuffling around before the wood beneath his feet groans from the weight of his body, “We can’t have you ruining Thomas’ solo moment, can we?”

“I’m pretty sure he plans on on trying to pay someone to play ‘Super Freak’ when he walks out,” You roll your eyes, trying to distract yourself from the faint outline of Nico nearing you until you can see him standing at the edge of the bed.

When you suggested, or more so demanded, that Nico share the bed with you for the night, you hadn’t thought far enough ahead as to what would happen when he did. You hadn’t given yourself any time to prepare for how close he was going to be. Instead, you threw yourself into uncharted waters without a map or a clue of what to do and now he was slipping under the covers only a few inches away from you.

At first, neither of you say anything to pop the bubble of tension that envelops you. You lay flat on your back, body rigid and unmoving as you will yourself to breathe evenly and to do anything other than think about how you can feel his warmth radiating off of him. Nico is doing his best to stay far enough away from you that he isn’t crowding your space, but it was only a full-sized bed and you were both fully developed adults. It didn’t help that the teenager inside of him was on the verge of passing out from being so close to you.

“Goodnight, Nico,” You finally speak, rolling over onto your side so that your back is facing him.

You had a feeling that was the only way you were going to get even a wink of sleep. If you turned away and tried to forget that he was there. Forget that all you needed to do was stretch the tiniest bit and your fingers would graze the curve of his bicep.

“Goodnight,” He whispers your name so delicately it sends a shiver down your spine, “Sweet dreams.”

And sweet dreams they were.

#nico hischier #nico hischier fic #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier imagine #nhl imagine #abby writes 💻

437 notes · View notes