#but now I just had one rip enough to be painful on DAY FIVE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starlightazriel · 2 months

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necessities 1

desc: modern day (fem)reader x classic prythian azriel au, this will be a series of short chapters, fluffy, smutty, cute, probably some angst and or drama cus it's me

inspired by this request

warnings: 18+, this is slightly silly hahaha, reader is a little airheaded/ditsy, reader is an influencer HAHA, this is ridiculous but i'm obsessed, blood, reader has a gun, drugs mentioned, sexual tension, swearing, readers petite and smaller than a human from prythian world, age gap like reader is literally 21 HAHA so hundreds of years

wc: 2.8k

other parts will be found on my masterlist under azriel

one

What the actual fuck?

Is basically all your mind can muster up as you are quite literally dropping through a hole in the earth. You had fucking told Cody that you didn't want to do the video, the pit that had been in your stomach for the past three days had been enough of a warning to you that something was going to go wrong.

And now... Well... What the actual fuck?

You had lost all sense of time the moment everything around you had disappeared. You can feel things whipping at your legs, your arms, your face. Branches? You didn't even know, couldn't tell.

It could have been a minute, or forty five, either way it felt too long... This fall... There was no fucking way in hell you were surviving it. Silently, you said goodbye to your parents, your friends, your family, your followers, your boyfriend who had been the one to get you into this mess in the first place, but still, you loved him, so you had to say goodbye... Surely, you'd be dead soon.

You thought about what kind of internet memorial your followers would make for you, would you get a hash tag? #BringBubblesHome, #RIPBUBBLES, #BubblesForeverInOurHearts

Would they edit angel wings and a halo onto one of your cutest pictures? They fucking better.

When you finally landed your forehead hit a branch with a loud smack, you whimpered softly at the sting. Pain radiated through your lower back and up your spine. You gasped softly, eyes wide as you looked around, blinked, blinked again. You didn't feel dead, but there was no way you could have survived that, was there?

"Am I fucking dead?" Your own voice surprised you, and you tried to swallow, throat so incredibly dry from the fall you had just taken. "Holy shit, where the fuck-" you cut yourself off, there was a stream near by, it looked- It didn't look real, the moss and flowers that seemed to cover absolutely everything, the green of the leaves and the ferns had to be the most vibrant green you'd ever seen in nature. You shook your head, trying to remember if you had taken any psychedelics lastnight that you hadn't remembered.

You shook your head again, shaking the thought off with it. No... No you hadn't taken anything lastnight.

So this... This was real?

Something snapped in the already too quiet woods, and your heart beat quickened. Okay what do I have? You thought, ripping your Louis Vuitton tote off of your shoulder, at least, with this, you'd have a chance at survival. You quickly dumped the contents out onto the grassy surface so that you could take an inventory of all your necessities. This was kind of like Man vs Wild, right?

Warm blood trickled from your head wound, you felt slightly dizzy, your stomach turning at the red on your hand. You gasped softly, wiping your head with a makeup wipe and tossing it aside. You couldn't worry about littering right now.

Okay, what do I have? The thought echoed in your mind again, the panic of the current situation setting in.

Your iPhone, which, in hindsight you were lucky it had been in your bag and that you weren't filming a reel.

Pink custom Glock with your birthday engraved.

Ammo for said glock, not much, as it wasn't like you normally needed your gun.

Your pink glittery pepper spray.

Three lipglosses, one clear, one plumping, and one nude.

Your trending laneige lip balm obviously because you had done an ad for them recently.

A compact mirror.

Ring light.

Lipliner.

Mascara.

Travel size bag of facial cleansing wipes.

Two protein bars.

Your pretty golden flower claw clip that you had purchased from Tiktok shop.

Your vapes... Both kinds. Which, you wished you'd left behind considering you were trying to kick the habits though maybe you'd need it, your stress levels were certainly starting to rise.

A few carts.

Your SolarBuddy which you had done a TikTok promo for a few months ago and had been carrying it around in your bag ever since. Though it wasn't the best design considering your phone had to be in full sun to charge it, you had still given it a seven out of ten for its convenient travel size.

Your air pods and their charger.

This years summer collection Prada sunglasses.

A travel size tube of aquaphor.

Your favorite moisturizer.

Your favorite skin mist.

Sol de janeiro perfume because, trending.

Tampons.

Panty liners.

An extra pair of panties.

Cinnamon gum.

Spearmint tictacs.

Your lucky pen.

A collection of polaroids held together by a thin rubber band, you knew the contents of those by memory, one of your the golden retriever you had grown up with, one of you with your closest friends, one with you and your parents, one with you and your boyfriend, and one of just you.

Your wallet obviously with your credit cards and your id.

The necessities only.

You checked your phone, cursing to see the little SOS sign in the top right corner. Of course you didn't have any fucking service. Why would you in the middle of bum fuck no where Hansel and Gretle woods?

You grabbed your gun next, and slid the pepper spray into the front of your leggings. Your mouth was still so dry, so you popped a piece of the cinnamon gum in your mouth before piling your belongings back into your tote. Your breath was heavy and you could hear more twigs snap and they were getting closer. Your hand was shaking, your gun wobbling in the air as you held it up in front of you.

"Who's there?" you squeak, standing straighter up on your feet, each and every breath becoming more heavy. And then... Suddenly... There were shadows, lots of them, and- And a man- No a beast. With wings, he had darkly tanned skin, black almost raven colored waves that hung over his forehead in the most seductive way- His eyes... Curious, dark, hazel eyes fixated on you, on your weapon. Blue stones glittered across his knuckles, he looked straight out of Mortal Kombat.

The shadow curled around him, flicking over his ears, almost as if they were telling him a secret. He was so alarmingly large, your pulse quickened.

He was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

And deadly. Terrifying-Horror movie-

"Oh-My-" Is the only words you can get out, the world around suddenly begins breathing. Everything looks as though it's moving in and out, leaving you dizzy before everything goes black, your finger slipped, squeezing the trigger as you fainted.

Azriel stumbled back, his arm flying to the new wound that was on the side of his arm. The sound was so loud he was almost sure Tamlin would some how catch wind of it. Azriel groaned, what the fuck kind of crazy sick cross bow shit was that? It had felt like metal, hot and so fucking fast, right across the side of his arm. He was bleeding now, bleeding onto your pristine white shirt, that looked more like an undergarment. Despite you shooting him, with your weapon, he had still caught you as you fell.

In all his recent meetings to the Spring Court... Azriel had never expected this.

A human girl. But not just any human girl- No nothing like any human he had seen in the mortal lands. Not even how Nesta or Elain had been before the Cauldron had made them. You- You weren't from this world. That much he could tell-though he hadn't been able to even get a word out before you'd fainted on the spot.

He tucked- Whatever it was you had just shot him with away in your strange bag. He contemplated his next move.

He knew the smart thing to do, he should leave you here, fly home and forget he had ever even found you. His family didn't exactly know that he was frequenting the Spring Court.

After everything that had happened with Elain- And everything Rhys had said... Azriel had taken quite a few lovers, the most recent a lesser fae who lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of Spring.

After more long moments contemplating on leaving you, he lifted you up and carried you to a small cave nearby. He winced, his wound was healing slowly, though it was definitely healing. The sun was poking over the mountains now, his jaw flexed. He knew the others would be looking for him soon.

With Nyx in the picture now- Rhys was even more cautious about newcomers... And a human? A human with some strange powerful weapon- Strange clothes and shoes? Surely he couldn't bring you back with him.

"Who the fuck are you?" He jumped at the sound of your voice, his head quickly snapping back to you, his thought coming to a halt. Fuck... Your scent was so strong, so sensual, so delicious.

"Don't go reaching for whatever that weapon is that you have- I'll break all of your fingers," Azriel warns, noticing you scrambling up from your position on the caves floor and reaching for the strange bag you had been carrying. You freeze, your heart hammering against your chest as you stare back at him.

"Are you going to kill me?" you squeak out, his wings were tucked behind him, but your eyes kept drifting to them before landing back on his face.

Despite the sheer terror coursing through you, you couldn't help but melt under his gaze. He was so large, hunched over in the small cave, his abnormally big, scarred fingers covering over his knees. You couldn't help but wonder the size of his cock, with hands- With height like that. And he was sexy... Holy fucking shit he was sexy.

"I could be asking you the same," Azriel responds, his eyes still fixated on you. Your scent was driving him crazy. Was it really so easy to arouse a human girl? "You shot me, with whatever that thing was, and then fainted. Out of the two of us I'd say you can't be trusted," he raises his arm, showing the now scabbed over wound.

"It's a glock nineteen," you mumble your eyes flitting over the cut. How long had you been sleeping that it had healed so much already? "I'm sorry, are you okay?" you finally ask, clearly, he wasn't going to kill you right? He would have done it by now... Right? "I've never- I've never shot outside the range before-"

"The range?" His eyes are so intensely fixed on you that your heart rate picks up.

"The gun range, where you shoot guns?"

"I'm assuming what you hit me with, is a gun?" he clarifies, my eyes flit over to his knives, his clothing... He looked like he was straight off a movie set.

You slowly nod, your cheeks pink under his intense curious stare. Not even his shadows could tell him a lick about you."What's your name?" he asks quietly, his eyes flickering slightly.

"Y/n, but my friends- And my followers, call me Bubbles," you're fighting the urge to pull your compact mirror from your bag, the thought of your current appearance in front of this- Mysterious sex god creature- It wasn't sitting well with you. "What's yours?" You ask, your cheeks warming, had he even blinked, once?

"Azriel," he says softly, that curious twinkle in his eyes sent your cheeks burning deeper. "Your followers, are you a prophet or something?" he asks, and he figures by the scrunch of your nose and the giggle that escapes from your lips it must have been a silly question.

"No, I'm an influencer and an instagram model, depending who you ask," you giggle again at the idea of you as a prophet. Maybe you were, for trends and the best plumping lip gloss.

"I have no idea what any of that means," Azriel admits, his voice is so smooth and sensual, you think you could listen to it forever. It warms something deep inside of you, a part of you that you hadn't even known existed.

Azriels lips twitched in amusement as he watched you blush before him, he had no idea why he was entertaining this. He had no idea why he was so fascinated by you, though, you were human, he had never seen anything like you. His shadows were just as curious, in fact, they had been the final deciding factor in whether or not he was going to leave you. You weren't like anything hed ever seen. Much smaller than any human he'd ever seen from the mortal lands, softer features, full, juicy lips that sent heat to his cock when his eyes rested on them for too long, big eyes with long unnaturally long lashes, long hair that flowed behind your back... And the smell of you... Like nothing he had ever scented before.

"Where am I?" You ask finally breaking the tense silence, your throat felt unbearably dry and scratchy, he hadn't stopped staring and it was starting to unnerve you.

"Prythian," he answers quickly, easily, you can't help but shiver at the way his raspy low voice travels along your bones. Prythian? It doesn't sound like anywhere on earth you'd ever heard of, your head spun.

"And how do I get back to California?" your voice is weary, strained, he raises an eyebrow.

"Um," he frowns, running his scared hand through his hair. "I couldn't tell you," he admits, and he couldn't, the land you spoke of was nothing he ever heard of. "How did you get here?"

"So like-" you start, not even knowing how to explain it. "My boyfriend has this youtube channel he explores abandoned buildings, supposed haunted houses- Ancient spooky ruins- Shit like that," you pause, your eyes meeting his, a sigh escapes your lips because you can tell he isn't following. "Anyway, I'm minding my business, being cute in the video because that's all I ever do in his videos. We were in some creepy ass old tunnel underground I touch one thing- One, and next thing I know I'm falling- For I don't even know how long. And I ended up here," you finish, nervously fidgeting with the charm on your necklace.

Azriels head spun, holding a conversation with you was proving to be quite exhausting. A tunnel, an underground tunnel got you here. He didn't know how to tell you, but there may be no way back to wherever you came from.

"Youtube? Video?" he asks wearily, fighting the urge to rub his temples.

"Sorry," you sigh softly, starting to relax a tiny bit, clearly, he wasn't going to kill you. You grab your phone from your bag, noticing the way his eyes narrow, zeroing in on the phone. You didn't miss the way he rested his hand on the top of his dagger. "Still no fucking signal," you mutter in frustration. "Would be so much easier if I could show you all this stuff, anyway... Where I'm from there's something called the internet, kind of like endless stupidity but also endless information? At your fingertips... That's basically what the internet is." You hadn't realized how not cut out you were for teaching anything, your expertise was in trending lipgloss and skin care.

"Interesting," Azriel responds, still looking at you so curiously. He didn't understand why he felt the need to help you, why he even cared. "Maybe Rhys will have an idea," he muses, mostly talking to himself. "You know. You're very lucky... If someone else had found you-" he cuts himself off, you cross your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes at him.

"I can protect myself, to an extent," you say back, gesturing to your bag, though you had no idea what you'd even be up against out here, you did have your gun and pepper spray.

"Still lucky it was me, some on this land would swallow you for breakfast and not think twice," he smirks, leaning in a bit, his fingers wrapped tightly around his bent knees. "See, I'll still eat you for breakfast but I'll ask first," his eyes twinkled flirtatiously and your cheeks burned, this wasn't normal for you. You weren't used to being flustered, you were used to men falling at your feet and buying you gifts, you had also always worn the pants, in any relationship you'd ever been in and you weren't used to a man being so forward. You opened and closed your mouth, for once in your life at a loss for words.

"Whats wrong y/n?" he asks, the way your name leaves his lips is so slow, and sensual... And was it hot in here?

"What are you some kind of bat-man siren?" You breathe out, scrunching your nose, he stifles a laugh, his eyes still twinkling brightly with his amusement. "And you know, for being so- like- mythical and handsome- You still sound like any other fuckboy," your arms are crossed over your chest again as you stare back at him, he laughs again, shaking his head at you.

"Fuckboy?"

"It's a man that sleeps with a lot of women."

"Come back to my city with me?"

"Definitely a fuck boy."

a/n: HAHAHAHA thank you to my frands @velarisdusk @scorpioriesling @cynthiesjmxazrielslover for the help this is gonna be great.

#acotar #azriel smut #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar smut #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #azriel spymaster #azriel fluff #azriel fan fiction #azriel x you #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel au #azriel acotar #azriel

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joelscurls · 1 year

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to the ends of the earth

pt ii of feel it in your bones | epilogue

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12k

summary: You spend the week of Spring Break in Austin with your long-distance-boyfriend Joel. As you settle into a comfortable routine together, questions regarding your future arise.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), fluff, angst (ik ik i’m sorry), smut, phone sex, masturbation (f, m), semi-public touching, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie, soft dom!Joel, hair pulling, tiniest bit of nipple play, implied oral (f receiving), brief mention of shower sex, use of pet names (darlin’, baby, etc.)

a/n: i’m honestly so overwhelmed with all the positive feedback I got on part 1 - thank you all so much! there will be a part 3 in the form of a lil epilogue, so stay tuned for more of these two! as always, ty to @caffeinated-validation for giving this your eyes <3

Long distance sucks.

It’s been six months to the day since Homecoming Weekend, five since you and Joel put a label on things: “exclusive”. Not like you’d been talking to anyone else. Since Joel left Vermont that first time, he’d occupied your mind, made a home there, nestled deep between grooves of soft brain matter.

He’s been back a couple of times since. Quick weekend trips — much like the first one — just without the bad art and couch surfing. And each time he’s come and gone has been more painful than the last. More memories to reminisce on when you lay in bed alone. More words exchanged to drown in. You feel as if your heart has been ripped apart and stitched haphazardly back together every time he slips from your embrace.

The last time you’d seen him in person was New Year’s, when you’d rented a cabin in the Green Mountains, watched Joel react to his first snow, exchanged I love yous for the first time under falling flurries.

It feels now as if it were a lifetime ago.

It’s never enough — time, kisses, touches. It’s all so fleeting. You want, more than anything, to burrow into Joel’s chest and make a permanent residence there. To go with him where he goes, be with him where he is, always.

But you know you can’t — it’s not realistic. You have your life here, and Joel has his there. You remind yourself of this fact more times a day than you’d like to admit.

You will be with him again soon enough, though, and for the longest stint of time yet. An entire week in Texas, you and Joel.

The thought of it keeps you going in the leadup to spring break.

It’s the night before your flight, an early-morning departure from Burlington International Airport. You’ve waited until the last minute to pack, so here you are, hovering above your suitcase — which lays sprawled out on your bed — aimlessly throwing pairs of underwear and t-shirts into the main compartment.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. A much welcomed distraction.

And then you notice that it’s Joel calling.

Your heart skips a beat. You answer. Put it on speaker-phone.

“Hello?,” you purr, flopping down on the small empty space on the bed.

“Hi baby,” he drawls, his voice so sweet and saccharine it makes you melt. “All packed?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m ready.”

“Me too,” he says. “So ready. I miss you.”

“I miss you,” you parrot. “How was your day?”

He sighs. “Fine, I guess. Had a bunch’a loose ends to tie up at this site before Tommy takes over for the week. A lot’a back and forth on the phone, orderin’ shit.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I hope you won’t be stressed all week thinking about it.”

He hums, so deep it vibrates through the phone. It goes straight to your core. “Impossible, babygirl. Once I have you here, ‘m not gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout anything else.”

Your face heats. An unignorable pang of desire swells in your chest.

“Joel,” you say, desperation already coloring your voice.

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

Phone sex has become somewhat of a norm for you and Joel, that overwhelming need to be close to one another manifesting as desperate touches of your own fingers and half-coherent pleas through the speaker. It’s rare that a bedtime conversation between the two of you doesn’t end in panting down the line, telling each other goodnight through labored, satiated breaths.

Tonight, your need for him is bordering on carnal, carving into your skin like a sharp blade. You know you’ll have him tomorrow, and a number of days after that, but still, it feels so intangible, unreal. Like you can’t let yourself fully believe it until he’s in your arms.

And so you need him — right now — in any way you can have him.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

“Yes Joel — please.”

“Fuck babygirl,” he breathes. “Okay. Lemme take care’a you.”

You slip your fingers under the waistband of your sweatpants impatiently. You feel yourself through the thin fabric of your panties and, unsurprisingly, you’re soaked. It’s like you’ve been pavloved — like all you need is the sound of Joel’s voice, soft and deep like crushed velvet, and you’re gone — every single time.

“I’m so wet,” you mewl.

Joel groans on the other end. He sounds almost pained, like not being there to feel you, to taste you, is physically hurting him. If it is though, he covers it up well, snapping his attention back to you like a reflex.

“You still got your pants on?,” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Take ‘em off for me. And your panties.”

You do as he says, pulling your sweatpants and underwear down in one tug, letting them bunch at your ankles.

“They’re off,” you say.

“Good. Now touch yourself baby, go ahead.”

You shallowly dip two fingers into the pool of arousal that’s formed between your thighs. Then you glide slick digits over your aching clit, back and forth, a quiet whimper slipping from your mouth.

“‘ts it, darlin’,” he coos, “rub that pretty pussy for me.”

You pretend your fingers are his — bigger, rougher — as you increase the pressure you’re applying and begin to rub tight circles against your clit. The thought of your touches being his, instead, leaves you failing to swallow back a moan.

“Joel – ngh – it feels good.”

“‘Good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me.”

You keep going, your breaths becoming increasingly uneven, your hips inadvertently canting off the bed in an attempt to create more friction. You can sense that you’re dripping onto the duvet below you, staining it with your arousal. You’re way past caring at this point — you just need to cum.

You bring your other hand between your thighs, teasing your entrance. You sigh when you find how much wetter you’ve gotten in just a few minutes. You’re sure Joel must be able to hear the lewd slickslickslick of your fingers swirling against your sopping cunt — which he confirms when he curses under his breath.

“Fuck; that all for me, darlin’?”

“Mhm,” you moan.

“Gonna fuck yourself with your fingers for me? Cum all over ‘em, imaginin’ it’s my cock, instead?”

“Yes,” you cry. “Please, Joel, need your cock so bad.”

“I know babygirl, I know.”

You push two fingers inside as deep as you can get them, crooking them against your walls until you find that spongy spot. You fuck yourself in time with the fingers rubbing your clit, your pace reflexively increasing when you start to feel that familiar warmth growing in your abdomen.

You feel it build, up up up — and then it falls, fading completely.

“Fuck,” you murmur.

You don’t relent. But again and again, even with the perfect amount of pressure applied to your clit and the fingers in your pussy curved just right, you find your orgasm just out of reach. You let out a frustrated whine, your movements stalling completely. You can’t get there, not like this, not alone.

“Joel,” you punch out, “need you to touch yourself. Need you to cum with me.”

He inhales a sharp breath through his teeth. “Fuck, sweetheart — okay.”

You hear a faint clink of his belt on the other side of the phone, followed by the telltale whir of a zipper. There’s rustling over the line. When you hear him sigh, you know his cock is in his hand. And then there’s a shift in his breathing, subtle, but enough that you pick up on it. Evidence that he’s started stroking himself.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Miss that perfect little cunt so bad, baby. Can’t wait to fuck you again. Gonna ruin you.”

You love when he talks to you like this — when he loses himself in it and his tongue works faster than his brain. You’d never imagined when you first met him, reserved, quiet Joel, that he could be so filthy.

“Tell me —“ you plead — “tell me how you’re gonna fuck me, Joel.”

“Fuck, gonna get you in my bed, burry my face between your legs until you’re beggin’ me to stop…”

“Shit,” you gasp, your fingers stuttering at his words.

“‘N then ’m gonna fill you up with this cock, make you go dumb on it, fuck you so good your eyes roll back in your head.”

You whimper. You know he’s not just all talk from experience, and the thought of him fulfilling all these promises so soon has you plummeting toward the brink. As long as he keeps going, keeps talking, you’re not going to last another minute.

“Gonna make you soak it, make you cum all over my fuckin’ cock. Fuck — swear ’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

You feel your orgasm approaching again. But it’s not waning, not this time. You chase it, letting Joel’s words run on a loop in your head: gonna fill you up with this cock, gonna make you feel so good, bury my face between your legs until you’re beggin’, gonna make you go dumb on it, gonna make you feel so good, so good, so good…

“So close Joel,” you breathe. “So fucking close.”

“‘ts it, darlin’”, he says, his voice strained. “‘m right behind you — shit — let me hear you cum. Wanna — ahh — wanna hear you.”

That’s all it takes, just his encouragement, and you’re cumming so hard the room spins.

You can faintly register Joel talking you through it, able to make out a string of good girls through ringing ears. When you finally start to come down, you can tell he’s nearing his own climax, panting down the line as your own breaths begin to even.

“Please Joel,” you beg. “Please cum for me.”

He lets out a low growl, and then your name is spilling from the tip of his tongue, over and over again, in between strangled moans.

The line is quiet for a moment, apart from you and Joel’s shallow breathing.

“Fuck,” he says when he’s recovered from his orgasm, “how many hours til you get here?

You laugh. “I don’t know — too many.”

“Yeah, too many,” he agrees.

There’s another lull. You yawn exasperatedly, only now realizing how exhausted you are. An earth shattering orgasm will do that to you, you guess.

Joel chuckles on the other end.

“Go to bed, baby. It’ll make the time go faster.”

You sigh. You don’t want to hang up. Don’t want to be without him again. But he’s right. He usually is — though you’d never admit it out loud.

“Yeah, okay,” you acquiesce after a moment.

“I love you,” he hums.

“I love you too, Joel.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” he adds.

You smile. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, can’t see how ridiculously giddy he makes you.

“Me either,” you say. “Goodnight.”

“Night, darlin’.”

You’re still grinning like an idiot when you hang up the phone. You lay there for a few minutes, just staring at the ceiling, willing time to move faster.

Eventually you peel yourself off the bed and finish packing. You throw in some lacy bras you know Joel will love — if you end up wearing any real clothes this week, that is. Then you zip your suitcase shut, toss it onto the floor somewhere, and slip under the covers.

You flick your bedside lamp off with a sigh, and begin your attempt to coax sleep. You are tired, but you’re more excited.

When you finally do drift off — at some ungodly hour of the morning — you dream of Joel, of his large arms wrapped around you, his honeyed voice in your ear. Tomorrow, he whispers, again and again. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

You wake up the next morning with butterflies the size of baseballs in your stomach. You get to the airport unnecessarily early, make it through security in record time, and plant yourself down at your gate with a coffee in hand two hours before your scheduled departure.

Your body is practically vibrating in your seat, only partially due to the caffeine. Joel will no doubt still be asleep at this hour, so you shoot him a text to wake up to:

at the airport, all checked in. can’t wait to see you, cowboy <3

And then you send one to Sarah, who you know will be awake, her study-abroad trip to Cambodia meaning she’s probably studying or eating dinner right now.

On my way to see your dad; miss you! Can’t wait to hear all about your studies sometime soon :)

She almost immediately responds:

Yay! Miss you both so much! Yes, talk soon pls - lots to catch you up on. The professors here want me to stay forever (I won’t, dw, need to be able to bother you and my dad on a more regular basis).

You laugh to yourself.

Sarah had been thrilled when she’d found out about your relationship. Had been way too proud of herself for setting you up. When you’d learned she’d faked sick the night you met Joel at the art exhibition, you’d found yourself unable to feign disapproval. How could you care, really, when you’d ended the night straddling him, kissing him?

Not that you’d told her that, of course. She didn’t need to know every detail of that weekend.

It had been…interesting, to say the least, navigating a long-distance-something with the father of one of your students. But Sarah hadn’t pried, even when you’d suspected she wanted to. She’d let it bloom into something more, something real, before beginning to pester you with the questions: isn’t he the worst cook? do you think you guys will get married? can I be your maid of honor if you do?

To which you’d responded: yes (affectionately), I don’t know, and of course you can.

You’ll miss her this week, but another part of you — a more selfish part — is thrilled to have a week alone with Joel, without any distractions.

So thrilled, you can barely steady your shaking hands enough to plug your phone into the outlet under your seat.

You scroll mindlessly on social media as it charges until it’s time to board. Then you’re shuffling single-file down the aisle of the plane to your row, hauling your suitcase into the overhead, and taking your seat next to the window.

It’s your first flight of two, separated by a three-hour layover. You make it to Philadelphia in just over an hour, halfway through the cheesy 2000s rom-com you’d selected on the inflight entertainment screen. You make a mental note to finish it on the next leg.

You get lunch once you’ve tracked down your new gate — pay seventeen bucks for a soggy airport sandwich and a bag of chips that, upon opening, is mostly air. When you sit down to eat, you notice that Joel texted you back.

Got one foot out the front door already. Can’t wait to see you babygirl.

You can’t help the embarrassing smile that pulls across your face.

You re-read the text no less than ten times before you board your next flight — then once more for good measure just before you put your phone on airplane-mode and shove it in your sweatshirt pocket.

This is it, you think as the wheels lift off the ground and the clouds come closer into view. No more countdown. It’s here.

You have to refrain from sprinting off of the plane as soon as it’s landed in Austin.

You grab your suitcase from the overhead with reckless abandon, nearly knocking another piece of luggage out of the compartment and onto a passing flight attendant.

“Shit, sorry,” you curse.

She glares at you, unamused.

“I’m just…I’m meeting someone here,” you ramble. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Too excited.”

She nods. Pops her gum. “Mhm. Have a good day, ma’am. Thanks for flying with us.”

You keep your head down as you disembark.

It’d been a packed flight, and so you find yourself weaving through the crowd that’s gathered at the gate as you exit, around parents who have stopped to tie their kids’ shoes and solo travelers pausing to book their ride shares.

You check your phone as you walk, unwilling to waste even a fraction of a second. Find the directions buried in the text thread between you and Joel detailing how to get from your terminal to the passenger pickup area.

You follow them, suitcase rolling behind you as you trudge along, down a couple escalators and through a corridor.

You round one last corner — and then you see him, standing with his back to a pillar, hands anxiously fiddling at his sides.

Now you are sprinting.

Your suitcase is abandoned somewhere behind you as you run toward Joel. He doesn’t see you at first. You make it a few feet, shoes squeaking on tile, before his head snaps up and his eyes catch yours. And then he’s bounding forward, meeting you in the middle, your bodies colliding, hard.

He throws both arms around you, squeezes you so tightly you think your blood vessels may burst. You accept your fate willingly, breathing him in, letting your hands rove along his broad back.

He smells like pine and worn leather and Joel.

He feels like home.

He bruises a kiss in your hair, whispering against your scalp in disbelief: baby, you’re here.

You stand wrapped up together for a long moment, Joel rocking you back and forth as you catch your breath. Then you pull apart to look at each other.

Only then does it begin to sink in — Joel is right in front of you, touching you — and you’re about to spend a whole week together.

“C’mere,” he drawls, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing his lips into yours. It’s a slow kiss, punctuated by gentle strokes of his fingertips along your jaw. Your tongue rolls against his and your fingers anchor into his shirt collar. It simultaneously feels like it lasts forever and not nearly long enough.

“C’mon,” he whispers against your lips when you part. “Let’s go home, darlin.”

You grab your forgotten suitcase and pull it behind you with one hand, the other in Joel’s as you walk to his truck. It’s parked just outside, at the curb, hazard lights blinking.

“Was supposed to wait here for you,” he explains as he opens the passenger door, helping you in. He takes your suitcase, throws it onto the backseat like it weighs nothing.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you smile as he gets into the driver’s seat. “Felt like a rom-com — I liked it.”

“Yeah,” he says, turning his key in the ignition. His cheeks flush. “I liked it too.”

You stop for fast food on the way to Joel’s — Whataburger, naturally. They don’t have these in Vermont, so you try to savor your burger, but your long day of travel has you ravenous, so you wolf it down, ketchup smearing on the corners of your mouth between bites. Joel just laughs at you from the driver’s seat, piece of lettuce lodged between his front teeth.

You get it for him — fingernails prodding at his gums, but he lets you. Even sighs at the contact. When you flick the leaf off your fingertip, he pulls you in for a kiss, much softer than the one you shared in the airport, but dizzying, nonetheless. “Better?,” he whispers, and you’re not sure if he’s asking about his teeth or you, but both are true, so you hum affirmingly.

You sink back into your seat, adjusting your seatbelt where it’s tightened around your neck.

You feel full and drowsy as you throw your trash into the paper bag the food came in, tucking it by your feet.

You let your head rest against the window. The glass rattles against your skull as the truck begins to move, but you ignore it, too tired to care. And then you let your eyes shut — just to rest them — that’s all.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

You come to when you feel Joel at your side, trying to move you from the passenger seat.

“Baby,” you hear him say. Your eyes flutter open. He brings a hand up to your face, peeling stray strands of hair from where they’re stuck to your forehead and pushing them behind your ear.

“We’re home,” he drawls. “Let’s go inside, yeah?”

You nod groggily, still letting your eyes adjust to the daylight. You take in your surroundings: you’re parked in his driveway, his house right in front of you. Somehow, it’s just as you’d imagined it to be — big, sprawling porch at the front, meticulously kempt yard ornamented with a beautiful red oak tree. It’s so Texan, you think, so Joel.

He grabs your luggage from the truck. Then he helps you out, walks you with a large hand wrapped around your middle to the front door and into the house. Once inside, he sets your suitcase down.

And then he hugs you again, like he’s afraid to let you out of his embrace, lest you vaporize into thin air.

“Still tired? Wanna take a nap?,” he asks.

You yawn, right in his ear. He laughs; that’s enough of an answer.

“Alright,” he says. You follow him to his bedroom, too sleepy to argue. You pass through the kitchen and living room on the way. Through drooping eyes, you notice scattered pieces of Joel — the guitar leaning against its stand next to the couch, the pictures of him and Sarah lining the staircase. It makes your chest tighten, being here in his house, seeing the parts of him that he can’t bring with him when he visits you.

His room is the most him though — masculine and minimalist. A canvas with a ram painted on it hangs above his bed — a gift from someone, you assume. You can’t exactly imagine Joel strolling the aisles of Target, picking out artwork to hang in his house. There’s another photo of him and Sarah on his bedside table that must’ve been taken at her highschool graduation, cap adorning her head full of curls.

It makes you smile — all of it.

You lope over to the bed, climbing in when Joel pulls back the covers for you. He tucks you in with a kiss to your forehead. His duvet wafts his scent, when you pull it up to your face. You inhale it deeply. Commit it to memory.

“Wait,” you say as he turns to leave the room. “Aren’t you going to stay with me?”

He leans against the doorframe, wood creaking under his weight. “Well I don’t really nap, darlin’,” he admits. “You get some rest, I’ll just be doin’ some stuff around the house.”

“Please,” you say, sticking out your bottom lip at him. You watch as he thinks on it for a minute, then sighs in defeat.

“Okay, I’ll nap with you baby.”

He climbs in next to you. “Only for a little bit, though,” he mumbles, like he’s trying to convince himself.

His broad chest presses into your back. He drapes an arm over your side as you nuzzle into his embrace, so warm, so safe. He noses at your neck, leaving gentle kisses along your exposed shoulder. This, you think, is what heaven must feel like.

The sound of Joel’s breathing lulls you to sleep.

When you wake up, the room is cast in shadows. It’s dusk, you realize, wiping the sleep out of your eyes. You roll over. Find that Joel is no longer next to you.

His side of the bed is still warm, you notice, so he must not have gotten up too long ago.

You clamber to your feet, ignoring the blood rushing to your head as you stumble out of his room. You make your way down the stairs, hand braced against the wall as you descend. The lights are on in the living room — a sign of life. But Joel isn’t there.

You wander into the kitchen. He’s not here either. Did he leave the house? You look around for a note, fish your phone out of your pocket to see if he texted you. But you have zero notifications and the dining table is empty, apart from a pair of salt & pepper shakers and a napkin holder.

You call out for him, to no avail. Stumped, you make your way to the door that leads to the garage, the only room you haven’t checked yet, and wedge it open.

To your surprise, you find Joel standing at the back of his truck, loading something into the bed. Upon further inspection, you see that it’s blankets.

Huh?

“Hey,” you announce, making your way down the small set of stairs. He whips around at the sound of your voice. The color in his face drains, like he’s just been caught in the act of something.

“Darlin’,” he says, eyes wide. “You’re up.”

You join him by the truck. Let him rest a heavy arm on your shoulder. You peer up at him with a quirked brow. “What are you doing out here?”

“Well, I uh, I had planned somethin’ for you. Not sure if you’re up for it?”

You look back at the blankets in the truck bed. It’s not just blankets, you discover. There are pillows too, big ones, like the kinds you put on patio furniture, plus a small radio situated in the corner. And there’s a bag of chips leaned up against one of the pillows, next to a box of your favorite candy.

“A picnic… in your truck?”

He laughs. “Not quite. There’s a drive-in movie theater down the road. Thought we could go.”

Those butterflies from this morning suddenly return, swarming your insides at the realization — Joel planned a date for you.

It’s not that he isn’t normally romantic, because he is.

You recall one particular weekend he’d visited — he’d insisted on cooking dinner for you at your apartment, determined to make it perfect for you. He’d ended up burning the chicken and oversalting his sauce, but you hadn’t cared one bit — not when he’d gazed at you so adoringly across the candlelit table, one of your hands in his as he’d peppered each of your knuckles with kisses.

On another visit, he’d scouted one of the only nearby mountains you hadn’t hiked yet and climbed to the top with you — because the internet said this was the best spot to catch the sunset. You’d stood at the lookout, hand in hand, and shared your greatest dreams — yours to have your research published in a major publication, his to leave contracting behind and buy a sheep ranch. And when the sun had dipped behind the horizon, the sky bleeding vibrant pinks and oranges, he’d just looked at you.

So you know he’s romantic. Still though, you’re practically swooning at the scene in front of you.

“So, you wanna go?,” he asks. He scuffs his boot along the concrete floor, awkwardly. “It’s okay if you d-“

“Joel,” you say. “I wanna go.”

He smiles. Rolls the cover over the truck bed. Presses a kiss to your temple.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The sky is dark by the time you get to the drive-in. There are already quite a few cars in the dirt lot, parked in neat rows facing the giant movie screen that sits at the edge of a treeline. There’s a person directing traffic, a teenage boy, you guess, based on his stature, and he twirls his light-up batons in the rearview as Joel rounds the corner to the back row.

He backs into a spot at the far-left, car to your right parked a good ten feet away. And then he cuts the ignition with a quiet grunt, steps out, and makes his way over to your door to open it for you and help you down.

The pillows in the truck bed had jostled around a bit on the drive over, Joel finds when he unfurls the cover. So he adjusts them, making sure everything is just right. Then he unlatches the tailgate and helps you hoist yourself up, following closely behind you as you crawl toward the back.

Once he’s set the radio to the right channel, Joel sits with his back flush to the truck cab and spreads his legs, patting one of his thighs in invitation. He doesn’t need to ask twice — you immediately crawl between them, letting your head fall back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in him.

A satisfied hum escapes your lips. The realization hits you then that you hadn’t even asked what movie you were seeing. Not that you care much — it could be a documentary about grass, and you’d still have a good time, thanks to the company.

It’s some dystopian sci-fi thriller, you find, as the opening credits begin to roll, with a title you vaguely remember hearing in passing at some point.

And it’s good. You’re invested in the story by the end of the first act, curious to find out how the main character is going to save her love interest.

But then you lose interest, quickly, when you feel the white-hot touch of Joel’s fingers against your skin as he slips them under your shirt, inching down your stomach.

He halts when he gets to the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitches, lodged somewhere in your throat when he dips one finger under the denim. Your hips lift reflexively and he laughs lowly in your ear, prompting a shaky exhale to sputter out of you.

“Stay still, darlin,” he whispers, slipping another finger into your pants.

You try, you really try not to move, but he’s teasing you, his fingers moving the pace of molasses toward your core, where he hasn’t touched you in months. You feel like your entire body is going to combust if he doesn’t make contact with your clit in the next five seconds.

You whine, quiet enough that it’s muffled by the sounds of the movie echoing from the radio, but still too loud for Joel, apparently. He reaches his free hand out to turn the volume up, pushing the nob a few decibels higher.

He returns his attention to you. “You want this, babygirl?,” he asks, fingers reaching the hem of your underwear.

“Yes,” you whisper pleadingly. “Please touch me, Joel.” You feel his cock stiffen behind you, prodding your back.

“Okay,” he says. He pulls his hand out completely to unbutton your pants and unzip them halfway. Then he’s cupping your sex through your panties, letting his fingers brush over the wet spot that has already formed.

“Gotta be quiet then,” he purrs. “Can ya do that for me?”

You’re not sure you can, to be honest. He’s barely touching you and you already feel like you’ve lost all control over your body. Whatever it does, however you react — you have no say in the matter. Still, you’re not about to tell him that, risk him stopping, so you nod, furiously, your desperate face illuminated by the flashing light of an action sequence playing out on screen.

He dips two fingers into your underwear, immediately pressing them to your seam. He curses under his breath behind you, clearly pleased with how wet you are for him, with how easily he breaks you down. He brings them up to your clit, then, swiping back and forth, back and forth, his calloused touch forcing you to suppress a yelp. His fingers feel so rough compared to yours, so good. Breaths are pouring out of you in quick succession, your chest heaving with pleasure.

You’re briefly paranoid as Joel continues his ministrations that someone might see — but as you glance around the parking lot, you realize that you can’t see anyone else, just shadows in cars and on folding chairs, all focused on the movie in front of them. Slouched within the walls of Joel’s truck bed, it’s impossible for anyone to clock what’s happening.

So you let your body relax, melting into Joel behind you, your hands clinging onto his thighs to hold yourself steady. “‘ts it baby,” he says, your pliancy encouraging him to press his fingers down harder. “Always so good for me, huh?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, your voice still hushed.

“Yeah, you are” he agrees, rubbing your clit faster, more deliberately. He knows by now just how to touch you — exactly how to bring you straight to the edge and send you toppling over. And it’s clear that time apart hasn’t affected this in the slightest, your abdomen already tensing, familiar coil tightening threateningly in your core.

You warn Joel with a squeal. His free hand flies up to your face, covering your mouth in an instant. Your eyes roll back instinctively at the lewdness of it, of him muffling you with his palm. You moan freely against it, teeth scraping the skin there as your orgasm grows nearer and nearer and nearer.

It hits you hard. You have to bite down on Joel’s hand to keep from screaming out as it scorches through you, heating every inch of your skin as it does. Your fingernails are digging into Joel’s legs so hard you think you may be drawing blood even through thick denim. He talks you through it, quietly, his utters of atta girl, look at you, ya cum so pretty for me baby keeping you tethered to reality.

When your breathing begins to even and the trembling in your thighs subsides, he removes his hand from your mouth and the other from your pants.

You gaze up at him through bleary eyes just as he brings the fingers that were pressed against your pussy straight to his mouth, sucking on them through a satisfied hum. He pulls them out slowly, and your body nearly buckles at the sight.

“Taste so sweet,” he whispers in your ear. “Always taste so goddamn sweet.”

Your head swims.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“We need to leave. Right now.”

He cocks his head at you, confused. “Are you alr-”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off. “But I need you to fuck me right now, and I don’t think we can do that here.”

You see his eyes darken, his jaw twitch.

“Yeah,” he says after a few seconds. “Let’s get out of here.”

Joel speeds the entire way home.

The hand he doesn’t have on the wheel grips your thigh, making you dizzy with desire by the time he pulls into the driveway. He lodges the passenger side door open so hard you’d think there was an emergency (maybe needing to fuck your significant other after months of not seeing them in person does constitute as an emergency, though — who’s to say?).

He unbuckles your seatbelt for you, barely letting your feet hit the pavement before his lips are on you and he’s slamming the truck door shut, caging you against it. It feels like he’s everywhere all at once, his tongue sliding along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You’re panting by the time he pulls back, begging him in not so many words to bring you inside and pound you into the mattress.

It must take you five whole minutes to get from the front door to his room. Joel’s hand is splayed across the globe of your ass as you walk. He stops you every ten feet to spin your around and kiss you again, sucking on your tongue, needy moans slipping from his parted lips. His shirt has been discarded by the time you get to the stairs, and your hands greedily take in every inch of skin they can reach as you make your way up step by agonizing step.

When you finally make it upstairs, he backs you through the threshold, straight to his bed. You tumble down onto the mattress in a heap, mouths melding together in desperation as he reaches a hand behind you, under your shirt, and unclasps your bra. You help him out, reaching up your sleeve to tug down one strap, then shifting your weight to pull down the other. When you move, he follows you, not letting his mouth part from yours a second sooner than it needs to.

He tugs the bra the rest of the way off your body and pulls your shirt up over your chest, revealing your bare breasts. Only then does he unlatch his lips from yours so that he can admire you.

“More gorgeous every time I see you,” he mutters, rolling one of your nipples between two fingers until it hardens under his touch. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. He leans down, lathing his flat tongue over the sensitive peak, eliciting a heady moan from you.

“Joel,” you cry beneath him, a hand coming up to his shoulder. You push against him lightly.

And he gets it — as much as he loves teasing, now is not the time. You’ve been teased enough by the miles between you and him. So he pulls back. Lets you roll him over. You straddle him, bracing your hands on his chest and experimentally roll your hips. You immediately feel his hard cock straining against his jeans underneath you.

You reach between your bodies then, prying open his button and yanking the zipper down. Then your hand is in his pants, tracing the outline of his heavy cock where it bulges under cotton.

You lean down and press a kiss to his clothed length. He hisses through his teeth.

“Baby,” he groans, hand coming down to tilt your chin up towards his face. “Another time. I need to be inside you. Right now.”

You don’t argue. He sits up. Shuffles back to the headboard, bringing you with him. He pulls your shirt the rest of the way off, over your head. And then he’s helping you slip out of your jeans and panties so that you’re completely naked atop him.

He pulls you in for another bruising kiss as he tugs his pants and boxers down, just enough to free his leaking cock. He strokes it languidly, smearing pre-cum from the tip down his length. You’re already impatient by the time he’s lining himself up with your entrance, so much so that you have to refrain from taking him all the way down in one go. You use your better judgment, sinking onto him slowly, until you’re flush with his pelvis, the hair at his base tickling your inner thighs.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing labored as you adjust to the size of him. You’ve missed the sweet, burning stretch of him, the fullness you feel when he’s inside you, like you’re complete, whole. You’re pretty sure you could stay like this forever, make a home here on his throbbing cock.

When the sting dissipates, you begin to move, rocking on top of him. He grabs onto your hips, steadying you, his eyes blinking half-open to take you in.

“Fuck,” he rasps as you set a steady pace, his cock disappearing from you, then filling you to the brim again and again. “‘ts it baby, take my fuckin’ cock; ridin’ it so good.”

His hips snap up, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. You wrap your hands around his neck reflexively, digging your nails into his shoulders, indenting crescent moons in the muscle there as he ruts against your g-spot. Your face falls against his chest, your muffled pleas for Joel to fuck you harder, harder, right there barely coherent.

He gets the message regardless.

He pulls you down onto his cock, essentially spearing you on it. You think he must be bruising your cervix, the way his thick head is repeatedly bumping it, but you don’t care. You need every inch of him, need to take everything he has to give you; it feels as essential as the air being punched out of your chest right now.

He’s fucking up into you so brutally that you find yourself delirious, eyes rolling back in your head for the second time tonight. You can’t even find the strength to warn him of your rapidly approaching orgasm, your body going limp in his grasp. He doesn’t need you to, though — he can tell just by the way you squeeze him that you’re close.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?,” he growls, hitting that spongy spot over and over and over.

“Uh — ahhh — uh-huh,” you moan weakly into his skin. Your fingers loosen at his neck, too weak to hold onto him any longer.

Suddenly, he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head off of his chest and holding it up so that you’re looking him in the eye.

His gaze is lascivious, almost carnal, like going without you for so long has him ready to swallow you whole.

“Look at me,” he spits, “look at me when you cum.”

You nod wearily. You want to give him that, want to give him anything he asks of you. But you’re not sure if you can, not when your eyelids feel like boulders on your face.

“C-can’t Joel,” you manage through moans as they fall shut again.

“Nuh-uh,” he snaps, yanking at your roots. Your eyes fly open at the intrusion.

“You can do it baby, c’mon. Missed these pretty eyes so much — wanna see ‘em.”

You can only imagine how absolutely fucked-out you must look, using every last ounce of energy in your body to keep from slipping again. Your eyes glaze over slightly as he gives a particularly rough thrust, and you feel yourself skyrocket to the edge.

You feel like putty in his hands — and maybe you are. You’d let him mold you to whatever shape he pleased right about now, when he’s making you feel this good.

“There ya go,” Joel coos, bringing his thumb to your clit. He lazily swipes it once — twice — and you begin to fall apart in his arms.

It’s almost violent, your second orgasm of the night. It rips through you, your body thrashing on top of Joel’s, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he continues pounding into you. It feels different too, something more intense lingering, the threat of it just behind your walls.

And then he hits that spot again, the one that makes you see stars, and you’re gushing around him. Your release splatters out onto the duvet below you, soaking it. If Joel notices, he doesn’t care.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans.

Your eyes adjust as you come to. You take in Joel’s, charcoal black and blown-out with lust. You feel shy, almost, which you know is ridiculous given he’s still inside you. But even so, the way he looks at you, like you’re the most desirable thing he’s ever seen — it makes your cheeks heat.

He flips you over onto your back in one swift movement, slipping from you momentarily as he helps you to wrap your shaky legs around him. Presses a gentle kiss to your trembling ankle as he does. And then he’s burying himself in you again, right to the hilt, his pace slowing as he nears the edge.

“Please baby,” you cry. “Please cum inside. Need to feel you.”

Your body feels boneless under Joel’s weight, like he’s fucked near everything out of you. And now you need him to feel good, to take whatever he needs from you, whatever you have left to give.

“Fuck,” he grunts. His hips stall abruptly. He spills into you, deep moans pulling from the back of his throat. You dig your heels into the meat of his ass, dragging him closer, forcing him so deep he paints your cervix.

He pulls out with a hiss, his length softening against your mound as he lifts himself up on his elbows to kiss you. It’s a meager kiss, both of you still too out of breath to deepen it, but it soothes you, along with the soft graze of his thumb over your ribs.

You hold each other for a while, in no rush to move from this moment. You’re pretty sure you drift off more than once, awoken each time by the vibration of his gentle hums against your neck. When you finally do move, it’s not far, just up the bed and under the covers. And then his arms are right back where they were, around you, pulling you tightly to him.

He falls asleep before you, snoring quietly at the crown of your head. You try to wiggle from his grasp, move to the other side of the bed, but even in his sleep, he’s acutely aware of your presence. He just grips you harder, nuzzles his head deeper into your hair. You’ve never felt more content being stuck somewhere.

You slip under again eventually. You’re pretty sure you dream of nothing — no need for your brain to conjure up anything more than what you already have.

The following morning, you wake up with Joel’s tongue between your legs. He nibbles at your inner thigh, waiting for you to give him the go ahead to continue. And then he makes you cum twice on his mouth before you even eat breakfast.

He doesn’t let you get up for that, either. He brings you hot coffee in a Texas Longhorns mug and a plate of toast, slathered with butter and grape jelly, and doesn’t complain when you get crumbs on the sheets.

You’re satiated and caffeinated before you even start your day — which Joel has planned out to a t.

He brings you to his favorite spot for lunch, a BBQ place by the river, and acts smug when you tell him these are the best ribs I’ve ever had in my life. Then you go home, take a shower — together, of course — and you rinse shampoo out of your hair with his cock nestled comfortably inside you.

He fucks you with your hands braced against the shower wall until you’re screaming, the echoes bouncing off of tile, and then you get back in bed, laze around in your towels until dinnertime.

Joel orders takeout — sushi for you, lo mein and teriyaki beef for him. You sprawl out on the couch as you eat, your feet in his lap and the calming buzz of the tv on in the background.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a long time.

You easily fall into a routine over the course of the week: wake up, fuck, eat breakfast in bed, fuck, get up around noon, shower, eat lunch, grade papers while Joel cleans up or does yardwork, eat dinner, fuck, go to sleep.

You almost forget that this isn’t permanent, that you’re going to have to get on a plane and go home soon, that this isn’t your home, here with Joel. That is, until Friday night, over dinner — when Joel abruptly pulls you back down to earth.

You’re finishing your pasta, spooning the last remnants of sauce into your mouth. Some western flashes across the tv — Joel’s choice, and as you put your bowl down on the coffee table and snuggle up to him, he sighs.

“This has gotta be the best vacation of my life — or, staycation, I guess.” He says it innocently enough. Still, you feel jolted. Vacation, you repeat in your head until your brain catches up with reality. You feel smothered, suddenly, warm, like your whole body is an ore about to be smelted. You extricate yourself from Joel’s arms and settle on the other side of the couch.

“Just hot,” you lie. “Sorry.”

“‘ts alright,” he murmurs, unphased, eyes glued to the tv.

He doesn’t notice the way you tense, the way your breathing picks up when you excuse yourself to the bathroom. But why should he? There’s no reason for you to be freaking out.

Except there is.

Because the thought of leaving in a couple days, leaving behind Joel and this routine, not seeing him again for several more months, and even then, only having a weekend, or if you’re lucky, a week with him – it’s making you spiral.

You lock yourself in the bathroom. Close the lid to the toilet. When you sit down, your head falls into your hands, heaving breaths warming the skin of your palms uncomfortably. I can’t do this, you think. I can’t keep doing this.

You love Joel — you do, more than anything. And you can’t begin to imagine living without him. But you also can’t help but wonder, elbows digging into your knees, how this has become your life — all the leaving.

Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach. You feel nauseous.

You get up. Splash cold water on your face. Curse your reflection, all sunken eyes and tear-stained cheeks. So stupid. This is why you didn’t want to get into another relationship. The pain, the pain, the unbearable pain.

Why did you have to fall in love with him?

There’s a clanging on the other side of the door — Joel clearing your dishes from dinner — an act of domesticity that plunges the dagger deeper into your bleeding heart.

You wipe your cheeks with your shirt sleeve. Huff at how pathetic you feel.

It’s so stupid, so silly, crying in Joel’s bathroom when he’s right outside, right there waiting for you. Even still, you can’t seem to shake the dread that hangs over you like a storm cloud when you make your way back into the living room with dried eyes, back into his arms.

You hope, silently, that it’ll go away with a good night’s sleep. That this is just a minor breakdown, a hormonal thing, maybe, and you’ll feel better in the morning.

It doesn’t, it’s not — and you don’t.

Joel can tell something is wrong the moment he hands you your morning coffee. You’d slept in today, legs tangled under the sheets, trepidation still clawing its way up your throat. You’d been quiet, had only hummed in response when he’d told you good morning.

That, he hadn’t noticed. But when he passes you the mug, steam billowing from the mouth, he detects the way you won’t look at him, your mumbled thank you.

You catch the way he steps back with a dejected hmph, and rounds the bed to climb in next to you.

You feel awful.

The mattress springs creak as he settles, balancing his full mug in one hand, laying the other over yours where it sits on top of the duvet, resting on your covered leg.

“Y’alright?,” he asks, even though you know he knows the answer. It’s why you don’t lie, shake your head. Your eyes flick up to his as a frown sets under his nose.

You downplay it. “I’m fine, really. It’s just — I — I’m sad that today’s our last full day. I don’t wanna go home yet.”

“Don’t have to go,” he drawls, drawing light circles over your skin with his index finger.

And you know he means it — know he’d let you move in with him in a heartbeat. But you also know you can’t. Can’t leave behind the life you worked so hard to make in Vermont.

“I wish,” you sigh, taking a cautious sip of your coffee.

“Well…d’you wanna do somethin’ today? Go into the city? I know we haven’t done much’a anything this week.” He smirks. And just for a moment, the look on his face — that dopey smile and those sweet cinnamon eyes — makes you forget about the darkness fogging your mind.

“We can do touristy stuff,” he continues. “Do anythin’ you want. To take your mind off things. Make the most of the day, ya know?”

His brows are raised as he anticipates your response. He’s so eager to do whatever it takes for you to be happy, and that makes your chest clench. More than you want to protect your own heart, you want to appease him. He deserves that, at the very least.

So you say yes, let’s do it; show me around Austin.

The cracks in your heart deepen when he nearly jumps out of bed in excitement.

Joel is a great tour guide, for what it’s worth.

He brings you to his favorite hiking trail in the city. It runs along a lake, the water busy with kayakers and paddle boarders.

The sky above is overcast. A sliver of sun cuts through the clouds, casting your forehead in a light sheen of sweat as you walk.

Every single passerby waves at you or says hello, all in the same singsong twang. Joel waves back, grunts a greeting. It throws you off, how nice everyone is here. You’ve grown used to New England, with its temperamental weather and even more temperamental people.

“Busy,” you note when another group passes you.

“Mhm,” Joel hums. Wraps a sweaty arm around you, pulling you into his side. It’s awkward to walk like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Sarah used to love this place. We’d come all the time when she was little.”

You lean into his embrace. Nuzzle your face into the fabric of his T-shirt.

“I know you must’ve missed her this week. Is this the first spring break she hasn’t been home?”

“Yeah,” Joel’s other hand rests at the back of his neck, fingers absently working at a knot in the muscle there. “Gotta get used to it though, I guess, with her stayin’ north after school is over and all.”

“She didn’t tell me that,” you admit. “When did she decide?”

He sighs so deep you can almost feel it in your own chest.

“Couple weeks ago,” he says. “Guess she got some unofficial job offer for after she graduates, from this research institute in Boston. She’s all excited about it.”

You know Joel is proud. He’s always proud of Sarah. How could he not be? But you also know his heart is breaking right now, the long-established plans for Sarah to come home to Texas, to come home to him after finishing undergrad, suddenly squashed.

And then there’s you — leaving too — again.

The thought of hurting Joel is overbearing, more so than the thought of hurting yourself. He doesn’t deserve to be so far away from the woman he’s in a relationship with when his own daughter is already out of reach.

You feel selfish, suddenly.

It plagues your mind for the rest of the day — when you go to a diner after the hike and split a strawberry milkshake the size of your head with Joel — and still, later, when you wander hand-in-hand into a tacky gift shop.

You try your best to ignore the ache in your chest as you scan the store.

The back wall is stacked top to bottom with cowboy boots of varying colors and styles. There are cowboy hats too, displayed on a long table.

Joel picks up an oversized straw hat, resting it on the top of his head with a laugh. “Looks ridiculous, right?”

“Somehow, no,” you say. And it’s the truth. You think he’s the only person who could put that thing on and look hot in it.

He grabs another hat off of the table, a more traditional one — brown leather with a braided band wrapped around the base of the crown. You let him affix it on your head. He steps back to get a good look at you and nods.

“Looks good. Looks sexy,” he amends.

“Yeah?” You dip your head in faux greeting, fingers pressed into the front corner of the brim.

He scans over you then, his eyes darkening. It looks like he’s pondering something, the corner of his mouth curving.

“What?”

He steps closer. Leans down to whisper in your ear. “Think we should get ‘em. Wear ‘em later.”

Your breath pulls. The thought of Joel wearing that and nothing but that underneath you is enough to make you forget your quandaries, temporarily.

“Yeah,” you respond way too quickly. “Let’s get them, Cowboy.”

You watch his entire body tense at the nickname. And then he’s yanking the hat off of you, bringing both to the register in a hurry.

The house is dark when you get home, bag of Greek takeout in hand.

Joel flicks a light on in the entrance. You squint reflexively, your eyes adjusting as you set the food down on the coffee table in the living room. Joel brings your new hats upstairs, then joins you on the couch. You pull out two styrofoam containers, passing the one with Joel’s name scribbled on it to him and leaning back with yours in your lap.

“‘m starvin,” he mumbles as he cracks his open, squeezes a wedge of lemon over his rice.

You eat quickly, something else clearly on both of your minds as you shovel falafel into your mouths. You even forget to turn the tv on.

When you’re done, you insist you’ll clean up, bringing the trash into the kitchen as Joel disappears upstairs. Once everything is tidied, you re-situate yourself on the couch.

He returns a few minutes later — shirtless, that ridiculous cowboy hat fastened on his head, dark jeans sitting low on his hips. He’s holding your hat in his left hand.

There’s a dull throbbing between your legs. He starts across the room, toward you.

“Joel-”

He cuts you off with a kiss, bracketing you against the cushions, his hat bumping into your head. He pulls it off immediately, like if it’s going to interfere in any way, it’s not worth it. It falls onto the floor somewhere behind him.

Joel pulls at the fabric of your shirt. Your back arches, allowing him to pull it up and off before tossing it aside. His mouth moves from yours, trailing lower, lower, and settling at the column of your throat. He sucks a bruise there, the contact sending your hips bucking off the couch, the need for him to touch you already borderline painful.

And then that voice returns, the one that’s been screaming in your head since last night.

This’ll be the last time for a while. Maybe forever. Last time he touches you like this, kisses you like this. Don’t think about it — don’t. Just enjoy it. Just-

“Joel,” you pant. He stops immediately. Pulls back.

“What? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Tears well in your eyes, blur your vision. You can barely make out the look of concern plastered across Joel’s face as he kneels down in front of you and grips both of your shoulders.

When you speak, your voice comes out shaky. “No, it’s not — I just.” Your breath catches in your throat.

“What? What is it darlin’?,” he tries, massaging tense muscle under his palms.

You hadn’t wanted him to see you like this. You feel embarrassed that he has to comfort you like you’re a child who’s just had a nightmare, and not a grown woman with a PhD. You groan. Catch your breath.

“Fuck. I’m fine,” you try. Joel clearly isn’t buying it. He quirks a brow at you.

“C’mon baby, talk to me. I wanna help, whatever it is. Let me in — please”

And you want to, you do, it’s just — you don’t know how to even explain how you’re feeling.

“This is all so hard,” you start. Joel nods. He wants you to continue. “This whole — situation,” you try. “Being long-distance. It’s just — being here for a whole week and waking up together every morning, having coffee, watching tv at night, like a — fuck — like a real couple — and now I have to go back to normal?”

His face falls.

“Real couple? Is this not real to you?”

“It is real,” you sob. “It’s too real. That’s why it hurts so fucking much. I just, I can’t —”

“Can’t what?” His voice is quiet. Low.

“Can’t do this. Can’t handle the pain. And it must be hurting you too, Joel. Between me and Sarah—”

“I’m fine,” he barks, suddenly jumping to his feet. He takes a deep breath. “This isn’t about Sarah. This is about us. Do you not want this? Me?”

Your hands tremble in your lap. “Of course I want you, Joel,” you sniff. “I want you more than anything. But-”

“But not like this. This is too hard.”

You nod weakly.

He sighs.

“You know you can move here — stay with me.”

You do know. He’s said it so many times before. But you’ve worked way too hard to pack up and start over, to give up your professorship after only three years with the blind hope that you’ll land a new position in Austin. And now you’re mad — infuriated, almost, that he keeps suggesting it.

You scoff. “You know I can’t just give up my life, Joel.”

“So what, you’re just gonna give up on us, instead?” His voice is strained.

“I’m not giving up,” you clip, defensively.

“Certainly doesn’t sound like you’re tryin’.”

He stares at the ceiling. You watch as his eyes mist, his concentration palpable as he wills the tears not to fall. Your anger dissipates into guilt.

This is exactly what you’d feared — breaking his heart. It’s like you can see it fracturing, chipping at the edges.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “I don’t — I don’t know. I just can’t.”

His face contorts. A single tear slips down his cheek, which he wipes away quickly with the back of his hand. “Fuck,” he curses.

You stand from the couch, begin to move cautiously toward him. “Joel, I-”

“Don’t,” he snaps. Throws his hands up defensively. And then he’s turning, heading up the stairs, leaving you standing there in the middle of the living room with a ringing in your ears.

When you climb into bed twenty minutes later, he doesn’t acknowledge you.

You fly home the next day. Joel doesn’t say anything on the drive to the airport.

Once there, he pulls over to the curb at the drop-off and puts the car in park. You’re not sure what to do — should you kiss him? Tell him you love him? Because you do, so fucking much. You’re just — not sure if he wants to hear that right now.

He makes the decision for you, cradling your face as he presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. He lets his forehead fall to yours with a sigh, and then he pulls back.

He doesn’t open your door for you, though. Doesn’t grab your bags from the back when you clamber down from the passenger seat.

It’s as if he’s saying: I love you, but I’m going to give you space.

You pry open the back door. Pull out your suitcase and rest your new cowboy hat over the handle. You almost wish now that he hadn’t gotten it for you. It’ll just serve as another reminder of everything you’ve left behind once your home.

“Text me,” he offers once your things are all gathered on the curb. “Let me know when you board, when you’re home safe.”

“Yeah,” you nod. Search his eyes for something. Some indicator that he’s okay. But he’s stoic, his lips set in a straight line. “I will. Promise.”

His mouth opens, like he wants to add something else. But whatever he’s thinking, he decides against saying out loud. Instead he just tells you safe travels, and then he’s pulling the passenger side door closed from the inside.

You stand unmoving. As his truck disappears down the roadway and out of view, a list of all the things you should’ve said rolls through your brain like the end credits of a film.

You send Joel a message when you get home. Let him know you got in safe. You don’t call, like you normally would, because that’s not what he’d asked of you.

Then you climb straight into bed, still in your clothes, and let the tears consume you. You wallow in them for what feels like hours, the natural light in your bedroom gradually sinking into the floorboards. You welcome the nightfall, the way the darkness soothes the pounding in your head, the way it feels like nothing.

Morning comes before Joel responds. You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, the time on your phone reading 11:09, and the notification from him just below it nearly jolts you:

Okay. Thanks.

No love you, no miss you.

You curse under your breath.

Why did you have to say anything? Why did you have to ruin this?

The pain of possibly losing Joel for good makes the pain of long distance feel like a papercut. All you want is to go back in time, take back everything you said, tell Joel you love him a million-and-one times. Anything to undo this.

You fleetingly consider quitting your job, handing in your resignation letter the second you get to campus tomorrow. You’ll take your unpacked suitcase and head right back to the airport.

You don’t let the temptation win. But it lingers, sits at the top of your chest like a threat. Like if he asks one more time — you’ll do it.

He doesn’t, though. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything — which you should’ve expected — but it still stings. You hadn’t broken up, not technically, so you’re stuck in this weird limbo, one in which neither of you wants to talk about what happened in Austin.

Instead, you text each other once a day or so — weird, surface-level messages, ones you’d send to an acquaintance, not someone who literally knows you inside and out.

Finally above 60°, you say, on Monday morning, attached to a screenshot of your weather app.

Your walk to campus must’ve been nice today, he replies.

And the next day:

Guy at the job site today was talking about that show you like.

Parks & Rec?!

Yeah, that one.

It’s barely enough to keep you going, to keep you sane. You feel pitiful, looking forward to Joel’s text-of-the-day like it’s a re-up of your drug of choice. Better than heroin, you tell yourself.

Two weeks pass with no phone calls and minimal messages. It’s 5:45 pm on a rainy Tuesday when you sit at your dining room table with a pile of papers to grade in front of you, some low-fi playlist on in the background, unable to focus.

Because Joel hasn’t texted you all day.

Usually he’d send something by now. And it’s not like you hadn’t texted him — in fact, you’d double-texted, one message sent this morning about how you burned your tongue on your coffee, and another after your final class of the day when you’d seen he still hadn’t responded:

Busy day?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the gears in your mind whirring as you debate whether or not to send the words punctuated by a flickering cursor on your screen:

Can I call you later?

He’ll probably say no. Or worse, continue to ignore you. Maybe this is it — maybe weeks of dancing around residual tension have driven him to call it quits. He’ll block you, and then you’ll never hear from him again.

The thought has bile rising up your throat.

You close out of the app and put your phone down before stalking over to the living room, letting yourself fall stomach-first onto the couch. You stuff your face into a throw pillow and scream.

You almost don’t hear it over your muffled yells — the rapping at your front door.

You still, lifting your head from the pillow. Listening intently. It comes again — rapraprap.

Ugh, you groan, lifting yourself onto your elbows, then your feet. You pull your cardigan tighter over your front. Drag your feet across the hardwood to the entranceway, wondering who the fuck could be at your door on a Tuesday evening, unannounced.

Is it the property manager?, you speculate as you reach the door. Was there an issue with my rent?

Your fingers wind around the handle apprehensively. You peer through the peephole and your heart plummets into your stomach.

Because Joel is standing right outside your apartment.

You wonder if you’re seeing things. If you’ve gone full-on hysterical. But it’s him, it’s unmistakably him — in his favorite flannel and his workwear jacket, which is smattered in rain spots. His gaze is trained on the floor by his feet and his hands are fidgeting at his sides — just like the first time you met him.

You throw the door open. Joel’s eyes shoot up. For a long moment, you just stare at each other, waiting for the other to say something — do something.

When your breath pulls, he rushes forward and crashes his lips into yours. He backs you into your apartment, letting the door slam shut behind you.

You barely hear it, still registering that Joel is here, he’s here and he’s kissing the hell out of you. And just minutes ago, you’d been sulking on your couch, convinced it was over between you two.

You feel dizzy. You pull back, only because you fear if you don’t, you’ll literally topple over. Joel’s breathing is heavy — it matches yours.

“What are you — fuck — what are you doing here, Joel?”

“I need to talk to you,” he pants.

“Could’ve called,” you say, as if there’s any universe in which you’d prefer that.

You lead him to the living room. Fall back onto the couch. He sits down next to you, taking both of your hands in his. You get a good look at him for the first time since he’d barreled into your apartment, and he looks wrecked.

“Are you okay?,” you ask.

His response isn’t much of an answer. “’m selling my house.”

Your head spins. “You — what?”

“Listed it last week,” he says. “Already got a couple offers.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Okay.”

“‘m gonna move up here.”

Oh.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of your chest. You’re — speechless.

“I put an offer on a place,” he continues. “‘ts a ranch with some land. Room for sheep. I’m sellin’ my half of the business to Tommy. Leavin’ Texas.”

He exhales. His eyes search yours with tangible desperation. “Say somethin’.”

“I — fuck, Joel,” you breathe. “You’re — when? How?”

“Found the place a couple days ago. ‘ts about thirty minutes Southeast of here. Just went and saw it in person. Sent my offer letter before I came here.”

“Right,” you nod. “But Joel, you can’t just leave-”

“Sure I can,” he interrupts. “Nothin’ there for me anymore. Not Sarah, not you.”

A beat passes. And then he adds:

“I can’t lose you.”

Your heart swells in your chest as you imagine Joel this past week, making all of these plans to rectify the distance between you, to be sure he doesn’t lose you. And still — you’re not sure if you deserve it after the way you hurt him.

“You — you still want me, even after what I said?”

“Darlin’,” he says, in that honey-sweet drawl. “I love you. There’s nothin’ you could do to make me not want you. You were right. This isn’t feasible. We can’t do this forever.”

“Joel,” you sigh, “I just — you’re sure you want this?”

“I want you,” he says plainly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — like nothing else matters. “And you need to be here. So it’s a no-brainer”

The rain picks up outside. It patters against the windows.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he says. “I’ll retract my offer. Go back to Texas.”

“I do Joel — want you here more than anything, love you more than anything. But-”

“Good.” He cups your face in his hands. You stare into his eyes, your future.

“It’s settled, then,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt. “I’m movin’ to Vermont.”

“This is crazy,” you laugh. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you more,” he beams. “No gettin’ rid of me now.”

You smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Cowboy.”

end notes: ty again for reading! pls consider reblogging and leaving a comment if you liked it <3

tagging everyone who expressed interest in reading a part 2 (lmk if you don't want to be included going forward): @anoverwhelmingdin, @joelalorian, @lol-im-done, @bensonispunk, @sereindreams, @survivingandenduring, @stevie75, @vee-bees-blog, @brittmb115, @casssiopeia, @bbyanarchist, @janaispunk, @barbellpedro

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

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allidoishuynh · 6 months

Text

First post or maybe second. I think there's a picture of stuffed animals from like a decade ago. But let's see how this goes.

Jason is having his death day, Danny wants to help. (Xey and xeir are used as pronouns for an alien species for whom English can't really cut it)

The day sucked. It fucking sucked every single year. Every inch of his body ached and screamed in pain with each step, turn, and movement. He could hear the incessant, unending beeping wherever he went. Of course… it wasn't unending. It had very abruptly and very importantly ended, once upon a time. Which led him to the next reason this day, every single year, was so unbearably shitty: the sweats. It felt like he was boiling alive on the surface of the sun and no matter what he did, no matter how he distracted himself, he always remembered why. Why he had to feel this way every year and how each torment served as a memento of that day.

Jason continued walking down the street in the vain hope to clear his head when he heard a voice.

"Yeeeeesh!" A boy said, "I think I can taste that."

As Jason turned, he noticed the boy, thin, no older than 16, with stark white hair, was staring directly at him. Staring at him and slowly walking closer.

"Hey there man," he started, "believe me when I say: I know today sucks. I don't know how badly or what exactly you're dealing with, but I know it's bad."

The teen was now standing right in front of him and yet Jason felt glued to the spot, like something was keeping him there and that the very idea of brushing off this boy and continuing on his horrid stroll would be an act of blasphemy. The boy reached out a hand and placed it gently on Jason's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. And to his utter shock, Jason didn't shrug it off. In fact, he liked it? For the briefest of moments the aches subsided, the heat receded long enough to feel the cool spring breeze, and the beeping faded into nothing. He could swear even the pits were calm. No wait, they weren't just calm; they were cooing? Pushing him to lean into the young man's touch.

"Mind if I join you?" The boy asked.

"Please…" Jason spoke, somewhere between a whisper and a prayer.

And they started back along the walkway. Jason couldn't help but feel like the world had stopped as they made their way through Crime Alley.

"You know," the stranger began, "there's nothing wrong with asking, 'GOD, why the fuck is this happening to me?'"

"Sure, you know WHY it's happening. But it seems pretty unfair, no? I mean, we go through this absolutely awful thing once, and then we have to deal with the shadows of it once every three-sixty-five for the rest of eternity? That's just brutal."

Jason knew he had trusted every word spoken to him so far, though he couldn't be sure why. But the small, rational voice in his head now confirmed exactly what the subject of their conversation was.

"Well the truth is," he continued "it's not some command by on high. No one made these rules. It's just how the universe operates. I've actually met quite a few others like us, but they didn't live on a rock rotating around a yellow star. One of them lived their whole life on a space station flying through eternity. And yet even they feel this once every so often."

"See, the thing is, humans operate on an annual time scale. We don't feel greatly connected to something that happened exactly 7 or 28 or 30 days ago. But three hundred and sixty five days… and six-ish hours puts us in basically the exact same spot in the universe. You can feel it, the same air blowing in your face, the same setting sun, even the same clothes you were wear-"

Jason collapsed. He felt the air ripped out of his lungs as he coughed and choked and desperately tried to restart his breathing. Everything hurt, everything was hot, and the GODDAMN BEEPING-

And then it was gone. The only thing he felt was a gentle hand rubbing circles into his back. He turned to look up at the… Spirit? God? "Boy" felt wrong now.

"Ope," he said with a look of concern, "so the clothes were a really important part. Starting to get a picture of what's going on here."

Jason gratefully received a second hand positioned on his chest as he was lifted back into a standing position. Then he turned back to his companion and urged him to continue with his eyes.

"Well," he started again, "basically, we live on a yearly timescale. We don't count months or decades nearly the same way. But that's just us, if we were turtles and the only big happening we saw was that every 23 years a squall split the bay we lived in, you and I would have much longer between our episodes. One of the ones I talked to said xey only experienced it once every 91 years when a certain comet makes its pass through the night sky on xeir planet."

"Anyway," he continued, "what I'm trying to say is that the universe is a fucked up place. But it has rules. Action-reaction and all that. So if you want, I can try and help you get through this as someone more familiar with those rules than you are."

"Please," Jason pleaded, "anything that'll help. I just, I just want it to be easier, I don't need it to be gone; I just want it to be bearable."

"Cool," he responded "glad we're operating on more reasonable expectations. But first things first, I'm gonna need to take a closer look at your core and it's not going to be a particularly comfortable experience. Is that okay?"

Jason nodded, though he wasn't quite sure what this being had meant by "core." He just couldn't help but trust it.

That trust felt slightly misplaced when a hand passed directly into his chest and the arm it was attached to shifted to several angles as if searching for something.

"Aha!" Came the exclamation as the hand retracted, now carrying a small red… was that a page? Like from a book?

"Well this looks cool," the being said, "jeez a bad boy with the heart of a poet. Jazz would have a field day. But let me see here… oh! A protection obsession, just like me. Put 'er there bud."

Jason felt a deep reverberation in his chest as he shook hands with the entity. But everything felt wrong, like his very being had been separated from him so quickly and quietly that he hadn't even noticed. It felt as though he might've gone on blissfully unaware if he hadn't seen the page come out of his chest. And then the world returned. The sounds of the city came to life and when Jason looked down, the page was gone and the hand that held it was pressed gently and flatly back against his chest. The spirit reached down to grab Jason's hand before turning to continue down the street.

After a few minutes, they came to a stop at a park.

"Why are we here?" Asked Jason.

"Dunno," came the reply, "but look closely and I'm sure you'll find the reason."

Jason scanned the park. The homeless resting in the bushes, the trees full of green leaves, several families playing, an old man feeding pigeons, and another walking his dog. His eyes suddenly snapped back to the families. One family. The mother. A young woman with a long, thin scar along her cheek.

He remembered those eyes, that hair. The scar was a fresh gushing wound when he had last seen it, but he remembered that too.

"Her," Jason said, knowing the one beside him understood, "I saved her. Or helped. Back when I was- back before I was- Fuck. Was that a decade ago? Jesus she has a ki-oh man kids. Wait, is she my age? Shit, she seemed so little then."

"Someone you protected," came the voice, "someone for whom you risked your life. Someone who looks at those kids and thanks the universe for putting you on her path every single day."

Jason felt a lump forming in his throat.

"See," the boy started, "I think that's what people forget. Not just other people but us too. It's not about carrying someone through the pouring rain to a hospital. It's definitely not about the praise or detractors or even seeing someone pull through in the end. It's about this. It's about-"

"Seeing them get the chance to flourish," Jason finishes, "watching the world step on them over and over and being there to help them back on their feet the one time it would've been too much on their own. And then knowing they thrived in the end."

"It's hard," the spirit said, "to remember where we really sit in the grand scheme. It can feel like we haven't done anything or that no matter what we do, we'll never be more than one single moment. The reason today sucks every year is important. But it doesn't define who you are or what you'll do. Go visit Mr. Friedrichson at 2:03 today. One of his old tenants is gonna visit and I think you'll enjoy the reminder of why your home is a place worth fighting for, even in spite of the name. Talk to Jenny and Liu. They'll be on 5th Street tonight and they'll talk your ear off about all the good you've done and what it really means to bleed Crime Alley. And can I make one actual request, even if you don't do the other stuff?"

"Of course," Jason replied, "anything."

"Enjoy yourself," the voice spoke, fading as if it was getting farther away. "He's gonna come by as per usual, bearing gifts. But I'm begging you, forgive yourself, even if just for today, and try to enjoy some time with your brother."

"Hey Jason!" Came a call from his other side, "I've been looking all over for you. I got your favorite."

Dick lifted a large brown bag, undoubtedly from the greatest Chinese restaurant in the world… if you asked Jason that is. Jason couldn't help but let a soft smile creep across his face, before quickly hiding behind a groan and a hand pressed into his forehead.

"I can't get one day's peace from you can I?" Jason said as he closed the distance and took the bag.

"Uhh," Dick said, stunned by the more playful remark. "I… I thought you might want some company and I had a free-"

"Thank you Dick," Jason cut in, "I know you take this day off every year and I know you spend it mostly with me screaming and throwing things at you."

"It's not-" he began.

"But this year," Jason continued, "let's do something better."

He lifted the bag to his face and deeply inhaled the fragrant smell of nostalgia and stir fried vegetables.

"You even remembered my special instructions," Jason said, "come on. I know a few places we can go to enjoy this."

Oh boy that was long. Uhh, I hope Tumblr does the whole button to expand this automatically. I kinda only got halfway through what I was gonna say and then burnt out so we skipped Mr. Friedrichson's moment. Anyway have a good one y'all. Oh right, Danny says "bud" and "ope" because he's Midwestern just like me. I don't take criticism (on the Midwestern thing).

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #batman #jason todd #red hood #danny phantom #danny fenton #dick grayson #jazz fenton #mentioned #ghost core #obsession

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writer-in-theory · 7 months

Text

you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened.

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him.

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape.

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy.

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though.

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it.

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore.

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior.

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months.

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first.

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past.

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same.

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony.

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know.

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home.

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst

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meatonfork · 2 years

Note

Hey hey firstly absolutely adore your writing!❤️

Could I request the task force 141 boys with a reader that may not have the best relationship with their family members?(brothers in particular)

No pressure at all if you're uncomfortable writing this!!

Shame

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pairings: platonic 141 x grim

warnings: death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, abuse

summary: guilt and shame plague grim as they remember their late family

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guilt and shame of the relief flooding your veins hurts more than the grief of loss.

obviously, you’re devastated they’re dead. it’s been five years. five years to process. five years to cope. five years to get over it.

but, you can’t help but feel relief knowing you’d never have to see them again.

your family may be dead, but the pain they put you through never did. it burned.

just the thought of them made your hands shake.

remembering the abuse you went through.

of course you loved them. they were your family.

your family was well known in your small town. three children and a perfect marriage. a little home on the outskirts of town, a pet or two. you were the perfect family. to the outside peeking in.

but, your mother was in over her head. you’d often wondered why she even had kids. why she put you through what she did. why did she take her anger out on you? did you not try hard enough? were you not good enough?

physical, mental and emotional abuse was common from her.

but the worst part? your father.

he was never there. physically, he was.

your father was emotionally unavailable.

when you were younger, he’d take you on little trips. work on cars, and go fishing with you. as you grew older, and your siblings came along, it changed. he hardened and gave up, letting your mother do as she pleased.

you often left the house and ran around town. taking walks, spending days at a friend’s house, getting odd jobs here and there.

when you joined the military, lying about your age, you found peace and another family. one that loved harder than the one you had in your hometown.

a few months in, and they were dead.

today was the five year anniversary of their deaths.

you felt relief.

relieved knowing your siblings never had to endure the pain of your mother’s abuse, or your fathers neglect.

relieved knowing you’d never have to go through it either.

but, so much shame in feeling this way. it rattled your bones, sank in your core, and nested there. often times, you’d find yourself wishing it was you instead.

there you lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. lights off, blinds closed.

the only sound that rang throughout the small room was your sniffles.

the thought of your little sister being fourteen and your little brother being sixteen by now slammed into your tired mind.

with shaky hands, you wiped your face in frustration.

a raspy groan pulled from your chest, and you sat up.

tears of anger pricked at the corners of your mind, and small yell ripped from your throat.

“FUCK.”

you stood and paced the room, hands finding their way to your messy hair.

you’d practically raised those kids. taking them to school in the morning after helping them get ready. making dinner for them when your parents refused. taking the blame for little things when your mother was on a rampage.

you didn’t even register your fist hitting the wall until you looked down and saw drywall on the floor, a gaping hole where your fist was.

“shit.” a hiss came from your mouth.

you cradled your hand as you walked into the hall.

red rimmed your eyes, deep purple bags sat below them. your freckles stood out from how tired you were, littering your face. your hair was a rat’s nest, not bothering to fix it before you left.

your soft stomps echoed in the hall, distracting you from the pain emitting from your knuckles.

stopping in front of a familiar room, you gave a slight knock after shuffling your feet in hesitation.

a long moment went by, and you kicked yourself for even coming this way.

turning around, you start back down the hall to your room before the sound of the door opening stopped you.

“ya need somethin’ kid?” his gruff voice sounded behind you.

a sigh left your chapped lips before you turned around.

“i- i need help with my hand.” you cleared your throat, and raised your right hand to show him the damage.

his uncovered eyes took in your small figure that somehow looked smaller in the moment.

brows quirked, he noticed you were sinking in on yourself. making yourself seem smaller. ghost thought you looked like a small child.

“what happened?”

“turns out, a wall is not a very good punching bag.” you tried to make light of the situation.

“c’mon.” his head nodded, and he opened the door wider for you.

you followed him in, and he took you to his desk.

“why’d ya punch the wall? johnny piss ya off?” he started shifting through his desk, looking for a med kit. his balaclava covered up to the bridge of his nose, and with the lack of face paint, you noted his eyes were brighter.

“uh, no. johnny didn’t do anything this time, don’t worry.” your legs shifted as you got more comfortable.

he gently grabbed your hand after setting the med kit down, and started wiping it with alcohol.

“ow.” you let out a little hiss at the sting.

“m’sorry.” he all but mumbled out, not meaning it.

“you gonna tell me what happened?”

“i didn’t mean to, didn’t realize i punched the wall til i saw part of it on the floor.” you shrugged, avoiding the actual question.

“not what i’m talking about, you know that.” his movement halted as he looked up at you from where he knelt on the floor.

you shifted your eyes from his as tears pooled in them.

“mm. i think i hate myself. not physically, that’s not the issue. i hate my brain. and i hate the way i feel things. i hate i’m not normal. i should be disgusted with myself for feeling this way, yet i can’t find a way to.” tears streamed down your face, hiccups coming out between breaths. your heart clenched. saying the words out loud made it all the more true.

“what’re you talkin’ bout?” he continued wiping the blood and dust from your hand, eyes flicking up to yours every so often.

“i’m so fucking relieved they’re dead. and i shouldn’t be. i should be sad. but, i can’t bring myself to feel that way. my family’s fucking dead and i’m okay with it.”

he didn’t say anything for a hot minute, and you sat there wondering if he hated you as much as you did.

he finished wrapping your hand in silence as you sat there, bouncing your knee.

ghost swiftly put the med kit back before turning to you once more. a sigh left his lips and his eyes flicked to yours.

“listen, kid. i know how it is. judging from this,” he points at your being, finger waving over your face and stiff body, “they weren’t the kindest to you. been there. if this brings you peace, let it happen. because it did for me.”

you didn’t say anything, letting his words sink in.

“my old man was real piece of shit. he had it comin’”

“yeah, but my brother and sister didn’t. they don’t. they were just little ones.” your throat closed a bit, a lump taking over.

“i’m sorry. i really am, kiddo.” his hand found your knee.

“it should’ve been me.” a whisper left your mouth.

“absolutely not. don’t say shit like that. it shouldn’t have been you, and it wasn’t. okay? we want you here.”

you choked back another sob.

your head thumped against his shoulder and you let the tears fall.

“i’m sorry.”

“why’re you sorry for, grim. nothin’ to be sorry for.” he was stiff, but his hand raised to your back, rubbing gently.

“i don’t know. for them. my siblings. i fucking raised them, protected them from my parents, kids at school, strangers at the store, yet i couldn’t keep them alive.” your voice was muffled in his shoulder.

“we can’t save everyone, kid. i couldn’t. don’t expect yourself to.”

“i know. it hurts.”

“you gotta feel it.”

“i don’t want to sometimes.”

he chuckled, shoulder bouncing your head a bit, “no one does, sweetheart. c’mere.”

his body raised, and he stood. with open arms, he beckoned you over to him.

wiping your face, you dove into is his arms, face smooshed into his chest.

arms wrapped around your smaller figure, his head leaning on yours.

“stayin’ here tonight?”

“if you’ll let me.” you pulled back and gave a soft smile.

his eyes crinkled as he gave you one back, hand rubbing up and down your back, “course, kid.”

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a/n: i really hope you enjoyed this :’) a little self projection on this one

#grim au #john price #kyle gaz garrick #soap cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost #cod #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2022 #cod mw2 imagine #ghost cod #task force 141 #141 x reader #gaz x reader

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sulieykte · 1 year

Text

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆

Pairing: Dilf!Jake Sully x Fem!Omatikaya Reader Warnings: explicit smut, thigh riding, age gap, daddy kink, overstimulation, dacryphilia, corruption, power imbalance, a nice little mix of praise and degradation, not a single hint of plot. Word Count: 1.2k a/n: this is probably a surprise to everyone including me who didn't intend to write it until @andraga12 and @jakexneytiri got me riled up about dilf Jake. Inspired by nasty - russ (blame andra) and oxytocin - billie eilish, I'd recommend listening to either or both while reading. So in honour of fathers day, here's some thigh riding with dilf!jake. Click to join my taglist. Requests are open.

Half moons indent the skin of his back where your fingers grasp to steady yourself, and if it pains him he doesn’t show it. His face is unchanged since the first orgasm he’d forced you to ride out and his refusal to help you in your endeavour still standing as you neared your fourth.

His heavy lidded gaze had barely strayed from your face since the moment he’d dragged you down onto his thigh, his five fingered hand catching your jaw when you’d tried to look away, commanding that your eyes didn’t leave his. And who were you to refuse? You were a warrior in your own right, but he was your Olo’eyktan, the man who’d led your father in battle against the Sky People.

“Come here, baby.” When the foreign word had left his tongue, you’d repeated it softly, baby, brow furrowing as you tried to place its meaning, but nevertheless you had done as you were told. Obedient as you always were, you’d crossed the Marui with no idea what the next hour would hold for you.

“Jake– I can’t.” Your slick coating his thigh made the slide easy, but the ache of your swollen bud and the burn that had started in your thighs had now reached your hips. Your hips don’t stop their circling, even as you complain because despite it all, despite the shame that showed in the blush that coated your cheeks and neck, you wanted what he had promised. “Please Jake, I-I just want–”

“Jake?” He tilts his head, a smile crossing his lips that you can’t help but return, even as he tenses his thigh underneath you, a gasp replacing your attempt to correct your mistake and call him by the name he’d asked, that you aren’t even sure you remember anymore.

“D-Daddy? Please.”

“What else could you want, baby? Daddy’s being so good to you, letting you use his thigh like this.” He shakes his head, his thumb catching a tear before it could reach the corner of your lips. “And you look so pretty doing it, it feels good doesn’t it?” You whimper as his fingers dig into your hips, the first aid he’s given you. “You’re doing such a good job, just one more, baby.”

You nod in assent. You could do one more, but he'd said that before the last, and the one before that. He’d stood firm each time, no matter how much you begged and cried for him to give you his cock, never relenting as he leant back on his arms, watching you writhe over him with a look you would usually only associate with hunger.

Finding new pressure in the way he urges your hips back and forth along the length of his thigh, his leg bouncing to meet the pace he set. You clench around nothing, heartbeat throbbing at your aching clit. It’s not enough and you can’t hold on for much longer. He tuts as your head falls into his neck, tears soaking his skin as you fall into the embrace.

His movements stop and you feel your high ripped away and any attempt to chase it hindered by his bruising grip on your hips stilling your frantic attempts to roll your hips.

“What did daddy tell you, huh?” His voice is so low, you feel it vibrate against your chest. “Told’ya you needed to look him in the eyes, didn’t he?” You nod against his neck, sniffling against his skin, not quite ready to leave the comfort it provided. “Don’t tell me your going all shy on me now, not when you’re so close. You want daddy’s cock, don’t you? Why should daddy give you his cock if you can’t follow one simple instruction?”

“N-No.” Your voice comes out much less sure than you intended as you exit your hiding place. “I can, m’sorry daddy. please.” Your voice breaks through the sobs that wrack your form as you tighten your thighs around his, doing anything you can do to chase the pressure your clit craves.

It’s not enough, his hands releasing their grasp on your hips to hook under your thighs. Time slows, heat rushing your veins as his fingertips inch close enough that your core throbs, hips stuttering forward in anticipation of his touch which never arrives as he pulls your legs apart, denying you any friction. You meet his eyes, blood rushing to your head at the intensity of his gaze.

He seems happy with this, as you flush under his attention and release his hold, your body shuddering at the loss of sensation even as it’s replaced with hard muscle.

“Baby, you’ve been doing so well for me. Lookin’ so beautiful dripping all over my thigh.” His tail wraps around your waist, pulling you in closer as he reaches to push back a strand of hair that had become stuck to your face by sweat and tears. “Daddy loves watching you, sweet thing. You were so close weren’t you?” You nod, tears falling freely, heavy as they land on his chest. “Go ahead baby girl, let me hear you.”

Your heart races as you nod, rolling your hips as fast as your aching muscles allow. He catches your face in his hand, his thumb running along your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open to let your sweet moans free. “That’s it baby, come on you can do it.” You gasp as he tenses his thigh beneath you, his tail rocking you along as you run your cunt along his leg, your slick dripping onto the ground beneath you. “It feels so good doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yes daddy, feels–” Your breath catches, a whimper replacing any words, your mind struggling to gather a single thought as the tension builds in your stomach. Breath unsteady as you near your release.

He laughs, it sounds warm but his eyes are glazed with lust as he watches your mouth open and close in search of the words you want to tell him. “It’s that good, huh? Too fucked out and you haven’t even had daddy’s cock yet. Baby, if this is too much for you, I don’t know if you can handle it.”

You open your mouth to tell him that you can, you can and you will because he promised and you’d been so good. But the coil snaps, thighs convulsing as your release rushes over you, drenching both of your thighs. His eyes never leave your face as you come undone, cries filling the Marui with no regard for who might hear until your throat has little more left to give.

Body spent, you fall forward, tears streaked face pressing into his neck, surprised when he doesn’t admonish you and instead pulls you further into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling you into his embrace.

“Baby, you did so good. Listened to daddy so well.” He pressed a soft kiss against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Your eyelids are heavy, it’s so warm, so safe in his arms it would be so easy to allow sleep to take you. “My patient girl, you deserve a reward.”

taglist: @pandoraslxna,@teyamsbitch,@iwantjaketosullyme,@thehoneymushroomhealer,@neteyamyawne,@amalaaaa11,@athenalikethegoddess

#jake sully #jake sully smut #jake sully fanfic #jake sully fanfiction #jake sully imagines #jake x y/n #jake x reader #jake x you #jake sully reader #avatar reader #avatar fanfiction #atwow fanfiction #avatar smut #atwow smut #dilf jake sully #dbf!jake sully #dbf!jake #avatar the way of water #avatar twow

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thatfreshi · 1 year

Text

Little Stars and Such (Astarion x Reader)

It's here, the piercing fic, in which body-modded Tav gives Astarion hella piercings. I made a previous post with his piercing map in case you guys don't know the terms (I basically didn't until yesterday)

Tw - needles, implied sex

Recommended Song: Gregg's Woods - Alec Holowka

For the past couple of days, Astarion has been asking quite a few questions about your piercings. You had adorned your nose and face in tiny pieces of metal, all done by hand. Your little collection has grown over time, most recently with an eyebrow piercing once you settled down in Baldur's Gate once again.

"Do they hurt?"

"Like, when you pierce them? Yeah. You get used to it though. Surprised you don't have any honestly, elves are known for having the most elaborate piercings."

He stays silent for a moment, and you realize he wouldn't know that.

"Wasn't exactly a thing Cazador just let us do. Body modifications were mostly limited to demonic scars and being cut up for fun."

"Right... sorry."

"Don't be."

The conversation ended pretty abruptly, but picked up the next day while you were swapping out your nose ring.

"Do you ever get scared that your little ring will get caught on something and rip out of your nose?"

A sudden question, but a welcome one.

"I mean, sometimes, but not many people are that close to my nose. Unless you're planning on ripping out my piercing?"

You eye him suspiciously and he smirks.

"Oh, I would never."

This goes on for days, little prodding questions about all your accessories. One morning, while the two of you are lying in bed, you catch him staring at the helix on your ear.

"Astarion do you... do you want a piercing? Because I can do them. I mean I did these to myself."

"I've been thinking about it. I'm just a little nervous is all."

"Why my love?"

"I mean, I've never really had the freedom to do what I want with my body, in a lot of ways. That's one of those things I never got to explore, all the body modifications people are oh so familiar with. I suppose I could've done one with an embroidery needle if I was desperate, but that's just not something I had the liberty to think about."

You move a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Well, you have the freedom to do whatever you want now."

"Then perhaps I'd like a couple."

"A couple? You don't wanna start with one?"

"Nonsense! One would be sad and pathetic, and we know I am a man of extravagance."

"Alright, if you insist."

You then grab a notebook sitting on the bedside table, and begin to draw out a plan for his piercings. Astarion insists that he only wants them on his ears, because he doesn't want anything to ruin his perfect face. As you're sketching, you continue to talk.

"You know this is gonna suck, right? Since your ears are so sensitive?"

"Sensitive? What makes you say that."

You blankly stare at him until he gives up.

"Okay fine, but I'm sure it can't be that bad!"

"I don't know. I mean I'm going to stab multiple holes through your ears. You barely like them being touched."

"I've been through enough pain. Nothing compares to jagged cuts in your back, I promise."

There are many moments like that, where he says something tragic that you just can't bring yourself to argue with. Without another word, he curls up against you, and the two of you discuss the options he has. Eventually, you settle on five on each side, because he INSISTED they be symmetrical.

"Tav, what kind of idiot would I look like if I had one ear with a bunch of shit on it, and one just, empty?"

"I guess you're not wrong."

He decides on two helixes, two lobe piercings, and a daith. You're a little surprised that he's going all out on this, but you don't mind. Everyone has that thing that lets them feel free, the thing they finally do to show the world 'I'm my own person.' Besides, if he didn't like them he could simply let them heal back up, forget this ever happened.

You go to grab your little makeshift piercing kit, full of fine needles you've collected over time, just in case you ever lose some.

"Now, you'll have to wear some of mine since you don't have your own earrings yet, but I'm sure you won't mind because my collection is amazing."

He sits up in bed, his shirt sleeve softly draping off his shoulder. If he could still be in the sun, you'd imagine a beam of light coming through the window right now, illuminating his face. You sit beside him, gently placing the box of needles by your feet.

"Alright, I'm gonna walk you through this as I do it, and if you want to stop at any time we can."

"Thank you my love."

The thought crosses your mind, that he'd probably not let any other soul on the planet do this kind of thing. Any time he's let someone else have control over his body, it's been riddled with sin and scars. But you? You've always been kind, soft, present. That's one thing he loves most about you, that he feels like he can be present. Not drifting off somewhere else, not closing off his mind to defend himself, not playing a chess match in his head. It's, easy. Life is easy now, and isn't that something wonderful?

"Alright, we're gonna start on the lobe. You feel the needle?"

You hold it lightly against his ear, and he shivers a little.

"Mhm."

"Alright, don't tense, but it's gonna hurt."

You hear the air escape through his teeth as the needle goes through. A pretty clean job if you do say so yourself.

"Well?"

You put in a dangling gold moon, waiting to see how he feels.

"Painful, but not horrible."

"Want to go again?'

"Of course."

He says it a little suggestively, and you give him a playful push.

"Save it for later imp."

You continue with his piercings, taking small breaks in between for conversation. You've continued adorning his ears with astral-themed jewelry, little stars and such. By the time you've finished the last one, you're quite pleased with your work. Astarion almost doesn't let you put the last earring in since he's so excited to see what you've done. He had Gale teach him mirror image a while ago, so he could finally see his reflection whenever he wanted. After casting it and giving his ears a look, he smiles.

Astarion laughs at your comment, giving one of those genuine smiles you used to rarely see. You silently curse the people that took that smile from him, wondering how anyone could see this specimen and torment him. He's like a pixie, a little trickster, someone you could pick up and hold forever. You know you're probably the only one who sees him that way, the only one who would call him cute, but he is. He enjoys it, being viewed as something that isn't devious or sexual, but a bright presence. You told him once how it's ironic that he can't be in the sun, because he was probably sunnier than the sun itself. He'd never let you tell anyone else that though.

"I... I think I quite like them."

"I do too. It's fitting."

You plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Worth the pain?"

"Most things are my love. Like you."

His hand meets your face, taking you into a deep kiss. When you break away, you whisper in his ear.

"I think they make you sexier too."

A chuckle under his breath, lips meeting again, and the morning is soon wasted away in bed. What a joy, to wake up every day with him, with someone living their life anew. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Neither of you know, but it's exciting none-the-less.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #fluff

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ominoose · 6 months

Text

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Pairing: Android!Nathan Bateman x GN!Depressed!Reader Summary: Your therapist advises you buy an android as a companion. He's a pain. Warnings: None, just fluff. WC: 1.5k Thank you @jinjersnapz for beta reading :*

The moment he stepped out of the box you wanted a refund. Thinly veiled disappointed creased his eyebrow and tugged down his lips as the android, Nathan, took in the cabin. It wasn't much, that you'd concede, wooden floors, walls and roof with a bathroom, office, kitchenette, living room and bedroom. The basic rooms filled with what one needed to live, or as your therapist called it “bare essentials” and “not willing to take up your own space”. Bullshit, essentially.

And now the result of not listening to said bullshit was taking in your abode like it was a one star Air BnB that posted fake five star reviews. He probably wanted a refund as much as you. That was an accurate description of life since he was shipped into it, ‘I want a refund.’

“You're wasting time.” Said the most annoying alarm clock since the creation of alarm clocks.

You only responded by turning over and pulling the covers over your head before they were ripped off the bed and cold air attacked your now exposed and cold skin.

“Stop spending all your time in bed just to go bitch to your therapist about how you're worthless and your life has no meaning. Either get your ass up or I'll dismantle the bed and hide the screws.”

The petty, blunt asshole would. Last week he messed with the dryer's wiring, leaving your bed sheets wet until you finished your book (that he'd recommended, ordered on your Amazon and held you at laundry point to read), citing “intellectual enrichment” as the reason.

Getting out of bed was rewarded with him asking for a cup of coffee while he worked out (apparently the extra use of his metal tendons strengthened them over time), knowing full well he'd only complain about it being cheap. It was a hellish routine, but a routine nonetheless, as your therapist annoyingly felt the need to point out every session. Begrudgingly, you'd also be forced to admit it was the truth. He got you out of bed, engaging with the house, energizing yourself and having some sort of start for the day.

“Why don't we go out for a hike?” Nathan rounded you to grab the steaming cup of coffee, grimacing at the taste.

Broad shoulders rolled openly, clad in simple grey tank top and black joggers. Despite knowing he had no skin, no actual flesh underneath the tanned synthetic layers stretched over his biceps looked soft enough to bite. Not that you'd let the android know.

“A hike? Outside? Today?” The spontaneous request caught you off guard, already openly reluctant.

The deadpan stare he gave you behind the silver frames wasn't fond.

“You live in Butt-Fuck Nowhere and want to just sit in this shitehole. Wasting your innate opportunity to explore nature's beauty.”

“Yeah, I do. Have a fun hike Nathan.” That statement was meant to be closed by you swiftly turning and walking back to your room, but a warm, calloused hand gripped your arm sternly and rooted you to the spot.

“How am I meant to have fun if you aren't there to bug? A walk in nature is an easy hack to ease your disease riddled brain and you don't take advantage of it. It's a wonder androids haven't taken over yet.”

The way he refused to handle you and your depression like a porcelain doll was something you loathed to love about him. How odd that an arrogant android treated you with the most humanity.

“I'll upload a virus into your cloud if you don't let me go, see who has a ‘disease riddled organ then.”

“An STD threat, how cute. Try successfully updating your Sims mod folder and I'll personally walk you through the virus myself.” Logically, there shouldn’t be a lively spark in his eyes, but it was there all the same, goading you into spats with him, time and time again.

“I bought you, the least you could do is fix my Sims!” Another thing you hated needing from him was the way he fed and stoked your fire, turning you from dying embers to a roaring bonfire. It always happened before you were aware of it, always when he got that cocky smirk as if this was exactly what he wanted.

And following routine he simply walked away, rolling those ridiculously handsome shoulders to add salt to the wound and leaving you to seeth.

“Hurry up and get ready.”

When you finally crested the hill, sun shining down through dark pine trees, birds chirping around you, part of you conceded it was worth it. The other part was whining over the stitch aching at your side.

“God I feel like death.” The panting breaths came out as a fog in the cold forest, but Nathan paid no mind to the temperature or your whining.

You never once questioned his ability to enjoy the cold whistle of the wind, whether or not he could feel the numbing chill in his finger tips. Why did it matter why his favourite spot was the waterfall, always cold no matter the season, a hint of a smile plucking at synthetic lips when the mist tickled his beard. It didn’t occur that it should matter, but it was noticed by him the way your mouse didn’t entertain the news articles discussing the ethics of how closely androids now resembled a human, drawing comparisons to fictional history of Dune.

Nathan knew more than anyone that you weren’t the academic, whizzkid genius he was. Your mind physically could not scramble through numbers and piece together advanced mathematic equations. You weren’t book smart, but it wasn’t something he considered lacking.

You dismissed stupid opinions (like the aforementioned article) as if they didn’t exist to you as easily as you stood toe to toe with him to defend other stupid opinions (Aristotle was just some annoying old guy). You were acutely aware of your depression, the way your mind functioned against you and plodded on, taking it in your stride your own way.

As you keeled over, huffing out cold whisps, his dark brown eyes scanned every inch of you. There was no part of you he hadn’t cataloged and stored carefully in his memory banks, no quirk or habit was unfamiliar to him. Yet it always felt like a small surprise to see them unfold in the intimate privacy of the small bubble you both shared.

“Why’re you staring? You better not say I told you so, I’ll ship you back and enjoy going back to my solitude inside.”

“You wouldn’t have to be alone. You’re pretty enough to coax someone into your little hovel.” Said like a passing comment on the gathering clouds.

“Pretty?” Said as a reaction, completely caught off guard.

“Yeah? How many times do we need to go over how your mind will distort how you perceive reality before you finally listen to me, sweetheart?” How was he managing to still be so condescending while arguing about how beautiful you were, how the softly filtered sunlight through the trees settled against your hair like the sun was made to do just that

No wonder humans had wasted so much time on artsy poetic bullshit since the BC’s, beauty really could be all you had the capacity to think about.

“Based on what? I thought you didn’t abide by societal constructs Mr Bateman?” It was a shoddy attempt at acting normal, but the supercomputer android would’ve already noticed the quiver in your voice and the red dusting your face. Maybe if you pretended you didn’t know he could do that, he just wouldn’t.

“I’m abiding by my standards.” His eyes stared right into you. The words words hit you right in the stomach, no time to brace.

And he takes advantage of the hesitation.

“We both know I’m capable of noticing when you ogle me when I work out. We both know I'm equipt to sense when your heart rate picks up, which it does every time I lean over your shoulder to correct your shitty work. We both know I can literally measure the heat in your cheeks right now, want me to?”

The speed at which your head shook had your hair lashing your face, something that only grew his smirk.

“You sure?”

“Fuck yo-”

His lips were warm when they cut you off, subtly soft in contrast to the calloused hands cupping your face. Your mind instantly jumps to satisfaction that you’d been right in your assumption about the feel of his lips until the actual realisation that he was kissing you kicked in, and by that point he was already pulling away. You didnt even have time to savour how the cold metal of his glasses pressed against your nose.

“Lets go, it’s gonna start pissing down and I hate fogged up glasses.”

Nathan was already walking back home, back turned until he realised you weren’t already trailing after him. He turned. You were still staring, lips slightly parted and wide eyed, not yet finished processing what had happened. His smirk turned soft.

“C’mon sweetheart, I need my shitty cup of coffee.”

#nathan bateman x reader #oscar isaac #omiwrites

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itsabouttimex2 · 5 months

Text

A Brand New Journey:

Part Five

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six)

Macaque has always been so good to you. Even from the first day you accidentally stumbled onto him, he had been kind.

Your arm had been gashed open by an unfortunate fall, dripping blood and throbbing in pain with each shaky step forward. Although you had hoped to get home before dark and patch yourself up with an ever dwindling first-aid kit, praying that there were enough bandages and antiseptic left for the wound.

But then there were two sets of footsteps close behind, spurring you to disregard caution and start sprinting down the street-

Whereupon you had bumped into one very strange demon, wearing an inconspicuous ru and sporting a tattered scarf.

“Going somewhere, kiddo? You shouldn’t be in such a rush, you now. You might get hurt. Ah, but…”

His hand then shot forward to clamp around your wrist, turning it over to examine your bleeding forearm.

“Looks like you already did, huh? Here, let me just…”

Rip. Shriiiip.

The precise shredding of thick fabric, his clawed fingers cutting a rectangular strip from the already ragged scarf. He had placed one end on your wrist, then gave you a strange grin.

“Hang in there, kiddo.” The simian warned you almost too late, given barely a second to brace for the stinging pain of having a wound forcibly bound shut with naught but pressure and cloth.

Biting back a wail and a set of fresh tears, you watched the monkey demon firmly tie off the end of the makeshift bandage.

It had been such a simple thing to do- but you still cherished him for it all the same.

How you’ve come to cherish your precious mentor, who stares down at you now with a strange smile.

Lifting a sleeve to your puffy eyes, an effort is made to stand up- only for Macaque to push you back down.

“I don’t think you’re steady enough for that just yet, kiddo.” Base words to convince you to do as he says, and you believe him. You always do.

Have you ever not believed him? Even for a moment, has there ever been any doubt in your heart?

He wraps the crimson scarf a little tighter around you, making sure that it covers your shoulders and neck.

“Now, what’d you bring all the way out here? You really should know better than to carry such a fancy bag in a neighborhood like this, kiddo.”

Was this all your fault?

Maybe you should’ve wrapped the mooncakes up in something less appealing- grabbed one of the disposable plastic brown sacks from a grocery store before heading in.

How easy would that have been?

“I wanted to share a meal with you,” is the dull response you give, newly downcast and despondent. “I brought mooncakes and tea.”

“Aww, aren’t you just a gem? Just the nicest.”

Nice. Anyone can be nice, can’t they? But it’s a lot harder to be clever or strong or capable.

Maybe he’d be happier with a different student.

Maybe if you were less nice and more-

“C’mon, kiddo- are you eating or not?”

He’s already got everything ready, the mooncakes strewn across his coffee table, the bottles of tea in the microwave.

Strange. You never even saw him get up.

He notices your questioning eyes, and quickly shifts the subject.

“Real sweet of you to bring this all the way out- I’m guessing you got a good deal, if you brought all of this?”

“Y-yeah! Yeah, I, uh, I’ve been using an app that tells me about local deals, y’know? Saves some money, and, um, all that.”

“Smart,” he praises, and a rush of euphoria races through you at just that one word. It feels almost pathetic to rely so heavily on someone’s praise to feel good about yourself. Still, you can’t help but adore each moment he breaks from his reserved norm and drops an honest compliment.

“Go put your stuff up and get changed, kiddo. I’ll pour the tea and get cushions.”

An actual sit-down meal with your mentor! You wouldn’t just be snacking and chatting on the couch this time!

Jumping to your feet, you excitedly race to the guest room, painted in a smooth purple and decorated with black curtains. He had essentially given it to you, letting you settle in with him at least semi-permanently.

A shelf right next to your bed is stocked with mementos, most of them memories you’ve shared with Macaque. A little snap-together set you had convinced him to put together with you, a bright mecha built from colorful blocks. By the end of the build, you had learned that he’d much rather watch than try to fiddle pieces together with his claws.

A framed photo beside it of something that Macaque had enjoyed much more- pumpkin carving. In place of a serrated knife or design card, he had taken great joy in simply shredding precise diamonds into the thick orange hide of the vegetable. The carved gourd had looked something like a lantern by the end of his fun. It had even put him a good enough mood to allow for a photo to be taken.

And you had a photo of you, MK, and Mister Pigsy to put up, but-

Enough reminiscing! Your mentor is waiting for you, after all.

You throw on the coziest thing you have in the closet- an old nightgown, long abraded to softness. Black as night and cool to the touch, decorated with purple cloud embroidery. And it never seemed to stop smelling of plums, a scent you had grown familiar with very quickly.

You aren’t quite sure where it came from, or when you got it- just that it’s a few sizes too big and pools around you comfortably.

Shoes off, bag placed carefully in the corner, and then you’re racing back out to meet Macaque in the living room.

You don’t notice two golden-eyed figures slinking out of the shadows and into your room.

The coffee table is prepared, the bottled tea is poured into mugs and the mooncakes are laid out two by two. He’s even put your little sitting cushion beside his instead of across.

You quickly take your seat, Macaque’s hand coming to ruffle your hair.

“Are we ‘expanding my horizons’ again today, kiddo? An ice cream day wasn’t enough?”

“I want you to try nice things,” is your protest, causing his golden eyes to soften.

“That’s… sweet of you,” he admits, folding his arms. “Really, Y/N.”

“…yeah,” you awkwardly respond, grabbing one of the napkins Macaque had set out. You grab one of the mooncakes and wrap it, then pass it to your mentor. “Do you, uh, know what’s inside this one?”

The sable simian lifts the pastry to his nose, sniffing intently. Quickly, his face scrunches up. “Tsk. More ice cream? Not in all of them, I’m hoping. Unless you’re trying to give me cavities, kiddo.”

“No, there’s only four with ice cream- and we’ve got two of them right now. I know you don’t like your food too sweet.”

“You’re a good kid,” he chuckles, biting into the mooncake. Vanilla ice cream leaks from the middle, oozing onto his tongue.

In turn you munch on your own, slowly leaning your head onto his shoulder.

Macaque doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your form, yanking you closer.

“You’re a good kid,” he says again, an ancient look in his golden eyes. There’s a newfound contentedness in them, and a pang of something much darker boiling underneath that new satisfaction. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

Swallowing down the last bit of the sweet pastry, you nod. “Sure, Macaque.”

“Nothing big- just I wanna know how you feel about me, kiddo.”

…something is scraping around in the room Macaque has fixed up for you.

“Keep looking,” a quiet and steady voice says. “They wouldn’t have just left it anywhere.”

“Shut up,” another angrily returns. “Don’t tell me what to do, Rumble! You’re lucky that I’m even helping you!”

“…you’re the one who wanted to come in here and look, Savage.”

“Shut up! Hurry up and throw me their bag!”

With a groan, Rumble carries your backpack to his ‘brother’ and drops it in front of him.

“Be quick,” he cautiously reminds. “Those mooncakes won’t last forever.”

“…I didn’t find the book,” Savage snarls, his crimson fingers hitting glass.

“But I did find something.”

And slowly, he pulls out the photo of you and your friends.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Macaque #Yandere Rumble #Yandere Savage #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Choose Your Own Adventure #A Brand New Journey #Yandere Mentor

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smok3r7 · 5 months

Text

They Always Come Back

Aaron Hotchner x f!reader

Explicit, 18+

Butterflies & Broken Glass

Main Masterlist & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: You and Aaron met in college, Criminology Major, funny enough. Throughout your five years at George Washington College, you and Hotchner had this on and off again relationship; it was all fun until you started to realize that you loved him. After graduation the two of you cut ties and left it as dumb college love, going your separate ways. After a decade you finally land your dream job, a seat at the BAU; however when you notice the name copied on the email, you can’t believe your eyes.

Chapter Summary: Moving on isn’t always the easiest and honestly takes a long time. But does it ever get better when old wounds get ripped open?

Word count: 3k

—

“So,” your mom starts “Are you ready to talk ‘bout, you know, it?”

The sound of her knife hitting the cutting board after slicing through a carrot pierces your ears. You don’t answer her, you continue to peel the batch of potatoes and carrots that sit in this metal strainer under a running tap. She also says nothing and continues to chop the vegetables you pass to her as if you’re on an assembly line.

You’re not sure if you are, but you’ve avoided it as long as you could. It’s weird that it feels like years ago and, simultaneously, feels like hours ago. But it’s been three months, going on four next week. The reality of the break up, however, hit you the second week you came home, and it was brutal.

And since then, you haven’t been the same.

Bella and Kelly have tried everything to help you; consistent phone calls from Kels since she’s still in DC, and Bella coming over whenever she can - which is all the time. But you just can’t shake the utter pain and heartbreak that pours out of your skin, and the only person who can help you through this, is your mom.

She’s been through most, if not all, of the hardest and toughest things you’ve been dealt with. She’s your real ride or die bestie. So even though you're not ready to discuss it, evidently you have to - for your own sake. If you’re going to move on with your life, move on from Aaron Hotchner, you have to talk about it.

“Not much to talk about, really.” You lie one more time. You’re not sure why you do - you chalk it up to your subconscious mind not being ready to properly handle this or that your mom will drop it.

The sound of your moms chopping stops and you hear her sigh. She’s not gonna leave it alone. The cold water flows through your fingers, causing them to go numb and start to sting when there are no vegetables left to rinse. So you know you’re stuck listening to what she has to say, so you figure you might as well just take it.

“Well, I’m tired of you sittin’ on your ass ‘n mopin’ around all fuckin’ day for the past few months. That’s not the daughter I raised.” By the loudness of her words you can tell she’s now facing you, but you’re too afraid to turn around. Too embarrassed. Too ashamed of yourself.

She barks your name and orders you to turn the water off and look at her, which you do, but not before you grab a sheet of paper towel to dry your stinging hands. You do this very slowly, to the point where you feel like it’s in slow motion. You know she’s not going to do anything but just try to understand where your head is at, and maybe scold you just a bit because of your actions - or lack of, for that matter - but you know she means well and she just wants to make sure her little girl is okay.

Looking into her eyes, you break. The bubble in your throat finally bursts. As you lunge forward, your moms arms open and welcome you with love and affection as she wraps her arms tightly around your shoulders.

You cry and cry, until no tears are left.

—

Your senses are overwhelmed; the smells of plants and people from the park overpower you, the sight of the masses of people panics you just a little, and the sound of music playing in one ear and screams of small children on the playground in the other keeps you alert. Your heart feels like it’s going to jump out of your chest, while your lungs work overtime to keep you going - the cool morning weather making it harder to catch your breath.

The white gazebo is now within sight as you jog past the large playground that’s packed with children of all ages with their families. Saturdays during the summer are the busiest days at Richmond park, so you always take that into account when you go on your daily run.

But this morning is different. Instead of going to your usual civil court office, like you have for the past eleven years, you’re waiting on an important email from Erin Strauss. The section chief of the BAU in Quantico, the very job you’ve been working so hard for. Your second interview was three days ago and it went pretty well considering how judgmental and difficult Strauss was.

You honestly weren’t sure if you were going to get the job because Strauss was picking apart every tiny thing about you; where and how you grew up, what college you attended, what’s so important about joining the BAU, and whether you can hold your own when it comes to a career with something like the FBI. You felt like you were being stabbed with each one of her questions, but you figured that she’s just like that, with a job requiring a brutal sort of honesty.

Catching your breath, you raise your arms above your head and fold them over so the air can flow freely through your body. Standing on the steps of the gazebo, you step in a small circle to get a bearing on your surroundings, making sure to note anything that seems out of the ordinary. Too many women have been getting assaulted or mugged recently, so you’re always scanning your environment. To add another element of security, you own a black 9mm, which is currently in your car in the parking lot just a few feet away. You have your carry permit, but it doesn’t do much good when you’re in leggings and a sports bra.

Your mom was extremely concerned about you living by yourself and forty-five miles away from her, so she and Anthony convinced you to go to the gun range to become familiar. Then, after about four months of that, you decided you felt comfortable and educated enough to own a gun, for your safety.

While doing one last spin, you lower your arms and reach for your phone in your side pocket. Your breathing is now steady and regulated, so you can focus more on yourself and your surroundings.

Pausing your music and taking out your one earbud, you notice an email from Strauss and you instantly feel proud. You really did it, you really made it to your dream job. It felt almost impossible; after eleven years, you were about to give up hope about this job. But your inner child put up a huge fight against it and ultimately won. There was no way in hell that you would give up on this dream of yours. It was going to happen one way or another.

You open the email as you start walking to your car, but before you can read past the names copied in the email, you freeze.

Your stomach drops to the cement below your sneakers, your heart rate increases rapidly, and your mind somehow is silent but screaming at the same time. There’s no way this is possible, you never thought this would happen.

Hotchner, Aaron

—

“You haven’t even seen him since graduation right?”

“Kels…yes! I never thought I’d ever see him again, let alone have to work with him, under him even!”

“Under him, hehe,” Bella murmurs to herself into her glass of wine as she takes a sip.

You glance to your right and she diverts her eyes to her feet, away from your judgy eyes.

Immediately after you received the email and got back into your car to head back to your house, you called the girls over for a wine and bitch night. Something the three of you started once Kelly ended things with Jason six years ago and moved five minutes away from you and Bella, who lives only four houses apart.

Kelly has her own law firm and has done extremely well for herself. However, you do feel bad about how Jason and her ended things. Long story short, she caught him bringing random women back to their home constantly. But what makes it even worse is they have a seven year old daughter. A newborn at the time she kicked him out and never wanted to see him again, Jason hasn’t seen his daughter since then either.

You have no idea how Kelly is still able to be this bubbly person, but she is. You and Bella help Kelly whenever she needs it, especially when it comes to her daughter Lilly; babysitting, picking up or dropping off from school, picking up dinner some nights, and anything else.

You’ll be damned if anything else happens to Kelly and Lilly, they are least deserving of any treatment like that from Jason.

“So, have you replied to her email?” Bella questions as she takes a bite of stringy pizza, wiping the corners of her mouth after.

“She told me I didn’t have to. Just to make sure I read it before I go in on Wednesday, which I thought was a weird day to start but what do I know?”

“So, like… how are you feelin’ about all this?” Bella chimes in again, but with a tone that lets you know she is trying to be sincere.

Your right hand instinctively raises to your necklace and you start to fidget with it … the heart necklace from Aaron. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. You really don’t know how to feel about this, especially when you erased him from your memory almost completely so you could figure out how to move on.

After so long, the thought of Aaron became less and less, even though you still wear the one piece of jewelry from him. It’s been the one thing that you haven’t been able to let go of and you haven’t had a reason to understand why, but now it almost seems like this was meant to happen. The universe never wanted you to forget about him, but you also wonder if he’s ever stopped thinking about you.

He had to have noticed your name, just like you did his. But what does that mean? You wonder if he had any say in hiring you or if this is all Strauss’s work, because those two things have very different meanings behind them and those two people have very different motives.

“Do you think you’ll be okay?” Bella sits up and rests her hand on your bare thigh, shaking you back to reality.

You raise your eyes to her and give the best fake smile you can show and lightly nod your head, I’m gonna try.

—

You have an excellent first day baby, call me when you’re home. Love you!

Standing in the elevator, you read your moms text message with a warm smile. You didn't tell her about Aaron being your boss, that’ll be a deep conversation for later.

Thank you, love you mama!

The elevator dings, stops and the metal door slides open before a gorgeous, black haired woman walks in, and you both give a slight smile to each other as you move to give her some room. She goes to press the number six, for the BAU, but she notices you already have it pressed.

“Oh, you must be the new girl that Hotch was telling everyone about,” she confidently tells you. “Emily Prentiss.” She reaches her hand out, which you confidently take and introduce yourself to her.

So he does remember me…what did he tell them?

“Welcome to the world of horrible things people are capable of, you’ll come to learn a lot!” She shakes her head slightly, “But it seems like you can stomach it, I mean, you made it into the BAU which is huge in itself.”

The same time you chuckle, the metal doors open again and you’re met with a small hallway with glass doors that have the Seal of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s logo on them. It’s busy with agents walking from one hallway to the other, all on a mission (or at least that’s what it looks like). You can finally release that breath that’s been sitting in your chest since you woke up this morning.

“Well, let’s go introduce you to the team,” Emily announces as she slightly nudges your lower back, “I got you, girl, don’t worry.”

Turning your body to the side so she can lead the way, you smile, “Thank you.”

Now, past the glass doors, you’re met with an open layout office with desks together to make squares. Emily walks past the first couple and heads to the next set, where a group of four gather around one’s desk. Your nerves build just a little bit, but you shove them down for your first impressions. You’re not going to allow Aaron the satisfaction of knowing he’s messing with your head.

“Listen up, kids!” Emily announces, catching everyone’s attention but you see how all their eyes move to you and then back to Emily. She steps to the side, almost showcasing you off to them as she tells them your name and that you’re officially joining the team.

With your leather brown purse hanging from your shoulder, a large confident smile comes across your face as you wave to them with your right hand, hi guys!

“I was just asking J.J when you were coming in, I’m Penelope Garcia!” This vibrant colored blonde reaches her bejeweled wrist out to greet you, which you happily take.

“My official first day!” You cheer, “So excited to be a part of your team!”

Over the next ten minutes you learn a whole lot about the team. And you overall, love them all already. They’re all just full of character and personality, which you’re always looking for in a work environment.

J.J, the original liaison turned official Supervisory Special Agent and mom of two healthy boys. Spencer Reid, the impossibly smart guy, you have no clue that anyone could be as smart as him. Derek Morgan, the player and muscle of the team for sure, this man is flirtatious but in a fun way - he’s not rude or arrogant in the slightest. David Rossi, one of the original FBI agents and the old Italian man that reminds you a lot of what your mom described of her grandfather. Penelope Garcia, the technical genius and the brightest and most animated woman you have ever seen. Emily Prentiss, the pure badass and smartass of the team, is almost a mixture of the team all around.

Jokes and history are being shared amongst everyone, but there’s a huge elephant in the room. Even with the laughs from the team, the tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife. Where is he?

“Dad’s here!”

You hear Derek whisper, trying to not make a scene…which doesn’t work because everyone turns their head. Everyone except you. You’re caught staring at J.J, who sits in her office chair with her blonde eyebrows raised, and her lips purse as she slowly spins to face her desk.

Morning.

There it is. The voice you’ve ached to be able to hear again, but will deny if ever asked. From the one and only man you’ve ever longed for and have loved since you met him over a lifetime ago. The man you’ve lost sleep over from just wishing you could redo it all over so you and him didn’t go separate ways. The voice that distracts you from work when you’re alone in your office and you’re not sure why. The memories of you and him on date nights flourish your brain when you’re with friends, even though you thought you and him were done completely. The voice you thought you had erased from your memory, but just like that, the memories and feelings come right back like you’re in college again.

Aaron.

Just like that, he stops dead in his tracks. His back now to you about a desk away, his broad shoulders tense under his black suit. You watch the way his back stiffens and he takes a deep breath in and stands for a moment, but he doesn’t turn around. You’re not sure why you said his name just now, it’s almost scary how natural his name spewed out of your mouth. There was just no way that you couldn’t not say anything to him right now, it just didn’t seem right.

My office is all he says with the most monotone voice you have ever heard from him. You’re almost speechless, almost. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself as you push your tongue into the side of your left cheek - what in the fuck? If he’s going to make this into a thing that it doesn’t need to be, you’re going to lose your shit because you know he can be an adult when it’s needed.

“Uh oh, trouble in paradise…” Derek mumbles with a smile that goes from ear to ear. Garcia hits his arm and tells him to shut up, but you can’t help but laugh at him.

“Little do you know, pretty boy.” You crack back at him with a wink as you start your way towards the small set of steps that lead to his office. A small giggle fest starts behind you and you can’t help but feel incredible, you’re fitting in so well already and you’re honestly not even worried about what Aaron will do or say.

You already know this job is going to be tough.

But so worth it.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #ssa aaron hotchner #criminal minds aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader

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its-time-to-write · 10 months

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I AM RUSHING TO GET THIS IN!!!

Friends to lovers maybe with a disabled reader?? Maybe she's someone he knew from back home who he runs into at a diner she's working at now. Maybe she feels like he abandoned her and her life fell apart when he moved away?

ANyway love you lots!!!

warning: there’s a lot of parentheses (it’s a choice) and a lot of swearing (I do what I want)

reader’s dialogue/feelings are based off my own experiences so if u read this and are like ??? don’t worry about it. i’m just projecting. the chronic illness is unspecified.

LOVE U BABE

you’ll probably date her

It’s hard enough growing up in a council estate in a shit part of Manchester (although you’d staunchly defend there’s no such thing as a shit part of Manchester) but it’s harder with fucking chronic illness. It manifests is clumsiness (joint pain), fidgeting (widespread pain), and bruising (skin problems).

Not to mention the fucking tiredness.

School is complete shit all the time, and life is complete shit all the time too.

Okay fine, not all the time, but a lot of the time.

There are bright spots in between flare ups, bright spots that consist of learning how to bake with Simon (Jamie’s stepdad) and petting Roy (Jamie’s cat) and watching horribly cheesy movies with Georgie (Jamie’s mum).

Oh, and Jamie.

You’ve known Jamie since birth, probably, when your mum brought you home and Jamie sat down on the saggy couch, aged two, and asked, “When does it open its eyes?”

He took it upon himself to look after you, magnanimous in a way he would not have been if you were actually related to him (thank god). When he starts to get tired of you, he can go back home to his own room and his own mum and hug her tight without having to share her with anyone else.

When you’re three and he’s five, you get a diagnosis. Jamie says, “That’s shit,” when your mum tells him you can’t play, and you’re told that you echo him with your first swear.

“That’s shit,” comes your tiny voice from the sofa, face down and covered in bags of frozen peas.

Your mum is too surprised by the first words you’ve said all day, that she a) doesn’t scold you and b) doesn’t catch Jamie as he slips by her into the house. He sits on the floor and starts to tell you about primary school and helps your mum when it’s time to put the peas back in the slightly-broken freezer.

It goes like that for years.

When you’re feeling well, you kick a football around with Jamie. When you’re feeling poorly, he climbs the steps to your room and tells you things, anything at all to distract you from the pain ripping through your body.

It’s nice. It makes you feel, like, someone cares, almost? Or someone understands? Or maybe the world isn’t carrying on without you, that a piece of it does stop when you do, and maybe you aren’t entirely alone.

You first realize you like Jamie (like-like) when you’re twelve and it feels like ice-cold water has been poured on your head, but not exactly in an unwelcoming way.

A shock, sure, but a soothing one.

You don’t tell him, but you think he probably knows. He’s not an idiot, he’s had girls swooning all over him since he was eight.

(And your mum knows, and she and Georgie talk, and Georgie tells Jamie to be extra nice to you and maybe a little bit careful not to be mean about it.)

He carefully slips on your small bed when you’re fifteen and he’s sixteen (almost seventeen, but it’s the one time of the year when you’re only a year apart) and balances on his side so he can look at you.

“You’ll be alright?” he asks, and you don’t have to ask what he’s talking about.

He’s going to play for Manchester (City, not United, and not the Premier League Team), and it’s all you’ve been able to think about.

You don’t say anything, so he gingerly pats your head. It messes up your hair, but it also feels like tiny electric sparks are shooting through your body (not the pain kind).

He lays there for a long time, whispering about secondary school and football and making enough money to buy houses for everyone he’s ever loved, you included.

(He promises he’ll call all the time.)

—

He does call, until he doesn’t.

Some days are good, some days are bad, and now the bad days feel like they’re your fault.

“You’re overdoing it,” your boss says, “You need to slow down or you’ll be out sick tomorrow.”

You bite back the words I’m doing my fucking best, and just nod. Fuck him, and fuck this. You can work just the same as everyone else, pain be damned. There are fucking bills to pay and yeah, this shit hurts, but what the fuck are you supposed to do. Benefits aren’t enough at the moment, and it’s been a solid two years since you’ve given up on waiting for a knight in shining armor (even if that knight is in the Premier League now, just like he always swore he’d be).

Your boss is fucking��right the fucker, but you push through on Friday (it’s fucking shit) and crash on Saturday (it’s even more fucking shit).

Your mum places bags of frozen fruit on your joints, rearranging the pillows on the floor. You’ve long since outgrown the couch, instead needing more space. Your dad moved the coffee table, saying, “It’s on its last legs anyway,” and the space you called a living room now became a treatment room of sorts.

Georgie and Simon come over all the time for family dinner (potluck-style) and they are comfortable enough step over you or sit down on the floor to talk.

It sounds worse than it is, but when they’re in the flat it feels better, all warm and glowy, like things are right.

Nights are the worst, with the moving around trying to get comfortable, so you’re awake bright and early on Sunday morning. Early enough to sit on a bench in front of the estates, bundled up in your duvet and puffing cold air out into the sky.

You hear footsteps splashing down the tunnel, someone on their way home after a long night. Or maybe it’s one of the many kids who like to sneak out to play footie in hopes that they’ll be the next Jamie Tartt.

He’s not that great, you want to tell them, except you don’t even believe it yourself. He is that great, he’ll always be that great, and you should have fucking known that he was going to fuck off and fuck a gorgeous, carefree model and not you.

(Not that you want to fuck him. Well, you do, but you also want to, like, hold his hand.)

It was always going to end up this way, you should have known not to actually have real feelings for him, you should have left it at a childhood crush and not let yourself believe something could actually happen.

The footsteps pass you by, and it’s a man in a baseball hat and an awful silk-print tracksuit carrying a Gucci travel bag.

He’s out of place here, and you wonder if he’s lost. But no, he strides up to Georgie and Simon’s door like he owns the place, pulls out a key, and walks right in. It’s only after the door swings shut behind him that you realize it’s Jamie.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, clouds accompanying the words.

(You won’t admit it, but the surprise has rebooted your system a little bit, aching limbs forgotten for a moment.)

—

“This is shit,” you say as you lean on your fucking cane of all things. “It’s one thing if it’s Simon and Georgie, it’s another fucking thing if it’s Jamie fucking Tartt.”

“That’s a lot of fucking fucks,” your father says sagely, ignoring the glare you send his way and saying ow as your mum swats the back of his head.

“It’s only two fucks and one shit,” you tell him. “And I’m not going.”

“Then I’ll tell them to come over here,” your mum says placidly.

Absolutely not. Also-fucking-lutely not.

“I am going to my room,” you say with dignity, turning to go back up the stairs.

Your dad waves, the prick. “Have fun,” he says helpfully. You flip him off without looking, and you know for a fact he’s doing it back. You know he’ll be up in an hour with a plate of dinner and sneak you early desert.

There is no fucking way you’re seeing Jamie after two years like this.

The cane is a relatively new development and sure, it’s helpful with walking sometimes, but a cane? The fuck were the doctors thinking when they suggested this? You’re barely twenty, not a damn convalescent.

By the time you make it to your room, the doorbell’s ringing and voices are filling the flat. You reach for your bottle of pills and carefully tap the right amount into your hand (even though you know there is no drug on earth to calm down your traitor heart).

You lay down flat on your back with no immediate plans to move. You find your playlist and slip an earbud in, letting the music take you somewhere else. Somewhere where you don’t hurt for no reason, where you can focus like you’re supposed to, where you aren’t so damn tired all the time.

There’s a tap on your door.

“Come in,” you call to your dad, except the door opens and it’s Jamie, no longer in his stupid outfit from earlier, but in a nice jumper that you think might be Simon’s.

He smiles like he didn’t abandon you and sits down on the floor. You hand him the other earbud (it’s better than talking) and let Stevie Nicks croon in your ear.

“How’ve you been?” he asks (the prick) and you have half a mind to ignore him.

“It’s been two years,” you remind him. “Try again.”

Jamie looks stricken. “Right, yeah, I know, it’s just- I’ve been busy.”

“Yup,” you reply. “Me too.”

(The cane is leaning on the wall by the door, and you need Jamie to not notice it.)

Jamie points to the cane. “That’s new.”

“Yep,” you say because it’s not the same as yup. It has a different vowel. It’s a different word, you’re having a civil conversation, your brain is making sentences just fine.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He sounds like he means it, which is worse. “I went through some shit, you know? It don’t excuse it, but… got a new gaffer, Keeley dumped me, then I got sent back to City right when I were getting better. It’s been shit. I’ve been shit,” he corrects.

Your arm’s falling asleep so you shift, trying to stifle a groan.

Jamie’s up in a moment, all concern. “You alright?”

“Clearly,” you gasp out as savagely as possible. “Fuck off, alright? I don’t need your pity, not now, so go find some other charity case.”

Fucking flare-ups. Fucking Jamie. Fucking chronic illness and its fucking lack of a cure.

Jamie looks like he’s been slapped. To be fair, you would if you could get in the right position.

“You’re not charity,” he says, and unfortunately (and again) he sounds like he fucking means it.

“Okay,” you say. “That’s fucking mint. Thanks for staying such a good friend all these years, it’s been real fucking fun. I’ve got to lie here in discomfort, so I imagine you’ll be leaving now. Goodbye.”

Jamie stares at you a moment, then leaves.

—

It’s a good day. It’s a good day and it’s raining and you don’t even care because it’s a good day. Nothing can ruin it (this isn’t a premonition) not even stupid Jamie showing up out of nowhere.

(It’s a little bit of a premonition.)

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says when he turns up in his mum’s kitchen, an hour before he’s supposed to be home. You’re supposed to be long gone by now, but you and Simon have cheese pinwheels in the oven that aren’t done for another twenty minutes, so now you’re stuck here until then.

“Fucking mint,” you say, just like the night before. Simon freezes but Georgie just rolls her eyes.

“We’ll be in the other room, loves,” she says. “Jamie, don’t be a fucking idiot.”

You tell him, “I’m having a good day, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fucking ruin it.”

“You’re not a charity case,” he says, and you think maybe he is broken, but like a record is broken, not like a teacup.

Jamie says, “I weren’t lying about going through shit,” and you snap (like a rubber band, not a bone).

“Big fucking deal, Jamie, you’ve been going through shit since you were six years old. I’ve been going through shit too, in case you didn’t fucking notice. It’s not an excuse to be a shitty person or a shitty friend,” you burst out.

“I didn’t say it as an excuse, it’s just a fucking reason,” Jamie shouts back. “Jesus Christ, you’re not the only person with fucking problems! You’re allowed to be mad shitty sometimes, I didn’t ever complain, so why’s it fucking different for me?”

You open your mouth to tell him why it’s fucking different, except you don’t actually have a reason. How many times did you sit with him as he iced his knee, or his face, or his arm while you iced your back, or your chest, or your legs?

Pain is pain, your fucking government-issued therapist had said. And shit if she isn’t right.

“You abandoned me,” you reply, voice small. “You left me for Keeley and I wouldn’t have minded, I really wouldn’t have. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Jamie rubs his face with a sigh. “Didn’t know how to talk to you, after. I knew you liked me since we were kids and I liked you too, so it felt fucking… weird. Dunno. But, I was with her because it was what I was supposed to do and she was mad fit and fucking funny. I’ve had a crush on her for fucking… ages.”

“Right,” you say, feeling one millimeter tall, “I get that.”

Jamie shakes his head and says, “Nah, you don’t.” (The fuck does he mean? He can’t read your mind).

“You don’t get it,” he continues. “Had a crush on her, didn’t I? Not the same as you. You were proper in love with me, and I…” he trails off.

“He was proper in love with you too,” comes Georgie’s voice.

Jamie turns bright red and you do too, and it’s like you’re kids again and he’s in your bed and you’re trying not to think about how close his lips are to yours.

“That’s… well, that’s…” You try and fail to come up with the right words.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, still blushing. “Yeah, suppose I was. Couldn’t do anything about it, then. Could do something about it now. If you’ve forgiven me.” He says it casually, like he won’t mind if you tell him to go away out of his own mum’s house and never return, when in reality he’ll burn up and die if you do.

“I will. I do,” you say. “I’m sorry too, I am. I can be a prick sometimes.”

Jamie shrugs, but he’s smiling a little. “I’m a prick all the time, love. Fucking… fucked childhood or some shit.”

“Some shit,” you echo. “So, proper in love with me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Proper. Wrote my first name with your last on every bit of paper I could get me hands on, didn’t I?”

“Fuck off,” you say with a grin.

“It’s true,” Simon shouts from the sofa. “Found some bits when I was cleaning one day.”

Wait. Simon didn’t move in until Jamie was a teenager. That means…

“Oh my god, were you fifteen when you were writing that? You weren’t even a kid anymore! What the fuck Jamie, you had it bad!” you tease.

“Fuck off, it was just a stupid joke,” he says defensively.

“Uh huh, sounds like,” you say as you go to wrap your arms around him. “You liked me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, leaning down to kiss your head. He’s never going to fucking live this down.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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unholyhelbig · 4 months

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Werewolf? I mean... werewolf.

Title: Once Bitten, Twice the Idiot [7/?]

Summary: After reader is attacked by a strange animal in the woods, her world is flipped upside down. Now she must navigate a new life filled with strangers and myths.

Trigger warnings: Emotional distress? Spelling mistakes

[A/n: This is not my best chapter, but honestly, I'm so ready to get into the time jump part of this story, that I'm just going to do it].

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

The first time you’d gotten drunk in college was on a bottle of coconut flavored Bacardi. It tasted like nail polish remover that had been manufactured in the vicinity of a resort island, but after three shots it had a nice burn to it. After six, you were starting to realize the appeal of the hard liquor that held a torch next to the candle that was cheap beer.

The next morning was filled with cotton-mouth and regret. You were curled up on a recliner in a frat house, having pulled a throw pillow over yourself to preserve some type of heat. Every part of your body ached and if it weren’t for America stirring on the couch, you would have panicked.

You sat up much too fast and reached for a football helmet that was idling on the floor next to crushed beer cans and emptied chip bags. You had retched into it and woke MJ up too. She was on the floor, having found a blanket. She’d bite off your hand if you were brave enough to reach for it, but you were too preoccupied with dry heaving to give a damn.

All three of you were mortified that you’d stayed the night in a frat of all places. Silently you gathered your things and ate in silence in the campus cafeteria. You could only stomach eggs. America nearly passed out into her hashbrowns, still having her sunglasses over her gaze.

It was the worst hangover you had ever experienced. It knocked you out of commission for the next two days. Yet, somehow, this was much worse.

The first thing you tasted was dirt. It mixed disastrously on your tongue and made you want to hurl again, but you’d learned your lesson. Swallow it down and wait until you make it outside, or to a bathroom because football helmets were expensive to replace.

Every muscle ached, and as you came to, you realized that you weren’t exactly where you had started your night off. There was a throbbing pain at your wrists, at your ankles and your throat, but nothing bolstering you to the wall. And you knew for a fact that Kate had done everything in her power to keep you restrained.

There was a warm body underneath you, chest rising and falling in a cadence that mirrored a deep slumber. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

It was as dark as ever in the cell that they’d placed you in. Just like the structure kept moonlight out, it did the same for the sun. The only indication you had that it was day was the chirping of birds forcing it’s way past the walls. If not for your advanced hearing, you’d be left wondering.

In a pained effort, you lifted yourself onto your elbows. You were marred in dirt, and saliva and russet streaks of what you could only imagine was blood. Your blood. Because you’d dutifully pulled out of the chains that had entrapped you. Not by ripping them from the wall but pulling hard enough to break the clasps.

Still, the cell held in its integrity, keeping both you and Kate locked up for the night. A sigh of relief escaped you as you tucked your chin and realized that you were, in fact, entirely on Kate. Your bodies were slotted together. Bare skin was against bare skin and the contact filled you with warmth. The sense of home.

Her arms had been wrapped around you, holding you close to her chest until you’d stirred yourself, her own dropping to the side. She was still asleep, and painfully unaware of how nude the both of you were. You didn’t want to disturb her by moving, but your skin was on fire at the thought of being this close to her while you were this naked.

As carefully as you could, you started to maneuver yourself off of Kate. She let out a small whimper of displeasure and tightened her grip around you in her sleep. She seemed to be a heavy sleeper to begin with, but with the werewolf hangover coursing through her veins, it strengthened.

She shifted to her side and took you with her, pulling your cheek flush against her chest. You stiffened at the sudden movement but relaxed almost instantly. How were you this comfortable, yet mortified at the same time?

Kate’s rhythmic breathing had lulled you back into a state of calm. You listened to each ex-hale that was punctuated by a small, barely-audible growl. Eventually, you had fallen back asleep in her grasp, breathing in her earthy scent.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you startled at the sound of a lock falling to the earth, the outer doors yanked open gracelessly. Mid-day sunlight flooded the cell. Kate’s snarl was more pronounced now, the two of you moving to cover your eyes from the assault.

Kate moved to cover you with her arm, pressing the length of it over your chest with a dark glare at the second door. She relaxed only slightly when she realized it was Yelena. The woman lifted both of her eyebrows but didn’t say a word when she let the duffel bag fall onto the packed dirt floor.

“I knew we were forgetting something,” Kate rasped.

Yelena smelled of sage, her hair damp from a shower. She was clad in a flannel shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, still as barefoot as ever despite just getting clean. Her arms were over her chest, inspecting the vacant chains and the untouched sedative.

Kate unzipped the bag and gently handed you a pair of pants that were way too long before she reached for her own jacket and handed it over. You didn’t object. The material was soft, and you were more eager than ever to cover-up.

“Malen'kiy volk, how did your first transformation go?”

“I don’t remember much of it.”

You didn’t want to remember. Everything was shrouded in a blinding basin of pain and broken bones. You suppressed a shiver at the thought and instead took the bottle of water that Kate offered you from the bag. You greedily drank through half of it, soothing the roughness of your throat.

Yelena let out a hum “Your wolf is strong, it seems. Breaking through those reinforced chains is not an easy job. We’re lucky you didn’t get past the cell door.”

“I don’t think she was trying to.”

Kate said this softly, focused on zipping your sweatshirt over her midsection. Her fingers were caked in dirt, and she struggled until you easily slotted the metal into the zipper and pulled it up with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“You broke through the chains and then you just stopped. You didn’t even go near the doors. Just me.”

“How do you remember that?” You asked in an astonished whisper. It drew a smile to her lips, teeth still pointed, but in a charming, human way.

“You’ll remember eventually too. The first couple of times will be like last night, blacking out isn’t uncommon. But once you get more acquainted with your wolf, you’ll start to see the world through their eyes.”

“Yes, some even say it’s less of a curse and more of a blessing.” Yelena confirmed, scooping up the bag with one hand. Her nose crinkled and she gave Kate a little kick to the leg. “You both stink. Let’s go back to the house. I’m sure you’re starving.”

All eyes shifted to you when you padded into the kitchen after a long, hot shower that seemed to relax your muscles. They were still unbelievably sore, but some of the tension had been released. It took nearly an hour to scrub the dirt and dried blood from your skin.

The bruising that was around your wrists, and your ankles, and even your throat had been healed before your eyes. The dark, spotted blue and purple had faded to a yellowed ring and then vanished entirely. Your eyes kept darting to the area.

Now you felt incredibly scrutinized in your pair of sweatpants and an oversized band t-shirt that you’d never listened to. The rest of the group was in much of the same attire, all looking exhausted and wolfing down the spread of food on the table. Your stomach clenched at the scent. You were absolutely famished.

There was a vacant seat in between Wand and Kate, the only one that wasn’t filled at the table so you quietly took your place. All conversations had stopped when you entered, focus being directed suddenly to the food and to you. The plate in front of you had been piled high with potatoes, and a piece of meat that looked expertly seasoned and cooked to perfection.

Your diet had been restricted to nothing but instant ramen and dollar menu items from taco bell. When your father and stepmother came to visit a few months back, they’d made reservations at a French restaurant that you couldn’t pronounce without sounding like you had no tongue at all. You’d worn your nicest dress that was stored at the back of your closet collecting dust.

You had gotten a serving of pasta that was smaller than your palm and tasted almost floral. You’d dutifully listened to them and answered the questions that they asked about school. All the while, you bit your tongue, trying to foster a relationship with your father again. You’d left with even more resentment and a tinfoil swan that contained the smallest shred of cheesecake.

“y/n,” Steve broke the silence, picking up a bite of potatoes with the prongs of his fork. “How was your night?”

He asked so fluently and without pressure. You’d answer him either way, but with the quiet you thought it would be a harder tone. He’d sat with you up in the library for hours over the past few weeks, answering any questions that you had as you read through the old texts.

“It was good,”

“You’re lying,” Tony said. “It’s never good.”

Wanda nudged your shoulder softly, warmth flooding you “You can be honest with us, sweetie.”

When you glanced up, you realized that all eyes were still on you, with the exception of Kate, who had suddenly become very interested in forming her potatoes into a little mountain that gravy would slosh down. She hadn’t grabbed any from the metal container in the center of the table.

“Yeah, it was awful. In the top three worst experiences of my life. But I blacked out, so I don’t remember most of it.”

Thor let out a boisterous laugh, breaking the silence. It earned a few half-hearted chuckles as dinner resumed. Steve kept his stare on you, giving you a small nod that you returned. There was pride that filled your chest. You’d not only pleased him, but you’d survived your first transformation and had a full month of near-peace and learning until your next one.

Natasha was in deep conversation with Clint, and Peter had captured Kate’s attention as he rambled about a video game that he had to pre-order so the two of them could play together. The entire interaction was warm and caring. You watched them all carefully, how comfortable they all were with each other. It wasn’t how your family had ever behaved.

“Do you miss them?” Wanda’s soft voice interrupted your thoughts, you furrowed your brow and gave her a confused stare. “Your family.”

“Are you a mind reader?”

She scoffed, skewering a roasted carrot with her fork, moving it around like a wand. “Hardly. I’m just good at reading people. And that look in your eyes, I can’t tell if it’s longing or resentment.”

“Maybe a little bit of both.”

You could feel the blush climbing up your neck and past the collar of your shirt. She’d clocked you entirely and you weren’t completely sure she wasn’t a witch. But her eyes were a dark and kind brown, and she hadn’t led you astray so far. None of them had. They’d all been so caring.

“You don’t have to answer, you know. And I don’t mean to pry. You’ve just been through something major. There are perks to what we are; the strength, the speed, the agility. But with the heightened physical aspects come the mental ones too. I’m sure you’ve noticed how strong your feelings towards Kate are.”

“It’s come up once or twice.”

“Mm,” She hummed knowingly “I’m here to talk. I’m here to ask. Do you miss them?”

You swallowed the dryness in your throat and considered her question. It almost made your stomach churn. Despite this, you still were ravenously hungry, directing your attention to the meat that was cut nicely on your plate. You stabbed the center of it, watching the broth spurt out. It was hard to miss something that wasn’t whole in the first place.

“My father would send me a birthday card every year on the wrong day. There was a twenty-dollar bill in it, and a sloppy signature. Eventually, the signature turned into a stamp. I’m pretty sure his secretary at the time just kept up the ruse out of pity.

“But the sad thing is, it worked. Every other year or so he’d have dinner with me. The secretary turned into his third wife. We didn’t talk much about anything. He’d ask me about school, but never my mother. It was like she was a ghost.”

Wanda had put her fork down, shoved her plate further away from her to signal that she was done. She ran her finger against the stitching of her napkin.

“My mom is my everything. She worked days at a nursing home and every other night as a gas station attendant and still, it never seemed like enough. We were scraping by. But I worked my ass off for a scholarship.” You swallowed hard, “I miss her. But only her. We never had much, but she made sure what we did have was enough and so full of love.”

The woman reached out tentatively and grabbed your hand. Comfort flooded your body, starting where her touch was and moving across you like a soft blanket. She had a motherly look in her eyes, a quiet reassurance. You could almost feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to show weakness by crying at the dinner table.

“Natasha did everything possible to make me feel comfortable that first time. And I did. But, after all was said and done, I found myself wishing for my mother who had long ago died. There’s something in that love that you can’t find anywhere else.”

You nodded, trying to get past the lump that was forming in your throat. Wanda gave your hand another squeeze, running her thumb over your knuckles. “I know it’s not the same, but I’m here. All of us are. What you did last night was scary, and you were brave. Don’t forget that.”

You mouthed a whisper of a thank you, not trusting yourself to say anything else without letting a few tears escape. Wanda kept her hand in yours for a few moments until Tony mentioned something about dessert. You didn’t’ think you could eat another bite, but then again, you’d be wrong.

“Not everything here is bad.” Kate was worming her way through the miles and miles of foliage that surrounded the property. She seemed to know where she was going, and you followed her blindly. Every inch of property felt the same. Lush trees, a blanket of fallen leaves and dirt. Really, it was beautiful.

You’d never liked the outdoors, had only gone camping as a girl scout years and years ago. But the sun was starting to lower and an orange glow was making it’s way through the forest. There was almost a whimsical fantasy world to be had.

Kate reached out a warm hand to you, helping you over a log that crossed the path. When you’d made it to the other side, she moved to pull away but you held tight. Those dark grey eyes flicked down to your palms and then back up to you in wonder.

Don’t make a big deal about it. Your stare had said. So, she didn’t. Her lip quirked up into a small, tentative smile as she led you further into the woods. Maybe she hadn’t remembered your naked body against her in the haze of sleep. Or maybe, she was used to that, being what she was. What you were. This seemed more significant.

“I don’t think it’s bad. I think it’s weird that you call it a compound, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

She chuckled and gave your hand a squeeze. The two of you walked for a few moments before she stopped. It looked like any other part of the woods. Kate looked at you expectantly. “I want you to close your eyes.”

“You’re not proposing, are you? This is all a little fast.”

“Ha-ha, very funny wise guy. Just close them.”

“Alright, alright.”

You did as you were told, feeling the warm setting sun against the side of your face. Kate continued to hold your hand. It was easy for you to focus on her touch and the world around you. There was nothing but safeness despite your reservations.

“What do you hear?” Kate asked.

At first, the only thing you could pick up on was the sound of your own heartbeat. It was hard to focus, with Kate’s blazing touch on yours. After a few moments things started to become clear. “It sounds like… water.” There was a small rush that you had mistaken for breathing at first. But, soon you were able to pick up on the rush of the current over a rock bed.

“Good girl. What else?”

You frowned, clenching your eyes harder. There was the rustle of leaves being jostled by a light breeze, and the near silent groan of settling bark. There was something more, a different type of breathing that was accompanied by a quick-beating heart.

“Don’t doubt yourself. What do you think you hear?”

“A deer, maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t sound human.”

Kate let out a small squeal that caught you off guard, lunging forward and wrapping you into a bone-crushing hug. You found yourself laughing, nearly choked with the wild mane that was her hair. It felt nice. Her holding you, proud of you, an incredible warmth blooming in your chest.

“Yes y/n! You got it. You got it on the first try.” She pulled back, keeping her hands on your shoulders.

The setting sun illuminated her, as if she were an ethereal creature. Her grip on you was so sure, so comforting. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, just being under her gaze. Those storm-filled eyes bore into your own, and you wanted nothing more than to give way to the cloying feeling that was building up.

Her stare flicked down at your lips, and then back up to your own. You were suddenly nervous, despite how close the two of you had been these last few weeks, this was different. This was exhilarating. Against your better judgement, you gave her the slightest nod.

Kate’s lips were against yours, tasting of strawberry lip balm and the earth. It was a gentle kiss, her fingers ghosting your jaw, her tongue swiping against your bottom lip. An overwhelming feeling of content fluttered in the pit of your stomach. Despite it’s tenderness, it seemed to end too quickly.

You longed for her, and when Kate moved to pull away, you looped your arms around her shoulders, and pulled her back in, chasing the high that she’d caused with a simple embrace. She smiled against your lips, deepening the kiss until you both had to pull away for air.

“Wow,” Kate breathed, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You laughed softly “I think I might.”

Her hand moved a strand of hair behind your ear, a goofy smile on her face. Things felt light and immeasurably comfortable. Getting through your first transition out of the way lifted the weight from your shoulders and pressing your lips against Kate’s had admonished the rest.

“I want to apologize,” Kate whispered, breathe splaying against your cheeks. Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb running over the redness that had appeared. She’d silenced you. “Before you say anything, I know that I’ve said I’m sorry more times than we can count. But I mean it.”

Her closeness helped her argument. Your entire focus was trained on her. There was a smattering of freckles across her nose and an exhaustive wonder around her eyes. You felt tiredness in your own bones, despite sleeping well past noon.

“You didn’t ask for any of this, and I hurt you, y/n. I will never forgive myself for that, and I refuse to make excuses about this… this pull that I know we both feel. I ripped you from your life and now you’re here, and I don’t want to base this, whatever this is, on forced proximity because I’d feel even more guilty if-“

You cut her off, surging forward and wrapping your arms around her mid-section. You fit perfectly in her arms, her chin resting on your head. It took her a few moments to work the tension out of her body, but she held you tight, breathing you in.

“Kate, if I wanted to leave, I would have found a way.”

She smiled wolfishly “Oh?”

“And no more apologizing. I forgive you.” You pulled back slightly, staring up at her. Kate’s embrace was alluring and grounded you to the earth. “This isn’t something I’ve ever felt before, and I’m scared shitless… but it feels right.”

None of this was part of your plan. You were the dutiful student that had worked for her scholarships and continued to push yourself past your breaking point to keep them. Then, an inhuman girl had dug her teeth into you, tearing through muscle and bone. The same girl that you embraced now had, by all means, uprooted you.

“We don’t have to figure it out now. We have all the time in the world.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, a small smile forming on your lips. “We do.”

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #kate bishop x female reader #wanda Maximoff #Natasha Romanoff #Wandanat #Steve Rodgers #Tony Stark #thor odinson #bruce banner #peter parker #yelena belova #Werewolf au

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