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runningfrom2am · 8 months

Text

in this life or the next

summary: It's the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games, and you were just unlucky enough to get picked; but lucky enough for this Quarter Quell to feature pre-selected teams. You get paired up with District One's pride and joy, the one and only Rafe Cameron.

pairing: rafe x fem!reader

wc: 15k (oh my LORD)

tags/warnings: its the hunger games so like... yeah... violence and gore and stuff. definitely swearing, spoilers for the og Hunger Games movie I guess (but also not bc i changed it up a bit- you'll see), reader has a special talent that i won't spoil here, Rafe is lowkey a dick at the beginning, Ward being a shitty dad (what's new). also this isn't thoroughly edited bc.. its 15k words and i'm lazy.

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a/n: hello lovelies!! oh my gosh i have been slowly chipping away at this for actual literal months, and i am so proud of how it turned out!! i’m really glad i could finally post it by my birthday!! (i’m 23 wtf??)

thank you so much if you're going to put in the time to read this, but it honestly means a lot to me that you've made it this far. reblogs and likes would be so appreciated and let me know your thoughts in the replies! i really, really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. let me know if you want a part two of what happens post games, bc i think i left it at a minor baby sized cliffhanger. anyway, i’m off to eat cake now! enjoy!

Staring blankly out at the crowd in front of you, you attempt to process the echoing of your heartbeat in your ears.

"I'd like us to give a round of applause for our brave, brave tributes this year, and wish them the best of luck in this year's quarter quell!" Your attention is drawn to the woman next to you, the District Five escort, Opal, dressed head to toe in bright yellow. A universally happy color- what a joke.

The crowd is mostly silent and you can't bear the thought of even glancing in the direction of your parents. You turn silently as you're ushered back into the building from the stage, tripping slightly over your feet as the shock sets in. People are talking, possibly to you, but you can hardly hear a thing. You almost made it. You were almost eighteen- one more year and you would have been free.

You were granted the briefest of goodbyes to your family, but you were tempted to even turn that down. An action you regret not taking as your parents walk into the room, your mother with tears already coating her cheeks and your father trying to keep a strong resolve for you and your siblings.

"We'll see you soon, Bug. Remember we love you," He whispers into your hair as you sob into his shoulder. You know he doesn't necessarily mean in this lifetime.

Your tunnel vision settles back in as you're walked out of the room, glancing one last time over your shoulder only to see your dad's shoulders shaking from his silent cries as he turns his back to you.

You are quickly pushed onto the train taking you out of District Five, ignoring the other three tributes and your mentors as they talk. You just stare out the window with tired, red eyes and say a silent goodbye to the home you're already sure you'll never see again.

"Y/N..?" The girl next to you says, tapping you on the shoulder and making you jump.

"Hm?" You hum your acknowledgment, looking at the girl beside you. She's only a year older than you, and you went to school together for years; Maisie, you remember.

"I just wanted to make sure you hear them," Maisie whispers, gesturing to Opal as she starts to explain what the premise of the games is this year.

"So," she claps her hands together, clad in tacky yellow gloves. "I'm sure you have noticed that this year there are four of you, and you'll each be paired up with another tribute to compete. Not necessarily from your own District, but, anything is possible, I suppose. The exciting news is that there's a possibility for two winners this year! You and your teammate will be given a score throughout the games, and if your score as the final two is above ten, you will both be crowned victors!" The woman says excitedly- like it's a good thing.

"And if we don't have over ten?" The boy sitting across from you asks flatly.

"Well... the games shall continue," Opal explains vaguely, but you know what that means. You've seen it before.

"Okay, well, how do we get a good score?" The boy asks.

"I-" The escort starts, hesitance clear in her tone as she's quickly interrupted.

"You kill people," Your female mentor answers. She's leaning her elbows on the end of the table, standing with a knife in her hand, spinning it around like it's some kind of toy.

Your eyes drop from her form, staring down at the table in front of you, suddenly remembering your glass of water and quickly grabbing it when you realize your mouth has gone completely dry just from the idea of what's to come.

You arrive at the Capitol in the middle of the night and despite this fact, the crowds are still there. You didn't expect this, even though you've seen it on the beat-up television in your living room every year. It feels less real, somehow, when you're the one getting pushed through the crowd, not knowing what to do besides give awkward smiles to people yelling your name.

Your room is beautiful. You've never seen anything like this, but you can fully customize it at will with a remote, and this level of technology fascinates you. You spend hours flicking through different images that can appear on the walls, surrounding you in another world. Exhaustion and the sound of an artificial thunderstorm put you to sleep with the remote still resting in your palm.

"Up, up, up, my dear! We've got a big day ahead!" Opal's cheery voice startles you awake from your less-than-cozy spot on the floor. "There's breakfast on the table then we've got to get you down to prep, so hurry up, please." She says, and just like that she's gone, no doubt off to wake the other District Five tributes in a similar fashion.

"You're going to be meeting your teammates for the first time today so you can train together- gosh isn't that just so exciting!" Opal claps as you all stand in the elevator. There's a silence that follows as you and Maisie just nod, not excited about the whole idea. You're about to meet someone who will either be spending the last days of your life with you, or be killing you themselves, and you're not fond of either.

"This way you'll get to train together first, which I do believe to be a very generous act on behalf of the game makers." She adds, making you roll your eyes. How considerate. The most you can hope for is someone who is capable, and preferably someone who isn't in the twelve to fifteen age range, having seen that there were several drawn from different districts.

You shift on your feet as you try to adjust to the uncomfortably tight catsuit they squeezed you into, covered in what must be sapphire and diamond rhinestones, pinching your skin with every slight movement. Gold accents line the seams of the suit, extending out into something that resembles wings and lightning bolts protruding from your back. District Five; power. You get it, but we're the diamonds necessary? You hardly take note of the varying outfits you're surrounded with from the other kids in your district, before Opal is guiding the four of you up the line of extravagant carriages you're meant to parade out on for the people of the Capitol to fawn over.

You take note of where all of the other tributes from Five are lead, guessing based on the order of carriages that Maisie got paired up with another girl from Eleven, and the boys somehow ended up paired together. There must be some sort of personal aspect to this decision, considering you have watched those two boys fight back home. You're last, and Opal looks at you excitedly as you follow her up, and up, and up- to the very front of the line.

"Surprise!" She grins, clapping excitedly as you approach the very first carriage. "Y/N, getting paired with a career is huge. Your odds are good already, your partner has trained his whole life- he even volunteered."

"Sucks for him." You mutter under your breath as you get closer, eyeing up the boy in front of you, wearing an almost matching outfit. All the rhinestones make sense now, blending power with luxury could only mean as much.

"Y/N Y/L/N, meet Rafe Cameron. He'll be your teammate in the games." She smiles as she introduces you.

"Hi." You say quietly, taking his hand as he holds it out to you to help you up onto the carriage.

"Hey." He mutters, avoiding your gaze. It's off to a rough start for him for sure, seeing he's being paired up with someone from an outlying district must be daunting, when for you it should be exciting. Rafe did volunteer, yes, but he doesn't want to risk any kind of attachment- despite what the people of the Capitol want for their entertainment. He wants to come out alive, he doesn't care so much about who he's with.

"Okay, Y/N, remember to smile, please." Opal reminds you and you nod, looking down at her as you hold onto the handle in front of you.

You promise her with a nod, willing to do almost anything at this point to win the favour of possible sponsors. Again, your odds look better next to a career on that front, as well.

Quickly everyone is cleared away from the horses and the carriages and you start moving, catching you off guard and you stumble a little, readjusting your grip on the railing. "Careful." Rafe says beside you, quick to reach out to steady you if you needed it. You think you see the smallest of smiles on his face, but that must have just been your own mind trying to find comfort in anything around you.

"I got it." You whisper, blushing slightly. You've been with your teammate for all of a minute, and you're already proving yourself to be clumsy.

The lights hit your eyes the same time all the cheering does, being the first carriage, it's already so loud you can hardly hear yourself think. You snap out of it quickly, plastering on a smile once you see your own face on a giant screen ahead of you, you don't even look like yourself anymore. Your eyes land on the screen adjacent to the one showing you, seeing Rafe as well. He's smiling too, clearly having headed Opal's advice, or his many years of training is getting to him and he's excited. You really don't know. Then his head turns, and you turn your head as well, making dead eye contact with him for only a moment before he's looking past you into the crowds, taking in the moment.

When you finally get out of the extremely public eye and back into the building you exited from, you feel like you can finally breathe again. Not fully, in the tight, rigid suit they had you dressed up in, but more than you realized you were with all that yelling in your ears and lights in your face.

"District Five, right?" Rafe asks you as you're both stepping down and you nod. "Jeez, you don't talk much, do you?" He follows up with, taking a water bottle from someone who's walking by with them.

"I talk." You reply quietly. "Just... not much to talk about at the moment."

"The shock? Yeah, that'll do it." He nods, taking a sip from the water bottle and holding it out to you. You shake your head and push it away, making him shrug. "Shitty bust when you're not a volunteer."

You just stare at him, taken off guard by the comment. "That being said..." He leans in closer to make sure no one else hears. "I've been waiting my whole life for this, so don't ruin it for me, yeah?"

You pull back away from him and just nod again, not wanting to get on his bad side already. He won't be the one to kill you, probably, but it would still be nice if you spent your final days without your teammate hating your guts. "Thanks, darling." He smirks, patting your shoulder and brushing past you to go to the elevators.

The next day, bright and early yet again, you have your first day of training. You're sure Rafe won't even need it, but you certainly will. Your mentor told you he will likely be using it to size up the other tributes, especially considering there is a staggering amount of them this year, and you will need to focus on survival skills. Only survival skills, if you had to pick one thing- and your mentor drove that into your head until it was all that was echoing in your mind when you entered the training center.

After the trainers speech which ironically tried to do the same thing, you beeline straight for the fire making station. You're shocked to see almost no one else listened, definitely none of the boys, mostly lining up to show off their physical strengths, likely to try and intimidate each other. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't working.

You look up as you hear echoing laughter coming from the other side of the room, eyes scanning over the wall lined with silhouette targets, and racks with an array of weapons before landing on your teammate, laughing away with the other career tributes over a joke you didn't hear. He's got a spear in one hand, leaning his weight on it as his head drops back with laughter. You shake your head to get back on task, rolling the rough wood in your palms in hopes of making a spark. Good to see at least one of you is having fun, especially in your final days.

After a few minutes you get it, sitting back into your calves where you were kneeling on the ground, taking a breath of relief as you're satisfied with your success. You glance around to see how others are doing, giving a small smile and wave to Maisie when you see her, reading a book about different edible plants and trying desperately to memorize every image. You watch as Rafe takes the same spear he was leaning on before, hurling towards one of the targets. A direct hit, right in the chest, slightly right of the centre. You jump a little at the sound it makes on impact, looking finally at the boy who threw it.

He's pacing, huffing and looking a little frustrated with himself. A little to the left would have been perfect, but it was a kill shot nonetheless. There would be no coming back from that, and you count yourself lucky that it likely won't be you in place of the target in the games.

You quickly put out your fire and try again, making sure you've got the hang of it. You'll sit here all day if you must. After three more successful attempts, you're satisfied for the day, deciding you'll return to that station tomorrow and try again. You get up and brush the dirt off your knees, trekking over to where they have supplies to make game traps. You've never done this before, but there's no better time to learn, especially since your teammate has shown no interest in survival skills so far today.

"What are you doing?" Suddenly Rafe is standing behind you, as you're once again kneeling on the ground attempting to get the trigger on your bladeless trap to work.

You jump a little, startled by someone talking to you. "Uh, trying to make a snare, I think." You answer, turning to look up at him.

"Looks good." He nods, crouching down next to you. "Uh, isn't there supposed to be a blade or a spearhead or something on that piece?" He says, pointing to it.

"Well, yeah, I just didn't want to stab myself by accident." You laugh slightly, trying the trigger again- and this time it works, snapping forward into his arm.

"Ouch, yeah, fair enough." Rafe chuckles, rubbing the spot on his arm where the wood made contact.

You just nod and begin to reset it to test it again. "What if you can't get any of this shit in the arena?" He asks.

"What, a stick?" You ask, hitting the trigger one more time, sending the stick into his arm again, which he had decided not to move.

"Ow! Yes, a stick. We don't know what it will look like." He rubs his arm, examining the trap you built closer now.

"Then we're screwed I guess." You joke, leaning back on your calves again, watching him dissect it piece by piece to figure out how it works.

"So, is this like, your thing?" Rafe asks, and you tilt your head at him as you think it over.

"My thing?" You ask, unsure entirely what he meant. "I've never made one before, if that's what you're asking."

"Really?" He seems shocked by this.

"Uh, yeah, really. Unfortunately for you, you got paired up with someone who has zero survival or combat skills."

Rafe looks at you, a smug grin crossing his features. "Ha ha, very funny." He clearly thinks you're joking, but you're definitely not.

"I'm serious." You say, confused as to why he doesn't believe you.

His smile falters, replaced with wrinkles of confusion on his forehead. "But- I just watched you look at the instruction book for no more than like, three seconds before sitting down to make this."

"And..?"

"If you've never done it before it's supposed to be harder than that."

"Well, I've seen other people do it on TV and stuff every year for like, ever." You shrug. "I've just got a good memory, I guess."

Rafe nods, looking at the deconstructed trap in front of him for a moment, thinking about the implications of this. How far does this go? Could he use it? He'd never dreamt of having to work in a team in his games, but maybe it would benefit him after all. "Come with me." He stands up, and you follow as he paces over to two big screens, covered with a large array of different symbols.

"Try this, I just want to see something." Rafe says, standing next to you with his arms crossed as you quickly look over the screen, reaching down toward the one in front of you. You notice quickly that the screens mirror each other, all the images placed in the same spots as they are above. You look up at your teammate briefly who nods at you and then you tap one, watching it disappear from both screens before you tap the matching symbol. It's a matching game.

Your eyes are locked on the top screen as you tap away at the bottom one, quickly making all the images disappear one by one. It takes you no more than a minute to get rid of them all, and then a timer appears on the screen replaying your every move in real-time. Forty-two seconds. Were you really going that fast?

"Neat." Rafe says to himself, nodding as he watches it replay on the screen. That was impressive, sure, but his mind is straining to find a practical implication for this in the arena. "Go back to survival stuff. Learn as much as you can." He settles on, turning and walking off back to where he was before, returning to combat training.

The four days of training fly by insanely fast, and that's likely due to your dread of what's to come. you've got through everything in survival no less than three times, and you're pretty sure last night you dreamt of plants and making a fire. Not surprisingly, Rafe has left you pretty much alone the whole time, but you did watch from a distance as he cycled through every weapon the training center had to offer, proving he's almost mastered every last one. Of course, with over ten years of training, anything less wouldn't make sense. What scares you is the other careers showing a similar skill level to that of your teammate, but he seems to be on good terms with them. Again, maybe this would be a good thing in the beginning of the games.

You sit down for your last day of making fires and fishing hooks, working solely on memory since day one, you're feeling pretty confident that the elements or exposure won't be what takes you out- but you don't know if that's a good thing or not. You just hope your death will be quick.

"Y/N, c'mere." Rafe is suddenly calling to you, motioning for you to join him in the combat area. Not seeing much of a choice, and not looking forward to another day of doing the same thing over and over, you listen.

You make your way over, avoiding the gaze of other tributes who are looking at you like you're about to make a fool of yourself. It's possible you are. "I want you to learn how to use this." He says as you walk up, holding out the handle of a knife to you.

You take it, turning the sharp blade over in your hand. "I thought you were the weapons master." You joke, looking up at him briefly.

"Well, I need you to make fires and shit so you have to stay alive somehow, and if we get separated or something I need to know you can at least defend yourself. These are good from a distance and up close, but remember that any weapon you have they can take and use against you. So keep distance whenever you can." He answers, pointing over to the target about fifteen feet away. "So, throw it."

You look over to where he was pointing, adjusting your grip on the handle as you nod, taking in the information he's dumping on you. He is probably right, especially since you don't think he plans on protecting you himself. Why would he? If you die, he can still win without you.

You lift your arm over your shoulder, closing one eye to narrow down your aim before throwing it hard towards the target, which the knife bounces off of and clatters to the ground. You and Rafe both turn at the same time to look at the group that's laughing at you, the clang of the metal on the cement echoing loudly in the vast space.

"Don't worry about them. They're not there." Rafe is quick to grab another one, handing it to you the same way. "Try again, this time, hold it like this..." He says, grabbing your hand and placing your fingers in the correct spots on the handle. "Keep your wrist tense and straight, don't flick it or anything. Yeah, like that." He nods, taking a step back.

You look over how you're holding it, committing the feeling and finger placement to memory before raising your arm again. You throw it again, and this time it sticks, but your aim is off and it ends up in the target's leg. You look over at Rafe, unsure if you're hoping for approval or just satisfaction. "That's perfect." He nods. "Not a death blow, but that'll buy you time to get away. which is all you need."

"Okay." You agree quietly.

"Would it help if you watched me?" He offered, already grabbing a new knife while you nod. "So, you want to follow through with the throw, your shoulders should end about here if you're doing it right. You get more power that way, and better aim." He explains, standing with one foot forward, parallel to the target.

You step back to watch his strategy, noting the way he held the blade and his form when he aimed to throw it. He lets it fly from his fingers as his shoulders fall forward, smirking to himself as it hits the bullseye circle, right in the chest.

"You got it?" He asks, standing up straight again. You nod in response and he's handing you yet another knife to try again.

You go back and forth for hours, not caring that you're keeping anyone else from practicing. You're not the best at it, but it's become muscle memory now, and every time it sticks, most of the time hitting the silhouette somewhere. You tried the moving targets briefly, the gold, pixelated figures running at you quickly. You were immediately overwhelmed, and Rafe ended up having to step in to help. He said after that the minimal skill you had would be good enough to get away, and that is all you would need. You just have to focus on that.

You didn't talk a lot, besides taking a few short breaks to gather the knives and his arrows as Rafe explained the pros and cons of every weapon they had present, showing you briefly how to use some of them. Mostly how to defend yourself against them. It's hard for him to sum up years of training in one day, but he's dead set on the idea that you won't need most of it- just having to focus on keeping the two of you sheltered and fed, he can handle the rest; hopefully.

You sit outside the training center next to Rafe, waiting for your name to be called. It was the youngest female tribute from his district first, so if you had to guess, you would be third and fourth to go, which doesn't buy you a lot of time to decide what to do to best show your skills.

"What are you gonna do?" You ask, whispering in the deathly quiet room.

"Huh?" Rafe hums, leaning closer to hear you better.

You clear your throat, before speaking this time, unsure if you were clear enough. "What are you gonna do? Like which skill?" You clarify.

"Oh, uh..." He mutters, adjusting how he's sitting as he thinks about what to say. "I'm just going to cycle through some different weapons, different distance targets, I think. My mentors want me to show like, a variety of what I can do."

You nod at this, making a mental note of that. Maybe you should do the matching game and then try the knives. Opal told you that you would be scored both individually, and as a team. You hope you won't bring down his score too much, since you know he's aiming high. You planned on going for a mid-level score, not to be seen as a threat but also not as an easy kill. A perfect six would be your ideal score. "What about you?" Rafe interrupts your thought process.

"I'm not sure." You answer honestly.

"You should do your survival stuff. That will improve our team score, if we show them we have strengths at both." Rafe suggests. That's not actually a bad idea. Your individual score will likely be lower, but that's a risk you're willing to take.

"Yeah, I'll do that."

You ended up scoring a six, the judges obviously not seeing you as any kind of threat. This is what you expected, though, and you were correct about your group score as well. Rafe and you together scored a ten. On his own, he scored a ten, so you hadn't affected it in the way you feared. This left you reeling over the idea of other tributes seeing you both as a threat as you stand in yet another extravagant dress, waiting in line to be called out for your interview. The games were tomorrow, and the last thing you wanted was to get in front of a crowd and subtly plead with them to let you live, to send you gifts, and to give you their sympathy.

So far it's been in the same order they called everyone for assessments yesterday, which means you would be next. Rafe stands behind you, arms crossed in a suit that looks more expensive than any you've seen back home in all of your life, but he looks comfortable in it. Your dress is once again covered in rhinestones, and your waist is cinched in so tight you can hardly breathe as it is, so you're not looking forward to going on stage.

"Our next tribute, welcome to the stage from District Five, Miss Y/N Y/L/N!" You hear the familiar voice of Caesar Flickerman calling you out and some guards usher you forward onto the stage, very briefly glancing over your shoulder at Rafe.

You're quick to smile as you turn back around, giving a small wave to the host and then out to the audience as they cheer for you. For a brief moment, you feel as if they don't plan on watching you die as early as tomorrow, you feel as if they're rooting for you. "Hi!" You say as you get closer and Caesar stands up to greet you, shaking your hand and giving you a quick hug before gesturing for you to sit down across from him.

You look around the large theatre, spotting every camera you can. Your family is out there watching, somewhere, and you know they'll see right through this show you have to put on. You wish they wouldn't. You can picture so vividly your living room back home, with your parents and siblings scattered across the couch and the floor watching you with bated breath, they can see you- and on some level, you can see them too.

"Miss Y/L/N. Thank you for being here." Caesar sighs, reaching out and patting your hand where it sits on the armrest next to you.

"Well, I didn't have any other plans for the night, so..." You shrug, making him laugh. Laughter echoes from the audience and you smile, hoping that your plan to win people over is working.

"What? A beautiful girl like you?" He asks after he's done laughing. "You weren't planning on spending some of your free time with your teammate?" As if you got even a minute of free time since you've been here.

"Well, I guess we'll never know." You chuckle, looking back at the boy where he stands in the wing, giving you a small smile.

"Now listen, Y/N, Rafe is..." He has to stop after mentioning his name as cheers erupt again, laughing as he waits for the audience to quiet down. "Your teammate is, as you may have guessed, a popular face in the Capitol right now. Are you feeling lucky about your pairing?"

Rafe crossed his arms as he watches intently, feeling smug about his odds, especially now knowing the Capitol's opinion of him. He knows his dad is back home watching, full of pride that his son has become a fan favourite.

"I am." You answer honestly. "He's very talented."

"And handsome, don't you think?"

"I mean, who am I to argue with the people?" You joke, waving your hand dismissively as you hear the cheers pick up again. "Besides, his looks won't save us. We will save ourselves." You add seriously.

Caesar nods in acknowledgment, showing that to an extent, he agrees with you. "Well, I hope that you are right, dear." He smiles, getting up to signal you've run out of time. You stand as well, taking his hand as he holds it up above your heads. "It was so lovely to meet you, and may the odds stay ever in your favor. Y/N Y/L/N, everyone!"

You smile and thank him quietly, waving to everyone with both hands as you walk across the stage to exit on the other side. You take a few deep breaths as you step into yet another waiting room, watching the screen as Rafe is called out right behind you.

Rafe sits down on the chair across from Caesar after his introduction, which allows a few moments for the audience to quiet down. He smiles proudly as he rests one of his feet on his other knee, bouncing his leg with anxiety. He hopes it's interpreted as excitement. "Rafe." Caesar smiles at him, sitting back down as well. "I'll be honest, I have been so excited to finally meet you."

"It's good to meet you too." Rafe grins, chuckling slightly at the few whistles he gets scattered from the crowd.

"You got a fabulous score, how are you feeling about that?"

"Really good, yeah. Obviously I've been waiting my whole life for this opportunity, so it feels amazing to see it all paying off." Rafe answers, focussing on keeping the confidence in his tone.

"We can tell, can't we?" Caesar laughs, riling up the audience again, making Rafe laugh to himself as he softly shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah. So, with all this planning you've been doing, how do you feel about getting paired up? You probably expected to be going in solo."

"I did, for sure, but I don't think this is a bad thing." Rafe admits.

"Oh, getting along well with your teammate?" Caesar asks, a hint of suggestion in his tone.

"Yeah, we get on really well." Rafe exaggerates your relationship a bit, knowing it will earn you more sponsors, and maybe keep other tributes away from you in the games. "At least I think we do, I'm not fully sure about her thoughts on me, though."

"You scored incredibly well together, despite Y/N having a fairly average score on her own. What are your thoughts and feelings on that?"

Rafe chuckles as he leans forward a bit, pointing out to the audience as he speaks. "Don't underestimate her based on the score. I won't give you any spoilers, but trust me, don't overlook her. She's got as good a shot as any of us. Maybe better."

Caesar makes a surprised expression as he nods. "Well okay! Does she have some sort of secret weapon we should be worried about?" He chuckles, gripping the armrests and looking around as the audience laughs.

Rafe just shrugs in response, smirking slightly, which you can tell the audience just eats up. You're trying to decide if this is good or bad for you, though, as you watch, gnawing at your nails in anticipation as you stare at the screen.

"Okay, alright, don't spoil anything then." Caesar laughs. "It'll make for a better show, and I can get behind that."

After a moment of waiting for the cheers to die down, Caesar speaks up again. "Rafe, if I can ask, I know your father has a lot of influence in your district- how is he feeling about your selection for the games?"

You furrow your brow a little bit as you look at the screen, finally learning something interesting about your teammate. If he's from a prominent family in District One of all places, that would certainly explain his attitude. Rafe, on the other hand, doesn't want to talk about his father at all- but of course they would bring him up.

"Yeah, of course." Rafe replies, shifting in his seat. "He's thrilled, it's a huge honour to be here, and to be the first out of his children to be chosen is really special to me. I just hope I can make him and my sisters proud, he's always encouraged us to volunteer."

"I'm sure that you will." Caesar smiles at him. "I hope I will have the honour of hosting one of your sisters on this stage one day, as well."

Your stomach churns just watching this. How can any father who loves his children want this fate for them? This was your father's worst nightmare. You watch as Rafe nods with a smile, and you can see behind his eyes that he doesn't want that, not at all.

The audience cheers as they both stand up, shaking hands before Rafe leaves the stage, a cocky smirk on his face as he waves and winks at the audience. Before Rafe makes it down to the waiting room, you're grabbed an escorted out, heading for the elevator back to your room.

You can't eat, but you know you should. This will likely be your last meal for a while. You decide on just taking a large bowl of fruit and toast to your room, trying to get it down slowly with all the nerves, while you have a bath. Your parents never let you eat in the bath. It's hard to get out knowing this is likely the last bath you'll ever have.

The morning goes by in a blur, you feel Opal's arms around you as she hugs you goodbye and wishes you luck. You know you'll need all of it. You stare down at the ground in front of you as you're pushed onto a plane, of sorts, along with all the other tributes. Once you're sat down, you look around at everyone else. You remember all of their names as you scan over their faces, but you wish you didn't. You get stuck on one of the girls from District Eleven, Hope, who was only thirteen.

She's shaking, and you can see that from where you're sat down the row from her. She reminds you of Rue, the tribute from last year. Her death was a tragedy, it broke the hearts of everyone outside of the Capitol and the career districts. Hope's curly hair sat in a bun on top of her head, and tears fell down her cheeks as she sniffled. She got paired up with a girl from Twelve- the lengths the Capitol will go to to make a mockery of last years games will never cease to amaze you.

"Hey, you look a little pale." Rafe whispers, leaning close to you. You didn't even notice him sit down on the other side of you.

You shake your head slightly, looking down at your knees. "I'm fine."

"Don't think about it." Rafe instructs you, holding his arm out for the tracker to be injected as a guard approaches with the device.

You wince as you hear it get shot into his arm and he chuckles, shaking his arm off to ease the sting. You raise your shaking arm as they hold their hand out expectantly to you. You don't know what it is they're putting in you, but you've never been fond of needles. This is a million times worse. "It's not that bad," Rafe tells you, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel pressure on your forearm, followed by a sharp, stabbing pain. You bite your tongue to keep from making a sound, dropping your arm onto your lap as they quickly walk away.

"What did they do?" You ask him, trying to keep a steady tone.

"It's a tracker, so they know where we are in the arena." He explains quietly. You were the only two talking, and you notice it's earning you glares from several other tributes. Rafe notices this as well, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, taking this time to size everyone up.

The plane takes off, and before you know it, you're landing at the arena on the outskirts of Capitol property. You wonder if you're close to the ocean, not that you'll get to see it anyways.

You're paraded off of the plane, still trying not to let it show how afraid you are of what's to come. You make the briefest of eye contact with Maisie as she's pulled towards a different hallway, and neither of you have it in you to smile anymore.

"We've gotta get supplies, that's our first move." Rafe says to you as you're led out of earshot of other tributes, into your own hall.

"My mentor said to run." You reply quietly.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. "Your what, one mentor said that? Cool. I have fifteen that are still alive and well enough to show up every year. I think we should get supplies." He tells you firmly, but you know that will get you instantly killed, maybe not him, but you stand no shot. "Just stick with me if you want to live."

You just nod a little bit, glancing at him again briefly before you're directed into a separate room across the hall from him. His pedestal will be next to yours, which is a bit of a relief. Your stylist quickly instructs you to strip, and then she helps you into the uniform you assume you'll all be wearing. It's exactly the same as last year, you notice this quickly, but with a '75' logo embroidered on the chest where the District Twelve tribute had her pin placed. Katniss, you remember her name was. She had volunteered for her sister, and at the time you contemplated heavily on whether or not you would do the same. She was so, so close to winning- to getting to see her sister again, but she and the boy from her district, the final two tributes, ended up committing together rather than giving the Capitol their Victor. It was an admirable stance, but you couldn't imagine what that was like for her family, and his.

You step off the concrete floor once you're dressed, instructed to get into the pod that will lift you up into the arena; a glass elevator. Your stylist says nothing to you as they walk out of the room, the glass door sliding shut in front of you. Your knees get weak as you realize you are totally, completely alone, and likely no more than twenty minutes from dying. You think of your family, your siblings, your dad- and the last words he said to you. You'll see him soon.

Your thoughts are halted when the elevator starts to move, lifting you up as the ceiling falls away and you can see sunlight coming through. You squint and shield your eyes as you try to look up to get a better grasp on your surroundings before you can even see anything. Once trees come into view you're frantically looking around, trying to process as much information as you can, and quickly. It's exactly the same as last year, but from what you can tell, flipped in reverse, and made larger to accommodate twice as many tributes. Or everything on camera last year was flipped. There's a silver cornucopia in the middle with the timer that's immediately counting down and supplies inside and scattered around the field in front of you. Rafe is to your right, and a boy from Seven on your left. He scored a six, the same as you, so he's not the biggest threat to you immediately.

You adjust your stance, getting ready to run once the timer hits zero. In what direction, you don't know yet. Rafe wants you to run to the supplies, but statistically, the most deaths will happen in the next five minutes and you don't want any part of that. The supply bags and weapons spread out on the grass are all the same too, by the looks of it. The closest bag to you got picked up by the girl from Seven last year, and it didn't have much of anything helpful. If you're remembering right, it had a rope and some matches, and that was it. It definitely would be useful, but you know you can do better. There should be a bag four pedestals to your right, with a water bottle, an emergency blanket, a fire starter, a first aid kit, and a knife. Right now, that's the one you have to get to. That's your best bet.

Ten, nine, eight... The timer ticks down to the final seconds as you look over at Rafe, who's already looking at you. You point to the bag as your eyes land on it on the other side of him across the field, and he looks at you confused. He's closer, he has a better shot, but you know he won't take it.

Rafe is confused, following your finger and spotting the bag. Why would you want that one specifically? There are others closer, he doesn't feel like now is a time to be picky.

Four, three, two...

Your ears ring with shock as the clock reaches zero, and you're watching most of the other tributes booking it for the center. No one has seen your bag yet as you jump down, beelining across the field and narrowly brushing past Rafe in your move for the small backpack. He stops to let you pass, almost crashing into you head-on. He doesn't have time to worry about you, so he continues on his path to the middle, but he's lost time. Precious time that he doesn't have to lose right at the beginning of the games.

He gets into the bloodbath that the cornucopia has already turned into, looking back over his shoulder quickly as he grabs at any weapon he can get his hands on. He quickly has to sacrifice the blade he just grabbed when he hears footsteps quickly approaching from behind him, turning quickly and plunging it into the boy's chest. He doesn't think to look at who it was.

Cannon's echo around you, and you're counting how many internally as you get to the bag, reaching down to grab it as you run past, trying not to slow down. You look back over your shoulder, hoping to spot your teammate somewhere, but you can't see him. You're scanning the area, blocking out the blood you see flying and scattered along the silver metal of the cornucopia. You can hardly hear any screams over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You can't help but watch as the girl from Three jumps on who is supposed to be her partner, a girl from Twelve, snapping her neck in a second. Within moments, she just drops to the ground next to her- another cannon following. That makes a strong incentive for working in teams. At least Rafe won't betray you early on.

You freeze up for a moment, stopping to scan your surroundings. You still can't find Rafe, taking in the number of bodies scattered around the cornucopia and a few tributes running into the tree line. At least some people were smart. Something flies past your head, making you jump back a step as you look up ahead of you. Within an instant, you're being tackled back by the body of the boy from your district.

"Y/N, fancy seeing you here." He chuckles darkly while you try and fight him off.

"Don't!" You squeak out, him pressing his forearm down against your throat on the ground.

"I've wanted to do this since the second they called your name." He growls, shoving you down again.

"We can help each other, Jack..." You say weakly, clawing at his arm.

"You don't need me. You've got your career boyfriend- and whatever your secret weapon is." He scoffs. "You don't have a secret weapon, Y/N. He's bluffing and he won't convince us."

You gather all your strength and knee him in the crotch, scrambling to get away as he fumbles for just a moment. "God- you are a bitch!" He shouts, grabbing for your ankle just has you pick up the knife he had thrown at you. You grip it the way Rafe had shown you, quickly shoving it into Jack's leg. You just needed to get away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You exclaim, backing away quickly. Jack doesn't say another word, cutting his losses and getting up to make an escape for the woods. You hope he ends up okay.

You make your break for it as well, running back towards the woods as you once again scan your surroundings for your partner.

Suddenly you're on the ground, having run straight into the side of one of the pedestals and falling over it. You yelp with the sudden impact of the ground, scrambling to get up and continue when suddenly someone is grabbing your jacket, slamming you into the pedestal again. You scream, trying to shove them off, but they're much stronger than you. "Jael! Wait, wait- Jael!" You make out your own voice yelling the boy's name, which makes him falter. He's the oldest tribute from Eight- he seems shocked you even know his name.

In the moment when he loosened his grip, he jerks forward and then falls over you, a cannon booming making you gasp as you panic to get away. Rafe is quickly running towards you, slinging the bow he just used over his shoulder and yanking the arrow out of the boy's back. "Y/N, let's go!" He shouts, motioning for you to follow him as you continue toward the tree line, both of you keeping an eye on what's happening behind you as you disappear into the woods.

"Let's stay close, but not too close," Rafe suggests as soon as you feel safe enough to slow down, your chest heaving with the exertion of energy and boost of adrenaline. He glances at you briefly, then does a double take. "You okay? Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, coughing to ease the stinging in your throat. "I'm fine. You?"

"Good," Rafe answers, slowing his pace to match yours.

"We, uh, I think we should go the other way." You say, looking around to try and mentally place where abouts you are.

Rafe stops and furrows his brow at you, seemingly frustrated by your resistance. "Why does it matter?"

"The arena, it's the same as last year. Exactly the same. Just, scaled up a bit." You explain. "We should head south, that's where the river is. We'll need water soon."

Rafe laughs slightly, his demeanor changing as he places his hands on his hips and looks at you. "No shit," He says, truly surprised and impressed that you could tell. A lot of the games tend to look like this, and he would never notice a repeat arena down to the rivers if it punched him in the face. Your 'secret weapon' is already paying off. "And you could tell that right away?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess so. The bags were all the same, everything was laid out the same. I bet there's a river down south." You nod, having a sudden realization. "We should get to that cave- the one the tributes from Twelve holed up in last year. That'll be a good, stable shelter. We can pretty much wait it out." You say, starting to walk in what you believe is the right direction.

"No," Rafe replies, making you stop in your tracks. "Unless you want me to have to kill you in the end."

"Oh, right." You forgot about that part, keeping score. "We're still going to need somewhere to sleep, though."

"Yeah, we'll find it anyways." Rafe nods, carrying on in the direction you started heading. You follow a few steps behind, keeping a bit of distance in the somewhat awkward silence that fell over you two after his comment about having to kill you.

You walk in the thick of the woods for about an hour before you feel like you're reaching the river. You can feel it under your feet, the soil is slightly softer, and the trees a little more green.

Cannons interrupt your thoughts a few times in the hike, totaling up to twenty-three by the time you reach the riverbank. "You were right." Rafe chuckles, mentally disparaging any skepticism he faced during the long, quiet walk.

"Thank god." You giggle, dropping your bag and crouching down to dig through it, hoping for a water bottle. You were right, everything you expected was accounted for.

"Why that bag?" Rafe says, already sitting down on the rocky water's edge to rest for a moment.

"Huh?" You question, unsure you heard over the shuffling of the bag while you zip it up.

"You pointed to it, during the countdown. Why did you want that one?"

"Oh, uh, like I said they all looked the same as last year, and I hoped I remembered what was inside." You say, laying down to reach into the water and fill up the bottle.

"Were you right?"

You nod with a small smile, sitting back up and holding the bottle out to him as you cross your legs.

"That's actually insane." Rafe shakes his head in disbelief as he takes it, downing just about everything in it before handing it back.

You take it and refill it again for yourself. "I'll choose to take that as a compliment."

Rafe wouldn't admit it, but at this moment as he's watching you drink, he's grateful that he got paired up with you. But now, that it's been shown on national television that you know the arena in and out, he wonders what obstacles the gamemakers will desperately throw your way.

"We should keep moving. I feel like a sitting duck out here in the open, I don't like it." Rafe mutters, checking his attitude as he stands up. You're quick to fill up the bottle again, following behind him yet again as the arrows in his quiver rattle together against his back walking over the rocky and unstable terrain, knife gripped tightly in his hand.

You wonder to yourself how he's feeling about leaving behind his predestined alliance of the career pack, but with the factor of most of them being paired up with other districts, it was already too unpredictable. You wouldn't have stuck around either.

The sun started to set as you followed the river upstream. You didn't want to settle without some kind of shelter, and you were committed to finding that cave before you could relax. You could tell that Rafe had the same idea, his steps ahead of you gradually picking up speed with the bow still gripped firmly in his palm.

"It's a beautiful sunset." You speak your mind before thinking, desperately wanting to fill the silence.

Rafe just hums in response, looking up only briefly before training his gaze once again on the ragged rocks at his feet and continuing on. "What's it like in District One?" You ask.

"Fine." He replies coldly. You aren't sure what you expected, but this response was pretty on par. You knew you had almost no chance of survival, so it would at least be nice to get to know the person you spend your final days with, even if he would be the one to kill you in the end.

"I've never been, but I've heard it's... nice." You've only ever heard about it from the perspective of other bitter individuals from Five, jealous of the cushy lifestyle everyone knew they must have lived.

"Yeah." Rafe agrees, clearly not wanting to discuss it.

"What are your sister's names?" You ask, deciding to push a little bit. It's not like he can kill you just yet.

Rafe sighs, but answers anyways. "Wheezie and Sarah."

You're shocked that he answered at all, but you could tell in his interview that he has a soft spot for them. "Cute." You nod, smiling to yourself. "Is Wheezie a nickname?"

"Yep, it's short for Louise."

"That's adorable." You grin, shaking your head.

"Hey, look. There." Rafe says, changing the subject and pointing down the rocks, where there's a small opening under a ledge.

"That's it!" You exclaim, deciding to drop the topic of his sisters in favour for finding your shelter for the night. You rush past him, watching your step as you climb down into the small cave.

Rafe quickly draws his bow, slowing down and peaking into the cave and bracing himself for your screams. How could you be so careless in a game like this? He doesn't understand your lightheartedness, your somewhat positive attitude, and your ability to make small talk despite the circumstances. "Hey, careful!"

"It's perfect!" You call back out as you look around, and Rafe steps down carefully, looking around more carefully than you had. He relaxes once he's satisfied that there's nothing down there waiting to kill you.

"Nice, okay." Rafe nods to himself, and you both get to work making a small fire near the entrance, hidden from view.

You take off your jacket and roll it up, using it as a makeshift pillow as you lay next to the fire, staring at the orange flicker of the flames you made.

Rafe is sitting across from you, knees tucked up to his chest as he does just the same. His mind is absolutely reeling- he needs to find something to eat, and soon. That will be the first thing you'll do in the morning, he'll have to employ your help to find something edible. "How are you with making traps?" He asks.

"I can do it." You reply, sitting up and leaning on your elbow so you can see him. "I'll set some up in the morning."

Rafe nods a little bit. He already knew you could, of course, but he's wondering about the logistics of how they work. "So like... hypothetically, would they work the same if you made them bigger?"

"Like... human-sized?" You ask, catching on to what he's suggesting. It's not ethical- but nothing about this game is. For you, this would definitely be preferable to fighting other kids to death over and over again.

Rafe nods, adjusting how he was sitting and crossing his legs.

"Yeah. I can't see why not." You answer. "It would be harder since I've never done it, but I think it could work."

"Then I say we try it."

The next day, you wake up as the sun rises and the light beats down on you from the entrance of the cave. You didn't sleep comfortably, that's for sure, waking up twice throughout the night to the sound of the cannon. That's twenty-seven. You wonder how many teams have already reached their ten-kill quota, you imagine someone in the career pack already has. Both times when you were startled awake, Rafe was standing at the cave entrance, bow drawn as he squinted into the darkness, hoping that whoever was out hunting other tributes wasn't nearby.

You sit up slowly, stretching out your tired limbs as you look over to see Rafe, fast asleep with a blade in his hand. You should let him sleep, and get to work on finding something to eat, and making some traps.

You grab one of the knives Rafe somehow collected from the bag laying next to him as quietly as possible, sneaking outside and taking in your surroundings. The sound of the river flowing and the smell of morning dew was amazing- you wish you could truly enjoy it in different circumstances.

You quickly get to work tracking down something to eat, landing on a few different plants you know to be edible. You're trekking through the woods near your cave when you come across an apple tree- making you pause as you look it over. It looks out of place- and maybe no one got close enough to it in the games last time that you wouldn't have seen it, but that seems unlikely. It must be new; it makes for the perfect place to try and set up a trap for the next hungry tribute who would be unfortunate enough to wander too close to your hideout.

You're digging a hole in the ground with your hands, avoiding the roots of the tree and sticking in some sticks you sharpened when you hear a twig snap behind you. You freeze, hoping that by some miracle, it's just an animal. You slowly turn your head to try and look, picking up the knife from the ground next to you and holding it tight.

"Just me." Rafe's voice relaxes you, and you stand up, brushing off your knees.

"You scared me." You admit as he takes to looking down into the hole you just dug.

"That looks... awful." He chuckles, patting your shoulder. "It won't kill, but it'll slow someone down enough that I can finish the job."

You nod slightly, staring into the dirt as well. You hated the idea that you were crafting something intentionally to bring harm to another person, but realistically you have no choice. "We'll set up more, along the riverbed and closer to the career pack. We can't monitor them all at once, though- can you make more fatal ones next time?" Rafe asks, pointing back towards the river to accentuate his point.

"That depends, how many arrows can you spare?"

The next few days saw the death toll rise to thirty-six. You kept track every night, scratching their numbers and names into the walls of the cave despite being able to remember anyway. You viewed it as a small memorial, Rafe saw it as a timer ticking down to when he'd have to kill you.

Your first trap had worked on one person, their screams of pain from a cut-up leg summoning your teammate back to the apple tree. He insisted you stay behind as he finished what you started. You had to reset several other traps as well, closer to the cornucopia.

Rafe would never admit it, but he was really starting to like you. He didn't want to hurt you- he was worried the traps wouldn't do enough. The passive approach you so preferred wasn't what he expected, and he knew his dad would be disappointed in him. But Ward would never understand.

He sighed as he poked at the fire with a stick, leaning his head back against the rocky wall of the cave, another cold night ahead of you.

You had your head laid on his lap, his thigh replacing the thin material of your coat that you had been using the last few days.

"How old are your sisters?" You ask out of nowhere, prompting him to look down at you. He had thought you fell asleep a while ago.

"Why does it matter?" Rafe replies, and you just shrug a little bit.

"Gives us something to talk about."

"Fifteen and Eleven." He relents.

"Hey, me too." You smile a little to yourself.

"You have sisters?" Rafe asks. He never asked much about you- he didn't really want to know, in the case he had to kill you.

"Yep. And a brother." You nod, sitting up a little bit. "He's older though, he aged out last year."

Rafe finds himself clenching his jaw. He can't hear that- to see you as a little sister. He doesn't want to imagine what it would be like to see his sisters face the same fate. "Lucky guy." He says quietly.

"Why? I thought it was a privilege, and all that." You chuckle.

"Well, yeah, but not for most. For the outlying districts like you."

"At least you get it." You agree. "How does it feel? Now that you're here, I mean."

"Scary." Rafe admits, throwing caution to the wind now with what his father will think. "Not what everyone tells you it'll be like."

"Is that because of me?" You ask after a few moments, and he nods slightly.

"Not in a bad way, though. It's just different. I expected to be on my own, to die alone, or kill my allies if I had to. Now... I don't know that I have to. Or if I even could." He can practically hear his father shouting at their large screen at home, or storming out claiming he was an embarrassment. He was told his whole life to never show weakness, to 'be a man', but now, at the end, that doesn't matter to him.

"I won't take it personally." You giggle softly, voice shaking as you try to make light of it. "My family won't either, I don't think. Maybe my dad, at first, but eventually he'll understand. They'll forgive you." You try and ease his mind, knowing that in the case that Rafe does win without you, he'll have to face your family in the next month or so during the victory tour.

"I wouldn't ever expect him to." Rafe tells you, tossing his stick into the flames now. He feels sick hearing you talk about it like it's inevitable- but if he has anything to do with it, you'll be coming home with him.

"They're good people." You assure him.

"Don't say that." Rafe chuckles, shaking his head. "I would never forgive myself."

"Okay, fine. They're awful. Just... the worst." You smile, looking up at him and resting your chin in your hand.

"That's better. Thank you." Rafe laughs, poking your forehead and gazing out onto the river as the flames illuminate the water.

In the morning, you're awoken to something brushing your leg. You groan and roll over, head landing once more on Rafe's extended arm underneath you. At least he was finally getting some sleep, pretty much unable to close his eyes since you set foot in the arena. You feel the brush again, followed by something moving on your arm, several things, suddenly, and your eyes fly open and look down when you remember where you are. You let out a scream, scrambling to sit up and pushing yourself back against the wall.

Rafe wakes up quickly, scrambling for the bow next to him when he realizes it won't be any help. You're surrounded by and quickly almost covered in a sickening combination of snakes and spiders.

You're still screaming, trying to shove the creatures off of you. "Come on- come on!" Rafe is yelling at you, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the exit. You don't get the chance to grab your back and you regret that as you're jumping into the river in attempt to get the spiders off of your skin and out of your clothes.

You're breathing heavily as you come up for air, and Rafe is quickly there, brushing his hands over your hair to make sure every last spider is gone. He looks back at the entrance of the cave, chest heaving like yours as the bugs and snakes spill out of it. It sends a shiver down his spine- he was never a fan of snakes.

"I guess that's the gamemakers telling us enough was enough." He sighs, gently pulling you towards the shore again a safe distance away. "Are you bit?" He asks once you're a safe distance away.

"I don't think so..." You reply, hiking up the ankles of your pants to look at your calves and over your bare arms as you sit on the shore. "You?"

Rafe shakes his head, doing the same. "It was probably just a warning. We have to move." He quickly lowers his pant leg over the puncture wounds in his leg, hoping you didn't see. If it gets worse, he'll tell you. The bite itself didn't hurt much, so if it's going to be fatal, he's glad he won't have to hurt you.

Rafe helps you up, leading you up towards the tree line. "They probably want to push us in toward the other tributes, I think we should go with it before they throw something worse at us." You, the two of you now left with nothing but what you had on you, along with Rafe's bow and a few spare arrows.

He nods. "It's our best move anyways. How many tributes are left?"

"Twelve including us." You answer quickly. "There's Avril, a boy from six, Maisie, she's from my district, most of the careers I think are still in it but not their teammates," You begin to rattle off the list,

"I don't want to know names." Rafe cuts you off, and you understand why. He's been doing all the dirty work, and part of you knows it's because he's hoping to have time to learn names and feel guilty about it later. Right now, he can't afford to see them as human.

"Right." You agree. "It doesn't really matter, anyways."

"Do you know scores?" He asks, walking alongside you now.

You nod, beginning to list off all the remaining tributes and their scores, from lowest to highest. The lowest being you- and the highest being ten, shared by Rafe and a boy from district two.

After hearing two more cannons that day, and checking all the traps you had set, you're circling back to the river to be near fresh water before you set up camp again. You don't have your water bottle anymore, or anything to set up any kind of shelter with, you do your best. You set up a fire, Rafe insisting that if it draws other tributes to you so be it- he's ready for this to end just as much as you, but you don't want to rush into your death or an ambush. It's safe to say you won't be sleeping tonight.

You didn't sleep, but at least, curled up under a tree, the night sky was beautiful. The stars seemed realistic, and you wondered if somehow they were real. Between the two more cannons that struck overnight, you still wondered if you were somewhere near the ocean, or somewhere closer to home. While you're sitting next to each other in a peaceful silence, both admiring the vastness of the night sky, you hear a ringing sound coming from above.

Rafe quickly stands, reaching for the small silver pack with a parachute before it hits the ground. He's quick to open it as you stand up, looking into the container. You grab the small card, tilting it into the light of your fire to read it.

For our Y/N,

Keep fighting. Please come home to us.

Love You Always, Dad

Tears form in your eyes almost instantly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. "It's just a water bottle and some kind of granola bars... or something." Rafe says, turning the water bottle over in his hand.

He looks up at you, frowning when he sees how upset you look. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." You quickly shake your head, wiping your eyes. "Uhm, it's from my dad."

The fact that your family could spare enough money to send you something in the games at all was amazing to you. You heard horror stories of the astronomical prices of trying to send something from outside of the capitol, without the status and funds of a sponsor.

"Oh." Rafe replies, handing you the tin and bottle now, taking the card from you gently. He reads it over slowly, and over and over again. His family had seemingly endless amounts of money, and they had sent him nothing. He knew his father viewed it as cheating, and that you shouldn't need any kind of help to win. If he loved him, though, that wouldn't matter. He should be willing to do anything he could to keep his son alive. The way your parents did.

"My mom made these." You sniffle, grabbing a small bar from the container in her hand. "They're my favourite, she only makes them on birthdays or special occasions." You explain.

"That's... that's really nice." Rafe says, putting the card back in the tin. He doesn't know how to handle this, or what to say.

You smile sadly as you sit back down against the tree, placing the tin on your lap as Rafe joins you. "Here." You hold the bar out to him.

"They're for you." Rafe shakes his head, pushing it away.

"They're for us." You insist, holding it out to him again. "They wouldn't have sent two if I wasn't meant to share."

"Thank you." Rafe smiles genuinely, for the first time in weeks as he takes it. He's starving, having eaten only small amounts of meat and plants over the last week or so, so he's quick to take a bite. It's sweet, more so than he expected. He never thought he could enjoy sugar this much.

"No wonder they're reserved for celebrations, hey?" You giggle, having intently watched his reaction.

Rafe nods. "Yeah, it's really good. Super sweet." He says, mouth still full. You grin, satisfied as you take a bite of your own.

The night flew by so quickly, you're feeling as though it must have gotten shorter. The sunrise went by fast too. You're guessing the gamemakers and the viewers were getting antsy. To be honest, you were as well.

Renewed with your energy the sugary baking your parents had sent, you set about gathering food and water, while Rafe goes on to check a few of your traps to see if they needed to be reset. He could do it on his own, but he liked watching you do it, working the ropes between your fingers and tying intricate knots, pulling back on the stick used to trigger the arrow. By the afternoon, having taken a mental note of the amount of cannons that had fired. It was a few, at least. You must be getting down to the end. He prayed it wasn't you, but the cries of some kind of mutts in the distance right before the cannons lead him to believe that you were fine- but he should be getting back soon anyways.

You were wandering down to the water, reluctant to leave your camp, but you knew water was a priority. You were just filling up the new bottle when you heard a scream. It sounded like a boy. You quickly look back over your shoulder, noticing it was nearby. Toward the apple tree. You stand slowly, looking around as you attach the water bottle back to your side with a carabiner, reaching instead for the knife Rafe had left with you. God, you hoped it wasn't him. The absence of a cannon gives you hope, though.

You quietly head in that direction, watching your step so your presence isn't detected. When you get closer to the tree, you hear crying. Painful crying, as you're faced with the reality of the trap you set.

You watch from behind a tree as the boy from eight tries to pull his leg up from the ground, screaming out again as the sharp sticks dig into his flesh. You should go get Rafe- you feel guilty, but you can't kill him yourself. You turn quickly, and before you can get a step away you're face to face with one of the other careers- a sword held up against your neck.

"Don't move." Blake says, a smile that can only be described as evil spreading over his lips.

You try and scream out for help, hoping Rafe was still in earshot but a hand is quickly covering your mouth. "Not yet." He whispers, shaking his head. "We've got a plan, it'll be fun. You wouldn't want to ruin that, right?"

As Rafe gets back to your small camp, he expects to see you there waiting. He scans the trees above him, wondering if you had climbed up for some reason. He calls your name when he doesn't see you, brow furrowed. You definitely should be back by now. As he's heading down to the water to look for you, he hears a cannon, which at this point wouldn't bother him- if it wasn't for the scream that followed after. It was you. No doubt in his mind that it was you. With his bow drawn, he's moving quickly towards where he heard your voice, throwing caution to the wind.

You scream again, crying as the tip of the sword is dug into your shoulder, laying down next to the apple tree. You can't help it- but you don't want their trap to work. You don't want Rafe to come, so you bite your tongue until you taste blood, hoping to keep quiet. "It'll only get worse for you if you don't scream, Y/N/N." Blake scolds you, digging in the blade more. "He has to hear you." He adds through gritted teeth.

You hear a twig snap just outside the small clearing, and Blake is quickly turning to look with the sword still pinning you to the ground. "Rafe it's a trap!" You shout, hoping that it's him.

Rafe steps out then, into full view with his bow drawn as he aims at the boy in front of him. When they first met, he knew they would have been good friends if they met anywhere else. "You won't shoot me." Blake chuckles, and Rafe quickly readjusts his grip.

"I will." Rafe says sternly, pulling the string tighter as Blake moves the sword to hover over your chest. Over your heart.

"If you shoot, the last of my energy will go into killing her. I don't think you want that." He shakes his head, smiling smugly.

"I don't care." Rafe says, making your heart clench. You know that you're friends, at the very least. He does care. He's bluffing- you have to believe that.

"If you didn't care you would have shot me already." Blake calls it, and Rafe tenses up, looking down at you only briefly.

"Then what do you want?" Rafe spits.

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted you to watch." Blake shrugs. "Just makes it a little more fun, you know? But don't worry, you'll be next." You know he just wants to prove himself, somehow, not having scored as high as Rafe did. You wonder if his family was somehow similar- that he needed some kind of approval that he thought he might find through sadism.

Rafe looks down at you again, and you just nod, tears streaming down your temples to your ears. He quickly readjusts before letting the arrow fly, planting straight in the shoulder that held the sword as you quickly roll over, slicing across your chest and shoulder in the process. It was well worth it.

Rafe fires another arrow into his chest, not taking any risks and the cannon quickly follows as he rushes to your side.

"Are you okay?" He's asking, hands hovering above you as he's kneeled next to you, unsure what to do.

You nod, still biting into your tongue as blood continues to slide down your skin, dampening your now torn up clothes.

"It's not that bad." Rafe says, looking over the cuts as best he can, but you wince when he pulls the fabric away. "You're gonna be fine, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah..." You mumble, letting your head fall back against the brush below you. Rafe is quick to take his coat off, using it to push down on the deepest part of the wound on your shoulder, trying with his other hand to apply pressure to the rest of it. You try and focus on your breathing, rather than the pain, but it's hard when a significant amount of weight is being applied to your shoulder and chest.

"I'm sorry, I have to." Rafe tells you, jaw tense as he lifts his coat to check whether or not the bleeding has slowed. You didn't even realize you were crying.

After a few minutes, he's lessened the pressure a bit, still holding the fabric firmly over your skin. "You could have ran." You mumble, voice hardly above a whisper.

"I wasn't gonna leave you." Rafe shakes his head, gently peeling away his now blood soaked windbreaker.

"You at least shouldn't have saved me. Not much point in that, is there?" You smile softly, trying to sit up and Rafe is quick to help.

"There is. You have to win." He mutters.

"I'm not winning, Rafe." You smile sadly at him. "Infection will kill me if you won't, and if no one else does first."

"No, they'll fix you up. This cut will be gone in a week, the technology they have is-"

"Rafe." You grab his attention again and he looks up to meet your eyes. They seemed to suck in all the light of the sunset above the two of you, reflecting back at him in a way that makes his breath hitch. The thought is cut short, however, when you say something that breaks his heart. "Don't give me hope like that."

"Why? You're gonna go home. I mean it." He promises. "I'll make sure of it."

"I don't think we have enough." You remind him sadly, a small smile still evident on your lips as you reach up to cup his cheek in your palm. "I never expected to go home. I'm okay with that."

Your friend shakes his head softly. "That doesn't matter. You have your family to get home to, I read that note from your dad. They need you, I can see that. For me, these games are all I was raised for. I have nothing left for me after this." He admits, avoiding eye contact with you. "I could never forgive myself if I didn't get you home."

Tears are forming in your eyes again as you look up at him. The world is watching, and in this moment of vulnerability you feel that more than ever- despite the quiet sounds around you being only the rushing water in the nearby river and the birds chirping around you. "You're a good person, Rafe." You smile at him, watching as he gently raises his hand to yours, grabbing it in his own. "I hope you know that."

In this moment, you settle on the idea that you would die for him. You never understood last years tributes, honestly, how they were willing to die for each other instead of getting home to their own loved ones, but now you do. Completely.

Without a second thought, you find yourself leaning closer, Rafe doing the same as he kneels next to you in the dark. Your eyes meet once more, lips only an inch from touching when you hear a howl in the distance, and you snap your head to the direction it came from. "The Mutts... Already?" You say, scrambling to get up and ignoring the pain in your shoulder.

"I- I heard them earlier, they sound far away." Rafe says, trying to calm you.

"You heard them? You didn't tell me?" You ask, frantically grabbing his bow from the ground and handing it to him as he goes to pull the discarded arrows out of Blake's body.

"I didn't think it mattered!" He defends, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

"There were four left last year when they sent them out. I think... yeah I think that's right. There's four of us. We have to run." You say in a panic, pulling on his hand. "Our best bet is making it back to the cornucopia."

"It'll be too open- can't we climb a tree or something?" Rafe says, following after you as you're running through the bush now in the direction of the open field.

"I don't know if that will work, but I know we'll be safe there." You explain like it's obvious. "We have to risk it- and if you can get to the others first, if they have the same idea, we'll be at ten."

You're out of breath already, adrenaline pushing you through as you hear scattered barking getting steadily closer after one more cannon. Part of you wants to stop, turn, and force Rafe to take the win if you couldn't have it, but with any hope left, you have to try and get back to where this started. The traps was an unfortunate choice in how you got your kills, because you couldn't keep track of how many since by the time you got around to checking them, the body's would have been airlifted off if it wasn't a misfire. If you had to guess, though, you were sitting at eight.

Rafe is running similar calculations in his head as he lets you lead him by memory straight to the field, mind short-circuiting as he sees the silver moonlight reflect off the cornucopia.

You sprint across the open field, blood pouring from your undressed wound again with the intense exertion of energy. Rafe doesn't pass you, though, despite you expecting that he would. You have tunnel vision as you make it to the metal structure, practically slamming into it before you can even stop. Rafe is quick to lift you and shove you up, both of you looking over your shoulders as you struggle to hold onto the edge, kicking the sides to hold yourself up.

You finally get up, reaching down to help pull Rafe up. He grabs onto your arm for leverage, mostly pulling himself up and you wince as you feel the tension from his weight in your cuts.

You flop down onto your back on the cold surface as he climbs over you, immediately standing up with bow drawn as he intently scans the surrounding area. He's only got the two arrows left, which makes him nervous if that's all he has to defend the both of you with.

You try to settle your breathing, which only lasts for a moment until the sky lights up with the recap. You miss your cave, where you could contribute to your memorial, especially seeing the face of Maisie flash above you on the sky while the anthem plays.

You close your eyes, just listening to the music now until you hear barking just outside of where Rafe can see, and you're quickly sitting up. He draws the bow tighter, aiming in the direction the howls came from just as someone pushes out into the clearing. Rafe is aimed straight at them, bow string pressed to his cheek. He's getting dizzy, and quickly. His aim can't fail him now, he doesn't have that option.

You watch them, in the dark you think it's the other boy from district one, and in your exhaustion you can't remember his name. You wouldn't dare say it, anyways. He's screaming for help, a call you know you can't answer, and you watch as they stumble on their feet, shoes and hands digging into the ground as they try to get up, just ten or so yards from you by now.

Rafe wants to shoot just then, it would be as simple as letting his finger loose and the arrow would fly towards its target. It would be a merciful end for the boy he's trained with for years now, only a couple years younger than him. The muscle in his jaw is aching from the tension he's put on it when he forces himself to let go. He has to do it, for himself, if he wants to go home.

He misses. The yelp of one of the mutts tells you it landed in a paw or back, and you look up at Rafe who's already drawn his second. "Rafe!" You cry out, pushing yourself up onto your feet and standing behind him now.

He hates to admit that your empathy has rubbed off on him. Watching you every night carving seemingly endless names and numbers into the rocks that lined the space you stepped in. He recalls waking up one morning and seeing your name and his carved in as well, closer to where he laid by the fire, his underlined and yours with a heart at the end. Like a signature on the top of a math test. He had wondered if you always wrote your name like that, and in this moment as he releases the bow again, he knows he has to find out for himself.

It happened so fast, the mutts knocking down the boy and the arrow flying from Rafe's shaky hands into where he should have been right as the cannon sounds. You don't know that it was Rafe's arrow that did him in.

"No..." You mumble, clamouring forward and onto your knees again to look over as the boys body is torn apart by the mutts. "You had to have done it. You had to." You say, trying to get a better view.

In a second, Rafe's arms are around you and he's pulling you back from the edge, sitting now behind you with his arms wrapped tightly over your body. "It's okay.. it's over." He mumbles, kissing the side of your head as the sunlight comes over the trees. He's fighting off the urge to vomit, everything spinning around him now.

You sit with him, gripping onto his arms and crying. Nothing is happening, so you must not have made it to ten. You feel sick- your heart is in your throat and suddenly you're really hot, moving away from him to look over the edge again, this time incase you have to throw up. You freeze, looking over to where the boy's body once was. The second arrow was in the ground. He missed again.

Rafe sees it at the same time as you. He sighs, hanging his legs over the edge. "Shit... Y/N, I'm sorry." He mumbles, gently reaching over to rub your back.

"No, no. It's okay." You insist, sitting up next to him. "I knew this would happen."

"I'll get you home." Rafe says, sliding down the side of the cornucopia before you can stop him. He stumbles the landing, swaying in his walk as he heads towards the arrow lodged into the dirt.

"Wait! Wait, wait, Rafe!" You're sliding down after him, running to his side and grabbing his arm before he can get to the arrow in the ground.

He turns to you quickly, hand on your cheek and he's pressing his lips to your forehead. "Sit with me?" He asks, knees already giving out as he falls to the ground.

You're instantly on the ground beside him, practically holding his head up with your free hand as you search him visually for some kind of injury. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Uh, I guess so." Rafe mutters. "Snake bite. I think."

"You didn't tell me? I could have fixed this, I could have helped..." You ramble on, his eyes dropping shut now. "Hey, eyes open."

"It's okay. Just sit with me..." He says again, smiling weakly. "Wait with me... please?"

You nod, sniffling as you fight back the tears that want to fall. "Yeah, of course. I'll stay."

Before he closes his eyes, the music starts again and your eyes are drawn up to the sky after you notice Rafe is looking first.

Then, begins a similar slideshow of faces you recognize. Ten in total. Rafe's eyes flicker with slight recollection, remembering any kills he made himself and you gasp when you see Jack. Whatever damage you had done when he tackled you on the first day must have killed him. "Rafe.." You mumble, lowering your eyes to meet his. "I think we won."

Your point is accentuated by the voice of the head gamemaker over some unseen speakers. "Introducing the Victors of the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games!"

"We did it." Rafe laughs weakly, squeezing your hand.

You fully ignore the aircraft hovering down in front of you on the grass, turning your head to look down at him. You don't say anything, neither of you do, and you finally feel your lips against his. The kiss is bad, it doesn't really work when both of you are stuck smiling ear to ear, but you don't care one bit. The only thing that matters is that you got this chance at all.

Rafe pulls away from you slowly, using all the strength he has left to lift himself onto his feet as you steady him. "He needs help!" You shout to them, and you're quickly being lead onto the plane.

"They've got really good technology," You mock what he said to you just the day before. "It'll be like it never happened in a week, okay?" You chuckle, feeling waves of happiness, worry, and relief all at once as you quickly wipe away a tear with your free hand, other arm wrapped tightly around Rafe's waist to hold him up.

He laughs, and you lean into him more, your forehead against his shoulder as the aircraft door slides shut behind you.

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sidekick-hero · 2 months

Text

Edited for a big shout out to @steves-strapcollection whose lovely OC has a little cameo here. If you want to know who Tig is, you can find out here. Spoiler: he's amazing and we love him.

Day 0

Dear Steve,

Hi Stevie,

Apparently, it's not good to "bottle up" your feelings. They say it makes drinking or drugs or any other addiction so tempting. It makes it easier to keep all that stuff inside you and let it fester until you need more and more of whatever it is that helps you cope. So the first rule of rehab: Talk, don't take.

That's a long way of saying I need to keep a journal like a 13-year-old girl with her first crush. It's either that or a daily crying session with the other "inmates" here, and I'd rather not have to tell Terry the old gossip my own tragic sob story. She already told me the life stories of two other patients here at dinner.

Instead, I decided to write to you. You're the one person I regret the most pushing away, and even though you'll probably never see this, it feels good to tell you these things now. Like a dry run. Because, baby, when I get out of here, I swear I will let you in. I won't make the same mistakes.

You will never go another day without knowing how much you mean to me.

How much I love you.

You only left an hour ago and I already miss you. I can't believe I've survived six months without you. Well, I barely did. I wish I could call you, but phone privileges are only for those who make it through their first week here.

I know we chose this center together knowing that they don't allow visitors for at least three weeks. Maybe longer if my therapist says I'm not ready. Fuck, three weeks didn't sound so bad when we talked about it, but now? In this ugly, impersonal room that smells clean but is totally clinical. You know, that mix of disinfectant and sterile air with a hint of medication lingering in the background. It sounds like an eternity and then some.

Nothing here feels comfortable or warm, and I miss your face so much it physically hurts.

But I promised myself I'd do whatever it took. For you and Wayne, for the boys and the kids.

So, day 0, the journey begins.

Fuck, I almost forgot: I'm supposed to answer three questions every day.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

See above. I miss you, that's how I am. I want this to be over. I hate that I'm here and even more that I'm the one who got me here. I feel like a fuckup. It's hard not to when I see how I've ruined everything good in my life. But then I remember the way you kissed me goodbye. The smile on your face when you told me how proud you were of me. The way you kissed my hand because you couldn't let go and whispered, "I'll see you soon," and I want to have hope.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Get through the day without doing anything I'll regret.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

You. That you didn't give up on me. (And the Gummi Bears you hid at the bottom of the bag, you minx. Thank you.)

Day 4

Sweetheart,

I'm not doing so well. It's hard. Who am I kidding? It sucks. My body hurts from how much I want to use. My brain is so very loud, Stevie. So, so loud. I try to remember how you managed to calm me down when my brain got like this. What helped the most was to wear me out by fucking me senseless, but that's not an option. But maybe I will try to go for a walk or even do some of those exercises you always tried to get me to do. The ones that usually led to fucking because I could never behave.

My therapist is nice. Her name is Laura, and so far she's taking everything I throw at her in stride. Talking to her feels like pulling my own teeth and I feel like shit afterwards, but I sleep better. Who would have thought, huh?

I miss you.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Not good. I wonder if I can really do this. It doesn't feel like it right now. I'm afraid I won't make it. That I will screw up again. That if I do, it'll kill me and I'll be grateful because I couldn't live with myself if I did.

I don't want to die, Stevie.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Talk to the weird kid who always sits by himself during meals. He looks lost. Maybe he knows DnD.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Still you. Every day. Wayne, for taking me in when I felt like a failure too. Unlovable. Worthless. He never stopped believing in me. Even when I gave him every reason not to. I don't know how I deserve him or you, but I am so fucking grateful.

Day 7

Fuck, I missed your voice. God. I'm sorry I lost it like that. I didn't want the first thing you heard from me after a week apart to be me ugly sobbing into the phone.

I wanted to tell you so many things. I had a plan, you know? But hearing your voice when you said, "Hi, baby," it just broke me. You sounded like you missed me too, like you were relieved to hear my voice too, and you didn't even realize how scared I was that you wouldn't.

We just hung up, but I want to call you again. Just to hear you breathing on the other side so I know you're still there. Waiting for me. Your hand still gripping mine so I wouldn't get lost.

You said, "I'll hear you tomorrow," like it was set in stone, no doubt about it. It made me feel, fuck, I don't even know. Like this is real. I didn't die on that bathroom floor, and you giving me another chance isn't some kind of hallucination or afterlife dream.

I'm rambling, sorry. Even in writing I can't help it.

One day I'll write it all down in a way that makes sense, I promise.

I love how patient you are with me. No one has ever been. I was always too loud, too distracted, too weird, too complicated, too much. But not to you.

I wish you were here to take me in your arms, it's hard not to fall apart without you holding me together.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Better. Fucking determined to get through this and get back to you. Still scared.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Have a real conversation with you without breaking down on the phone. Here's to hoping. Detoxing and being sober has given me a hair trigger on my emotions, it seems.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Your patience. Your grace. Your voice in my ear. That you still haven't given up on me. DnD, for giving me a purpose when I needed one, a tool to give others the help I so desperately wanted. The weird kid's name is Alex, and he does know DnD. We'll try to find more people for a campaign.

Day 16

Steve, baby,

I am so fucking sorry. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. I'm such an asshole. Please pick up the phone. I need to tell you how sorry I am. I didn't mean it, I was just scared. When you said that maybe Laura was right and you shouldn't come to see me next week if I wasn't ready, I thought you didn't want me anymore. That you finally got tired of holding my hand and watching me do those damn baby steps. It's been over two weeks, why am I not better? Why am I not done with this shit?

I want to be done, I swear.

Please don't leave me.

Please pick up the phone.

Please, please, please.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Fuck this shit, what good is it if I keep hurting you?

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Stop being a fucking asshole.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

I want it to be you, but I'm not sure I even have you in my life anymore.

Day 23

Stevie,

I'm scared. Isn't this the stupidest thing you've ever heard? A few days ago I begged to see you. Fuck, I was so desperate to see you that I almost ruined everything. I'm still sorry, I hope you know that. I know, I know, you said that it's okay and that it can't be all smooth sailing, that you forgive me. That you'll keep forgiving me as long as I keep coming back to talk to you, to explain, to show you that I mean it.

And now I've got the all clear for you to come and see me, and I'm too scared to tell you.

I'm still not the man I want to be. The man who deserves someone like you.

Laura told me that love isn't something you deserve, it's something freely given. We don't decide if someone can love us, only they do. And that I have to stop pushing people away because I'm convinced they can't love me. It's their choice and I shouldn't try to take it away from them.

I think about this a lot.

I want to let you love me, I do. It's just hard for me to understand why you would want to do that at all. It's something Laura wants to work on with me as well.

There is so much work to do. I hate to bother you with it. To make it your problem. I wanted to come in here and two weeks later walk out a new man. A better one. One you can love easily and who can love you back in a way you can understand. A man Wayne can be proud to call his son. A man Gareth and Jeff and Grant want to have as a friend, as a bandmate. A man the kids can look up to as much as they look up to you.

Laura said I should take the hand you are holding out to me. It's a decision I make every day. I took it in the hospital. I took it when you drove me here.

I should take it by letting you in, letting you see the work in progress that I am right now.

I think I will call you after dinner to tell you.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Fuck if I know. It's a lot to feel when you've numbed your feelings for so long. I remember why I did it, but I won't do it again, I'll learn to deal with it.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Take you in my arms and hold you. Let myself be held by you.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Your hand in mine. The thought of you that keeps me going. Your bravery. Dustin and Mike and Will and Lucas. They call me all the time, you know. Asking me about my first campaign here, telling me about their lives. Keeping in touch, even though I failed them almost as much as my old man did me.

Day 31

Steve, my love,

You're on your way to pick me up and I can't believe we made it here. It's not done, it probably never will be. I know that now. I have to keep working on myself and being well. But it's so fucking worth it, Stevie.

I'm glad that Laura agreed to stay my therapist even if I leave the center. I trust her. She gets me, she knows when to push me and tell me the ugly truth, and when I need time to process things.

I haven't told you yet, but I'm not going back to Corroded Coffin. At least not right now. I talked to the guys and they all agreed that it's best if I take some time for myself. And for you. For my family and friends. They actually have a guy named Tig who auditioned while I was here and they like him. He's good, they sent me a demo. They asked me if it would be okay and I said it would be. It's true, even though it hurts. I have to do this for myself.

Because I am going to give this to you later, I want to tell you something here before I lose my courage.

Steve. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I know I haven't always shown you the way you deserve. Hell, some days I certainly didn't act like it. My worst days. But I never stopped loving you. I don't think I ever will.

But I also learned to like myself a little better here. I no longer want to punish myself for things that were out of my control, like my mom dying or my dad not caring enough for me to stay. I want to be loved. I want you to love me. I want to let you.

I want to finally leave the past behind and allow myself to think about the future. And whenever I do, you're in it. You're the anchor, the epicenter of all my plans.

Stevie, sweetheart, I want to marry you.

Don't worry, I'm not proposing. This is just something I needed to tell you. Someday I want to be your husband, if you want me.

You are my past, my present and my future.

This is me taking your hand every day until I die or you stop reaching for me.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

So fucking excited to have you all to myself again. Seriously, I'm going a little crazy. I'm also hopeful about the future. And in love. I'm so fucking in love with you.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

To start our life together without forgetting what came before.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

My second chance.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 17 #Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost #my writing

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kysuguru · 9 months

Text

fitting in — stsg x fem!reader

synopsis : gojo satoru is overbearing, no matter. you’ll learn to endure

includes / cw : gojo is kind of mean

all mine masterlist

a / n : chapter twoooooo!!!!! nothing much else to say other than i’m not rlly satisfied w my writing… i’ll cope.

You were introduced to your dorm. Yaga informed you that you'd be able to take a day or two off to get to know the place before you started classes. You didn't bring much with you, honestly. Other than any outfit you could fit into your suitcase and some necessities. Everything else was left behind at home in your moments of panic.

It did not bother you much with your families lack of financial stability. You are not allowed much of the little things. But you hoped you could at least try and attempt to make this the room of your dreams.

So for now, a small picture of you after losing a tooth — seven years old — with you in your smiling mother's arms, would be the only decor.

But now that you were settled, you were kind of stuck. You were unsure whether or not to escape your room and mingle or sit here in silence. As tempting as the thought of making friends out of the three other classmates you had was, you remembered how students at your previous school treated you and got cold feet.

You were always socially inept due to the constant distance from others that people and your mother forced upon you.

It's not others fault that they didn't like you, you thought. Maybe it was because you didn't offer to help with their studies, or maybe it's because you always got so scared to try and connect with others that they got the wrong idea.

No matter.

Here, hopefully, you could start anew.

For now, you need to do research. Still, to this day, your mother's words ring through your head.

"Teaching you is such a hassle," she brushed it off as a joke as she kissed your head, but you knew better. Because you could still spot the frustration in her expression. She must've been in a good mood that day, for she didn't blow a fuse.

But you didn't want to make anyone else feel the way you made your mother feel. You didn't want them carrying your weight. So to prevent that, you'll make sure that by the time you start classes, you'd be more than knowledgeable with jujutsu sorcery. And classes were tomorrow so you wanted to start as soon as possible.

A library...

You'd have to leave the room to find that. You became nervous all over again. The possibility of running into someone was unknown, you still didn't want to risk it. To soothe yourself you tapped your knuckle against your mother's face in the photograph. Thinking of her calmed you. If you thought of it as becoming a better person to help her, you could conquer the world if you wanted to.

You wiped the imaginary dust off her glassed face with your thumb before you turned towards the door, a new determination in your veins.

You slid your door open quietly as to not make any noise and alert anyone else. Your mother hated when you got loud. as you were ready to tiptoe around the school, a familiar girl blocked your path as she stood in front of you.

You yelped in surprise, jumping back. You didn't expect her appearance.

"Ogawa [Name], correct?" It was the girl, the model girl. One of your classmates, the only other girl. Even her voice was gorgeous.

"Yes..." You whispered, a finger hovering over your parted lips as you stared.

"I'm Ieiri, Shoko Ieiri. call me Shoko."

Your voice practically shook with awe, "Shoko. I'm Ogawa [Name]..." Before you could fix your slip-up, Shoko looked at you, subtly bewildered, before her lips stretched into a small smile.

"I know." She motioned her head to the side, "Follow me."

It didn't take you much to heed her command. instead of having to go to them, one of them came to you. The idea of her wanting to be your friend made you eager, but you didn't want to get too ahead of yourself. Maybe she was just being courteous.

You walked besides her, falling a bit behind. Even though you knew there weren't many people at Jujutsu Tech, you didn't like the idea of someone catching you walking besides her. People never took to you walking side by side with them, afraid of the accusations of being acquainted with you. as if it was a bad thing. And maybe Shoko would think the same.

You don't think you'd mind. You were always used to being the shadow anyways. So it was okay with you. you were surprised she approached you. That was enough for you. Even if it was simply to be nice it didn't matter, it made you happy either way.

Shoko was such a nice girl.

Shoko turned her head slightly towards you, noticing how you lagged behind. She raised a brow, questioning, yet turned around and continued walking. But you noticed her pace was a bit slower.

The walk was silent, and you weren't sure how she'd take to you sparking a conversation. So you stayed silent and continued to follow her until you both stopped at a vending machine. She inserted coins before looking at you.

"What's your pick? It's on me." You don't think you'd ever get over her smile — as small as it was. You could tell by the stretch of her lips that she probably didn't smile that often. You think she should. She looks beautiful when she does.

"Are you sure? You don't need to do that! I can pay!" You couldn't, but you'd make another excuse. You were good at that (you weren't).

Shoko was already nice enough to accompany you, walk with you, and even talk with you. You couldn't let her buy you a drink, you just couldn't!

Her eyes crinkled and her smile turned somber, as if she understood you a little bit, "I insist."

Your face contorted, your lips downturned as your eyebrows knitted. You hesitated, and then you spoke.

"A strawberry soda is just fine." You fidget with your fingers.

She hums and clicks the corresponding button. You both watch as it tumbles down to the bottom. She bends to grab it before holding it out for you.

"Might wanna wait a bit, could explode on you."

"I promise to pay you back," you whisper, content.

You take it, savoring the coldness of it against your palms. Your mother was strict with what you ate in the house, especially since you guys weren't all that well off. So sodas were a luxury in your home. You couldn't help but let your eyes glitterm your face softening as you gaze happily at the soft drink.

Shoko notices, watching your face change as she sips on her drink. You're extremely odd. She thought that when you first entered the classroom and she still thinks that now.

You're quiet, eager, yet also cautious. You act as if you're stepping on eggshells in the presence of anyone. It irritates her a little, and she thinks she knows why.

She brushes away the seed of pity in her stomach at the way you gaze so happily at a cheap drink before she's calling your name. "Come sit."

Shoko walks to the bench beside the machine, patting the empty spot next to her.

You're perplexed once more. Now she was inviting you to sit by her. You didn't know what to think at this point. You were prepared for her to brush you away with a brief comment of paying her back.

But, not wanting to protest such a kind offer — or demand — you plop down besides her, making sure to put some distance. She sees, yet makes no comment.

You fidget with your soda as you stare down at your lap. The silence isn't uncomfortable by any means, but you're anticipating a conversation. With the invitation you expected her to say something first. but maybe that was asking for too much. You should say something first...

"So.." she turns to you as you look up, making immediate eye contact. You instantly avert your eyes, even more nervous than before. "Are you the only ones who attend this school?"

"Nah. There's the first year and Utahime in the third."

You wonder who utahime is, that must be another girl. You hope you can get along with her. You pop the cap of your drink, bringing it to your lips.

"That doesn't seem to be a lot," you're looking at her now, but she faces forward, sipping her drink.

"Of course it's not. You don't usually attend a school with only seven students. But there's the Kyoto branch as well. They probably have more students, I wouldn't know. I don't care to keep count."

"The Kyoto branch.."

"You honestly should've gone there, it's so much closer to your home. But Yaga is the one who found you so... lucky us." She turns to you with that already familiar soft smile, and you think her words are genuine.

Before you can reply, two pairs of footsteps approach your direction. You can hear their chatter and their voices are familiar.

You look up to meet the gazes of your two other classmates. The black haired boy's expression is more laid-back. He has a small smile on his face — you can see his slight dimples. He waves at you.

Whereas the white haired boy's face is blank, he's staring, but you can't tell what he's thinking. Those black glasses obscure any hint you can get as to what's on his mind. Seeing them eye you so openly makes you nervous. You use one hand to play with the hem of your skirt, your eyes dropping to your nails.

Shoko sighs at Gojo's lack of politeness.

"Of course you come to bother me and my new friend before the day starts," she rolls her eyes and you think she's being sarcastic. But you don't care to find out as you mull over her words, staring at her side profile. My new friend. Did she mean that? You really hoped she did, because you didn't know what else to do with the immense joy in your chest.

She meets your eyes, smiling.

"I'm gonna go for a smoke, alright? Watch them for me," she requests, as if they're babies that need to be sat. You panic at the idea of being with them alone and you think she can tell.

She tries to assure you, "I'll be back before you know it."

She's walking off with a wave, leaving you alone in an awkward silence with the other two. Or you think it's awkward — well it is for you anyways. Maybe you should've asked to go along with her. Even though you hated the smell of cigarettes you would manage if it meant not being stuck here..

Well technically, you're not stuck. But you're also too afraid to leave. They'd probably see that as rude. You merely sip at your drink, trying to appear nonchalant.

You look up at the sound of shoes clicking against the tiles, meeting the eyes of the guy with the soft eyes and odd bangs. He looks kind, he smiles at you and your tense shoulders relax a bit. It seems that's what his goal was, for his smile gets a little wider.

His friend inserts money into the vending machine, ignoring the both of you as the kind boy sits beside you.

"I'm Geto Suguru." His voice is soft yet deep, it resonates with you. You think you can fall asleep to the sound of him.

"Ogawa [Name]..." You try your best to maintain eye contact. It's hard.

"I know. You introduced yourself yesterday," he's smiling.

You don't know whether or not to be embarrassed of your second slip up of the day. So you settle for drinking more of your soda, staring at your shoes, finding a small comfort in the familiar marks that you've become accustomed to over the last couple years.

"When do you start class? I didn't see you today."

"Uhm, tomorrow I think. I'm just getting used to the layout today... or that's what I was told." It's so apparent that you're anxious, with the way that you fidget with your clothes and shuffle your feet. It's so embarrassing you might tear up, but it's all you can do. You really can't stay still.

Geto opens his mouth most likely to try and comfort you and get you comfortable with his presence. But before he can, Shoko calls out to him.

"Geto! I need a light!"

Your eyes trail up from your shoes to his face and you can see him sigh in exasperation. He opens his eyes, meets your gaze, and smiles sheepishly.

"I'll be right back."

As he gets up you realize who exactly you're being left with. Well, you don't really know. But what you do know is that his presence is unsettling, it's suffocating. You don't even have to be alone with him to feel that way.

You almost reach out and ask for Geto to stay, you're not exactly used to him, but he seems much kinder than his counterpart.

But it's silent once more and your eyes are right back to looking at your shoes. You finish off your drink and quietly as you can, drop it into the trash can next to you.

You're sweating, you're sure you are. But you don't make a move to wipe your forehead. You're not sure what to do. you're not used to conversing and mingling with other people. As little as three people is, it's still overwhelming for you.

But how can you excel in this school if you don't interact with others?

That question still doesn't push you, but you reminisce. You think of your sleeping mother, going back home, and you finally open your mouth.

"What's your name?"

Gojo blinks.

"You don't know who I am?" He asks, tone nowhere near condescending, it's genuinely curious, surprised. But you can't tell and feel a little humiliated.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, am I supposed to?" You're sweating once again, shuffling your feet as you speak up in a squeaky voice.

Every jujutsu sorcerer is aware of the existence of Gojo Satoru, the boy who altered the balance of the world on the day of his birth. But it wasn't like this didn't happen sometimes, so he brushed it off.

"Well," he opens his mouth but closes it, "No, it's whatever. I'm Gojo Satoru." He's looking into your eyes now, but due to the obstruction of his glasses, you can't tell. So you don't notice that he's eyeing you expectantly, waiting for realization to dawn on you.

It doesn't.

"What a pretty name. It fits you," you speak with kindness, trying your best to smile softly. You fail. It looks like a grimace. Gojo is close to laughing.

"So you really don't know who I am?"

Gojo was convinced that telling you his name, you'd know. People's jaws would usually drop, as they realized just who they were talking to. But you just sat there, clueless, as you moved your feet around with an empty confused look on your face.

"I'm sorry for repeating myself. But am I supposed to know? I'm new to this jujutsu stuff, honestly. So if you're a renowned sorcerer, I unfortunately wasn't aware until now." Seeing no reaction from him, your head drops a bit. "Sorry," you mutter under your breath, afraid.

You were so used to the reaction your mother gave you when you weren't all knowing. Angry, loud, and condescending. And with your only mother being the most present in your life, was it safe to assume Gojo would react the same way? If so, you were prepared, and maybe you deserved it. You weren't smart when it came to jujutsu after all.

"That makes sense," he says.

It's silent as you wait for him to add on. Which he doesn't. so he just sips on his extremely sweet drink as you stare at him, blinking.

He meets your gaze full force, seeing it as competition, neither of you looking away.

"I-is that it?" You tilt your head confusedly.

He blinks alongside you.

"Was there meant to be more?"

Now you're really confused. But you don't want to be painted as weird, so you try and let it go.

"No, nevermind."

It's silent again, for the third time. But it's not as uncomfortable as it was before. You get the idea that Gojo doesn't take to you. That' okay, Shoko being your acquaintance is enough to get you through this year. Plus, Geto seemed polite enough. Maybe not enough for you two to be close, but enough for you not to be so awkward around him.

Shoko's familiar voice bleeds into your senses and you look up to see her and Geto walking side by side.

"So, Ogawa. What do you want to do today? Since it's your free day." She sits beside you once more, with her here you can feel more relaxed. You didn't realize how tense your body was.

"Oh, I was just hoping to go to the library."

"Who does that in their free time?" Gojo snickers, crushing the can of his drink into a tiny ball. You're in awe at the raw power.

Shoko shushes him, "Cool. What for?"

"Nothing much. Just studying, really. Since I'm new to jujutsu and all."

"Yeah, that makes sense. You don't know your technique either, right?" Geto's voice pipes up, his finger is rubbing his chin as he questions you.

You shake your head 'no' in response.

"I can take you there if you'd like. If you don't know the way, that is." Geto smiles, putting his hands in his pockets.

You look at Shoko for some type of approval, she merely shrugs. It's not like you needed permission to go, you were just unsure.

But you look up at geto and answer quietly, "That'd be nice."

"You know I haven't made a trip there in awhile, maybe I'll find a new book-"

Before Gojo can speak any further, Shoko pulls him down by his blazer to sit. "You barely read, hotshot. Keep me company."

Shoko didn't really want to be alone with him, but she was aware you weren't exactly comfortable in his presence. That topped with Geto would surely make you anxious.

You turn to meet Shoko's eyes and she waves at you. You raise your hand a bit, waving back, before you turn forward and trek off with Geto.

Gojo crosses his arms, huffing as he watches you both disappear around the corner.

"Don't be intimidated by him," Geto speaks up once you're both out of earshot. You tilt your head to look at him. "He's not all that scary once you get to know him."

You're silent, not sure what to say. You tap your lip with your index finger, thinking of Gojo. You remember the knit of his brows when the fact that you didn't know him left your lips.

"I think he's upset with me."

Geto looks at you. "Why do you think that?"

"I didn't know who he was. I mean, I still don't know. But I think he was upset? I couldn't really tell. I guess I just kind of assumed," you say, sheepish.

Geto chuckles, and you're enamored. He seems so bright, you've only known him for a little while, but he's always smiling. You wonder what other faces he can make.

"That's new. He's from the acclaimed Gojo clan, so he's usually drowned in praise. He was probably surprised that you were clueless." Geto finishes with a mutter of how he wished he could've seen it go down.

"The Gojo clan?"

Geto eyes you up and down, as if surveying you. "You really don't know much do you?"

You shrink in on yourself. His voice didn't sound insulting, but you still felt a bit targeted.

He backtracks, "I didn't mean it like that, I promise. I'm just shocked. I've never met someone with the desire to be a jujutsu sorcerer so in the dark."

"But anyways," he speaks up once more, "There's three big families, Gojo being one of them if not the most prominent. They're known for their cursed techniques. Gojo being the limitless and six eyes."

You're still confused, but you think you somewhat understand. "What're the other two families?"

"Zenin and Kamo's. Oh, we're here," he says. You both arrive at the library, it's nothing much but it'll be perfect to study in. The size of it isn't all that big, more than a few chairs to sit in — those look pretty cozy. There's also ambient lit lamps sitting on each of the tables, it casts a warm glow in the room that could make anyone feel comfortable.

"There's no librarian. since not too many people know about jujutsu. So just take whatever, whenever."

You nod, your eyes surveying the shelves.

"Where should I start?"

"Well I suggest you go to that section, so you can learn what cursed energy is, cursed techniques, and how they work."

You nod, "Thank you for bringing me here, Geto."

He smiles at you, eyes crinkling as the hollow of his dimples show on his cheeks. This smile is genuine — all of them are — but there's a gentler, happier feel to this one. You stare for a little while before he finally bids you goodbye.

"Good luck, please let me know if you need help." You say yes, even though you most likely won't go to him. You'd be wasting his time, you're sure.

You planned on being there as long as possible. Of course, you were gonna get in enough sleep. But you need to learn as much as possible before tomorrow mornings class. Plus, not only would you study, you could also think of what to gift Geto and Shoko to repay their kindness.

You beamed thinking about it. You wondered how Shoko would react. If she would adorn that small smile. If Geto's eyes would crinkle again like they did today as his dimples came to light.

You hoped so, their happy expressions were their prettiest. You haven't seen much else from them but you're positive they look better when they're smiling.

You grab a couple of books and make your way to a table. As you open a book about the Gojo clan you think of Gojo. Should you get him anything? Even though he wasn't as kind as Shoko or Geto, you'd feel bad if you left him out.

But you think of his blank expression. How he stared at you as if he was peeling your entire being apart layer by layer and get shifty all over again. You weren't sure so you decide to push that subject to the back of your mind for later.

taglist : @okayiamkassandra

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #stsg.am #🫐.jjk #geto suguru #suguru getou x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #getou x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader

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renku · 1 month

Text

Shared Bliss

Soloist Choi Yunjin (Jini) x Male Reader

[Part 1?]

A/N: I just feel releasing this short fic for some reason. Maybe it’s my impatient ass or something. Anyway, I truly enjoyed writing this one so I hope you enjoy it too. Let me know if you’re up for a 2nd part. Ideas are also welcome to my inbox! Good day to all!

To define the relationship you share with Jini is difficult, but to be bothered by such trivial things is a waste of time. People are going to think what they want at the end anyway.

Both of you possess the same traits; carefree, live-in-the-moment type of people, cherish, and spend the youth before it’s gone. No commitments. Feel the joy of life outside responsibilities and duties. Time waits for no man at all.

It started in the old fashion way—kicked off as high school peers that escalated until college. Ironic as it is sounds, met at the same company and now coworkers in the present. Same department, just different sections and ahead of her for a year. Taking into account Jini’s exaggerated storytelling (at least from your point of view) on why she left her previous job: the weight of just being there was unbearable. She said that she’d rather work as a waitress at a pub or something.

Sharing various moments with each other, there’s this bond and connection that felt exclusive and genuine. A safe space—comfort and no judgement. Romance? It doesn't cross your mind a bit and not would even dare to step into that unfamiliar realm.

Here’s the thing: random chances often come by to bring good things, chaos, or something in between the two. In your case, Lady Luck bestowed upon you the last one.

It was one Friday night—her occasional invites for dinner or plain drinking session are something you’ve become accustomed to. A fifteen-minute ride is all it takes. Not bad, better to spend the rest of the night outside than get bored alone.

“Still gets me,” you thought, looking at the front of her house. The amount of detail and work she put are remarkable. After a few steps, you pressed the doorbell.

“Oh, hey loser. Thought you wouldn’t come,” she said, “Just a sec. I’m coming.”

She did not even bother to ask who’s on the other side, like she don’t have any visitor besides you. After waiting for a few seconds, the door opened, and there she is—Jini in her off-shoulder dress with rose imprint.

Stunning... Captivating... Tempting.

Three words to describe the sight right before you, in flesh.

Her dress did its job flaunting her figure. Her presence that exude an intimidating aura—fierce, attitude, and boldness. One fierece look and she can make anyone kneel in a matter of seconds.

“Hey, loser. Hey!”

“What?” you replied, still in shock.

“You zoned out, are you okay?” Jini asked, you just shook your head a bit.

“Sure?”

“Yeah, yeah... Hundred percent.”

“Come in then, it’s freezing out here.”

Few common dishes and cans of beer were already placed on the table in the living room. “Not much, but that's a free meal. Besides, I’m not a bad cook,” she winked.

“Full of yourself sometimes, aren’t you?”

“I think the word ‘confident’ is what you’re looking for, mister.”

“Fine, fine... Let’s just eat,” you said, before sitting and opening a can of beer.

“Hah! I won!”

Throughout the meal, different topics fueled the flow of conversation. Some of them were about work, things in the past, gossips, funny, sad, and anything that comes into mind until all that's left on the table were the beers.

“A question,” said Jini, bringing seat closer so she can lean forward towards you across the table.

“Be my guest.”

“Did you ever think about having sex with me?”

Making a surprised reaction would not change the situation so you just answered her in a straightforward manner. “Yes, and if I'm being honest, I can’t stop thinking about it the moment I stepped inside this house. You’re so fucking hot in that dress.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or just courage that came out of nowhere but you still said it, and who gives a shit anymore?

Jini finished her remaining beer looking at you. She stood up, walked slowly and sat down on your lap.

“Is that true?” her focus shifted on your lips.

“Yes.”

A split second was it all took. She kissed you, and you responded accordingly bringing it to a make out session. Sloppy, wet, and warm. Jini pulled your head closer as her tongue joins the action and so are yours. It wasn’t a fight for dominance, but rather an exchange of intentions; something beyond words and better expressed through actions.

None of you can’t stop as your hand began an exploration of its own—the smoothness of the silk dress gave the impression of touching her bare skin.

Jini broke free; hazy, lust-filled eyes remained in contact with yours.

“Dress.”

“Not so fast, pervert. My house, my rules.”

“Playing tough?” you asked, raising both brows. “I’m born tough, loser. Now take that shirt off.”

“Okay, I’ll play along.”

You took your shirt off swiftly in one motion, revealing a body built for years. Astounded, it occured to her that this is the first time she saw you shirtless. Keeping the composure she displayed moments ago is crumbling.

“Happy?”

“Oh, shut up.”

She initiated the kiss again—on your neck going downwards, taking her time to taste your upper torso sending sending you into a frenzied state. Her tounge plays one of your nipples, while her finger does the other by means of making these circular motions, teasing you.

“Fuck.”

Jini’s dirty assault continues and not a word has had left her lips since. She’s acting like a predator aiming to completely devour her prey whole with no intention to stop until she’s satisfied.

“Let’s see what you pack down here,” she said, before pulling in one go your pants and underwear. Jini’s subtle gasp was still noticeable after seeing your cock.

“Well?”

“N- not b- bad...”

“Touch it.”

“Wh- what?”

“You heard me. Just do it.”

It was already erect, and Jini didn’t even hesitate to wrap her fingers around it—contact sent an electrifying feeling as she executed few, careful slow strokes. Unbelievable. It totally feels like the first time. Her jerking you off was overwhelming that precum is already leaking from the tip.

“Oh- oh, shit... That’s good!” you exclaimed, grip tightened on the arm rest of the chair. You don’t want to cum and if you’ll do so, it’s better to land it somewhere more interesting. Grabbing her arm lightly to halt her actions, caressing her face.

“Why?” Jini asked, her face blushed.

You just stared at her eyes, before brushing your thumb on her pinkish lips. She gets the hint and she knew it was going to happen anyway, sooner or later. She nodded as a ‘yes’.

Jini seemed to hold back a bit but she opened her mouth anyway, sticks her tongue out as she starts to lick one of your balls. Fucking hell. She attempted to put one in her mouth, drenched from her saliva. Jini gives a slow, long lick from the base of your dick going to its tip, tasting that precum still flowing. She takes time to know your proud member.

“Ahhh~ fuck, so good! Keep going!”

Hearing words of affirmation encouraged her even more as Jini started to give attention to your head. Putting it just inside her mouth made wonders—her tongue swirls around it and the sensation is driving you crazy. Unknowingly placed a hand on her head for support from the pleasure that travels around your body, trying not to get consumed by her actions.

Jini starts to take more by pushing herself with her tongue tracing the underside of your cock until she reache the limit—tip reached the back of her throat. Her gag reflex is evident as she holds on for a few seconds before releasing your cock with a pop. Jini catches her breath for a moment, still maintaining eye contact after what she just did.

You stood up while Jini is basically on her knees. No words were spoken at the heat of the moment.

You just position your cock right away in front of her mouth, slowly pushing the tip to enter once again and Jini willingly accepts.

Moving your hips backwards slowly until the glans remained inside, one thrust forward and from there the pace started to build up as you just basically facefuck Jini. Subtle, suggestive moans from her were signs she's enjoying it.

Lasting this long was quite a surprise as the inevitable first release of the night started to build up fast. Primal instinct took over you—faster thrusts, lewd and squelching sounds, moans of pleasure from both of you get louder and you knew holding back was impossible.

“Ji- Jini... fuck... I’m about to cum!”

One final thrust as spurts and ropes of cum went straight down to her throat, and Jini just swallowed everything. Some were escaping the sides of her lips. The high feeling of orgasm disappeared and you went back to your senses pulling out your cock.

“Yum.”

Jini catched her breath after what you just did. It took her a few minutes before returning to a more relaxed state.

She looked even more sexy; scooping the remaining cum using her finger, putting it back into her mouth.

One word and you knew the night is far from over.

“Should we head to my room? You can still fill me somewhere else, right?”

“Oh, you bet.”

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #idol x reader #female idol x reader #male reader #jini #jiniyxxn

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dandelionfairyyy · 8 months

Text

30 hours J. H.

Pairing: Jay Halstead x female!reader

Warnings: mention of injuries and violence, swearing, slight mention of blood, kidnapping, possible bad writing and mistakes

Wordcount: 4,076

A/N: please be kind, this is the first oneshot I wrote in a year or two and I am still super unhappy with this, but keep working on it would just make it worse I think. And my friends said I should just post it, so … Also, English is not my first language, please keep that in mind while reading. I hope you’ll like it anyway

Now without further ado… I present to you:

30 hours

You rub your face sleepily as you slowly wake up.

As you feel the weight of an arm around your waist, you can't help but smile.

You turn to Jay, whose arm is pressing you against him.

What started as a friendship has become so much more. And yesterday he finally asked you to marry him.

Gently you trace the contours of his face with your finger. Memories of last night come flooding back and you bite your lower lip as you think of Jay treating you to a little corner cafe before you took a walk along the Chicago River and him finally getting down on one knee in front of you.

Your eyes fall on the beautiful silver ring with the little stone set in it, on your finger.

"Morning," you say as you see Jay waking up.

"Morning," he replies in a raspy voice, giving you a smile that takes your breath away. "Sleep well?"

You nod before reaching a little further towards him and placing your lips on his.

God, you still can't believe that this wonderful man is now your fiancé.

Happily, you smile into the kiss and slightly part your lips for him. You feel his tongue gently nudging against yours and you feel yourself catapulted right back to last night. What his tongue had done to you...

You can't hold back a soft moan at the memory and you feel his knowing smile in your kiss.

As it becomes more intimate, Jay rolls over you and....

Your kiss is abruptly interrupted when a cell phone rings somewhere in the room.

Last night, on the way from the door to the bedroom, you had spread your clothes anywhere in the flat. His trousers had apparently made it into the bedroom.

"Don't answer it," you plead, wrapping your arms around his neck, knowing it's Jay's phone because Intelligence most likely has a new lead in the current case and he needs to get to the precinct. "Let's just stay in bed for a week," you suggest, with little hope of agreement, though.

Jay leans down a little towards you and kisses you intimately again for a few seconds before pulling away and going in search of his jeans. "As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I can't do that."

You sit up with a sigh as he gets out of bed and fishes the phone out of his pocket.

As expected, there's a new lead that needs to be followed up.

So you get up to make breakfast to go for him as he heads into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Wearing only one of Jay's t-shirts, you are standing at the kitchen counter pouring coffee into a to-go mug when you feel your fiancé standing behind you.

His hands are on your hips as he plants a kiss on your cheek.

"My angel," he murmurs and you turn your head so that your lips meet. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"Once or twice..." you reply with a smirk.

"So not often enough."

You press the sandwich and the to-go mug of coffee into his hand and push him towards the door.

"I love you, too. And now you have to go. Work needs to be done."

It's Saturday, so you don't have to work and can devote yourself to other things, like grocery shopping or housekeeping.

Jay steals one last kiss before disappearing out the door with a "love you".

Heavens, even though you've known each other for five years and been a couple for three, you're still as much in love with this man as you were at the beginning of your relationship.

At first it was hard for you to come to terms with the fact that Jay often has to work late and sometimes he has to leave just because of work. But by now you've come to terms with it and Jay always makes it up to you in one way or another. Either with a romantic date, or little presents he gives you, and of course with the love he gives you every single day.

Lost in thought, you finally make your way to the supermarket. But soon you wish you had just stayed in bed with Jay.

"Y/N?", you hear an unknown voice behind you and turn around in confusion.

You don't know the man standing in front of you. But he seemed to know your name. He held out a wallet to you. "You just lost this," he says.

Unsure, you take it from him and look inside. Indeed, it contains your driver's license, your bank card, cash... and yet it is not your wallet. You've never seen this thing before in your life.

What the fuck?

You are about to reply that it is not your wallet when everything happens really fast. A black van pulls up next to you and the man who handed you the wallet before now pushes you backwards so that you lose your balance. Someone behind you catches you and you are finally thrown into the van. Your head hits the wall and an unpleasant hammering makes its way to the back of your head.

Doors slam and two seconds later the van speeds on.

It takes you a few seconds to realize what has just happened.

You have just been kidnapped.

That afternoon, Jay comes home in excitement at the sight of his fiancée in his arms again.

The current case, which has kept them on the go for a fortnight and got Jay out of bed this morning, has now been solved and he just wants to be with you, eat something and sleep.

But when he enters the flat, you are not there.

He checks all the rooms in the flat, but you are not to be found.

Are you with friends and forgot to tell him? Normally you always let him know if you're meeting someone, because you know that otherwise his detective brain will spin banal theories about what might have happened to you.

With a frown, he pulls out his mobile phone and tries to call you. But he is sent straight to voicemail. After the third attempt, he gives up and calls your best friend instead, deeply hoping that you are with her, or at least that she knows where you are.

But with her, too, nothing.

Now Jay is really worried.

Worried, he calls Ruzek, who is a good friend of yours and through whom you and Jay met in the first place, hoping that he is still in the bullpen for paperwork.

Jay was lucky.

"Hey man, what is it?" asked Adam exuberantly.

"Can you ping Y/N's phone? She's not there, I can't reach her, and I don't have a good feeling about this."

"Just a minute," Adam replies, recognising the concern and urgency in Jay's voice.

Shortly afterwards, Adam gives an address of where your cell phone was the last time before it was turned off.

With a quick thank you and a promise to let him know when he has found you, the two colleagues and friends on the phone say goodbye and Jay gets back into his truck to drive to the address.

It wasn't far and as he got out his heart stopped for a moment.

A wallet with your drivers licence is lying on the small footpath of the side street and a few metres away is your phone, the screen shattered. There are black tyre marks on the road from a sharp braking.

Jay pulls out his phone again and calls Adam for a second time.

"Found her?" he asks hopefully, but Jay doesn't even let him speak. "Y/N's been kidnapped."

Jay knows his colleague has just sat up straighter.

"Jay, are you sure?"

"Yes." Jay describes what he sees in front of him and then asks Adam to call the team together.

Less than fifteen minutes later they were all standing on the scene.

"Okay, you know what to do, check PODs, residents' CCTV and ask residents if they saw anything. Jay's girlfriend, one of ours, has been kidnapped. And we're going to get that asshole!" the sergeant ordered his team before putting a comforting hand on Jay's shoulder and saying, "We're going to find Y/N and she's going to get through this. She's tough. You'll see your girlfriend again."

"Fiancée, to be exact," Jay replies, but Voight hadn't heard him anymore.

Back in the bullpen, with all the evidence and statements from the residents, they create a board with all the facts so far. Photos of the skid marks, the wallet and the mobile phone. In the middle hangs a photo of the victim. He has seen this board so many times before, with disturbing and nightmare-inducing images. But now it is different.

Worse. Creepier. Because this time there's a photo of you hanging there.

Jay is standing in front of it, looking at it.

The photo doesn't do you justice, he thinks. The sparkle in your eyes is not there and the smile on your lips is nowhere near as beautiful as he knows it. Everything seems so dull and lifeless ...

An elderly lady watched the abduction from her kitchen window, but thought nothing more of it. However, she was already somewhat demented. Therefore, her statement is less reliable, but her description, apart from a few exceptions, matches those of the other residents of the street.

According to her, a man spoke to you, then a black van appeared, then flew away and you were gone.

Jay ran an agitated hand through his hair. He had to concentrate now. Intelligence had already solved a case with less clues, so they could solve this one too.

At the stroke of midnight, his phone buzzes, showing that he has received a video message.

He plays it while the others look over his shoulder.

There you sit tied to a chair with your cheek visibly reddened and a small gash on your cheekbone.

"Jay. The three wankers in front of me ..." you get kicked in the shin as you insult your captors as wankers and you curse a soft "ouch" before continuing. "Anyway, they want you to turn yourself in, Jay. A trade. I get released and they take you in exchange. In 30 hours, you'll ... what? I can't read the scribbling ...” your look shifts to one of your captors. “If you're going to make me read rubbish like that, at least write it neatly enough so I can read it dramatically ..." you grumble, and Adam has to suppress a snort. It would be funny if it wasn't so serious.

One of the kidnappers gave the address you couldn't read before. "Right there... That's where you'll be standing in thirty hours, unarmed. They will release me and take you with them. Should you not do it, they will kill me."

Your eyes shift from what you are supposed to be reading out and you look at one of your captors. "Oh, go bury yourselves, or throw yourselves in front of a train, I don't mind ..." You wrinkle your nose slightly at the last sentence.

Then one of the kidnappers speaks again, "Detective, follow our instructions or your little friend will die. Know that this is revenge for the death of my brother."

While the kidnapper is still speaking, you shout, "Jay, don't do it! Don't make the trade!"

You catch a slap, your head flies from the punch to the side, and then the video ends.

It's only when he exhales now that Jay realises he's been holding his breath. As did the rest of the team.

Adam made the comment that you're pretty brave to be so defiant to the kidnappers. Or you're tired of living. It's going to be one of those two.

Over the next few hours, Intelligence investigates whose brother it might be, who was capable of such a thing, and where those, as you called them, wankers, might be holding you.

But when nothing new comes of it, Voight sends everyone home for the time being to get some sleep and to be able to continue working in new freshness. After all, they still have 27 hours.

But Jay doesn't want to go home. He could never sleep there now.

In your bed, knowing that you're sitting somewhere kidnapped, tied to a chair....

Which is why Adam finally offers to take him with him, so that he can at least get a little sleep on the couch there.

20 hours until the exchange:

By now they've figured out who wants to see your fiancé suffer.

A few weeks ago Jay had shot someone, Paul Lancaster to be precise, on a case after he in turn had opened fire on him.

Jay had escaped with a bruise at the time due to the vest, but Paul had died on the way to hospital. He had hit well.

Now Paul's brother, Jeremy Lancaster, seemed to want revenge on him and this man had quite an interesting sheet. Jeremy had been charged several times for smaller felonies and had served two years in Stateville for aggravated assault. But even though Intelligence now knows who's holding you, they still have no clue where Jeremy and his two accomplices might be holding you.

Frustrated, Jay now throws a stack of papers against the wall and rubs his face in dissolution.

He's on the verge of giving up, of just turning himself in. He'd rather die than let them hurt you more than they already do.

They went through everything again, repeated all the residents' statements, looked at all the traffic camera recordings, but they got nowhere. The van had disappeared at some point at a corner without video surveillance.

"Play the video again," Jay finally asks Kim, who is currently at her computer trying to draw any clues from it as to where you might be.

"Jay ..." she started, but he interrupted her and took it upon himself to play the video from the beginning.

At the end, when you wrinkle your nose, he pauses the video.

"There! Y/N always wrinkles her nose when she bluffs while playing. I always tease her about it ... because she looks so cute at that moment and it annoys her when I say that, ... that was a hint ... She was giving us a hint."

Kim rewinds a few seconds and plays it again.

Burying themselves ... jumping in front of a train ...

They play the video again and again.

"Train ... bury ... buried train ... underground!", Jay finally combines and writes it immediately on the case board.

Seventeen hours until the exchange:

If they didn't find you soon, Jay knew, he'd turn himself in. No matter what you had said, no matter what Voight will say. He can't let you get hurt.

There are seventeen hours left to find you, and Jay can barely think straight when they find out Jeremy is in an on-off relationship with an Angelina Perry. Maybe she can help.

God, Jay hoped so much.

Adam and Kim bring the girlfriend to the station and Jay watches the questioning through the mirror, his partner, Hailey standing beside him, watching him with concern. She knows how much Jay loves you. Every time Ruzek brings up one of the stories from your childhood and your name comes up, his eyes light up and a smile spreads across his face. But now there was nothing but worry and fear.

"What am I doing here? I don't know any Y/N," Angelina clarifies.

"But you know Jeremy Lancaster. Don't you?" asks Kim, unimpressed.

"Y-yes? Why? Did something happen to him?"

"No ...", Adam picks up, but Jay is no longer listening, because he has just received another video message.

Alarmed, he looks at Hailey, who nods once and finally gets Adam and Kim out of the interrogation room. Meanwhile, Jay gets Voight out of his office and has Kevin run the video from his phone onto the computer.

With held breath, the team watches the video.

You are still sitting in the chair with your head hanging, probably unconscious. Your hair hides the view at your face, but kindly Jeremy grabs your hair ungently and pulls it back so that he lifts your head and the team can see you properly. Your face is swollen and you have a laceration on your forehead, a bruise is starting to form on your left eye.

"Fuck!" curses Jay, even before Jeremy has begun to speak.

"Hello Detective. A real fighter you got yourself into, I'm looking forward to making you feel what I did to her before I shoot you in front of her like you shot my brother. Or would you prefer I shoot her in front of you?"

Jay's blood boils in his veins. He is so angry at this monster of a man called Jeremy Lancaster for laying a hand on you, an absolute innocent.

With his phone in hand, he storms into the interrogation room where Jeremy's girlfriend or ex-girlfriend or whatever is sitting.

With a slam, the door shuts behind Jay. Angelina flinches in fright and looks at the frustrated and distraught detective in front of her.

The rest of the team have followed him and are now watching through the one-sided mirror.

"You better tell me now where your boyfriend likes to hide. Because if he kills her, I'll hold you responsible too!" he threatens, knowing very well that he couldn't do that. But he just wants to have you back, to hold you in his arms again and hear from you that everything will be all right again.

With these words, he slams the mobile phone down on the table and lets the video play.

Angelina looks shocked and tears glisten in her eyes as she watches the video.

"That ... that's Jeremy? Wh-why?"

"His brother Paul messed up and got himself killed. Jeremy blames me and has been holding my fiancée for over 13 hours now. God knows what he's doing to her. And every minute that goes by, he could hurt her. So if you don't want to be responsible for murder, you'd better think really hard about where your boyfriend could be hiding with her!" he rages and Angelina flinches again, however Jay can see that she is starting to think.

The team, watching the whole thing through the mirrored glass, are quite flummoxed. Did Jay just say you were his fiancée?

They all caught your complicated love story, how Jay initially thought you and Adam were a couple and ended up with Erin. How you buried your crush on Jay deep inside when you found out. How you then held him when Erin left, dumped him, and how you both had to get your asses kicked by Kevin and Kim first before you confessed your love to each other.

They know how much Jay loves you and how much you love him. And they have taken you to their hearts as well. As Voight had said, you are one of them, even if you don't work for them. You are their friend. It takes all the more out of them now to know that Jay is not only about to lose his fiancée, but that they could lose their friend.

"Did he ever say anything about an underground or anything?" His voice was no longer loud and threatening now, but quiet and desperate.

One could see it in Angelina's face as she thought of something before she said, "The old underground warehouse...he...he told me once that when he was a kid he used to play in the factory hall with his brother. Maybe that's where they are ... he is ... was ... really close with his brother." With that said, she looks hopefully at the detective in front of her. He nods and finally leaves the interrogation room.

The team leaves the room at the same time as Jay, from where they have been watching everything.

They would all like to say something to him, but they all know that nothing they could say would make anything better.

Sixteen hours until the exchange:

The team storms the building from all three entrances.

Jay and Hailey, Kevin and Kim, and Adam and Voight.

Flash grenades are thrown, "Chicago PD! Drop your weapon! ... Hands in the air! ... on your knees!" are shouted from all sides and Jeremy and his two accomplices had to admit defeat.

Jay's gaze wanders searchingly down the hall and ....

There you lie. On the floor, hands and feet still tied to the fucking chair, not moving. From his position he cannot see if you are still breathing. Your hair covers your face, but you seem unconscious. At least Jay hopes you are only unconscious and nothing more.

God, he hopes so badly that you're still alive.

While the rest of the team arrest Jeremy and his accomplices, Jay gets down on his knees next to you, unties you and frees you from the goddamn chair. You don't move and anxiously he feels your pulse.

It is there, but very weak. But he can't feel relief yet, because as he brushes your hair out of your face, his examining gaze sees not only your wrists, chafed and blue from the ropes, but also your face. A nasty wound is emblazoned on your forehead. One half of your face is covered in blood, the other is red, swollen and a black eye is already forming. What had they done to you?

"Fuck ...", he curses softly and searches frantically for something to press carefully onto the wound.

By now Adam is standing next to him. In his face the same concern as in Jay's when he sees your bruised body and your hair, which is sticky with your blood but still shines moistly. "5021-Ida, shots fired by the offender and the police, offender in custody, one female victim down, multiple trauma to the head and body, roll an ambo to my current location asap," he quickly relays through his radio to the dispatcher.

You hadn't lost much blood yet, but head injuries were always treacherous.

Jay keeps mumbling that you should hang on. That an ambulance is on its way and that you should just hold on a little longer.

Seconds that feel like hours pass.

You hear Jay's voice as if from far away, begging you not to leave him, to open your eyes, to stay with him. You want to follow his plea so much that it seems to tear you apart, but your body no longer obeys you. Several times you try to speak, to say that you hear him, that you are there after all and that you are not planning to go anywhere else. But nothing. Not a single sound comes from your lips. You can't even move your fingers to show that you are still alive, that you can hear him....

Instead, you fight the complete blackness that threatens to overwhelm you. You cling to the love you feel for Jay where you know he returns it. You cling to his voice that seems to fade.

They always say that when you die, a warm white light appears to you, awaiting and welcoming you.

But it is the other way around. The light that holds you begins to shrink and is taken over further and further by the darkness, the blackness, the nothingness. Jay's voice is further and further away. You can barely hear him, barely understand what he is saying. And yet you know that he still commands you to hang on and tells you how much he loves you and can't lose you, that he needs you.

Then suddenly you hear female voices reciting foreign words. "V-fib" is the last thing you hear before there's nothing left. Just the empty, lonely, cold, blackness and you. You wonder if this is what death feels like.

At least you could die knowing what true love feels like. What it feels like to love someone more than yourself and to be loved just as much.

You had the chance to meet Jay and those few years with him were the best of your life.

Jay ...

Your last thought belongs to him, to him alone, and that yesterday morning you didn't say the last "I love you" back.

And then there was nothing. No light, no thought, no blackness. Just nothing.

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#jay halstead #chicago pd #jay halstead x reader #x reader #love #30 hours #short story #writing #fiction #imagine #writers on tumblr

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abiiors · 8 months

Text

three's a party 🍸// george daniel x reader x ross macdonald

a/n: hi. thank you so much to my darlings @bookish-strawberry and @ughgoaway for helping me with some of the scenes!!! this is quite tame compared to some of the others i read for "research" but it is still quite...porny. this note is so long, but i'm just rambling because i'm nervous!!! anyway, here, have this unholy piece of writing with barely any plot

cw: threesome (obv), "good girl" and other feminine words/pronouns, uhhhh...yeah, just. general nastiness.

wc: 3.6k

the pub lights are dim, ambient. people chatter around you in low volume, a friendly humdrum of couples out on date nights and old friends catching up, it’s nice—this place. the food is good, the alcohol is even better; the playlist is just the right mix of sensual and exciting. absolutely perfect for a casual first date.

except for the man in front of you who drones on and on and on about one thing or the other—none of which you have given two shits about in your entire existence. but now you have to sit there and pretend that the local football team—the bulls or the foxes or some other inane animal—are the most riveting conversation you’ve ever had.

you also have to pretend like you haven’t been checking out other people sitting at the bar, laughing and joking and having way more fun than you in general—the group of drunk girls out on a friday night, couples on dates, two men sat at the edge of the bar who haven't stopped glancing your way since you first walked in.

a blond and a brunet, one with a sharp, clean-shaven face, the other with a softer face and a thick, dark beard. one with close-cropped and buzzed hair, the other with long hair tied up. two ends of the spectrum, yet they both have the same aura of je ne sais quoi about them. it’s tempting, distracting. and certainly a million times better than whatever’s happening in front of you.

every time one of them looks over at you, you lower your eyes coyly, pretend to be engrossed in a conversation with your date—nodding along to whatever he’s saying and laughing when he pauses expectantly. it’s truly a testament to his intelligence that he hasn’t caught up to your little game yet.

the blond man looks at you again, intense eyes and a full pink mouth. his eyes linger, lazily staring you from head to toe in your tight black first-date dress. then out the corner of your eye, you watch him mumble something to his friend.

he’s a bit subtle, turning only slightly and checking you out from the corner of his eyes, making sure he doesn’t get caught every time you look over in their general direction.

your date clears his throat.

“so i was thinking we could get one more drink and…take this back to my place?”

well… shit

“i had a lot of fun…” you begin, trying to hide the wince in your words but your date’s face falls as realisation finally dawns. “but i don’t—”

“so you’ve wasted my time then,” he cuts you off, nostrils flaring in anger as he clutches his beer pint harder than necessary.

“excuse me?”

“bitch,” he spits under his breath yet you hear it clearly.

all you can do is roll your eyes at his petulance. the glasses clatter as he stands up abruptly, gathering the attention of a few people nearby. you’re beyond feeling any sort of embarrassment; and why should you? it’s not you making a scene.

“classy,” you mutter, taking a leisurely sip of your aperol spritz.

it’s great, no reason for you to ruin a perfectly good evening for a little bitch baby. in your peripheral vision, the two men snicker. the rational part of your brain knows they’re laughing at an inside joke; nothing to do with you. but your delusional brain can’t stop imagining the two of them listening in on your conversation, smirking at your date’s little temper tantrum. you take your own sweet time finishing your drink after he leaves. he’s already out of your mind before he’s even halfway across the pub. you can finally indulge in your other pursuits after all.

“well, that was a pathetic date."

it's after fifteen minutes when you've sought solace in the first floor balcony of the pub. a few people loiter in the nooks and corners, making out and sneaking quick puffs of cigarettes, some wait for their turn to use the loo. some linger in search of peace.

you focus your attention on the stranger.

his voice is deep, deeper than you would have imagined. there’s a gravelly and rough edge to it that makes his words skitter down your bones. even just the way he walks towards you, slow and leisurely, has you hypnotised and transfixed on him. but you won’t be swayed so easily.

“are you always this straightforward with strangers?”

he comes to a stop a few inches away from you and leans against the railing; his body mirroring yours. his spicy cologne permeates the air around you. it's a struggle to not inhale sharply and get a lungful of it. even in your heels, you’re a good few inches shorter than him.

“no,” he shrugs and the movement makes his arm brush against yours ever so slightly, “i guess you caught my eye.”

you attribute the goosebumps on your arms to the chilly night air even as a small voice in your head reminds you that it’s august.

“george,” he extends a hand. it’s big, rough-looking with callouses all over his palms. either he’s a gym rat with pretty show muscles, or… you can’t exactly place the or. but it leads to quite a few interesting theories.

“your…friend didn’t come out with you?”

the man—george—raises an eyebrow, either at the way you leave his hand hanging in mid-air or at the mention of his friend but he does a rather good job of hiding his surprise. if he even felt any, to begin with.

“why? you’re more interested in my friend?”

a small part of you almost purrs in delight at the tinge of jealousy in his tone. good, possessive men know how to make nights like these into memorable ones. his fingers curl slightly, ready to put the extended hand down. the nicotine stains on them should have put you off a long time ago. instead, you find yourself looking at those fingers; imagining things you really shouldn’t.

“you always answer questions with more questions?” you bite your bottom lip, letting just the hint of a smile ghost over your mouth. let him work to figure out your tone. your intentions.

george chuckles deeply, sucking air between his teeth, and about to say something when you hear the second set of footsteps. these are imperceptibly heavier, almost like you know who it is…

a smirk curls up your mouth as george turns around to look at—

“ross…” he says quietly.

possessive men know how to have wild nights.

possessive men are also…incredibly easy to predict.

george is behind you, pressed up against your naked ass, hard and thick. the only thing that separates you are his cotton brief. it only took you fifteen minutes to decide to take both the men home with you. and judging from the minimum resistance you got from either of them, one thing is clear—this isn’t their first rodeo.

“you feel this, darling?,” george whispers, mouth brushing over the shell of your ear while rolling your nipple softly between his fingers.

it’s a lot of stimulation. it’s the good kind of stimulation, the kind that has your toes curling and your thighs shaking. and if it weren’t for the other man kneeling between your legs, holding you up with his hand on your hips, you would have fallen to your knees a long time ago.

“mm–yes, fuck, it feels good,” you moan, head rolling back to rest against george’s chest. your fingers are tangled up in ross’ hair, long graceful fingers twisting and turning traces of his soft hair between them, guiding him as he licks and sucks your clit until you’re nothing but a wet trembling mess.

ross won’t be outdone so easily. he hums against you, sending vibrations that shoot through your entire body at lightning speed. “is he making you feel better than i am, baby?” he pouts, stopping entirely.

his beard glistens in the ambient lights of the room as he stares at you with intense, blown-out eyes. a whine escapes you, your fingers tighten in his hair—tugging at it harshly and making him groan. it’s so close to your cunt, enough for you feel it but not close enough. you writhe against george, trying to thrust your hips back into ross’ face, trying to get him to continue. but george tsks.

“not before you answer him, baby.” his fingers are back to pinching your nipples; pain and pleasure blending in together in a heady mix. “don’t we deserve to know?”

his voice is gruffer than before, barely restrained—a man so used to commanding people that it rolls off his tongue effortlessly.

ross smirks when you mumble something incoherently, ready to finish what he started but george is not satisfied. “use your words, darling.”

it sends a spark of desperate annoyance through you, clearing the fog in your brain. “ross is better,” you grit out, guiding the man back between your legs smirking at the way george tenses behind you.

for someone who seems so calm and composed he certainly has a competitive streak…

ross grazes his teeth against you, licking it after—almost like a reward for declaring him the winner. you throw a leg over his shoulder, hissing at the way his tongue has better access now, crying out when he swipes his fingers against your folds almost lazily.

you suck in a sharp breath, ready to cry out again but the scream dies in your throat. rather, it’s strangled—literally—by george wrapping his free hand around it, applying pressure to the sides.

“you want to be a brat?” he tsks again, “she wants to be a brat, ross.”

ross laughs breathlessly, letting go of you for just a second, “you’re just a sore loser.” he smirks, eyes alight with mirth. there’s a hint of danger in them, not the kind you sense in george—one that comes with a touch of sadism. ross’ brand of danger feels more arrogant. someone who knows what effect he has on people, on women. he’s not a taker. he’s a giver. and right now, he looks at you like he’d give anything to watch you fall apart with his name on your lips.

the almost lack of oxygen has your head spinning, combined with the knot pulled taut in your stomach—it’s almost impossible to stand up, to make your legs hold you up. but that’s what george is here for.

his fingers adapt a rougher pace, pinching and flicking your nipples, matching ross’s movements. your mind feels like it’s torn both ways, fighting hard to keep track of two sensations, two feelings. it’s too much.

a string of curses fall from your lips. “gonna cum,” you plead, struggling against ross, desperately trying to get more and more and so much more. “can i cum, please. please–fuck.”

“what should we do, george?” ross hums, ignoring you entirely. his nails dig into your ass, feeling up the curves and the firm muscles. you are nothing but a toy in his hands, for him to use and control. all your bossiness from before melts away as soon as george snakes a hand around your waist, stroking ross’ head and guiding it the way he wants to.

ross doesn’t resist, he only chuckles, making you cry out pleas once again.

“have you earned it, sweetheart?” george asks, whispery rough voice burrowing on the insides of your skull.

have you?

you nod, or try to at least. it’s hard when your head rests limply on his chest, throat gripped between his hands.

“please, yes. i’ll do what you want, pl–fuck, fuck.”

“whatever we want?”

“whatever yo–you want.”

“go on then,” george pinches your nipple, twisting it between his fingers, “give him a taste.”

he’s barely halfway through the sentence when you scream out incoherently, falling apart as waves after waves of pleasure hit you all at once. everything goes white for a split second, all that remains is intoxicating pleasure. you have no sense of time, of self. only that one man holds you up as the other laps at your folds greedily, licking away every last drop of what you have to offer.

“want a taste?” ross smirks. his voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere under water. you’re unsure if you can stand up on your own just yet. vestiges of the orgasm course through you, heady and hot. “she’s fucking sweet, george, like honey.”

ross stands up, right in front of you, tall and imposing. and for the first time, you’re between both of them, feeling their sweaty skin on yours, inhaling them greedily.

“open your mouth,” he commands, fingers taking hold of your chin and roughly tilting it up. you know what’s coming as you watch the sinister half-smile on his face. and oh how delightlfully right you are.

the moment you open your mouth for him, ross spits in it; saliva mixed with your slick still coating his tongue.

“good girl,” he whispers, turning your face to george who captures your mouth in a rough kiss. his tongue flicks on the insides of your mouth, searching, tasting you and ross together. he moans, satisfied. “now about that promise…”

“be a good girl and get on all fours”

it’s a shock to you how ross takes charge when he wants to. george doesn’t contradict him, he only watches with vague amusement as you try holding yourself up on shaking arms and legs, drenched in sweat and thighs sticky with your own slick.

your entire body buzzes with adrenaline, shivers racking down your spine, still needy for more and more, still wanting to please the men who have been pleasing you for… what feels like hours now.

“now,” george says, walking up to you and stopping just in front of you, “you can take both of us, can’t you?”

you peer up at george, tall and imposing george who looks at you with such blatant lust that it makes a tiny moan slip out of you. you can, you have been dying to do just that. now you look at him through your eyelashes and through the sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, falling in your eyes.

“yes,” you nod eagerly, “please, yes.”

the men smile, all teeth and hardness and intensity—it’s intoxicating. almost hypnotising, you get on your knees, hand drifting between your legs one more time just to feel the friction again but ross is quicker.

“ah–ah!” he quickly catches your wrist, before it’s even reached past your navel. “that’s our job, darling. all you need to do is get on all fours and look pretty.”

“but she already is so pretty,” george tsks, palming himself through his briefs. his cock is a stark, thick outline that stands out, making you drool. if he already looks so big and delicious then how good would it be to feel him on your tongue and stretching out your mouth?

the moment stretches on—you on all fours, on trembling, shaky limbs, waiting there like a good little slut for either one of these men to fill you up.

george continues to play with himself, fingers dipping in and out of the waistband of his underwear, touching and teasing. until finally he pulls his boxers down. you watch, transfixed as george shamelessly pumps himself in front of you, head thrown back, throaty moans echoing in the room as he slides his fist around his cock. you stare, eager and waiting, almost leaning forward.

behind you, ross is silent. you can almost imagine him staring at the scene in front of him in awe and lust. you try to imagine it from his perspective. your dripping swollen cunt right in front of him growing wetter still the more you watch george.

“don’t tease,” you almost whine, unable to take more of this. you need to know what he tastes like. and you need it now.

“eager, are we?” george asks, walking up to you. “are you not pleasing her enough, ross?” he tuts and ross chuckles; throaty and distracted.

you get little warning before you feel ross sliding a finger up your slit, lazily collecting your wetness and then the tell-tale sound of his tongue lapping it up from his fingers. it’s filthy and disgusting, it makes you arch your back and drives you almost crazy with want.

“i could do better than your hand.” your grin matches george’s who comes to a stop in front of you.

“guess she likes me better, ross.”

ross huffs, “we’ll see.”

before you have the chance to respond, ross draws a hiss of pleasure out of you. his length drags against your cunt, almost between your ass cheeks, sliding just the tip in. no further. red, hot need spears through you. if the men are determined to tease and taunt you then it’s for you to take matters into your own hands.

before george can registers it, you cup a hand around his ass, pulling him forward until his cock practically rests on your face.

a thick vein runs along the side, pulsating, practically inviting you to trace it with your sharp fingernail. you let your tongue swirl over his slit, humming at the salty taste of his precum. george moans as the vibrations of your hum hit. ross moves his hips slowly, almost pulling out before slamming into you fully. the force of it has you choking on george, gagging around him, drooling messily.

“breathe,” he commands softly, stroking your hair. you do as he tells you, relaxing your throat more and letting his weight rest on your tongue.

the sides of your mouth burn from the stretch, black, glittery mascara tears stain your face. and yet all you care about is this, here, now. it’s fullness like you’ve never experienced before, delicious and thick, drawing out gasps and moans from you that mix with his grunts.

“such a perfect girl,” he coos, “isn’t she ross? doesn’t she feel fucking great?”

ross hums behind you, thrusting into you again at a steady pace. shameless need and lust pools in your belly, bleeds through your veins as you trace along george’s cock with your tongue. his fingers remain tangled in your hair, guiding you, commanding you to please him as he wishes.

you hollow our your cheeks, licking and sucking until his hips move in much the same pace as ross’ do.

ross’ hand snakes up your waist, between your legs again, finding your clit again to rub and pinch, to make you whine. each one of his flicks makes you moan around george, sending small hums of pleasure right up his spine. he looks blissed out, head rolling and eyes half-lidded. a surge of pride runs through you at the sight.

ross’ fingers dig into your hips, bruising the soft flesh. twinges of pain intertwine with sparks of pleasure as he pushes in, stretching you out and filling you in.

“taking me so well, sweetheart,” he praises. the term of endearment from his mouth makes your knees weak and your legs tremble but ross holds you up, slamming into you until he bottoms out again and again.

flesh slaps against flesh—rhythmic sounds punctuated by guttural grunts. the position you’re in allows ross to thrust deeper each time, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. if your mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, he would have had you mewling by now. but that doesn’t mean you don’t let out the occasional whimpers as you continue to bob your head up and down george’s dick.

the man is close, you can tell. his cock twitches and spasms in your mouth. he has lost some of his rhythm, hips bucking wildly as he chases his pleasure. you can’t help but caress the base of his cock with your hand, moving it lower to softly squeeze his balls.

“shit–shit,” he curses loudly, “do that again.”

so you oblige, letting your nails graze on the sensitive skin. within seconds, you feel his hold tightening in your hair. george fucks your mouth with wild abandon, careless thrusts—he couldn't care less about the drool dribbling down your chin, about your tear-stained face. the burn around your lips.

“gonna cum, darling, doing so well,” he grounds out. your own body mirrors the feelings as ross continues to thrust faster and faster.

the knot in your stomach tightens, blood pumps through your veins, infused with lightning until the bitter-salty taste of cum fills your mouth. george cums, groaning loudly and shooting spurts of his release down your throat that you lap up hungrily. some of it dribbles down the side of your chin but you don’t swallow just yet. instead, you open your mouth wide open for him to have a look.

“you’re killing me,” he swears, trying to get a grip on himself. only then do you swallow, whining loudly when ross pinches your clit, kneading the bundle of nerves in rough circles.

“go on,” he commands, “cum for us. wanna feel you around me before i fill you up.”

it only takes one more thrust from ross before you’re almost falling down face first from the force of the orgasm that hits you. vaguely you’re aware of ross cumming inside you, of it spilling down your thighs, mixing with your own release. vaguely you’re aware of george falling to his knees in front of you, legs still spasming as he watches you fall apart again and again.

you cry out something unintelligent—perhaps their names, perhaps something else. the world blacks out, until slow, blurred images creep back into your line of sight.

the beginning of the night, the pathetic date is long gone from your mind. right now all you can think of is ecstacy.

and then perhaps a round two.

lemme know what you think <3

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @beachesgetpeaches, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855

add yourself to the taglist

#RIGHT. GOODBYE.#ross macdonald #george daniel #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #ross macdonald smut #george daniel smut #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #matty healy #adam hann #smut writing #smut fic #minors do not interact #female reader #the 1975 fic #three/some

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paleprincessturtle · 2 months

Note

harvey fic request! :) maybe they get in a spat about harvey getting jealous or a miscommunication but then they fix it and then super fluffy

Hiiii!!! Thank you so much for the request and I'm so so so so sorry it took so long for me to continue writing here. Life been tough but here I am. Enjoy❤️

The Greenest

When Harvey received a phone call from Mike, he was happy, to say the least. But upon hearing what he had to say, Harvey sighed. There was this charity in Seattle, and both Mike and Rachel invited him. Harvey dodged the question by saying that he had to ask his wife. It wasn't that Harvey didn't want to donate his money for a good cause, but he rarely spent time with his wife now. He just wanted to stay home and do absolutely nothing with his wife in his arms. He could just write a check for it and make up some excuse later.

Harvey got home to Pink Floyd blasted through the house. He couldn't help but hum along with the song. It would be useless, he thought, to call out for his wife. He found her in their bedroom, a few dresses draped on the bed as she stood in front of her kingdom of shoes. "Are we going somewhere?" Harvey asked casually as he took off his suit. She jumped at his voice, eyes wide. "You scared the living hell out of me," she said, reaching for her phone to turn down the volume of the speaker. "Well, I suggest you shouldn't give your husband a spare key, then." Harvey rolled up his sleeves as he observed the dresses. "We're going somewhere?" Harvey asked again. "Oh yes! Mike and Rachel invited us to this charity gala. It's for abused women and children. Can you imagine?" Harvey watched as his wife's face scrunched in sadness. He swore this woman wouldn't even hurt a fly. "It's in Seattle?" Harvey asked again as she earned an eager nod. Well played, Mike, Harvey thought. Going straight to his wife. Well played. "We sure can come, yes?" Harvey looked at his wife, knowing damn well it wasn't a question. He nodded and smiled.

Harvey's favorite thing to do whenever he went out with his wife was to watch her get ready. He watched his wife put on matching underwear in black, all lacey. He stole a glance at his watch as his brain raced at the possibility of tempting his goddess of a wife for a little fun activity. "Don't think about it, Harvey." His wife scolded him as she watched him from the unreasonably huge mirror in their hotel room. "Think about what?" Harvey asked, pretending to be clueless. "Think about taking off my underwear, bending me over, having your way with me, being late, and what excuse should you give Mike for being late?" Harvey smirked at the sultry way his wife said it. "We've been in this dance before, Harvey. I will not fall for it again. Now, why won't you be a nice gentleman and zip my dress?"

"Jeez, Harvey. Didn't you arrive at the hotel yesterday? This whole thing started an hour ago!" Mike scolded Harvey, who gave him a knowing look. "Seriously?" Mike gave him a disgusted look, and not long after, his wife came along. Mike hugged her and thanked her for coming. He then managed to explain this charity he and Rachel are now part of. He also said it would be good for the charity to know two successful New York lawyers are here, siding with the charity. It just meant more money for the charity. Which was great.

Not long after, Rachel came, and she gave them brief hugs. She managed the whole event, so Rachel was running around as she made sure that nothing went awry. The three of them were having a good time. They talked about what was going on in their lives. Harvey probably would have to admit that this wasn't an entirely bad idea to come. Mike nudged Harvey, "There, that's the city attorney. Let's put that pretty face to good use." Harvey looked back at his wife, signaling for her to come along. "I need to go to pee; I'll look for you later." Harvey smiled at her as he followed Mike.

Harvey just realized that his wife was never to find him. It had been 20 minutes; surely she didn't need that long. Harvey tried to look around. He squinted his eyes at the sight of his wife, who happened to look way too comfortable with a man he had never seen before but was somewhat familiar. A man her age. Harvey frowned as he hurriedly excused himself. He made a beeline to where his wife stood but slowed down his pace when he was near. "Oh Jackson, you know how it is in New York," Harvey heard his wife laugh not long after. "Well, then maybe you should consider moving here." Before he could hear what his wife's reply would be, Harvey stood beside her, an arm wrapped around her hip. Harvey didn't miss the way this Jackson guy's eyes followed where Harvey's hand rested. "Won't you introduce us, sweetheart?" Harvey asked a rhetorical question. She sensed something wasn't quite right with Harvey's attitude. "Jackson, this is Harvey, my husband." Harvey extended his free hand. "Harvey, this is Jackson ...." Before she could finish her sentence, he jumped in. "I'm her ex-fiance," Jackson said, shaking Harvey's hand. Harvey gave him a curt smile. "Who would have thought that Harvey Specter is your husband?" Jackson said to her, but his eyes never left Harvey's. Again, before she could say anything, Harvey said, "What can I say, Jackson? I'm immaculate, and my wife has an immaculate taste." They looked at each other for quite some time, trapped in an uncomfortable silence as the two men tried to intimidate one another. Harvey then remembered that he once went against him in court. Harvey won, of course. "Well, it was nice to meet the two of you," he was about to leave when he stopped in front of her, "especially you; I'll give you a call when I visit New York." Before he left, he touched her bare arm. And Harvey was seething. Harvey took her hand to make them face-to-face. "What the fuck was that?" Harvey said, his jaw tightening. "What the fuck was that? What the fuck was what? I was just trying to get him to donate, Harvey!" Harvey scoffed, "By flirting with your ex-fiance, who suggested you move here?" She looked at him, exasperated. "We're going back to the hotel," Harvey said quietly. He took her elbow as he guided her out of the crowd. "Harvey, we are invited here to help them raise the donation," he said, shaking his head. "We're going back to the hotel." Harvey's voice left no room for argument. Before exiting the venue, she caught a glimpse of a confused Mike. She shook her head in silence before Mike became out of view.

The two of them were silent during the ride back to the hotel. "We're back now at the hotel, happy?" she said sharply as she took off her heels. "We could've helped more if you weren't being so childish and being all jealous!" She raised her voice, both hands on her hips. She looked at Harvey's back, and he poured himself some scotch. "If you weren't flirting like a high school girl, we would still be there." Venom laced his voice. He turned to face his wife. "Do I need to pack your things and send them here so you can get back with Jackson?" His wife shook her head in disbelief at his words. He finished the glass in seconds, opened the door, and slammed it hard. She sighed and prepared herself a bubble bath. There is no use in arguing with him now.

She woke up with the curtain open. She squinted her eyes. She was greeted with the sight of Harvey sitting in a chair just beside the bed. "Hey, sunny," Harvey said softly. She didn't say anything or react; she just stared at him. "I'm sorry," he said genuinely, she could tell. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did; I'm really working on my issues. She nodded, she knew he tried. "Did I hurt you?" he asked as he took her hand in his. He did so as if he might break her, so gently. "You did," she answered quietly. "I'm really sorry," he kissed her hand softly. "It's okay, Harvey. Just try to work on yourself harder, okay? I'm here ready to help if you need anything, but no more lashing out," she said as she caressed his cheeks. Harvey leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" Without answering, she moved over and signed for Harvey to lay beside her.

#harvey specter #harvey specter fanfic #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter fan fiction #suits harvey specter #harvey specter imagine #suits tv #harvey specter imagines #harvey specter suits

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hellowoolf · 3 months

Text

on strawberries and masonry: chapter v

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), maria is pregnant, the dinner party trope™️, joel picks reader up (but its actually been foretold that he can hold any weight ever, so don’t even worry about it), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, SMUT !!!!!, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected piv, breeding kink (don't...even start), creampie, FEELINGS !! (as always, let me know if i missed any !!)

word count: 7.9k

authors note: an epilogue will be (probably) on the way but this is our last full chapter !! gag !! this is my first ever series and i'm so elated i decided to write and release it. this last chapter drained me mind body and soul and i don't know how i feel about it but i really hope you enjoy <3

series masterlist | masterlist

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the realization of your feelings for joel, that against all better judgment you’re tumbling somewhat unceremoniously in love with him, nestles itself between your ribs to scratch at your bones. it’s a tolerable ache, at first, and because you refuse to give into anything, you let it remain while joel fucks you on his tongue and fingers. you let him cover your skin in his spit and your slick and the marks of his fingernails, and inch closer to the doom of loving him, believing yourself capable of handling it, willing yourself to handle it. and you do. mostly.

what comes first is a need for him you’re unequipped for. his refusal to fuck you properly again (a promise he has continued to hold himself to) becomes increasingly unendurable, and you’re pushed beyond even the lust for him you’d fought against months earlier. you need him, daily, at least, pulling him behind the stables or coming to slam on his door so you can live another day. you want to please him, to mend him, to save him, even though you know you are incapable, and you try what becomes embarrassingly often to get on your knees for him, but he always denies you. yes, this is the first symptom of your almost-love, a wanting that reaches your innermost self and expands beyond the edges of you.

the second symptom is anger, a nefarious deviousness against him, a spiteful resentment for the small ways he rejects you. you are less cautious with him, nipping at him on patrol or in the dining hall with your own sexuality, constructing heavily unsubtle innuendos and whispering them in his ear. you’re looking to punish him, so irrevocably that he’s compelled to kiss you again, to fuck you again, but until now you’ve failed at ensnaring him fully. you barely recognize yourself this way; you have never been one for this wild sort of flirting, the obvious kind, but you succumb to it regardless.

the softness of him is the worst part. you skim your hands up his thighs and pull on the loops of his belt to tempt him to you in the ways he still refuses to give, and he’ll deny you orgasm as punishment, but still he materializes on your porch, or sits you next to him in the aftermath of the pleasure he does allot you, wet with your arousal, and lets you tell him about your life, leaves you breadcrumbs of his. he likes that spot he found on your neck that night when you cut the strawberry, wraps his palm around the base of your skull to feel the warmth of it, and with his callouses circling your skin you know that this is the most awful thing, the most terrible. it’s shameful, really, that he should show you this kindness when you’re this close to complete devotion to him.

“what d’you think, little wolf?”

little wolf. maybe this trumps even his hand on your head. last week, with three fingers in your dripping cunt joel had stilled his hand in you, let you thrash against him while he smiled into your hairline, and you bit hard into the flesh of his shoulder, leaving the marks of your canines there. easy, little wolf, he’d grunted into you, and he felt you pulse when he said it, so he’s kept the name, uses it often.

“hm?” you lift your head from his thigh, bare legs curled up along the couch while he sits back on the cushions. he’d tugged you from your walk to your garden into his home, licked into you while you pulled on his hair, made you come on his sofa like he’d savor the stain. his hand comes from around the back of your head to your face, thumb sweeping across your chin and along your bottom lip. you take it in your mouth and suck, eyes on his as his own mouth drops open.

“bout the jam. you want me to show you how to make it?” he repeats, voice low and broken as you swirl your tongue along the pad of his thumb. you’d brought the strawberries up again, how many you have and the white fuzz they grow; noah helped you remove the heaters from inside the greenhouse as temperatures rose outside, but a chill remained, and so your plant began a slow death. you’re left now with a small batch you like the idea of preserving in sugar and heat. you like the idea, too, of joel teaching you things, of him watching you learn. you nod slowly. “when?” he tilts his head as he asks. you pull from his finger and trail little unhurried bites along his palm, down the inside of his wrist. you want to suck his blood.

“tomorrow? evening?”

he nods, eyes hooded over as he watches you. slick drips between your thighs and sticks them together, wetting over the dried come he’d pulled from you minutes ago. you smile against his skin, teeth grazing his pulsepoint.

“you a good teacher?”

he grins and grips back at your head, tilting your chin up to his face as he leans down to you. “a real delight, i swear it.”

your noses bump and you want to kiss him (the whole of it is you’d like to suck his tongue into your mouth and hold it there, feel behind his teeth, let him spit onto your tongue), another vice he’s denied you since that first time. he sees it in you, this wanting, so he threads his fingers through your hair to hold you in place. the tug at the roots makes you rub your thighs together and he inches closer, close enough to whisper onto your lips “go home, little wolf,” and pulls himself off the couch. he’s practically limping with how hard he is, the strong outline of his cock casting shadows as he walks away from you, and it only serves to make you wetter, but because you’re certain he won’t let you help him (you tried in the stables this morning, hay softening your fall to your knees, but he’d hauled you back up with a gruff quit it) you pull your pants back on and retreat to your home.

stepping down his porch you bring a hand to your stomach, joel’s refusals of you burning green and orange there. the flames heat your skin and lick through your fingers, and the warmth indulges the part of you that hates him, but the rest of you (the part that loves him, lord help you) bends under the pressure. you drop your hand as you approach your house and find tommy leaned up against the fence post. panic seizes you for a moment, but you tamp it down sharply; surely, he can’t know where you’ve come from, surely he can’t smell him on you.

“isn’t this a little past your bedtime?”

he looks up at you with a smile as you come to stand fully in front of him. “yeah, well, i figured you’d be comin back from the garden right about now.”

something sparkles across your cheeks and you hope he doesn’t notice. “mhm. how’s maria doing? she’s in the, what, second trimester now?”

tommy nods, that boyishness and the pride of fatherhood puffing his chest. “that she is. she’s a wonder, i tell ya. don’t know how the hell she’s doin it. but the nausea’s gone away now, so she’s just restin up.”

“i’ve been wanting to come by and visit, but i didn’t know if she’d want me there.” it’s the truth; you’ve seen very few pregnant women in your life, and the magnitude of it frightens and delights you. besides, as little as she seems to enjoy your company, you suspect it’s a lonely existence, cooped up by the windowsill growing little arms and fingernails, and you’re self-aware enough to know you owe yourself to her.

tommy scratches the back of his neck. “well that’s what i wanted to come ask about, actually.”

you tilt your head. “me coming to visit?”

he hums. “maria’s been wanting some socializin, some…” he waves his hands around, looking for the word, “interaction. i figured you could come over for dinner.”

“just me?” you can’t help the surprise in your voice.

“...no. noah, too. and my brother.”

your throat dries out and you stifle a sputter. yes, indeed, dinner by candlelight with your most long standing existing friends, of which you have only two, a pregnant woman who sees you as you have been (a knife, with a girl on the end), and the man you’ve been fucking but not fucking (and you think you may be in love with him, also, but you try to keep this bit irrelevant). yes, yes. a fantastic idea! what a delight!

“i don’t…i don’t know, tommy. maria’s never been my biggest fan.” please, don’t make me come.

“come on, don’t say that.”

“i don’t mean any offense, i just don’t want to disturb her.”

“you ain’t disturbing her! i’m telling you she’d like it if you came!”

“tommy-”

“she barely tolerates my brother as it is, at least you’ll be there to occupy him. please?” and he asks with such sincerity, such unknowing of the things you’ve done to joel, and you know there is no way out.

“yeah, okay. okay. i’ll be there.”

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“so you’re goin to this…what is it? dinner party?”

joel’s halfway through a bite of something red and meaty when he asks, and you clamp on his moving jaw with your palm.

“don’t talk with your mouth full, sting, it’s not very southern gentlemanly.” he flips your hand away with a grunt and you bite your tongue between your molars to keep from smiling. “yes, i will be there.”

he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, looking out at the milling people filling the dining hall. “i still don’t understand the point of it anyway. the hell we playin family for?”

“joel, you are family.” his eyes flit to yours. “tommy’s family, i mean,” you clarify. he nods, some sort of relieved, the disappointed sort, you feel. you do your best to shake the stick of it, of that feeling, off.

“then why are you goin?”

“well, as it happens, i was invited. besides,” you snort, an unattractive thing but you let it pass, “i think your brother hopes i’ll keep you entertained.”

“entertained? you bein serious?”

you’re golden and beaming with how he looks at you, so incredulous and muscled and stiff with restraint from touching you, you can feel it. “i think his exact verbiage was occupy. he wants me to occupy you.”

“jesus.”

“buck up, cowboy, i’m a delight.”

“uh huh.” you think it’s meant to jab at you, that little grunt, but one end of his mouth turns up as he says it, an imperfect cover of his grin. “he ever do this kinda thing before? before i came?”

you bite the inside of your cheek and look to the ceiling. yes, he did, once. he’d been patrolling with pete mcneilson (a scrawny thing, squirrelish and panicked, but as young as you are) and decided you were fated to be wed, worked his hardest for weeks to set you up. he’d planned the dinner in hopes it would serve as a first date, but your halfway abnormality and owlish inspection of him—tommy’s words, really; he said you looked straight through the poor thing—had frightened him, you suspect. you consider lying, though these days such attempts rarely come out right with joel. you sigh. “yeah, once. maybe two years ago.” joel raises his eyebrows, urging you on. you sort of mumble, “it was a ploy to set me up, really.”

he drops his fork onto the plate, lets it rattle, and you nearly flinch. you’re somewhat surprised to find yourself expecting him to be angry, not that he’s under any obligation to be. really, you might like him to be angry, but he chuckles, instead, biting and smug as he is. “set you up with who?”

“don’t laugh.”

he raises his hands in surrender, grinning, still. “i ain’t, only askin for a name, baby.”

how often he uses it hasn’t dulled the sharp spasm of want that word seizes you with. “no laughing.”

“what did i just say?” he leans closer. “gimme the name, darlin.”

“pete mcneilson.”

joel does not keep his promise. he chokes on his laughter, heaves with it, tenses his ribs to keep it in the box of his chest, but it tears out between you anyway. oh, how gorgeous he is this way. “christ almighty, pete?” and then, shaking his head to himself, he adds “he’d be fuckin helpless.”

you scoff. “the fuck you mean by that?”

joel continues eating again, self-satisfied with some glorious victory that lays itself over his face. “helpless with you, darlin. you’re too damn vicious for him.”

you think for a moment. “little wolf, and all that?”

he clears his throat, laughter dead in the back of his throat but eyes still pinched a little in the tension of his smile. “somethin like that.”

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

you think it’s a mistake, going to this dinner, as you walk out your door, smoothing your jeans down your legs. you know it’s a mistake when you walk in and see them all, the whole lot, milling about tommy’s home, your varying degrees of relation to each clashing violently. tommy rushes through the kitchen, mashing boiled potatoes and checking on meat that pours steam from the oven when he vents the door, and maria watches his frenzy with a pleased sort of smile. you know she’ll tense when she sees you here, and so you allow her another moment of secluded safety with her husband, and look around for joel; you’re almost embarrassed at how desperately you search for him, but all of it drains from you when you find him standing next to the dining table with noah, being what could only be described as talked at. you’re filled instead with a gripping warmth, pink and new, at the sight of him, so big and disinterested. he may remain mostly secretive of his feelings with you, but joel is intrigued by you, this much you are certain of, and the picture of him this plainly un-intrigued makes you feel singular, selfish, important to him. yes, tonight is a mistake.

“i can’t believe my eyes, the town ghost has appeared,” noah calls out from across the room. you give him your best attempt at a grin, eyes pulled like gravity and lust to joel but working to keep them ahead.

“in the flesh,” you dip your head in a bow, and noah pulls you into a hug. over the slope of his shoulder you see joel, hip cocked and brittle, and you both have the same thought simultaneously, that he’s never held you like this, not once. for all his increasing softness, he has never held you like this. he’s already angry, you think, gnawing on the figure of you in noah’s arms. you pull away and position yourself between them, nodding to joel, mainly for show. “i haven’t seen you in ages, noah, how are you?” and your sincerity is barely there, so slippery with joel so close, but enough to convince noah.

“haven’t you heard? i’m a mentor, now,” he smiles with sarcasm and a little pride, too. “been showing jesse how we run the patrols and all.”

you’re trying, so hard you are trying. joel is watching you precisely, hawkishly. “so i’ve been told. you started on our patrol route your first day, i think,” and you gesture to joel, but you can’t look at him, knowing you’ll twitch too damningly in his direction.

“ah, yeah, yeah that’s right.” with a playfulness he continues, “of course, we’ve moved onto much harder routes now.”

in the compendium of near-family you’ve concocted in jackson, noah serves as the spirited sort of brotherhood you imagine was normal decades ago. when you met, skittish and cut open as you were, noah found great joy in poking at you; your hardness grated against the easy youth he’s clung to, and you think he liked the challenge of it. as you melted more into the jackson scenery, though, became more earnestly open to friendship with him, he learned instead to lend you this ease, the sarcasm and good humor. there’s something lovely about taking it up when you speak to him, though it’s difficult now, what with the distraction at your side.

you cross your arms. “oh have you? you’re that good a teacher?”

joel coughs next to you, nearly chokes, and you feel the gentle thrum again of a shared thought between you, of yesterday on his couch, of his thumb in your mouth, of the jam (oh fuck, that was meant to be tonight). noah pays no mind, a sweet thing but dull around the edges. “you know it, baby.”

with a squeak of his boots and a grunt under his breath, joel storms into the kitchen and out of sight. you and noah watch him go, your stomach leadened with his absence, and you pull a breath in to lighten the weight, but it’s no use. baby, baby, you know it’s baby that’s driven him away. you feel noah step a little closer to you.

“speaking of, how’s your patrol been? i can’t believe maria finally let you do it.”

you shift: joel, his hands, his voice, the man you killed for him. “they’ve been fine, i guess.”

noah bumps his shoulder into yours. “details, details! you spend every morning with the big bad wolf over there, i mean how does that feel?”

you tilt your head at him. “noah,” you scold.

he brushes off your tone, craning his neck to get a look at joel in the kitchen, continuing, “he seems fucking scary to me. doesn’t he scare you?”

you huff and shove him back, but he looks back at you like he really means it. you’re startled with the sudden urge to tell him the truth, blood and spit and all. it rises in your throat like bile, but you swallow it all back down. “no, not anymore. not…not really.” your voice is heady with the history you and joel have carved with lips and tongues, and you wonder how gory it would all become if you had indulged yourself fully, let the acid of your feelings spill out. as you think it, noah scans your face, looks through it, and you worry for a moment you’re caught, that the whole of it is spread plainly on your features, but tommy comes barreling out of the kitchen with food cradled in his arms, maria in tow, and you’re spared from any further investigation. tommy laughs out your name from the head of the table.

“jesus, i didn’t even see you come in, come sit down!”

you nod, give maria a smile, glance at the globe of her stomach. she’s glowing with it, hand along the curve of her tummy, and she does her best to smile back at you, as soft as she is capable of. noah pulls the remaining empty chair next to him out from the table and you sit, finding joel across from you, biting on his tongue and furious, quietly, desperately furious, looking between you and him. fuck.

like the love, joel’s fury fissures you in two. you are, most viscerally, delighted that joel should be so angry at noah’s arm around the back of your chair. he watches the space between you, daring it to close further, shoulders strung taut like you’re his to fuss over. your heart expands and knocks on your ribcage, arteries singing with the pleasure of it, and arousal pools between your thighs and sticks there.

toe to toe with this delight, though, contends your own boiling rage. how desperately his gaze claws at you serves as a reminder of the ways he denies you of him, of his cock and his tears and his lips on yours. you would gladly give him this, let him bark and snarl like a wild animal in some unhealthy possession of you, if he let you possess him back. but, as it is, the edge of his eyeline cuts you irreparably, marks you with an indictment of you as a lover and him as something less. it makes you fucking furious.

“ellie helps you a bunch in the garden, don’t she?”

you look up to tommy. you haven’t been listening. “hm?”

“ellie. i’m always seein her in the greenhouse.”

you nod, grin at the thought of her. “mhm. she’s been a real help, actually, and it’s nice to spend the time with her. i think a lot of the other kids are sort of afraid of her.”

joel’s eyes gleam over for a moment. he loves her, you know, and whatever rift exists between them has persisted. noah grips your shoulder and shakes it a little, and the shine dries on joel’s brown eyes.

“sounds like a bit of you.”

tommy barks out a laugh and you push noah’s hand away. “yeah, yeah.”

maria lays a hand on tommy’s bicep. “i think it’s good for her. she needs to get acclimated here. she’s not like the other kids.”

you all look to joel. he hasn’t said a thing since you all sat down, actually. he clears his throat, and the rasp of it goes down hard. “no, she ain’t.”

“from what i’ve heard she’s got a real sailors mouth, big brother. that your doin?”

joel’s face pulls into offense. “no.”

“well she musta learned it somewhere,” noah sings. so very sweet, so very dull. joel looks like he might skin him.

“she came like that.”

“came like that?” noah repeats.

this is so very off limits. tommy and maria give each other a look, and they glance across the table to share it with you. stop him, for the love of god. you turn to noah, plead quietly, “just drop it, noah.”

“what? i’m asking him about himself,” and then to tommy and maria, “i can’t ask him about his daughter?”

what began as a wholly good hearted attempt at conversation has morphed, you realize, into the same sort of bear poking noah used to do with you. he’s calling joel’s prickliness and raising him a teasing interrogation. but for all your similarities, joel is not like you now, he will not absorb it as you did. he stares, lethal and still, at noah, elbows on the table.

“come on, we know nothing about the man. i want to hear your stories! give me something.”

joel scoffs and you ask again, “noah, please.”

“how am i doing anything wrong here?” his words devolve into childlike mumbles, unused to being denied this way. “i’m trying to make some fucking conversation.”

voice resigned from subtlety, all desperation, you call across the table, “maria, how’s your pregnancy coming along? tell us a long story about it.”

tommy snorts with your bluntness, but all three millers soften with a breath. maria rubs along her tummy, smiling down and speaking, but you go deaf to it as noah brings his arm all the way up, slinging it across the line of your shoulders. and you know, like all the other touches and like his antagonizing of joel, that he means nothing real by it. but joel takes the world in as meaningful: all of it, including noah. you can’t bear to look at him, but even still you burn with the steaming point of his gaze, frenetic and livid.

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

“joel, jesus, slow down,” you call out as you hurry after him. tommy and maria had let you all loose to the jackson twilight, and with a smiling salute noah pranced off home, brushed already of the dust he knocked loose from joel at the dinner table. but joel eats up the ground in front of him with large, pacing strides, muscles corded in the back of his neck. you want to ride him, punch him in the stomach.

“go home.”

you catch up to him, grip a hand on the sleeve of his coat. “i will not go home. i want you to have a conversation with me first.”

joel doesn’t stop, drags you with him through the front door of his house by the fabric of his jacket. the door slams behind you and as the sound rings out joel whips around, boxing you against the wood. he heaves, little hurricane in his chest, casting shadows on you, even in the dark. “i’m not in the mood for a conversation.”

“yes, sting, i gathered that, but you’re being a fucking asshole.”

he huffs and looks to the ceiling, praying, you think, for divine intervention, or perhaps a lightning bolt to set the house ablaze. he can’t look at you when he asks it. “have you fucked him before?”

“jesus christ, no!”

he laughs, a little insane and swinging like a church bell. “seemed damn cozy in there to me.”

“yes! i’m sure we did! he saved me from bleeding out in the middle of winter joel, i told you that.” he adjusts his stance and peers back down at you, looking almost sorry with the thought of you red and unmoving, but because your fury is insatiable you poke him in the chest, adding, “besides, what if i had? what’s it matter to you anyway?”

he grips your wrist, asks incredulously, “what’s it matter to me?”

“no really, why give a shit? i promise i’ll still let you stick your fucking ring finger into my–”

“not another fucking word.”

the diseased part of you laughs with the irony of this moment, at the anger and jealousy you’d hoped for in the dining hall this afternoon; it isn’t exactly what you’d pictured. you sag with that thought. “please, baby,” his grip on your wrist tightens when you call him that, “throw me a bone. you seem entirely disgraced by the fact that we do…what we do, god forbid anyone found out, you won’t even,” you push a quick breath from your nose, “you won’t even waste the fucking energy to fuck me, kiss me. so tell me, please, what is your problem with–”

“you wanna know my fuckin problem? you drive me fucking crazy. i am clinically fuckin insane, darlin, and it’s your fuckin fault. beggin me to fuck you, fuck your face, i mean jesus, the things you ask of me.” and then, mainly to himself, “i ain’t strong enough for this shit. the hands and the eyes and the,” he remembers you in front of him, faces you again, “and the looking, i mean what—shit—what kind of fuckin look is that? you look at me like–like–”

“like what?”

“like you love me. you look at me like you love me. do you know how fucked up that is darlin? and i’m doin my goddamn best to keep you at arms length and it’s damn near impossible but i knew that first time that i–” another heave, “that i’d fuck you again and i’d love you too. be in love with you. and i couldn’t be that selfish. how could you ask me to be that selfish?”

his fingers around your wrist have formed more into a desperate sort of hold, thumb reaching up into the cup of your palm. the weight of his admission presses through your diaphragm, that i’d love you too, but the rift in you, the love and the anger, is growing savage, and you lash with it.

“i’ve never asked a fucking thing of you. i’ve wanted, jesus joel i’ve wanted, but i never asked you to go on this emotionally stifled quest to prove—prove what exactly? that you’re good? i mean, christ, we’re both awful!” you poke him hard in the chest. “you’re awful and i–i’m awful, and,” the momentum of your fury is slowing, you can feel it dragging its feet, “and you won’t let me get close to you. i’d let you in anywhere. and you won’t,” the loving is thawing from you, and like snow in your hands it drips into water and dirt, down your front, and you’re crying suddenly, caught up in the great tragedy of what you’re about to say. “you won’t let me do it, you won’t let me love you even a little bit. but i can’t help it.” you flatten your palms on his chest, gentle, nearly losing it at the hummingbird winged hum of his heart. “if you can’t do it, i’ll leave you alone. i promise you, sting, i will leave you alone, i won’t ask again, i won’t beg it of you. tell me you don’t feel it and i’ll go.”

he takes a stilted breath in and looks down at your fingers on his front, runs his rough hands up them slowly, feeling you here with him. “i–i…”

you nod, tears hot and fat running lines down your cheeks, and move to pull away. you open his door behind you, facing him still, but he jerks something frantic and closes it again. his hands come up next to your head on the door, and the both of you are so silent you can hear the wood creak with the press of his palms. you wait.

it comes out with a great pain at first, a terrible ache you see in the grimace of his face, but it eases as it goes, eases as he tells you, “i love you, little wolf, i do, i do.”

and then there’s a moment of stillness, of unsureness. what do you do now? what does anyone do now? oh, but he loves you, he loves you, you have to write it on a wall somewhere, burn a forest and bottle the ashes, wreak some irrevocable havoc. he loves you.

you drag a hand from his chest up to his face, and with a shudder he leans into the warmth of it, nods against the skin, affirming some wordless agreement, and leans down to press his lips to yours. and it’s been so long you can’t help the whimper that escapes you, squeaky and wet still with the damp residue of your tears, but he’s soft and hot against you, pulls his hands down around your waist and squeezes into your spine. you say his name against his lips and he nods again, presses harder, groaning when you pull the hair at the nape of his neck. you open your mouths to one another, hoping to suck each other’s souls out, you think, and he licks into your mouth with a moan. you’re still whimpering his name somehow, over and over, meaning nothing by it other than you like the taste of it along with his tongue, joel, joel, joel, and he replies with the heated moving of his hands along your body.

joel grips under your ass, pulls you against his cock as he ruts you into the door, speaks gruffly against your lips, “tell me again.”

and you do, somewhere between your moans, “i love you, i love you,” and he seizes with the sound of it, ducking his head to suck marks into your neck. you hitch a leg over his hip and he takes it as an invitation, dragging his cock through his jeans again along you.

with his face still in the crook of your neck and a muffled up he hoists you fully into his arms to take you up the stairs, and if you were more lucid you would notice you’re in the same spot you were months ago, the first and only other time he let you have him, but as it is you swirl your hips as best you can against him as he walks, biting the skin that beats with his jugular. you’re drunk on the scent of him, on the pressure of his body. he lays you down on his bed and leans over you with wild eyes as he drags the fabric of your shirt up. he mouths along the skin as he bares it, mumbling into your skin, “so pretty here, baby.”

you raise your back from the bed to pull your shirt and bra off fully and he groans, hands flying to grab at your tits, tracing a line between them with his nose. “and here.” you lift your hips and he pins them with his own, the heft of his cock dragging against your clit through your pants and you mewl with it. joel moves back up to your ear, still pulling at the flesh of your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers, to whisper, “i’m gonna take you slowly. can you do that, darlin?”

and no, you’re not sure you can, but you nod breathlessly anyway.

“good girl.”

that drives you fully to madness, you think, and you tilt your head back into his bed, writhing into a moan. he smiles into you as he moves his face back down, down, past your sternum, hands moving to pull at your jeans. “can i take these off?”

“yes, please.”

he nods and pulls them from you, and runs his hands back up your legs. you can feel your own dripping, the gusset of your panties soaked through with arousal, and his smile drops as he looks at it, a single finger coming to run down the fabric. you shudder, and so does he, you think, hand still on your thigh tightening as the pad of his finger wipes along the dampness. “fuck. this for me?”

you’re already nodding. “yes, yes, you, please, touch me, please.”

and with that joel is pulling them down your legs, leaving a trail of glistening slick where the fabric sticks to your flesh, and joel heaves you to the edge of his bed, kneeling with a grunt to the floor. you hum around a whine as he bites and licks up the insides of your thighs, his own moans reverberating back to you. his fingers, wrapped around the crease where your legs meet your torso, will leave bruises, you’re sure.

“joel,” you plead, but he doesn’t really hear it, heaving open mouthed around your cunt now, breathing you in.

with a long inhale he drops his forehead to your navel, squeezes you between his hands. “so good, baby, this pussy is so good.”

your eyes slip shut and you feel yourself pulse with his words. joel sees it, too, and finally, fucking finally, closes his plush lips around your clit, slurping and sucking as you all but scream into the space of his room.

“fuck joel, fuck, oh my god.”

“yeah?”

you thread your fingers through his curls and tug, and his groan makes your hole flutter. he circles his tongue around your little button, flattens it, flicks over it with the tip, and the drool of his own spit mixes with your slick as it slides from your hole to his sheets below you. you’re fucking aching now, so empty as he sucks around you, but before you can even plead for them, you feel his two fingers slip inside you, gliding in easy around the wetness he’s pulled from you and the slip of his saliva. he curls them, petting against someplace only he has ever reached, and you keen.

“that’s it, huh? there?” and it’s only halfway smug, all the rest earnest, and you pull harder on his hair. your nerve endings flare up and catch fire, his scissoring fingers within you, his taste buds on your clit, his sheets bunched at your head, it all tears at you with unbearable feeling, you feel with an intensity that blurs your vision. with the pulse around his knuckles, joel can feel how close you are, raising his lips from you with eyes hooded. “oh, you’re close, darlin, i fuckin feel it,” he rasps, and you nod again, delirious and mouth open, as he circles his thumb in the path of spit his tongue left. the noises you make would be humiliating in front of anyone else, you think, but his brows furrow with each of your blasphemous little whines, and so you let them claw out as he watches his fingers thrust in and out of you. “c’mon little wolf, let it go, let me have it.” and you do, you throw it at him, really, pulsing around his fingers and gushing down his hand, moaning wildly something that sounds like his name as he groans with the squelch of it.

he pulls his fingers away only as you relax, spine released and flat again on his bed. he drags his eyes up and down your body, spent but not yet satisfied, as he rids himself of his own clothes, and your pussy shudders with her own heartbeat again as you take him in. his cock reaches stiff between his legs, blushing and pearled with precome, and you lick your lips with finally, finally. he pumps himself once, twice, stalking towards you again, but you stand from the bed with shaky legs, sit him in the wet spot you made together. as you sink to your knees he curses and squeezes the base.

“jesus christ, baby.” but you only smile as you run your nose up the underside of his shaft, tentatively pressing the flat of your tongue along his head to collect what’s escaped him there. the salt and musk of it makes you whine and you fit your lips around him, laving along his skin and watching his hands bunch in the sheets. you smooth your lips down his head, lower, lower, and suck, cunt fully dripping again at the noises he makes. a broken version of your name leaves him as you start to bob your head, spinning your chin as you come up, letting your teeth graze the vein along the underside.

“oh fuck, you—shit—your mouth is so fuckin good,” and he brings a hand, now, to collect your hair and wrap his fingers around it, anchoring himself more than you, “yeah, yeah, that’s it baby, fuck.” you moan into him and his hips twitch as it moves through his skin, and fuck you want him to fuck your throat. you bring your fingers up to move his other hand, clenched taut at his side, to your head, pushing it down to show him. his fingers tighten in your hair as he starts to move you on his own, pulling you into him as you gag and swallow around his head. “oh fuck, oh fuck,” he grunts, hips starting to rut up to meet your face, and your hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he thrusts deeper, sputtering as he grits out, “fucking gag on it.” you hum, so gloriously pleased with yourself and the taste of him, feeling him twitch in your throat, but with one final drag of your tongue on him he pulls you off. you start to whine but he’s heaving you up by the elbows to straddle his lap, grabbing you by the jaw to bring your face to his. your tongues meet and circle, the both of you groaning at the taste of the other, and he drags his wet cock along your seam. you angle your hips so he catches on your opening and his hands tighten on your waist.

“you still want it, darlin?”

you almost laugh, maybe you do, nodding with your hands on his shoulders. “yes, yes, please.”

and when he pushes in it is not like last time. he’s slow, agonizingly so, as he lets you sink down, your forehead dropping to his as you groan in unison. you clench and throb when your thighs meet, fully seated, and he pulses inside of you, but he doesn’t move yet, brings a finger from your waist to between the wings of your shoulder blades. as you breathe together, chests meeting in full flex, he drags the pad of his finger down, your body open and seizing with feeling of him.

“you like to touch me there,” you whisper.

joel nods. “it holds you up.” and something about it makes you wail. when his finger reaches the bottom, he bands his whole arm around your back, pulls you impossibly closer against his chest and moves his head next to yours, asks into your ear, “can i move now?”

you twitch as his breath fans over the side of your face, whispering back some sort of please, please, and he starts to thrust into you, slowly but deeply, so deeply that his tip kisses your cervix, and you both hold each other tighter as he drags back out.

“fuck, joel, so good.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“you’re fuckin—ah—soakin me, baby.”

between the whispers in your ear joel takes your lobe into his mouth, biting and releasing, kissing the spot beneath it. your body tenses in his arms as his cock ruts in and out of you, still so slow and still so much, and his bicep around your back flexes to keep you in place.

“what is it?”

“fuck me faster, please,” you whimper. you feel his little smile into your skin.

“you said you could take it slow.”

“and i—fuck—i’m trying.”

he groans, long and with the movement of his cock in you. “one more second like this, just like this.” you try to roll your hips again but his grip stills you. “you have no patience, do you?” you shake your head. without a word, he reaches up to push your elbows up and over his shoulders, and you wrap your arms down his back. he nods a little, whispers just like that into your skin, and you throb around him.

the slap of his skin on yours rings through the room as he speeds up, thrusts meeting you, and you scream like this is salvation (you think it might be). neither of you can control your noises now, not that there was much control to begin with, and joel grits out agonized moans into the arc of your ear. your nails scrape up and down the skin of his back as he pounds up into you, clawing marks and holding there. again you’re on his name, repeating it with a fever and a cry, joel, joel, joel.

“fuck, i fuckin love the sound of my name like that, baby. you sound like you’re mine.”

you do your best to nod, head bobbing at his shoulder, i am yours, i am yours, but still it’s only his name coming out. he fucks you harder, holds you harder, moves like a zealot into your softness. he brings a thumb to your clit, circles it tightly, eats up your noises with a gluttony that pulls you right there, right there.

“i’m so close, joel,” you whimper.

“fuck, i know, i fuckin feel it. come on, darlin, come on my cock.”

again, you do, you do as he asks, pulled tight into him as you pulse and thrash, ecstasy washing over you.

“yeah, that’s—oh god—that’s it, that’s it,” he rasps, thrusts unrelenting, slapping against the wetness dripping between you. as the rigid pleasure runs through you and your body relaxes again, he picks you up, knees his way up the bed to place you down beneath him. you watch his face pull together as he forgets his plan for a moment, fucks you into the bed with a hand on the headboard, but he collects himself again and heaves you over by the crook of your knee so your stomach is to the mattress, keeping the head of his cock inside you. you hold yourself up by your knees and elbows, feel his hands spread down your back and around the globes of your ass before he picks up his pace again, hips meeting your ass in harsh bumps that make you scream into his pillows. the kick of him inside you is coaxing your body again towards orgasm, and you arch your back for him.

“such a tight fuckin fit, ain’t it?” you whine in response, pushing your hips back against his. he pulls you up, back flush against his chest, spreads his knees a little to rut deeper up into you. with what sounds like waning sanity, he grits into your ear, “you make it fit for me, darlin, i know you do.” your bag arches off his chest as you go stiff, so startlingly close again. you’re defying your own anatomy now, gone from the confines of your body, submerged fully in a rapture that beads like sweat down your skin. “fuck me, you gonna come again?”

“yeah, yes, fuck” you heave.

he nods against your shoulder and slides the paw of his hand down your front to rub you, using the flat of his hand to press into your clit. “i’m gonna—oh fuck—you’re gonna make me come, where do you want it?”

and you know you shouldn’t, but you’re so fucking close, and you want it. “inside, joel, please.”

his thrusts are stumbling now, losing rhythm. “yeah? you want me to fill you up? fuck,” and he laughs breathlessly, “tha’s how we’ll tell everyone, i’ll fuck you full of my fuckin baby.”

the both of you vibrate with that notion, buzzing together, barely human anymore, and suddenly you’re falling into climax, a third and quick and jolted one, pulling him with you as you clench and flutter, and the pump of his warmth inside of you feels like the most wonderfully selfish thing you’ve ever done. and as his cock softens inside you, a mix of your come sliding out, he’s really just holding you, wrapped up in his arms on his bed. he kisses you in the silence, up the line of your shoulder and to your ear. “stay here, baby,” and he pulls out as you lie all the way down, wipes you both with a rag before climbing up behind you and cradling you in the crook of his body.

night has fallen fully now, but the moonlight peers through his window and marks the wall ahead of you. joel’s hands are warm as they run up your sides, draws his name on your hip. you smile.

“sting.”

J–O–E–L. “hm?”

“will you tell me again?”

he stretches out his fingers and leans his head over yours. you turn to meet his face. and you think it hurts him, still, to say it, but he does, forehead creased with sincerity and a will to tell you anyway. “i love you, little wolf.”

“i love you, too.”

joel thinks a moment. “are you…” you sit up a little to see him fully, and even in the darkness you can see the flush of red around his ears. “do you still want me to show you how to make the jam?”

oh god, he is so tender for such a violent thing. “mhm,” you hum, but turn all the way over to situate yourself into his chest. through the hair spattered there, you add, “later.”

his thumb finds your spine again, traces it like he’s done before. in his arms here, you can admit that this, now, is your greatest achievement, the closest you’ve ever been to sacred. the puffs of his breath on the top of your head, the slowing of your heartbeats as you both drift towards sleep, yes, this is holy, a sanctified thing, the loveliest thing you’ve ever grown.

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

aaah !! i can't believe this story has come to a somewhat-end !! i can't thank you all enough for the support on it. as my first fic it was fucking terrifying to put out, but i'm so glad i did 🍓🤍🤍

taglist: @koshkaj-blog @limerence4u @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 (let me know if you wanna be added or removed !!)

#joel miller fic #jackson!joel #joel miller #fem!reader #the last of us #tlou #hello woolf #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #on strawberries and masonry #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader

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eatommo · 2 years

Text

Common Tongue [d.d]

A/N: Here she is! Just in time to get ready for kinktober! My first Din Djarin fic, it's drastically different than writing for Matt, but I do think I have a good understanding of his character. Star Wars is my home fandom, so I'm very excited to expand my writing to that universe.

Summary: Damage to the Crest causes you and your crew to seek refuge in a very crowded Inn. Left with few options, you make do.

CW: Multiple orgasms, mutual pining, playing with light, sensory depravation, p in v, creampie, fingering, mentions of sexual fantasys, smidge of breeding kink, one bed, helmet stays on, touch starved Din, glove kink, mask kink, implied squirting

You had never seen so many people on one planet before, down every street you turned there was another hoard of people going about their business. Typically, you would feel small, scared to get swiped off the street by some street gang looking to make a quick buck, or worried about getting lost. Luckily enough you had the shiniest beacon in the galaxy parting the crowd in front of you, the Crest had taken yet another beating and was in desperate need of repairs.

So here the three of you are, the little green child sitting in Mando’s satchel at his hip, cooing at you when you make eye contact. You’ve grown quite attached to the little thing over the last few months, just a few nights ago he had crashed in your bunk with you while Mando was out grabbing rations for the limping to Hosnien Prime for repairs.

For being a bounty hunter, he was surprisingly considerate of your needs and always made sure you were fed and slept, and even would occasionally make stops on planets just to show you something he had told you about. From meadows filled with luxurious flowers, or planets with seas raging under lifted platforms, to forests with trees taller than you thought possible.

Then there was this crowded metropolis, neon lights and holograms reflected off the helmet you kept a steady gaze on, half tempted to hold onto his cape to make sure you don’t lose him. A gruff-looking Trandoshan mumbling something incoherent to himself steps between you and your fierce guide. Dread fills your body but quickly dissipates when you hear your pilot’s modulated voice, “Step away from the girl.”

The crowd parts around you, and the lizard-faced man is speaking to you in a language you don’t speak probably a form of Dosh. You shake your head, eyes pleading to the visor of Mando’s helmet for help. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

You hear the unmistakable sound of beskar on beskar as the spear from his back is drawn, “She isn’t interested now beat it.”

Scaly hands draw up in defense, and you know he is swearing under his breath, but the way his body moves away you can picture the spear sitting at the base of his spine. As he steps aside, you watch the helmet tilt and look you up and down. “Are you okay? Did he touch you?”

You shake your head, “I’m okay.” You wipe your hands on your flight suit, “What did he want?”

“I don’t speak Dosh, but I could guess.” He offers his arm to you, “Stay closer, I don’t want to call too much attention to us or the kid.”

You take his arm, the cold touch of his vambrace soothed you, reminding you of the cold walls of your bunk on the crest, “Where are we headed?”

“An inn, it's just down the street here, I’ve stayed a few times but not recently.” His body is tense with caution, his hand remains on his blaster for the remainder of the few-minute walk.

You step into a modest looking in, and before you can speak to your surroundings he is handing you the kid to go and speak with the gorgeous green-skinned Twi’lek at the counter. His posture changes as he talks to her, and you wonder if they have a history together, knowing that he is constantly moving across the galaxy, and he doesn’t seem to have any exes or flames that you’ve heard about but you know there's bound to be someone in the endless systems he tells you about.

The thought bounces around in your head for a while, who was this mystery man? For all, you knew he was married, or a Wookie, or something even more improbable. He could be hundreds of years old, he’s traveled more than the last 3 generations of your family combined. After all, Grogu is 50 years old and he is hardly more than an infant, so you find it difficult to pass up the idea of a geriatric old man under all that armor.

You are broken from your ridiculous stupor, by a little bit of laughter in the lobby in front of you. The Twi’lek is fiddling with her lekku like those teen girls you used to watch in holodrama’s, you feel something bitter crawl up your spine and cause you to lick your teeth in disgust.

You continue to peer at them while running your finger over the child's ear, attempting to lull him into sleep. You straighten as Mando does, beginning to bounce the babe in your arms in second nature. “I trust that conversation went well.” Clocking the slightest tick of his helm to the side at your words.

“It’s not a large room, but it’s a roof over our head. Even managed to get some food delivered to the room.” His hands reach and take Grogu from your arms, “They even have warm water.” The child nuzzles into your chest, refusing the embrace of his dad who threatens him with a bath.

You smirk at the T-shaped portion of his visor, raising your eyebrows in a taunt as you pull the babe away from him playfully. “To that, we say dinner first. Right little man?” He grins with delight, hand coming up to your cheek before reaching for the metal piercing in your ear.

“There will be enough food ad’ika, maybe even some Spotchka for you.” He adds, with a sigh at the little one’s pout when you turn your head away from him. “You’re going to hurt her.”

He leads you to a room through a maze of hallways, you follow him closely, slowly growing deliriously tired. The door of the room slides open as you walk up, revealing a plain room with a simple bed and a desk against the wall. You set the child down, letting him explore the new space, if he wasn’t tired enough to sleep soon you may collapse.

You sit on the edge of the bed, ready to curl up like a loth cat and sleep for days. “You should probably freshen up, I’ll get the kid fed, and then we can switch if you’d like.” You remember when he was a man of few words, but you noticed that with each passing day he was getting more accustomed to having you around, time and time again he was surprising you.

You nod, beginning to unbutton your flight suit as you walk towards the fresher with your bag. When the fresher door doesn’t close directly behind you, you glance around searching for an access panel and you notice that it just tints a sheet of glass in front of you to a white smudged appearance. Interesting.

“It doesn’t look like there’s a door. Just some sort of privacy shield on the outside of the shower.” You set your bag on the sink, digging through it for a tunic to sleep in.

“The room is only meant for one person, she is bending the rules to accommodate us.” The modulator relays reality to you, and you feel as though your brain has to stitch the pieces together from fiction.

Sure enough, as you turn to heel and glance around, there is no door leading to a separate room anywhere, not even a storage area or a closet. Your eyebrows are lifted as you take in and process the situation more, to the single bed. Grogu is currently rifling through Mando’s bag in search of something he is seemingly desperate to have; a snack. “Huh.” You glance around more as if the punchline will land the moment your eyes fall on a door you missed. “Dibs on the bed.”

“You can have it Cyar’ika.” You both turn and look at the child who is trying to open a pouch of ration bars.

Your heart swells at the mysterious nickname, he uses it sparingly, and you can’t fight the fear it's something cursing you or belittling you. You haven’t the guts to ask. You’ve got plenty of things to call him, but his kindness fights the bubbling defensive tone in your throat.

“You’re too good to me.” You whisper under your breath with a laugh, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you undress and step into the warm water that falls from the ceiling like rain.

A knock on the door and you hear the clang of silverware as you run your fingers over your skin, checking for injuries that could need tending. “The food is here.”

Your foot slips on the metal floor beneath you, you barely catch yourself on the glass wall of the shower. You start to laugh in embarrassment but as you look up a metal visor is standing above the blur or security glass peering down at you, “Are you okay?”

You struggle to try to retain some of your dignity by covering your breasts and shooing him away, “Go! I’m fine!” The embarrassed laugh escapes your mouth, but you’re not as bothered by the situation as you should be.

Your cheeks start to hurt, with a smile not leaving your face as you finish up, enjoying the clean feel of your skin after nothing but desserts for almost two weeks while camping on Tattoine following a tip on a bounty.

You walk out into the room, wearing a tunic that falls just above your knee and some underwear, the chest band you wear getting on your nerves over the last few days.

The baby is curled into a blanket in a crib that must’ve been brought with the food, passed out. You look at Mando and nod in approval. He hits a button on his vambrace and the crib is enclosed similar to the kid's own that was destroyed.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. You just surprised me.” The blush creeping up your neck makes you want to physically shake it off. “No spotc-”

He pulls a carafe of the glowing blue liquid swirling it before handing it to you, “The rest is yours, I did have a little bit.” He admits with a tilt of his head, you swiftly bring the bottle to your lips, eager for a sip of the sweet liquid. You don’t notice a drop from the bottle fall down your chin and drip onto your breasts. Staining the white tunic you wear blue.

He does.

You finish some blue milk pancakes and half of a Ronto wrap. Downing sips of Spotchka in between bites of food. “Did you eat something?” You ask, taking a few seconds before you finish the last of the pancakes.

“Yes, I ate most of the pancakes.”

Your ears prick at his voice, he seems exhausted you can’t even recall the last time he slept, knowing it’s been even longer than yourself. “Maybe we can share the bed, it's bigger than both of our bunks on the crest, I know you must be exhausted.” He’s nodding with you, and you smile to reassure him, “It’s gonna be just like a wake-over.”

“A what?” He asks, slipping his boots off before crawling up to sit against the headboard. You swirl the little bit of liquid at the bottom of the carafe.

“A wake-over? You know when a friend comes over and you’re up til odd hours talking about life and boys and sex..” You trail off, waiting for him to recognize what you're describing, he’s just shaking his head.

“I guess I’ve never been to one.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise, even with your dim childhood, your dad working in mines for the empire you had a few goofy childhood memories to hold onto. “Well, I’ll show you the ropes.” you finish the rest of the alcohol its warmth spreading over your skin like wildfire, before settling next to him.

……..

“Do you usually sleep in all that armor?” You tap the silver metal with your fingernail, amused, and the light ting that rings in your ears. The heat from the alcohol feels like it's spreading into the air of the room, and sticking in the words between the two of you.

“I’m not usually sharing a bed with a pretty girl.” His tone is lighter than you’re used to. “But no.”

“It can’t be comfortable, c’mon Mando.” You tease, the foot or two between you feeling closer by the second. “I don’t bite.” You can sense the clenching of his fists in the sheet, between you, unable to see it in the dark.

“I do.” He teases, the words are almost regretful or frustrated. “I can remove the armor, is it bothering you? I just have to leave the helm.”

“Isn’t it heavy?” you muse, lifting the plate slightly with your finger. Wishing you could reach into his mind and unburden him.

“It’s like a second skin, I do fall asleep in it sometimes.” The room is pitch black, but your nerves are on fire with each little shift of the sheet, trying to calculate his body position. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, very.” You shift your hips a little, inching closer to him. “When was the last time you were with a woman? Do you get to take the helmet off for anything?” Having already cleared the topic on the agenda for your little sleepover experience, you cross the threshold for your typical conversation.

“I haven’t shown anyone my face since I was a foundling, I haven’t been with a woman since my clan was disrupted on Navaro.” He is honest, and it feels strange to hear him speak so vulnerably, but you still press on.

“I know foundlings are very important but are you required to marry Mandalorians?”

“No, that doesn’t matter, and it’s almost better because our numbers are so small.” His voice is almost a whisper, the modulator barely catching the small sounds. “One might even say it’s encouraged.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and it's like a rubberband snaps some clarity into your brain. He’s inches from your face, this is the closest you’ve ever been to him apart from him having to squeeze past you while making repairs. Even then you felt a surge of energy in your chest, an unnameable force drawing you closer to him, it frightens you because you’re so unsure of his feelings.

“So do you have a special someone? Maybe this generous Twi’lek? She was very beautiful.” You tease, doing your best to hide the jealousy in your tone.

“Twi’leks get me in trouble,” his eyes never leave your face, watching the temperature reading on your body shift as his words poke at your brain, “Do you not speak Mando’a?”

He feels your laugh reverberate off his chest plate, “Of course, I don’t speak Mando’a. I hardly know Rodian and I grew up in a Rodian’s mechanic shop.” You chuckle slightly unsure of what he’s going to say next, “I am pretty good with droidspeak, not that's any help around you.”

“I’m sure it’ll come in handy sometime. You’ve become a very important part of our little…” he pauses for a second as if looking for the right word, “crew. I’m very thankful for the way you look after the child. He likes you.”

You smile softly, eyes growing heavier by the moment as the warmth of the alcohol settles in your cheeks. “You’ve been very kind to me Mando, for a Wookie.”

“You’ve got me. I’m the galaxy’s shortest Wookie, who also happens to be a Mandalorian quite the story. Maybe I should write a holodrama.” His dry humor surprises you, but your heart thumps in your chest as you ask a question that has been bouncing around your mind since you met him.

“What is the story? I don’t know how much you know or what you’re allowed to say. But who’s the man behind the mask?” You let your finger run over the center of his chest plate feeling the ridge rise and fall with each breath.

“I don’t remember much, I was a foundling like the child.” he takes a deep breath as if chasing your hand as it pulls away to adjust your pillow.

“I’m sorry.” Your heart swells in your chest, you’ve seen him interact with the child and the love he carries for his covert. It moves you to know that this skilled and deadly man lying in front of you is also the best possible thing to have happened to you and that he has brought with him the adorable little man you’ve grown to love. “Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me. I think you and the little guy are the best things to happen to me.”

You’ve never wanted to see his face so badly. It’s as if you’re feeling your relationship with him shift, feeling the need to be closer to him with every passing beat of your heart.

Goosebumps spread across your skin when his hand comes to rest on top of yours between your faces, “Cyar’ika, I don’t know where else the adventures with the little one will take us but I hope, after he’s reunited with his kind, I can still find more places in the galaxy to show you.”

Your chest constricts, trapping a light gasp you suppress. “What does Cyar’ika mean?” The air in the room is electric, and you can feel each nerve in your body brim with energy like you’re ready to combust.

The only word you can use to describe his tone is bashful, the faceless man smiling the word, “Sweetheart.”

You surge closer to him, aching to kiss him before catching yourself, his hand finding up to your face and tilting your forehead to his. The cool metal only makes you realize just how warm your skin is. “I can’t take it off, but this is a Mandalorian kiss.” He runs his thumb across your cheek soothingly, “I will kiss you mesh’la, that is more of a need than a promise.”

You nod, not able to help the rush of need overwhelming your thoughts. You wanted to see him, feel his skin under your hands for the first time, and you wanted the taste of blue-milk pancakes off his tongue. You gulp, “Am I allowed to touch you?” You lift a corner of his chest plate in question.

The bed moves and dips beneath you, and before your heart can stop you hear the clang of his armor hitting the ground. The helmet hisses out a groan as his body presses against yours, the flight suit and your tunic the only barrier between your wanting skin and his. Briefly considering turning on the light, just so you could get a glimpse of your companion, you hesitate for a moment before you let your fingers run over the endlessly broad expanse of his chest.

The first thing you clock is his warmth against your palm, then you feel it rise and fall with his breath, the clip of his heart echoing with your own. You let your hand shift, more confident now, creep up to the back of his neck letting your fingers run over the little bit of hair peeking from below his helmet, his body tensing for a brief moment before practically keening into your touch. “I want to feel your skin, my sweet girl.”

You nod, sitting up briefly to lift the tunic over your head the cool air of the room immediately sending a shiver up your spine. His gloved hand ghosts up your side, every nerve in your body being coaxed into submission by his finger. He caresses your cheek, and you’re stunned by its size and the tender swipes of his thumb over your lips before he’s pressing it into your mouth. Instinct kicks in and your teeth bite at the soft leather offering a small tug, you are rewarded with a muffled groan.

His hand slips out of the glove with ease, immediately falling to caress your breasts, pinching your nipple between his fingers. You gasp as the sharp jolt of pain turns to pleasure as he soothes the sensitive bud with his thumb. “So beautiful, so soft.”

Blush continues to heat your cheeks and you nervously laugh, “Can you see?” your voice is a little timid as you feel the shift of his gaze wrack over your body through the emotionless veil of his visor.

“Everything mesh’la,” The strain in his voice is a warning before he’s pulling your body flush against his, “beautiful.” He offers the translation this time and the adjective seeps into your skin with each caress of his hands over the rises and falls of your curves.

You try to count the fingers that are touching you, you feel for scales, tentacles, and even the hairy palms of a Wookie. All you discern is warmth and tenderness, nerves on fire making you unable to sit still.

You press your forehead against his helmet, attempting to urge him to move on. “Can I see your skin?” You let your hands toy with the zipper at the base of his throat, letting your fingers brush over sparse but coarse rough hair and warm skin. Does he have a beard?

“I don’t want the lights to wake the child.” His pram sits a few feet away, “Next time.”

You nod, pulling the zipper down lightly asking for permission, he moves away from you but pulls up to sit straight as he stands. His body towers over you, and you let your hand tug the zipper down a few inches, barely able to discern the swell of his pectoral muscles, and the delicious hollow above his collarbones. You run your fingers over the rigid muscle tone of his chest, lavishing in the soft skin, fingers brushing over a rougher patch, a scar, or a birthmark.

“It doesn’t hurt, it was from a bounty on Yavin-7.” You nod, gently tracing over the raised skin, wondering what other old wounds you could soothe and memorize, each little story behind the marks on his body. Pulling the zipper down to his hips, you see the dark contrast of his briefs against his skin, a moan catches in the back of your throat. You reach to push the fabric of the flight suit off his shoulders, but he beats you to it, stepping out the pant legs and pulling his arms free.

“Keep your hands on me, please.” He guides your hands over his abdomen, the dip of his navel, the waistband of his underwear. He pauses, asking for permission to continue, your heart slams in your chest, the need to satisfy him in any way possible the only thing on your mind. Your hand brushes over the length, pleasantly taken aback by his size. Your thumb rubs small light circles over the head of his cock while staring up towards his visor. You’re unable to make anything other than his silhouette out, but you feel his gaze steady and hot on your exposed bodies, watching your every move.

“See what you do to me Cyar’ika?” His hips push against your hand, his voice as breathless as you feel, “It’s all for you sweet girl, take what you want.”

Not wasting any precious time, you lean forward slightly, letting your tongue run across his length clocking the slight shutter to his breath through the modulator. A trail of wet, open-mouth kisses follows as you let a finger trace over the waistband half teasing and a half asking for him to remove them.

When you lift your hand a moment, you blink and they’re around his ankles then gone, discarded in the cloud of darkness that surrounds the two of you. His cock bobs, aching and dripping in front of you and you hurry, falling to your knees, to suck down the beads of precome he offers you.

“Maker,” husk sounds fall his helm and reverberate in your ears, “I’ve never done this before.” When you pull away from him slightly, he chokes out, “Had someone’s mouth on me like that. Never had time. Please.”

Not one to deny him, at least not this time, you let your tongue swirl over the sensitive head of his cock before taking it into your mouth. His abdomen tenses under your palms and his hips lift to push further into your mouth on instinct, you adjust accordingly swallowing around him eagerly. You begin to move your head in time with his short shallow thrusts, taking as much of him as you can bare without gagging at first, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible.

You hold his hips steady as you lower your mouth further, relaxing your throat and tears brimming as you try and take as much of him as possible, your jaw aching and throat constricting around him as you struggle to accommodate his girth. His fingers find purchase on your scalp, tangling in your hair and pulling lightly.

Letting him take control you relax further, flattening your tongue to add more pressure to the underside of his cock, milking more of that salty precome down your throat as his thrusts grow rougher spurred on by your eager moans.

He pulls away after a few moments, panting and staring at the obscene sight of your lips swollen and wet with spit that dribbles onto your chest. He pushes your body up onto the bed, fingers running through your drenched folds, you find yourself writhing against him aching for any stimulation he offers you.

He brushes a skilled thumb over your clit, listening intently for a hitch in your breath he may or may not have heard from your bunk too many times to count.

You throw an arm to cover your eyes, focusing on the way he rubs small focused circles over your clit, moving every so often to gather your slick from your core, before circling back up. Fighting the urge to beg and fuck yourself against his hand, you whine low and desperate.

“What is it, sweetheart?” His tone is almost taunting like he’s pulling you up to the precipice of climax on sheer luck alone. “Is there something you need?” He swipes over your entrance before sinking two digits to the hilt and immediately curling it up pushing against the spongy spot inside you that makes your vision white. He draws out your first orgasm of the night expertly, your legs shaking with the force of the sudden release.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your skin, making your hair cling to your neck and forehead and breath coming out in shaking gasps. “You’re more beautiful than ever mesh’la.” If there was excess blood in your body, it was in your cheeks, you weren’t sure of the look on his face but he was smug and proud of the mess you made for him in his voice.

He pulls his fingers from you, and his hand disappears and you hear a moan from above you, “So fucking good, sweet girl.” You struggle to comprehend his words when you’re pulled to the edge of the bed, legs falling apart in desperation.

His hands ghost over your breasts again, coaxing your body as if he was guiding it with string. If you didn’t know any better you’d think his helmet needed repairs, the gruff static of his breath washed over your body, wondering how much detail he could gather from the gaze of the helm. He circled your navel, bringing a single finger up to the tip of your chin and tilting it up.

A bright flash of light blinds you. You flinch away, trying to let your eyes adjust. The first thing you see is a tan human appearing hand spreading across your chest possessively. You can see the goose flesh littered across your skin, but when you try and look at the Mandalorian's helm the light obscures your vision.

You make out a familiarly broad chest, a tampered but muscular abdomen, and a light trail of dark hair partially obscured by his thick heavy cock bobbing angrily in time with his movements.

He sinks his fingers back into you. A small plea falls from your mouth, fists gathering the comforter at your sides. He’s gentler this time, he works at an agonizingly slow pace. Scissoring and twisting his fingers under the harsh scrutiny of his tactical light, lifting his free hand to rub delicately over your overstimulated clit.

It takes every ounce of self-control to not crawl away from him, the sensitivity almost unbearable, but his movements are seductive. Like the movements of his hands are rewarding you with each passing stroke of the pain.

Slowly you begin to grind against him, shifting your hips so you can almost bounce on his hand aiming for the spot you know he’s avoiding. You’re writhing under him before you know it, filthy pleas and whines are spoken outside of your consciousness. It’s not until the brink of your second orgasm that you realize the words are coming from you.

His pace is steady and unrelenting, the fire in your belly building with each passing second. He notices the roll of your hips becoming more dramatic and your jaw falling slack in a silent cry. “Make some noise for me Mesh’la. Cum for me before I fuck you as I’ve dreamed about.”

You try to focus your vision on the flex of his arm and the veins straining under his skin, but his cock is the real star of the show. Thick and glistening with a mixture of your saliva and his precome. You’re eager to feel him splitting you open, to know the way his cock feels when it sputters rope upon rope of cum inside of you.

The thought of being filled by him sends you over the edge, your orgasm careening through your body as you thrash against him again. A rush of your cum coats his fingers, and you watch closer this time as the helm tilts up and his fingers disappear and presumably sink into his mouth.

He moans, swearing under his breath and fisting his dick in his free hand. You struggle to hold your head up to watch, your neck and body exhausted.

Your chest rises and falls as he strokes himself under the harsh light of his helm, before letting the head of his cock trace your entrance. Gathering your wetness on the tip he brushes over your hypersensitive clit, a smug huff coming from the strong man above you.

The gaze of his helmet is heavy and delectable as you arch, displaying your body and the spoils of your release for him, silently begging for more.

Finally, he sinks into you in one slow and satisfying push, both of your moans mixing as you fight to sit up, wanting to see him seated inside you completely.

You throw an arm around his neck for support, the shift in angle making the impossible stretch even more delightful. He bends and presses the cold metal bite of his helm to your forehead, another kiss. You follow the tilt of the beskar down to the glorious view of your pussy flushed and glistening, covered in your cum being absolutely split open by his thick cock.

The two of you watch enamored as he slowly pulls out, sick squelches echoing in the quiet room as he continues to work you open. “Mesh’la,” he picks up the pace, the pleasure quickly overwhelming your brain. “Fuck this might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His praising words weaken your posture, feeling the adoration wash over your skin like you would stroke a loth cat, coaxing you to relax and fall against the mattress; mouldable clay under his breathless flattery. The long strokes feel like ecstasy each one making your fists furl tightly into the sheets.

He shifts your body slightly, lifting you so your ass is partially dangling off the bed, allowing him to pitch his hips up into you. You feel his hands settle on your lower belly, applying a soft pressure before he picks up his pace, fucking up against your g-spot with sniper-like precision.

Fuck.

The change of angle has your muscles limp, unable to do anything but revel in the pressure building in your gut. Even staring into the black abyss of the ceiling, you feel his stare fixated on the movement of your breasts in pace with his hips.

He swears under his breath, something in a language you don’t understand, but he brings a hand to rest on your throat, you keen, exposing yourself more.

A man of his capabilities wrapping a hand around your neck should bring panic and fear to your heart, but instead, a rush of liquid pours out of you, coating your thighs and his abdomen glistens with your release smearing between the two of you as he follows suit, pushing deep and spilling into your spent cunt with a modulated groan.

His shoulders fall slightly, visibly exhausted and tense with sensitivity. You let out a small giggle at the nervous tension growing between the two of you. The helmet quirks to the side defensively, and you quickly add “Thank you.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, “Thank you?” your cheeks warm as he caresses the line of your waist with a single finger, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, I should be the one saying thank you.”

Catching his hand in yours, you offer a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve wanted it too, must’ve been the language barrier.”

He pulls his softening cock from you, letting the light fall to the sight of his cum sliding out of you before clicking off and your vision going with it. You give him a moment to move around you before pulling yourself to lean against the headboard.

The fresher light kicks on as din walks to the sink, finally getting a good glimpse of the crisp muscular lines of his body as the fluorescent lights highlight them artfully. “Can you bring me a-”

“Beat you to it.” He turns to hold a damp cloth in his hands. The muscles in his arms are prominent and lead your gaze to the rows of corded muscles that stretch through his pecks. The light dissipates as he crosses the threshold again.

Suppressing a frown you let him clean your thighs, and as he discards the towel you find the courage to speak your mind, “You’re pretty mesh’la yourself Mando.”

You take the shy wheeze from under the helmet to heart, enthralled to be so close to him that the words straight from his breath fall to your ears.

“Say it again.”

#the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorianedit #the mandalorian smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin smut #Star Wars #star wars fanfiction

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nexusnyx · 1 year

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hi! just read your shuri fic and it’s probably the best one i’ve seen on this app it was so perfect i loved it. could you do a smut where maybe the reader and shuri and fooling around in the lab and she keeps having to tell the reader to be quiet so they don’t get caught🫢

⚠️ SMUT, minors DNI. This work is meant for 18+ audiences. | 🏷️ Established relationship. Fingering, dirty talk, oral sex, exhibition kink, possessive Shuri, D/S undertones, laboratory sex. WC: [2.9k] ; | 📑 I'm sorry if you think it's short, it's my first attempt at writing Shuri smut and I'm trying to get it right. Feedback is really appreciated!

🎧 Girl your body is calling me... There ain't no sunshine, no sunshine where I was before...

"Shhhh, love. You have to be quiet," Shuri's laugh echoes inside your head; her lips are brushing your ear, tracing the sensitive skin slowly, and her words make you whine when they register, which only prompts her to laugh harder. "That's not really quiet, is it?"

"You have your mouth on me, how do you expect me to be quiet?"

"I know you can do it," her mouth closes around your earlobe, and she sucks. It takes every ounce of control you have not to moan out loud. "Now my mouth is on you."

Her words are accompanied by Shuri's hands going sneaking under your shirt and lab coat, and when the warm palm touches your skin, her mouth makes its way to your neck. "You're terrible," you gasp.

You're an angel... don't you dare stop.

"Hmhmm. Sure am."

"What are you trying to accomplish, hm?"

"Accomplish?" Shuri's kisses spread and cover all parts of your neck. "I'm not trying to accomplish much," she continues, words muttered as her lips leave your skin and before they return to it. "I'm just enjoying you. Can't I enjoy my girl?"

My girl—your brain goes into a short circuit.

"You're doing—god, Shuri—"

Her laugh is wicked. "I know it's two-something—Griot, what time is it?"

"It is exactly 2:13am."

"I know it's two thirteen in the morning, but there are still people in this lab," she whispers to you. "And damn me for designing it this way, but this whole building has a flawless acoustic, would you believe that?"

"If your hands keep squeezing me like this there's not much I can do about it," you suppress your whine by burying your face in the crook of her neck, but the damage was already done when Shuri started kissing you with filthy tongue moves the second you crossed the threshold of her private office—you're drenched, the back of your neck is sweating and, as usual, your girlfriend is enjoying every second of it.

Shuri stops her ministrations of kisses on your neck and pulls back to look you in the eye.

"I'd ask you if you wanna stop, but I know you don't."

You adore the way her hand is big enough to hold basically the whole side of your face. "I'm just—"you called me your girl. "Can't you activate the soundproofing? We're in your office."

Shuri licks her lips, tracing her smile. "I could. But where's the fun in that?"

"The fun is being able to kiss me without me dying of embarrassment tomorrow because everyone in the building heard me."

She closes her eyes. "I'm starting to think you're trying to tempt me."

You laugh. "You'd get off on that?" It's like you discover a new thing every day. You two have been dancing around this thing, this fragile, yet resistant and beautiful thing going on for about three months now, and you've known her for over a year before that, but Shuri still manages to surprise you daily. "Never would peg you for an exhibitionist."

"I'm not," she shakes her head. "I might like the idea of everyone knowing why you were making those sounds, though..."

"Ahhh." Possessive. My girl. You feel the smile forming on your lips. "Very territorial of you, my Princess."

The reaction is instant—the grip on your thigh and Shuri pulling you by the waist closer to her body. "How about this: if you keep quiet for the time of my favorite current song..." Shuri leans in, taking her time to get an inch away from your face. "I'll let you do the thing you've been telling me you want to do so badly."

A tremble passes through your body—an electric current that goes from head to toe, washing over you as if her words were a waterfall that pour on your ear and set your blood on fire.

Shuri must feel it.

The light in her office is good enough for you to see the way her eyes darken.

"Really?" you ask, breathless.

Shuri nods. "Yeah."

"And you want me to do that?"

Another nod. "I..." Shuri's hand on your neck lets go of you so her fingers can start playing with the loose strands of hair on your face. "I told you I'd need some time to think about it."

"Of course."

"And when you first told me that..." Shuri's voice trails off, and the silence hooks your brain to the memory in the same instant. Straight to the first time you two allowed the desire brimming to reach the surface and ended up crashing against one another, with desperate lips and even more desperate hands.

"Shuri, please, please—"

"What do you want, love? Tell me. I'll give it to you."

"Shuri."

"I love the way you say my name. Say it again. Who's making you feel good, hm?"

"Shuri."

"Exactly—Bast, you're perfect. Talk to me, love."

"I want—gods, like that, please, please, don't stop—"

"I'm not gonna stop, I don't think I'm ever gonna stop touching you—look at this. Look how wet you get for me. It's my voice, isn't it? You tremble every time I'm too close to you in the lab."

"Yes, yes, yes—"

"I wanna hear what you want."

"I want you. I wanna worship your body, I wanna kiss you all over, I wanna kiss every inch of you so bad. I thought about it. I dreamt about it. I wanna taste you for hours."

She thought about it for a long time.

Shuri let down her walls one by one and invited you in with apprehension, but a hand leading you and never letting go from yours.

"You're so patient with me," she whispers in your mouth.

You kiss the words, wishing you could eat the appreciation and adoration in her eyes at that moment. The taste of her favorite honey mint is still there, and Shuri does that thing with her tongue that makes you want to grind.

When she pulls for air, Shuri licks her swollen lips.

It makes you smile. "I appreciate things that take time," you answer.

"So do I." Shuri swallows thickly, then looks down at your torso. "Griot. Play my favorite song of the moment, please."

The AI responds with, "Certainly, Princess," and Meet Me in Amsterdam by RINI starts playing.

"Ready?" asks Shuri.

You nod.

As someone who was rescued by Dora Milajes from a hidden security vault where they kept scientists that were interrogated in not very nice ways, you could do hard things.

This topped everything.

Nothing compared to Shuri's intoxicating happiness and paired with her curious touch, a lethal combo was made.

You knew you were one of her first partners.

The first woman.

It showed itself in the way she touched you at first, but it still amazes you by the confidence with which she leads anything and everything she conducts with you.

Shuri starts with her mouth on your neck again.

She likes the way you smell, and with the strength of a Panther, she grabs you by the waist and lifts you up to adjust your legs on either side of her body.

Taking advantage of the new position, she removes your white lab coat, leaving you in nothing but the black uniform most scientists use in her lab.

Whilst her mouth stays busy trailing a route from your neck, to your ear, to your cleavage, to your collarbones, all the way back to your mouth, her hands keep busy too.

They open up the buttons of your pants.

They run their fingertips on your sensitive thighs until you're grinding down on her hips, biting with full force on your bottom lip, eyes shut close.

It's only when her left-hand sneaks inside your pants and caresses over the hood of your pussy that you realize it—Shuri's humming to herself.

She starts massaging the area right above your clit, stimulating—edging you; the feeling of 'almost there' but not enough taking over you like a heatwave.

The last lines of the song start approaching, and the circular motions you're making with your hips in a now desperate chase of Shuri's fingers are making it harder to keep quiet.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Shuri," it's such a desperate, pathetic whisper, that you feel comforted when she coos at you.

"Shhh, it's ok." Her hand moves up, and then down again, inside your panties. "Is this enough?" it's a weird, shitty angle for her to get access to you, but she reaches your clit—the wet, drenched pool she's created inside you, and you're blessed by a grunt from her.

"Oh, Bast."

"Griot, shut down the sound from here to the outside." The AI replies with of course, Princess, but anything that isn't Shuri is not registering. "I need to eat you out, love."

"Is it out? You turned it off?"

The question's formulated like shit, but she nods with a smile, knowing what you're asking. "No one can hear us now. We have 30 minutes before a mandatory safety check-in, so that means we have until then."

And with those words, Shuri does the thing: she gets up with you in her arms as if you weighed nothing, sits you down on the chair without any effort, and mutters, "Blackout the glass walls, Griot."

"Yes, Princess."

"Just in case," she winks in your direction before dropping your heart to your feet by kneeling down.

It feels so wrong and so perfect at the same time.

"This feels wrong somehow," you laugh.

Shuri laughs too as she spreads your legs to fit her body between them. "You're not even from Wakanda."

"You're still my Princess."

"Never stopped you before on the other times I knelt down for you," Shuri likes to maintain eye contact when she's being a little shit, mostly because she knows you love her grin.

"I thought this the other times too."

"Never said anything why?" she pulls your pants all the way down, but you know she won't do the same with your panties.

"Was shy," you mumble. As you predicted, Shuri only hums and pulls your hips to the edge of the seat. "It feels wrong... and perfect," you confess, feeling hot in more than one place.

"I had a good teacher," Shuri pulls your panties to the side and hums in delight before fixing her gaze on yours. "You know the rule."

"Eyes on you at all times," you echo.

"Good girl," Shuri nods, and she sounds proud. "You did so well last time I let you cum on the first time you asked me. Think you can do that again?"

Desperate, you nod.

Shuri's first lick on your folds comes between a smile.

"Oh."

It's hard not to close your eyes, but you discovered that looking at Shuri is so much better.

At the start, all she has is eyes for you.

She wants to watch the way your mouth parts and is unable to close. She likes to see you coiling in slight embarrassment when her forearms circle your thighs and her fingers can spread your folds open for her tongue to push in deeper.

The louder you moan, the more firmly she dives her face into you.

Shuri never ate pussy before you, and the knowledge that it's you sitting on her perfectly designed office chair, getting your slick and sweat all over her vegan leather seat brings the shaking back to your body.

It's also how she wants more—it's not only about you cumming, she said once. "I want to feel you. Taste you. I want you to feel good. Cumming is just a consequence of that."

You'd never forgotten the words.

When her tongue dips inside for the first time, you're unsure of how to classify the noises you're making, and all you can do is hold onto her hair.

"Feels good?" Shuri asks, with lips and chin glistening under the light. She vibrates her tongue from left to right on top of your clit, making you scream for the first time. You immediately open your eyes when you feel them closed and look down at her because—"that's it, eyes on me, love."

"Do that again," you whine. "Please."

"You're so good at asking for what you want," she praises. "So good."

She complies—Shuri's an instinctive lover. Sometimes, she starts something just by the reaction or the pitches in your voice.

Harder, faster, and slower are instructions she never needed.

Useless for someone as smart and sharp as her.

She vibrates her tongue on your clit again, and it's right when you moan her name, eyes closing for just a moment around how good it feels—"Fuck, fuck, Shuri, oh gods—oh!"

Her fingers enter you, two at the same time, sliding right in with no resistance.

Everything is so wet that not even the filthy sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of you make you whine like the last time.

This time, you take her advice and let out anything inside of you, just the way she said she liked it.

Taking the way her eyes are closed shut and she's eating you out with precision and passion, you imagine she's enjoying the sounds, no matter how muffled they must be for her.

Shuri is relentless with both things—her fingers know which spot to hit and massage inside you, and her tongue on your clit is everything you need to be clawing at her head with your foot dipping against her back.

"Shuri," you warn, moaning louder at a particular suck she gives before licking you slowly again, edging you further. "Shuri, I can't—"

She responds by starting to run circles of her tongue around your clit, her fingers buried deep inside you.

"Fuck!"

"Goddamn it, I love the way you sound for me," she says, pulling back for a deep breath. She switches hands and licks her wet fingers before placing the hand on your bare thigh.

"I'm close," you sob when her fingers push inside again.

"Hmmm, good to know."

And she means it—Shuri slows down at that, changing the pace, and fucking you slower.

It should be illegal to have such an ethereal presence on her knees.

A princess.

"Princess—"

Shuri moans with her tongue buried inside of you, and her fingers push harder against the spot inside of you that makes you scream.

It's a silent request—say it again.

"Princess!" Shuri's tongue starts doing the thing from side to side that leaves you all nerves-ending, raw, and begging for more, and you can feel the heat coiling at the bottom of your stomach. "Please. Please! Shuri, can I come?"

A sharp, loud slap on your ass echos in the room, and the scream that follows almost brings you back to earth.

Almost reminds you of where you two are, and the danger of what you're doing.

"Princess, may I come? Please, grant me permission. Please—"

Shuri's eyes fall on yours, and she nods.

It's the only thing you ever need.

When she fucks her tongue deep into you again and moves her fingers in come-hither motions inside of you, it takes nothing more than the same rhythm for a couple of minutes and it crashes on you, hard and making your body tremble.

"Shuri, I'm cumming." It's the only announcement she gets before your legs close around her neck.

You send a silent prayer to thank you for the spirit of the Panther and the strength it gives her because your whole body shakes.

Your thighs squeeze around her head, and you whine, moan, and groan her name as you cum in her mouth.

"Shuri..."

"Shhhhh."

Fuck.

Is there a psychological reason for why you enjoy being shushed by her so much?

"Griot, you can turn the sound back on. Keep the walls in black-out mode, though."

"What?!" you shriek.

Shuri laughs, but doesn't get up from the floor. Instead, she takes her fingers out of you slowly, puts your panties back in place, and pats your legs. "Take your time. I'll get you some water. You can get your kisses. Then we go home."

"I'll let you do the thing you've been telling me you want to do so badly."

Another shiver runs through you.

Shuri sees it, and knows why.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

You nod. "We need to grab something to eat first."

Her smile widens. "Are you telling me we'll need strength?"

"Yes."

"Wow," she laughs. You love the sound of it more than you love a glass of water on a hot day. "Okay. We'll eat, then we'll go home."

"My Princess?"

"Yes, love?"

"Are you my girl too?"

Shuri's smile drops from her lips, but not from her eyes. The shy kiss on the corner of her lips makes you scared of how much love can fit between your ribs—no organ should be able to hold so much, and yet...

"Yes," she replies. She kisses the patch of your skin that's closest to her. "Now let me some clothes on my girl. We have—" she checks her watch. "Oh. Three minutes until mandatory check-in." She looks up with a smile. "Perfect timing," she says, wiping her chin with the sleeve of her coat.

You'll never be able to walk in this office in peace ever again.

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shhh-secret-time · 19 days

Text

Stan Marsh

26 y.o (He/Him)

Soul Synergy: Anything you write on your skin will appear on your soulmate.

Headcanons:

◇ Worked on his father's farm for years, while he didn't want to he stayed for his mom

◇ Shelly moved out and left South Park for a different college. The two aren't close, but they're better than when he was a kid.

◇ He works part-time at the university radio station with Jimmy.

》 Jimmy does most of the commentary, Stan will pitch it sometimes, but he leaves most of the talking to him. Stan is in charge of the music

◇ He has snuck some of Crimson Dawn on air and did the same for Timmy's band. Jimmy doesn't care, but he gives Stan a hard time about it.

◇ Going to college on a sports scholarship, to no one's surprise

》 The surprise came when he almost lost it all.

◇ He struggled heavily with alcoholism when he first moved out of his parents house

◇ Used to go out night after night, being invited to parties and hang out events

◇ It didn't seem like a problem until he woke up with vomit in his hair and had no memory of the last three days.

》 His hair used to be longer but he decided to cut it after that.

◇ It takes the other three to help snap him out of it, not just Kyle.

◇ After that he went and got help, of course the other three had his back. Kyle helped him find the support groups needed around campus. Kenny spread the word of keeping alcohol away from Stan, and Cartman enforced it.

◇ They have a system when they go to parties or out to eat with him. Kenny will give everyone the warning, do not offer him alcohol. Not as a joke, it's not funny. Wanna flirt with him, buy him something else. If you invite him to a party, have some fucking sodas or juice.

◇ Cartman is the next step if for some reason you don't decide to listen. Absolutely embarrasses the person, socially tears them apart. We all know he's very good at turning a crowd on people.

◇ Kyle is the big guns, he lives with Stan. He's his best friend. His super best friend, and he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to him. Kyle's not afraid to let the person know just how small they are and will throw hands if need be.

》 Luckily, it hasn't gotten that far. Most people stop at Cartman.

◇ Stan has worked very hard since then to keep himself clean. He's cut alcohol out completely because he knows how easy it is to slip back into it.

◇ When he feels himself slipping again or tempted, he goes to the gym. He writes a song, goes for a jog, bugs someone with board games, does literally anything to keep his mind off it.

》 His last resort is smoking a cigarette, Kyle doesn't like it, but it's better than the alternative

◇ Stan was able to keep his scholarship but it took a lot of work, and a lot of dedication.

◇ The necklace was a gift from the three boys after Stan's second year clean. They all wrote something up on each line and had Kenny carve it in.

》 Kyle: I'm proud of you man. Keep it up, or I'll kick your ass. -SB

》 Kenny: I am always a call away. I've got you Stan, I love you handsome.

》 Cartman: Don't be fucking stupid. I'm the only one who gets to ruin your life.

(Cartman took up some of Kyle's line. It makes Stan smile everytime he sees it)

◇ It's incredibly corny and off brand for him but he never takes it off, that necklace means everything to him.

◇ He's still the quarterback on the team, and the pressure sometimes gets to him.

◇ He plays basketball with Kyle sometimes, but he's not a fan of getting his ankles rolled all the time so he only does it when he needs to get Kyle to relax

◇ His depression is still there, it never really goes away, but he's got a better understanding of it

◇ Goes to a proper doctor and gets the help he needs. After a few therapist visits, he gets a prescription for it and now here he is.

◇ Since Kenny and Karen live so close Karen helps remind him to take his meds. She leaves him little snacks with every pills.

》 Skittles one day, M&Ms another, Cashews, and then a Reese's cup at the end of the week (I just like the idea of the group adopting Karen, but she adopts them back ya know?)

◇ No one else knows about this, Stan's a bit embarrassed by it but he finds it adorable that she's trying

◇ It makes him want to be better. So he works hard to keep a routine and a method.

◇ When he feels like he hates himself, he showers

◇ When he feels like he hates other people, he needs to eat

◇ When he feels withdrawal or if he's tired, he needs water.

◇ Has a special water bottle that Gary got him.

◇ Begs Kyle to go to the gym with him, he can't go alone he needs his buddy!

》 They end up making it a game. Who can push the other one to giving up.

》 Kyle does a certain number in a set, well Stan does one more. Stan runs for a certain amount of time on the treadmill, well Kyle runs faster and longer.

》 They pay for it in the morning but it's worth it

◇ Was the forever DM in his board game nights. He has all the D&D books, most of them are those special covered ones

◇ The local comic book store knows him well, and they save a book for him when they come out

◇ He still paints minis, for Christmas one year he got everyone's characters! Hand painted them and gave them out

》 He was so proud. And then Kenny lost his character the next session

》 Kenny's character is on the shelf near his books. Forever immortalized next to the players guide

◇ On days where everyone can't make it they play test a different system

◇ Wild Talents -> Superheros

◇ Deadlands -> Cowboys

◇ Traveler -> Sci-fi

◇ Red Market -> Zombie Apocalypse

◇ When Stan finally finishes his campaign and Kyle takes over, it takes him a minute to shift back into being a player! (I'm projecting)

◇ He has Wendy and Nichole over, of course! They can't make it all the time (Nichole has her own campaign that Stan's a part of and Wendy is a busy little lady), so they guest star!

◇ Gets together with Nichole and they plot ways to bully their players. (Rip Kenneth)

》 If people don't feel like playing TTRPGS he's got plenty of board games! (Honestly dude I can go on forever about this. I'm big time projecting, so I'm gonna end it here.)

◇ Stan loves his messenger bag, its got more patches in it then just the deftones on the side

◇ Collects band patches like a punk does for their jackets

◇ Anytime he goes to a local band gig he buys a patch (support local artists)

◇ Of course he has his guitar. Even if I didn't draw it!

◇ Cherry red guitar that he babies, he loves his guitar more then anything else he owns.

◇ Kyle got it for him when they both graduated high-school, it means the world to him

◇ His case for it has seen better days, most of the scratches are covered in stickers people have slapped on it.

◇ Honestly, he's got like one or two that he put on

◇ It's a game around the university: Get a Sticker on Marsh's Case

》 Craig's in the lead.

◇ Like Kyle does with Stan's inhaler. Stan carries insulin in his messenger bag for Kyle.

》 He knows Kyle doesn't pay attention to himself and lets his blood sugar drop so he also carries snacks

◇ The bright pink lighter and the lighter case was given to him by the guys, because that dummy always loses his lighter.

》 Every other day he's asking to borrow a lighter because he lost his

◇ Yet he knows where everyone of his guitar picks are, which is ridiculous

◇ Has a shit ton of them too, carries them in a little case!

◇ Stan will fist fight anyone who touches that brown journal, there's so much in there. (You know that feeling you get when someone asks to see your sketchbook? Yeah.)

◇ Lyrics for Crimson Dawn, poems that will never see the light of day, magic cards he uses as bookmarks,and campaign ideas

》 A few pages that have been ripped out and or burned out. Usually means he's had a bad day and needed to get it out

◇ The other thing he's protective of is his headphones, he's not sure why. There's nothing special about those white headphones. But they're his, and they got him through high-school.

◇ He was actually super happy about his Soul Synergy

◇ He already had a habit of doodling on his skin, so it was a surprise it manifested like this

◇ Kyle does get onto him about how often he marks on his skin. He orders Stan those Body Mark markers.

◇ When pictures or words show up on his skin it tickles, it's like he can feel the marker or pen

◇ That's the only part he hates, it tickles him and he's extremely ticklish (perish.)

◇ Doodles, lists, lyrics, and notes on things to do later. For some reason he's protective over all of them, and it makes him slightly sad when they go away.

It a few hours of sitting still, but it's finally done. Red takes a wipe and swipes it across his forearm, the moist wipe feels good against his skin. It's irritated from being poked over and over again, he can still feel the buzz of the needle.

The wipe reveals the jagged Soundwave tattoo stretching down his forearm. He smiles at it and almost goes to touch it, but stops himself. From the way his tattoo artist glares at him, he knows better.

He tries, he really does, to listen to Red as she goes through the steps on how to take care of it. But it's hard when he keeps staring at it, wondering if his little plan worked.

On the outside, it certainly seems narcissistic to get one's voice tattooed on one's self. But Stan could live with the whispers or the questions if it meant it was on the skin of his soulmate too. It wasn't anyone else's business what it was, that was between him and them.

After all Stan worked very hard to get that recording of him singing, You are my Sunshine, just right.

(Here's the blank ♡)

#south park #sp fanfiction #south park fanfiction #secret soulmate au #Stan Marsh #Soulmate au #south park fanart #drabble #headcanons #reader insert #south park x reader #x reader #soul synergy #shhh its a secret

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happysadyoyo · 7 months

Text

Part 2 of this from the time loop au

It won't let me reblog and add another read more. Stupid imo.

@pillowspace I'm tempted to write some major hurt next but idk if you would be comfortable being tagged in that.

You're dangling several feet off the ground, rotating very slowly in a circle. Below you, the arcade machines look like multi colored tiles, the carpets erratic 90's pattern (sure this place may be 80's themed, but those patterns scream pre-grunge early 90's) rendered mute by the distance.

What's scarier though is the drop to the next floor down. You got yoinked at the edge of the stairs, so the tips of your shoes poke past the safety bannister. If you fell...

"Brat." Moon's voice crackles on the word. He jerks you higher, into the safety of the rafters as the DJ drags his massive form over the machines, pushing open the bathroom doors with one hand to feel inside. Instinctively, you cover your mouth with your hands, your panicked breathing sounding loud even to you.

Moon shakes you a little and you find yourself staring directly into the red LEDs of his eyes. That smile is ever present, but he looks less a jester and more a predator. A cat, crouched and ready to pounce. You've seen a cat catch a mouse before. You hadn't ever thought what it'd be like to be the mouse.

"Are you going to drop me?" You finally managed to ask, hands still over your mouth. Moon's head rotates, just a little too much for it to look like a human motion.

"No," he finally says, and that's a small relief. "Should put in time out. Naughty naughty brats belong in time out."

"I'm not naughty," you protest. Moon's silence is incriminating. "Okay, it's a little bad to be here after closing but. But..." You hesitate. "I'm trying to help you." It wasn't a lie. It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie.

"I don't need help," he snaps back, lifting you higher. Your stomach sinks, and for one second you're convinced he's about to fling you to the ground. Instead, he sets you on one of the rafters, releasing your sweater at last.

You grab at the metal girder, heart thumping hard against your rib cage. "You do though. Don't you want to see the kids again? Like before?"

There's no response, and your fingers are starting to hurt from how hard you're clinging. Below you, the DJ is moving, searching for you. His music is thrumming in time with your heart. Or maybe it's you adjusting to it, trying to find a new rhythm after Moon scared you out of your old one.

"Moon?" You want to reach out, but that meant letting go. Trusting yourself not to fall. Trusting him. Do you trust him?

You wobble a little as you let go, leaning into the empty space. Moon flinches away, a hand raising, but you still brush your fingers over his faceplate. "Moon, I am your friend," you insist. "You have to know that. You have to."

How do you explain that you know him, that you've met him three times already, and you know how to save him. Save Sun.

"You're the assistant," he says, and the growl is back in his voice. "You're my replacement. Not a friend." He pulls away from your hand, and then he's gone, zipping away, towards the atrium. Leaving you stuck in place as the music dies down, your eyes starting to itch.

Several loops later, you won't remember the terror of making your way back down to the arcade, fighting tears so you could see where you're going. The fear will be wiped out by exhaustion and pain, emotional and physical, experienced over and over. But for now, right now, this might be the most painful rejection in your life.

Because it's Moon. And you know him. You know he's not truly malicious, that there's something wrong. And he has to know too. Why else did he save you from the DJ? Why else is he not currently hunting you down as you make it back to the ground and walk on shaky legs to the elevator? He knows you're a friend. He has to.

By the time you make it home, the sun is starting to peak out from the horizon. You pull your curtains in your bedroom, collapsing into bed without taking your shoes off. And finally, you let yourself cry. You cry, burying your face in your pillows, curling up tight. You cry, and you think distantly of fictional characters who get trapped in time loops too. What sort of monster would dream of a world like this? To repeat the same thing over and over, only to fail time and time again. Being the only one who remembered.

You fall asleep slowly, and when you wake, it's well past noon. Your body feels heavy, your eyes crusty. There's the start of a headache, medicine withdrawal. It's been over 24 hours, and your body is warning you. Your ear hurts. You find your hearing aid, dead, buried in the sheets. You put it on the nightstand to charge.

When you check your sweater, you're not surprised to find some of the yarn had been stretched out of place, frayed and torn bits where Moon's fingers dug in. You'd have to fix it before your next shift. The kids loved your sweater, found it as safe and secure as you did.

Your Fazwatch is dead too. On the charger it goes, cell phone next. There's a text, but you don't bother checking it. You know it's work, asking you to come in today. You had, twice before. You slept through it today.

It's after you shower and you're toweling off that you notice the bruise on your shoulder. You touch it and wince, remembering hitting the arcade. You hadn't expected it to still be so tender. Maybe the warm water did something? You look at it better in the mirror, catching sight of your face. You look tired. And paler than normal? You poke at your eyebags, squinting, trying to remember what you looked like before this started happening.

Maybe you shouldn't go in tomorrow.

#time loop au #dca #re major hurt think like yn actually remembering dying at moons hands level of hurt #okay sorry for spamming you today I'm going to go play minecraft now instead of sleep

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writing-blog-iguess · 9 months

Text

Online Matchup 4

Summery: Y/N makes a trip back home last minute, ruining Jason's plan for a breakfast date, but that won't stop him from coming up with a different plan.

Warning: swearing, talk of surgery, Jason's being a sweetheart, fluff

A/n: this is becoming one of my comfort fics to write, and I can't be mad about it. I'm glad you guys are enjoying it. Feedbacks always welcome

Words: 3097

Ao3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

——

October 8

Jason (6:40am) Good morning How are you this beautiful morning?

Y/N Why in the everloving fuck are you awake at six in the morning?

Jason Aren’t you a potty mouth in the early mornings Someone should teach you a lesson

Y/N It’s to early for anything right now

Jason’s May I remind you, that you’re awake this early too

Y/N My sister decided it was the perfect time to call me Apparently it couldn’t wait until I was awake enough to call her back And now I can’t sleep

Jason Everything okay?

Y/N Define okay?

Jason It’s your dad isn’t it?

Y/N Yeah I don’t know, I don’t want to talk about it

Jason Fair enough

Y/N Now answer my question

Jason Demanding Wanted to know how you were doing after last night

Y/N Better now that I’ve slept I wish I could sleep longer tho Though my eyes hurt and it feels like I have a hangover

Jason Consequences of crying before bed

Y/N Make it go away

Jason Wanna meet for breakfast? Y/N?

Y/N (8:35am) Oh, sorry I fell asleep

Jason Uh huh It has nothing to do with the fact that I asked if you wanted to go for breakfast

Y/n Mm don’t know what you’re talking about And isn’t there a rule where a guy has to wait a least three days Before you ask the girl out again

Jason Apparently My brother advised me the same thing But since I could care less what he thinks about my relationship I have decided to ignore him and take the plunge and ask you anyways Besides he barely listens to his own advice So to each their own I guess

Y/N Why do I get the feeling that you ignore your brother a lot

Jason Couldn’t tell you So, breakfast?

Y/N Uh, wish I could But I have a train to catch

Jason Where’s it going?

Y/N Metropolis

Jason You're going home? Why so sudden?

Y/n The call with my sister? Apparently my dad is having surgery and my mom wants everyone there until he’s done Don’t know why I have to go, by the time I’m there it’ll probably be over

Jason Yikes What’s the surgery for?

Y/N Dunno, something to do with something? I’m not sure, I was half asleep when she called And she used that to her advantage and got me to agree to go home today

Jason Don’t you have class tomorrow?

Y/N Not until the afternoon

Jason Work?

Y/n Not until Tuesday

Jason Huh

Y/n Yup tbh I rather spend my Sunday with you then go home But it’s family and I can’t say no to my sister

Jason I get that family’s first But I would choose you over my family

Y/n … You can’t just say that!

Jason But flustering you is becoming my favourite past time

Y/n Get a new one!

Jason Nah, don’t think I will Okay, so no breakfast How about I drop you off at the station?

Y/N Tempting But if you do, then I’ll miss the train Because I wanna kiss your stupid face And besides, I’m almost there

Jason My face isn’t stupid … You wanna kiss me? Colour me flattered

Y/n I rescind my statement

Jason Can’t do that, it’s in writing Hold on, when you said you were sleeping You were actually packing, weren’t you?

Y/N Guilty I’m sorry I’ve spent thirty minutes debating on whether or not to ditch my family for you

Jason But in the end you’re ditching me Feels like your running from something I see how it is

Y/N I’m sorry D: I’m not running away or anything

Jason It’s okay, really I’m not mad or anything Okay, maybe a little disappointed But he’s your dad and you don’t know when’s the next time you see him So it’s okay, don’t feel bad I’ll wait around until your back And I know your not, I just took the joke too far and I’m sorry

Y/n I’m still sorry

Jason Can I call you?

Y/N Uhhhhhhh Give me a minute

Jason Take as much time as you need I can wait

Y/n Sweet of you But I needed to find a seat first And then my headphones

Jason So You’re good now?

Y/n Yup

It didn’t take more than a second before your phone rang after you sent the message.

“I thought you wanted to call?” you answered, moving your phone so Jason could see your face. He shrugged, shooting you a smile.

“Wanted to see your pretty face is all,” he said, and you could feel your face heat up at the compliment. Averting your eyes, you sink in your seat, trying to hide your face in your sweater. “Awe, is this what you look like when you get flustered? There’s no way I can't stop flustering you now. If this is what your reaction is going to be every time I do.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you mumbled into your sweater, and wondered if he heard that. Judging by the smile he gave you, he did.

“Nah, I don’t think so. You called my face pretty and you wanted to kiss it,” he said. That made you come out of your sweater and glared at him.

“I think I said stupid face,” you corrected, “you have a stupid face.”

“That you want to kiss,” Jason pointed out with a smile. You stuck out your tongue at him, making him laugh. “How’s the train ride?”

You shrugged, shifting in your seat trying to get comfortable. “A train ride I guess. We just left the station and it’ll be two hours until we get to Metropolis? My butts gonna hurt once I get there.”

“Gotta walk around once in a while,” Jason reminded, “did you bring anything for the ride?”

“Yeah, homework I still need to finish, my sketchbook and some books I’ve been meaning to read.”

“Sounds like a party,” Jason joked. You huffed out a laugh.

“Oh yeah, real life of the party over here.”

Before either of you could continue, you faintly heard a door slamming open and closing before hearing a faint call of Jason! You promised me breakfast! From what you could make out, it was a female voice and you pushed down the bout of jealousy that came from nowhere. You didn’t have the right to be jealous. Jason wasn’t yours, he was his own person and you two weren’t seeing each other officially. He was free to do what he pleased. Still, you couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt.

You watched as Jason scowled, and turned towards the voice. “Yeah, give me a minute I’m on the phone.”

You schooled your features and raised an eyebrow as he turned back to his phone. “You already had breakfast plans, yet you still tried to make them with me? Wow Jason, didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not a two timing bitch,” he clarified and you blanched at the statement. Damn, and you thought you hid it well. “And like I said before, I’d ditch my family for you any day of the week without question.”

“Aw Jason, you’d ditch your own sister! I see how it is,” the female voice said. Jason made a face as a blond haired girl came into frame, hanging off of Jason’s shoulders. Her nose pressed into his cheek and she smiled. “Tell me how you really feel, Jason.”

“Okay, I will,” he said, shoving her off, “you’re an annoying little shit.” She laughed and turned towards the phone. She was pretty, you had to admit.

“Oh, Tim’s right. You are cute,” she said, and you pulled your sweater over your mouth, trying to keep a laugh in as Jason looked offended.

“Steph!” he yelled, shoving her face out of frame. “Go away.”

“No, you promised me breakfast last night, and I demand pancakes,” she said, coming back in, shoving Jason out of frame as she did so. She turned to you and smiled. “Hello, I’m Jason’s sister Stephanie. You must be Y/N, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard virtually nothing about you.”

“And I’m trying to keep it that way,” he grunted, pushing her away. The two fought until finally they settled with Stephanie leaning on his shoulder. “How’d you even know their name?”

“Tim,” she answered. You raised your eyebrow in question. “He gets bored when he has nothing to do. And he decided to snoop around Jason’s life.”

“Well I’ll try not to be offended,” you said, though you furrowed your brows in concern. “Should I be worried?”

“I don’t think so,” Stephanie hummed, “not unless you have something to hide.”

“Do you have something to hide?” Jason pressed, a teasing smile dancing on his lips. You puffed out your cheeks and looked away.

“Oooh you do,” Stephanie sang, “tell us before we find out from Tim.”

“Tim needs to mind his own fucking business,” you muttered to yourself, causing Jason to laugh. “And no, I have nothing to hide. Lived a pretty boring life.”

“Don’t know, you tried killing your sister once,” Jason mused.

“I didn’t try on purpose! I pushed her off the deck into the lake,” you corrected, “and my dad got to her before anything could happen. Man, he was pissed. I feared for my life that day. I’ve never known fear until I saw the look he gave me.” You shuddered at the memory.

“How old were you?” Stephanie asked, worry laced in her words. You shrugged, staring at the corner of your phone, avoiding their gaze.

“Ten I think? Could be younger, I don’t know. Thought it would be funny, and it was until it wasn’t.”

“Did he hurt you?” Jason asked, you shook your head and moved your gaze to him.

“No. But the way he looked, he wanted to. If we were alone he probably would have. I booked it into the car and hid there until we went home. Then I hid in my room for the rest of the day.”

“Yikes. Why was he so mad? Bruce wouldn’t have been if we did something like that.”

“That’s because we knew how to take care of ourselves and we knew how to swim,” Jason pointed out.

“And he probably doesn’t have favourites,” you chimed in. You hummed in thought, ignoring the worried looks the two siblings were giving you. “But he doesn’t strike me as picking a favourite among his kids, unless he’s really good at hiding it. But no parent is that good at hiding that.”

“Have experience, do you?” Jason asked, you only hummed not wanting to elaborate. You aren’t sure how, but what was supposed to be a lighthearted conversation turned sour. You scrunched up your nose as a thought occurred to you. If it was this easy to talk to both Jason and Stephanie, you were afraid how the rest of his family would be. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“What you guys are having for breakfast,” you said instead of you voicing your thoughts.

“Ooh yes. I did come here for breakfast,” Stephanie said, as if she had forgotten the reason for being here. She turned to him and poked his cheek. “Make me pancakes with bacon and ham and eggs and everything.”

“How can you eat so much and not gain anything,” Jason grumbled as he moved off the couch and towards the kitchen. Stephanie shifted slightly so she was more centered to the camera.

“I work out,” she simply said with a shrug. Jason grumbled something, and since he was too far away you couldn’t hear what he said. “So, how’d you meet Jason anyways? Tim won’t say and Jason doesn’t want to talk about you when asked.”

“That’s because you pester me so much that I don’t want to talk about them,” Jason called, “and you don’t have to answer anything you want too, Y/N. Don’t let Stephanie bully you into answering questions.”

“It’s okay, Jason, I don’t mind. I know what it’s like to have siblings,” you said with a smile. “We met online. Started talking a few weeks back and haven’t stopped since.”

“Ah, you guys are still new,” Stephanie mused, “that means you can still back out before you guys get too serious.” You laughed at the same time Jason yelled hey! “Kidding, I’m kidding. I haven’t seen Jason happy in awhile. Please stick around, he’s more bearable when he’s happy.”

You watched as Jason stalked towards her, and plucked the phone from her. “If all you came here for was to make fun of me, you can go home without your food.”

“Noooo, Jason I’m sorry,” you heard Stephanie whine. And you couldn't be sure, but you saw Stephanie grovel a little bit on the floor. Although Stephanie couldn’t see Jason’s expression, you could and smiled at the little smile he shot you.

“Then go take a shower, you stink,” he said, and she was quick to race to the bathroom. “Your clothes are still here from last time!” he called and set the phone down so watch him as he prepared breakfast. “Sorry about her. I completely forgot she was coming over today.”

“No worries,” you dismissed, watching in awe as Jason cut up some vegetables with ease. “She was fun to talk to.”

“Prefer her over me, huh?”

“Nope. I like you more,” you said. “Where’d you learn how to cook?”

“Alfred taught me when I was young, and I kept going afterwards. Found it helped me when things got too stressed,” he explained. “Stress cooking is a lot healthier than other ways to deal.”

“I get that,” you mused, “I stress clean.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he grunted. He stopped for a moment and looked towards you; eyes narrowed. “Did you have breakfast this morning?” You bit the top of your lip and avoided looking at him. “Y/N,” Jason said in warning.

“It was too early to eat!” you cracked, “I had a coffee and that was it.” Jason shook his head, going back to his food.

“I hope you eat something soon.”

“I packed some snacks. But they’re nothing compared to what you’re making for breakfast.”

“Well next time actually eat something or else I’ll just have to come over and cook for you.”

“That a threat?”

“No, more like a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said with a smile.

“Stop flirting and cook me my food!” Stephanie yelled after the quickest shower you have ever seen someone take.

“So fucking demanding,” Jason grunted as you laughed.

“I should let you go so you can focus on the food instead of getting distracted,” you mused.

“But you’re the only kind of distraction I’d like,” he said, and you heard Stephanie gag. Laughing, you shook your head, trying to keep from blushing. “Okay maybe you’re right. Or otherwise, I’m going to throw Steph out the window.”

“Ha! I would like to see you try!”

Jason rolled his eyes and flicked them towards you. “Let me know when you’re there?”

“I can do that.”

---

Y/N (11:30 am) Ugh, I hate train rides

Jason Could have flown

Y/N Yeah but train tickets are cheaper

Jason True Made it in one piece?

Y/N Yup Now I’m making my way to the hospital

Jason Someone picking you up?

Y/n Nah, I’m taking the bus Need the extra time before I get there

Jason I get that

Y/n How was breakfast?

Jason Good Though it would be better if it was you

Y/n Stoooooooopppppppp

Jason Never I’m sorry about Steph, we can be a handful sometimes

Y/n No worries, I like her Is the rest of your family that energetic?

Jason Some yeah, the rest are just tamed

Y/n Sounds fun

Jason Oh yeah, the best

Y/n I can hear the sincerity from here

Jason Almost to the hospital?

Y/n Yeah I gotta go

Jason Tell me how it goes

Y/N (2:40 pm) I shouldn’t have come Why did I say yes?

Jason Because you were sleep deprived and you can’t say no to your sister Also because your dads in the hospital

Y/n Right He’s fine by they way, now he’s just recovering Doctors say they did what they could and he’ll be out of here in a couple of days

Jason Figured out what the surgery was about?

Y/N Nope and at this point I’m too afraid to ask

Jason Wow Why do you have regrets?

Y/n I don’t know how or why But somehow my sister figured out I was seeing someone Or at least talking to someone and kept pestering me until I told them I’ve been bamboozled

Jason Guess I’m not your dirty little secret anymore huh

Y/n Guess it wasn’t meant to be Oh well can’t be helped

Jason So now that your dads fine, you coming home?

Y/n No Somehow I have been convinced to stay the night and take the morning train in the morning Which sucks, I already bought my ticket for tonight

Jason That’s rough buddy

Y/n Can’t be helped I guess Now I get to play 20 questions

Jason But at least you get to spend time with your family

Y/n True

Jason you know, if you want I can drive up there and take the train with you

Y/N That is very sweet of you and very tempting But you have work and I don’t want to inconvenience you

Jason You’re not an inconvenience If anything, you’d be doing me a favour I have the day off tomorrow and I’ve been meaning to do something I’m not very good at doing nothing

Y/N What about your bike?

Jason When I said drive, I meant the loosely I’d take the train or fly Or I can drive us back I have a car too, you know

Y/N Where would you stay?

Jason I have a friend living there that I’ve been meaning to visit Plus we can go for breakfast tomorrow before making the trip back

Y/N Very tempting But ultimately I’m not going to tell you what to do It’d be your choice

Jason See you in the morning then

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd gn!reader #batman imagine #online match up #my writing

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jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue · 1 year

Note

i had forgotten about bleeding butterflies part 14!!!! omw to read it right now.

but girl… i was thinking about a drabble 👀 for the ceo fic, namjoon or someone eating y/n out in the kitchen before they leave to an important meeting

DON'T FORGET TO TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF IT! I'm a needy writer atm.

So you wanted a drabble and I ended up writing a mini chapter 🤦🏽‍♀️ although I tweaked it a little, I hope you don't mind.

Warnings: smut, jealousy, oral (female receiving), maknaes causing their usual shit.

Namjoon’s head hangs low, his back hunched as he looks at his hands sadly.

“Did someone die?” You ask the room, half seriously half trying to lighten the mood.

The other CEOs look away from you, trying to hide their expressions from the lead CEO but inadvertently from you too.

“Babe what’s wrong?” You ask Namjoon, dropping your things at the door and kneeling beside him so you could see his solemn expression. Worry drummed through your veins as you take it in, you can’t breathe.

“The copying machine died,” he says completely heart broken

You inhale deeply in shock… what? The copying machine you wanted to throw down the stairs on your first day working with them? Finally, it died? Hallelujah! You glance at the other CEOs, finally noticing the amusement in their eyes that they were hiding so as not to offend Namjoon.

Soon you find yourself struggling to hide the same expression, bowing your head to the floor in an attempt to conceal it. You felt terrible for him, you did, he had some sort of weird affection for the bane of everyone’s existence at the company, but honestly you were slightly tempted to work for them again now you knew it was dead.

“Should we hold a funeral?” Taehyung mutters under his breath to Jimin, audible enough for you all to hear along with the shorter CEO’s snicker.

Jin gives them a half hearted glare of warning, expecting them to be considerate when Namjoon looked like his whole world came crashing down.

“It may not mean anything to anyone else,” he sighs. “But it was the first thing I bought for that company.”

“Aww Joonie,” you rub his knee in comfort, pouting up at him with all the sympathy you could muster. It was cute, the way your ex boss and now boyfriend who could command a room with a breath looked so distraught over something so trivial.

“It’s the sentimental value,” he further explains as if trying to justify his sadness, eyes imploring for you to understand him when the others were ridiculing him.

“I know Joonbug,” you rise from your crouching position, arms around his neck as you embrace your soft hearted boyfriend as you sit beside him.

“You know Kitten, I was really sad about it too,” Yoongi says emphatically, drowning his tone in pity. You look at him amused, arms still encircled around Namjoon who decides to bury his head in your neck, shaking your head at his attempts to gain your attention.

“I bet,” you say, knowing exactly what he was up to.

“I was really sad about it too,” Jimin tries to play the same game.

“You just laughed at Hyung’s pain,” Jungkook calls him out, earning an elbow to his side for the comment.

“Did you have a good day at work, Sunshine?” Hobi asks as Jin sighs at the youngest three, now bickering amongst themselves.

“Mmmm,” you say before yawning, tiredness setting into your bones as you play with Namjoon’s hair. “Had a lot of stuff to catch up with.”

Your eyes narrow at the troublesome trio, it was your first day back at work from the holiday and your managers were not sympathetic to your sick leave at all. All three of them grin back at you with no remorse, slight guilt of course, but no regrets whatsoever.

“Why is it when you three play your games the rest of us have to deal with the aftermath?” Yoongi grumbles in thought, hating that you were probably overworked today.

“As if you don’t play any games yourself hyung,” Jimin retorts, personally offended, glaring at him.

“Games, I might point out, we’ve kept secret for you,” Taehyung’s deep timbre is uncharacteristically serious, annoyance spiking at the accusation. “Despite the fact you rat us out at every opportunity.”

Yoongi looks sheepishly away, unable to defend himself as the others look between the squabbling sides.

“What secret?” Namjoon suddenly straightens, his interest piqued while both Yoongi and yourself give the 95 line warning glances.

“Should we all have dinner?” You suddenly suggest while your palms start to sweat. “I’m starving.”

Namjoon looks at you suspiciously while Jin and Hoseok try not to burst out laughing at the unintended innuendo relating to the inside secret the rest of them barring the lead CEO were privy to. You, on the other hand, were trying to act innocent as if your life depended on it. You try to stand but a firm hold on your wrist pulls you back to the sofa.

“What don’t I know?” Namjoon asks, creases appearing above his brows as he frowns.

“You guys are dead,” Yoongi mutters seethingly to the duo who look all too proud of themselves, standing with their arms crossed as they watch the aftermath of their revelation pan out.

Seokjin sighs at the childishness of it all, although he has to admit it is entertaining watching you and Yoongi squirm.

“Do you remember how we made the rule not to rush anything with Sunshine?” Hoseok says with a toothy grin, earning himself a look of betrayal from his closest friend.

“And the rule about not messing about at work?” Jin adds, “Well when beautiful was working with us anyway.”

“You mean the rule to be professional that baby girl set herself?” Namjoon’s one eyebrow shoots through the roof as he stares a hole into the side of your face, you however have your eyes to the ceiling trying to find that lost eye brow of his. Maybe it left the room, you should go look for it…

“That exact one, yes,” the oldest confirms with a smirk.

Was it suddenly getting hot in here? Someone should open a window, you would but there was a serious CEO currently attached to your wrist like a handcuff.

“What did you both do?” Namjoon asks when neither you or Yoongi elaborate voluntarily.

“What you always wanted to do,” Jin sympathetically pats Namjoon’s shoulder while the rest of them lose it with laughter.

“Do you remember the day you went into Yoongi hyung’s office looking for Sunshine but she wasn’t there?” Hoseok looks too pleased with himself as Namjoon nods after a moment of recollection. “She was there…”

Your ears are on fire, how do you always find yourself in this position? Why was it always you!

The man beside you is all too quiet for a moment, and you can feel your throat start to seize at his silence.

“Where exactly was she?” his voice is gruff, already knowing the answer but asking for confirmation anyway.

“Under hyung’s desk,” Jimin states bluntly, looking at Yoongi as if he won the war between them. “But what were you doing there angel?”

You curse him loudly in your head, if looks could kill he’d be dead by both yours and Yoongi’s eyes.

“Not being a good girl that's for sure,” Taehyung says smiling before the duo start laughing so hard Jimin almost falls to the floor.

“That’s enough,” Jungkook takes pity on you both, albeit the secret was something he had been a little jealous over for a while. They all put it out of their minds, otherwise it would cause an insecurity in them.

Yoongi was the only one you broke the rule for, it was a bit hard for them to accept and digest without falling into a rabbit hole.

“And I was the only one who didn’t know?” Namjoon says quietly, making that guilty feeling suddenly fill you to the brim. This was great, first his printer dies and now he finds out he was betrayed by the love of his life and his best friend. All this just after your recent betrayal with the maknaes.

“Joonie it wasn’t on purpose,” you whine slightly, voice small as you finally look at him.

“Nothing’s on purpose with you,” he mutters, that was always the excuse when one of them dragged you into something.

“Joon, that's not fair,” Hobi remarks, knowing he was only lashing out because he was hurt. “You know how irresistible we are to sunshine.”

He winks at you, hoping to lighten the atmosphere now that the consequences of their pandoras box was coming to fruit.

—

He’s not dressed for work yet when he goes down to the kitchen for a morning coffee, halting at the door when he sees you already there and dressed to leave early. His gaze hardens, sleep leaving him completely as he takes you in.

He strides towards you, power in every step, making your figure press against the kitchen counter at his demeanour. After yesterday's altercation he hid himself in his room and locked the door to clear his thoughts, but he couldn’t, they were plagued by the thought that Min Yoongi got to touch you first, have you first when he thought he was the first one. It was stupid and he knew it but it still caused that vein in his temple to pulse threateningly.

“Are you still mad at me?” you ask, looking at him timidly as he stood in front of you breaking him out of his tumultuous thoughts.

He shook his head, eyes penetrating yours with such intensity you were struggling not to squirm. No, if he was honest he wasn’t angry at you at all, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want payback.

“No baby girl,” his voice is gruff, a dangerous smirk playing on his face, “I’m hungry.”

You swallow at the sound of his sexy timbre that never failed to make your knees weak.

“Oh, umm,” you forget how to breathe, trying to remember as you find your words again. “I could make you some pancakes, or there’s cereal?”

He chuckles under his breath, the aura around him not dampening at all.

“We’re both going to be late for work today,” he states as matter of fact, the decision already made, looking at you amused before he kneels in front of you, not breaking his stare for a second. Your jaw drops at the sight of him, your body reacting to his position while your brain lags behind.

That dimple of his was going to be the death of you.

He pulls the waistband of your work trousers down, kissing the skin just above your hip as he does leaving your panties in place. He’s pleasantly surprised you don’t put up a fight when he removes the trousers completely.

“Any important meetings today?” he asks, his voice low you almost fail to catch it with the way your blood is pumping in your ears at the anticipation of where his lips were going to fall next. To your dismay it's just an inch above where you need him, so close but too far away for you to handle. You shake your head desperately in answer, fuck meetings, who the hell cared when Kim Namjoon was kneeling in front of you like you were something to worship.

He chuckles again, causing you to whine, fidgeting as you feel your underwear dampen. He finally breaks eye contact with you, looking directly at your heat and that cute little wet patch forming.

“That’s good,” is all he says before the next kiss is placed right where you need him. You’d be embarrassed by how you brace yourself against the counter behind you if the build up didn’t feel so damn good. His hands stroke the sides of your thighs, knowing you were going to struggle to hold yourself up once he started.

He grins before diving in, sucking you through the fabric, his tongue licking you like he was making out with your lips.

“Joonie,” you call for him deliciously, whining in complaint at the remaining barrier between you both. It's all too much and nowhere near enough, and yet this dulled sensation made your legs wobble, you were only just managing to hold yourself up with your arms locked on the counter tops. You want to grab his hair, you want to pull the damn underwear off yourself but you know if you move you’ll fall.

It’s like he can hear your thoughts, or he’s taking pity on you, you don’t know or care. He hoists one leg up onto his broad shoulder, the other hand shifting the fabric to the side as his tongue touches you freely. Your head falls back, eyes shut at the sensation as a moan slips from your open lips, your hips thrusting into him as if you were trying to ride his face.

Namjoon could feel you throb against his mouth, groaning against you at your taste, grinning when he heard you whimper at the sensation. All those fucking rules, for what? When he could’ve had this earlier? He would never forgive himself, or you. He pulls you impossibly closer at the thought, eyes closed in focus as he makes out with your pussy harder, as if he was punishing you for keeping this away from him for so long.

You can barely hold yourself up, on the brink of crying with how good he was making you feel, you can’t reign in your voice, always more pent up and sensitive in the mornings, your high within reach so quickly, he can tell.

“Close baby girl?” he says condescendingly without breaking contact from your mound, if he could he’d stay here all day, he wouldn’t move an inch from this position of heaven he was in.

“Joo-nm p-plea-se don’t stop,” you begged unashamed, gyrating your hips faster against him as if it would get you there quicker before he could take it all away. You knew him, if he really wanted to punish you he would stop you on the edge and you couldn’t let him, you had to cum, your body was screaming for release. The second he pauses you cry out in protest, he pins you in place with his stare, holding your hips from forcing him back on you.

“As if you wouldn’t run upstairs and ask Yoongi hyung to finish you off,” he scoffs, challenging you to prove him wrong, prove to him that he was just as important, just as good at getting you off. He almost gives in to you at the sight of those tears escaping the corners of your eyes, the groan from your lips as the high you were chasing fades against your wishes. You had to grasp it back, it was so close.

“Daddy please,” you almost sob in desperation, making all his thoughts go blank at the word. His dick throbbed at the sound, reminding him of the situation in his pants that he was trying hard to ignore for the semblance of control. Gone, out the fucking window, just with one word, the hold you had over him scared him out of his wits. He doesn’t even realise he’s given in until you moan out for him again, lapping at your folds like a starved man, trying to get you there whether you deserved it or not.

“Ah please, Jooni-” You cry out unbashful, words turning more incoherent the closer you got, almost tasting it. “So good, so close.”

He hums against you as if giving you permission to let go, and you didn’t it was what you were waiting for, tensing as you drown him in your release, his tongue working you as you come down. The slow stroke of his hands on your skin reminds you to breathe, not realising you held it for so long at how hard your orgasm hit you. You pant, trying to force air into your lungs as your brain goes fuzzy.

He didn’t want to stop, his lips still attached to you although softer than before, the overstimulation so early in the morning was overwhelming, but you couldn’t push him away, not when you were still holding yourself up like your life depended on it.

“Joon we’re already going to be late,” you huff out as if you were annoyed. “Can you just fuck me already?”

He chuckles at that, finally detaching from you to grin up at you. He was covered in you, and the sight was all it took for you to lose your senses and lean down to kiss him, tasting yourself on him, making a mess but not caring at all.

“Fuck me please,” you say inbetween kisses.

He’s about to give in, about to speak when you’re both interrupted.

“Not in the kitchen!” Seokjin’s voice yells as he passes by, leaving for the office, the others also on their way out.

You both look at each other, laughing quietly at being reprimanded. He stands up from being on his knees for so long, no ache visible on his face as his dimples stand out at you. He leans in, arms encasing you where you stood, pressing himself against you so you feel how hard he is. The length of him makes you salivate, all previous humour at the situation gone as you look up at him in hunger.

His lips encompass yours, no move to leave the room at Jin’s request. He was going to kill you both, but Namjoon was embracing his new philosophy as he rutted against you, tongue shoving though your parted lips like a preview of how he was going to fuck you. He had a new lease on life, fuck the rules.

#ceo au ask #bb ask #okay I officially suck at writing smut and I’m just gonna accept it #but it’s a drabble so I’m not gonna think too deeply about it #ceo au drabble #ask me things #bts ceo au #bts au #bts x reader #bts smut #bts ot7 x reader #bts ceo!au #bts drabble #Namjoon smut #bts poly!au #bts polyamory #bts poly #poly bts

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