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casuallyimagining · 11 months

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Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), alcohol, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always. and extra thanks to ella for helping me write Yoongi's letters and to my friend tanya for giving me a super helpful base for the ending.

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block is the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days.

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified.

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It takes a second. He can hear shuffling around on the other side of the door, so he knows his knock was heard. But the longer it takes, the sweatier his hands get, and the more he considers turning and running away. The door opens before he can make a move.

You stand in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the living room lamp behind you. And shit, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. In many ways, you haven’t changed since the last time he saw you, but at the same time, you look so different. He can see in your eyes the moment the realization hits, and your expression changes drastically. You looked tired–and Yoongi can sense that it goes deeper than just physical exhaustion–and you were slouching, but now, you’re standing ramrod straight, and there’s a hard look in your eyes. One he knows all too well.

“Hey.” He raises a hand, offers a wave that, in hindsight, is rather pathetic. You stare at him, unblinking, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “I uh… I heard about your parents,” he says softly, scuffing his shoe against the wood of the porch. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“Brave of you to show up.” You sound almost bored, but Yoongi knows–he senses, in that kind of primal, gut feeling he gets when it comes to you–that it’s an act. “You know I could turn you into a bug and squash you if I wanted to.”

“I know.”

There’s a tense moment where you stare at each other, the scowl you wear pulling your lips downward and creasing your brow. But then you heave an exhausted sigh.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I…”

I want to apologize.

I’m so sorry.

I miss you.

It all catches in his throat. He coughs in a meager attempt to entice something–anything–to come out of his mouth. “I wanted you to have this.”

He holds out his hands, and in an instant, he’s holding a box. It’s full but not heavy, and he thrusts it out in front of him in your direction.

“A 10-year-old shoebox?” You do nothing to mask your surprise.

“Letters,” he corrects. “You don’t have to read them but… I wanted you to have them.” He pushes the box into your arms, leaving you no choice but to take it. Then, he steps away and nods his head. “Thank you for not turning me into a bug. I am sorry about your parents. I… guess I’ll go.”

Without another word, he trots down the porch steps. And then, in a blink, he’s gone. Disappeared into the night.

You sigh and shut the door, the box he’d given you cradled in the crook of your arm. You don’t have the energy for this right now. Honestly, you aren’t sure that you’ll ever have the energy for it, but certainly not the day before your parents’ funeral.

Whoever had decided that witches and their familiars die together clearly never thought of the ones left behind.

You collapse onto the couch, placing the box beside you. This would be easier if you weren’t alone. It would be easier with Yoongi, your brain supplies less than helpfully. You curse yourself. You curse him. After all these years, you thought you were over it, over the abandonment, over the betrayal. But all it takes is for him to show his stupid face, and you can feel it all bubbling up anew. Angrily, you push the box off the couch. It explodes when it hits the floor, what seems like thousands of pieces of paper tumble out and scatter from the force.

The forest was almost silent as you stalked the trail. Not even the birds were happy that day. Twigs snapped under your feet. You weren’t even paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you along the path that you’d hiked countless times before. You needed to get away, to escape, to calm down. But you couldn’t, because what you were running away from was hot on your heels.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say in that moment.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing,” he continued. “I just… I don’t know. I need to do this.”

You stopped, sliding a little on the damp new growth below your feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not being oppressed, Yoongi. No one’s stopping you from going out and exploring the world.”

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were six years old and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone.

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

There’s a saying your mother told you once, back when you were a child. You and Yoongi had found a turtle in the woods, stuck in the mud. His little turtle leg had been hurt, and you’d rushed it to your mother immediately. Familiars were excellent with animals, and she was no exception, healing the turtle in days when it should have taken weeks. You and Yoongi had both cried when you had to release it back into the wild–you’d both so wanted it to be your friend. ‘If you love something, set it free,’ your mother had said, ‘Sometimes it’s the kindest option.’

Kinder for whom?

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering.

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the gem cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger.

He didn’t follow you as you walked away, and honestly, it was for the best. It was faint, but you could still feel his emotions, and you weren’t sure you could handle that kind of heartache in person.

There is paper everywhere. Hundreds of pieces, folded neatly in thirds. You have no idea how Yoongi had fit them all into the shoebox. He must’ve enchanted it. Groaning, you start to pick them up.

Letters, he’d said. You flip through some as you gather them up. Now that they’re on the floor, they aren’t in any particular order, but it quickly becomes clear that these letters span years. There are some from 12 years ago, written shortly after he’d left. Some are more recent. You stare at one, from December of the year he left. Glancing through it, you expect it to unearth your anger, your rage. But it doesn’t. Just like seeing him again, all Yoongi’s letter brings is sadness. Grief.

You’d spent the past 12 years grieving. Sure, he hadn’t died, but when he left, you’d lost the closest relationship you would ever have. In 17 years, you’d grown so accustomed to having him there, that when he was gone, there was a Yoongi-sized hole left in your life that you had to learn to fill. And you did your best, sewing yourself back together and moving on. But it wasn’t the same.

Glancing through his letter, it seems you weren’t the only one struggling. You aren’t sure if that’s a comfort or not.

It’s been almost a year since the night market–one year since everything started crumbling around us. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It felt right in the moment, didn’t it? I really thought you would understand.

I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. But shit, I can’t wrap my head around it. Why did you react like that when I told you I just wanted to be free?

At the end of the day, I guess we didn’t understand each other as much as I thought we did. As much as this bond brings us together, I guess it doesn’t reveal everything. But… that night I just wanted to kiss you, and so I did. Maybe it was selfish. Sometimes I wish the bond didn’t exist, that we could just be free to choose things for ourselves. That we weren't forced into what the universe wants from us… Maybe that’s selfish, too.

Why couldn’t you understand? I just wish I could turn back time and make you understand. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me, and maybe then I’d stop hating myself too.

Because watching you destroy the gem nearly killed me, but it wasn’t half as bad as watching you walk away. Should I have run after you?

Would you still be there if I had?

You sigh and lean back against your couch. That damn night market. You hadn’t been back to it since the year he’d kissed you. It’s silly, but a part of you blames it for everything that happened. Because Yoongi’s letter is right. It had marked the beginning of everything going wrong. It wouldn’t change anything, but there’s a part of you that won’t listen to logic, that refuses to believe that maybe, if he hadn’t kissed you–if you hadn’t kissed him back–he wouldn’t have left.

The night market was beautiful. It always was, but that year was particularly beautiful. The park had been decorated in all of its sparkling, winter glory. Candles twinkled in the trees, suspended by sheer force of will. Through some magic you weren’t familiar with, they’d enchanted the sky, and an aurora shimmered far above, slowly swirling in greens and blues and purples. Snow fell gently, and you weren’t sure if it was natural, or if it was also magic.

You browsed the various tents and tables, going from one to the other to see the different things people were selling. Some had crafts, others baked goods, and some were even selling things like potion ingredients and spellbooks. There were a few tables dedicated to familiars–books on shifting and specialty items and insets and jewelry for bond gems.

Yoongi followed you closely, clutching a hot chocolate. You knew he wasn’t cold, the temperature was nowhere near low enough for either of you to be uncomfortable, but the way his fingers tapped against the paper cup, you knew something was up. You could sense his anxiety, could feel it in the pit of your own stomach.

“Want to go sit?” you asked softly, gesturing over to the picnic tables they’d set up under one of the sparkling trees.

His eyes widened. “No, that’s okay. You’re looking.”

“I’m done. Let’s go sit.”

“I-” He deflated a little and didn’t argue further, allowing you to lead him over to one of the tables.

You sat side by side on the bench, backs against the table, and watched the snow fall around you. The night was peaceful, quiet for the most part except for the occasional laughter that bubbled up. Most of the older crowd had left, leaving only the teens and young adults to explore the market. You watched the other festival goers in silence, Yoongi’s arm pressed against your own.

“You okay?” you asked softly, bumping your shoulder into his own.

Yoongi being quiet was nothing new. He was an observer, a listener, he took in information like a sponge. Which wasn’t to say that he was never loud and boisterous, that he didn’t talk incessantly to the people he cared about. But he was absolutely the calmest presence you’d ever been around, even compared to the adults in your life.

But you could sense what he was feeling, could feel his nerves and unease and conflict. And you knew that he’d rather explode than burden anyone with his feelings. So you prodded. Ever so gently. Because he was your best friend, and when he was suffering, you were too.

He stayed quiet, and when you turned to look at him, he was much closer than you were expecting. A moment passed. You shared a look. You’d always thought that Yoongi’s eyes were pretty, but in the twinkling light of the candles above, they were deep pools of warm, dark cedar and flecks of honey. Slowly, subtly, he leaned in–or maybe you did, you weren’t sure– as though some mysterious force was drawing you together. An emotion flashed in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite take the time to consider what it may have been because he was kissing you. Lips chapped from the bitter wind moulded against your own for the shortest of moments. It was tentative and delicate and brief, but as he pulled away, your mind reeled.

That day had affected you in ways you never would have expected. Before, you’d never considered Yoongi as anything more than your best friend, the platonic other half of yourself. And then the kiss, and suddenly, it was like you’d been awakened. For as long as you could remember, your thoughts had been filled with Yoongi. Of the things he liked, the things he didn’t, of spending time with him, of the academy (with him). Suddenly, you were suspecting that maybe there was more to that, more than just the bond of a witch and their familiar.

You sigh. The letters are all finally back in the box, though nowhere near as nicely as they’d been before you’d kicked it and it had exploded. You should get up. You should go to bed. You have to be up fairly early for the funeral. But you stay seated, the box of letters in your lap.

Seeing him again was hard. You’re willing to admit that. You’d spent 12 years convincing yourself that you were fine, harboring anger and resentment and frustration, all for it to melt away the second you saw him. The bond makes it tough to stay mad at him, but it doesn’t let you forget the betrayal.

You stand out of the way, looking out over the funeral attendees in the park. Your parents didn’t have a lot of friends, but there are enough people here that you’d officially call it a crowd. They’re all mingling–you’d bought beer and wine, and if you didn’t know any better, it could maybe be a party and not a wake. You tighten your fist around the bond gem in your hand. For as long as you could remember, your dad had worn it around his neck, tucked under his shirt. The gem is like your mother–bright pink, fiery orange, deep yellow–and when you were a child, you’d loved to look at it, mesmerized by the swirling, glittering colors.

The gems have always been a gift from a familiar to their witch, given to symbolize the soulmate-like bonds between them. Most witches–especially those who were romantically involved with their familiars–wear them as jewelry. They don’t really do anything, though some people claim it made their magic stronger (you aren’t really sure about that, seeing as most gems appear in childhood).

As a child, you hadn’t been particularly close with your parents. Especially as a teen, you would have much rather hung out with Yoongi than them. But they were kind, and supportive, and for the most part, they left you to do your own thing. They’d been almost as devastated as you when you’d crushed your bond gem.

Days after your fight with Yoongi, the doorbell rang. Your mother had opened the door. You were upstairs. You’d stayed home from school that day–sick, but not in the way the administrators would have accepted. For a few brief moments, you’d ignored whatever visitor was downstairs. But then-

“She’s not here.” Your mother’s voice drifted up to you. She sounded disappointed.

“Please.” It was Yoongi, you’d recognize his baritone from miles away.

Quietly, you’d slipped out of your room and crept down the hall, sitting at the top of the stairs. You could hear your mother sigh, could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Your father appeared from the kitchen and joined your mother at the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned against the doorknob, pulling it a little more shut in the process so it blocked you completely from the door’s sight.

A long moment of silence passed before your mother called, “Yoongi?” You couldn’t hear his response–he must have already gone down the porch steps. Your mother continued, “It can be scary, and you’re both still young. Give it time.”

The door shut quietly, and both of your parents looked to where you were sitting. You could see it in both of their eyes. Sadness, but something else. Something that looked a little close to pity.

A laugh draws your attention, and you smile sadly as you watch your mother’s coworkers laugh at some memory. But then you notice, just behind them, a shadow close to the ground and suddenly, you’re distracted all over again. Because there, half-hidden by a bush, sits a black cat. Cedar and honey eyes watch you intently, its dark fur swirling and shining like a thousand galaxies. Your hand tightens around your parents’ bond gem, the chain pressing sharply into the flesh of your hand.

He doesn’t move, just sits there patiently. Watching. He’s there as people approach you, offering condolences and hugs that you don’t particularly want; he’s there when people start trickling out. And he’s there when you’re the last one left, all alone under the large oak tree in the center of the park.

It’s quiet as you stand there, staring down at the bond gem in your hands. This is the part you’ve been dreading. Because you don’t want to keep the damn thing–you could if you wanted to, but there’s also tradition to think about. But it’s also weird to give up the one thing that is so emblematic of your parents. You wonder if they’d felt like this when your grandparents had died.

At least they’d had each other during it.

You can sense him approach, even though his steps are completely silent. And though he comes closer, he keeps his distance. On one hand, you appreciate it. On the other…

“If you’re going to be here, the least you could do is be here,” you say quietly, looking down at the gem in your hand. It sparkles a little in the light.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask you to explain. He takes a few slow steps forward until he’s standing beside you. It’s weird, having him this close again. You’d been too overwhelmed last night to actually observe, but now, you’re exhausted, yet alert.

His hair is longer–as a teen, he’d kept it short, but the ends curl and sit just above his shoulders now. He’s filled out and put on some muscle, and though he’s still a little on the lankier side, his shoulders have broadened. He wears cologne now, the scent light, like lavender, citrus, and sage. So much has changed, and yet it’s the same eyes that watch you with a soft curiosity.

You look up to the tree, watch its branches wave in the wind. You used to think that the centenarian boughs touched the sky, and even still, it towers above everything else in the park. The leaves sparkle, their iridescence catching the light to make the tree look like something out of a fairy tale. You sigh and tighten your fist around your parents’ bond gem one more time before opening your hand.

At first, nothing happens, but then the gem glistens and rises out of your grasp. It joins the other leaves close to the top of the tree, becoming just another sparkle in the prism.

For a while, not even the birds make a noise. You just stand there, looking up at the tree that has stood sentinel over most of your life. The wind rustles the leaves, and they shimmer as they move. You have no idea how many leaves are up there, how many bond gems have been placed over time. Thousands–maybe hundreds of thousands–of witches and their familiars, most forgotten to the annals of time.

It’s strange, knowing that you would never be memorialized by the tree.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Yoongi whispers from beside you, husky baritone cutting through the silence.

Yoongi isn’t sure why you say yes, but soon enough, you’re walking into the Green Bean just behind him. He’s uncomfortable, people have been watching you since the park, and their stares are starting to burn holes in his back. He says nothing about it until you’re in line at the cafe.

“What are they staring at?” he whispers, leaning close so that only you can hear in the semi-busy cafe. He chooses to ignore how you tense up ever so slightly.

“You’ve been gone for 12 years, what did you expect?”

Right. He supposes he should have expected their animosity. But it’s not just him they’re watching. He doesn’t miss the way people stare at you, watch you warily as you simply exist. His mind races. Was that his fault? Did his absence cause so many unintended consequences?

You order a coffee and choose a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from everyone but still near the window. He sits in the chair across from you, the hard metal shockingly comfortable despite its harsh lines. An awkward silence settles over you both, but Yoongi’s not sure what to say, so he lets it linger. He watches you stare out the window. Which is a little weird, right? But he can’t bring himself to drag his gaze away. It’s like after 12 years of being away, he just wants to look at you.

The barista calls out your orders and Yoongi stands to grab both of them from the counter. He places one oversized ceramic mug down in front of you, and the other, he wraps his hands around. It’s warm, almost hot, and he dares not take a drink yet. You stare down at the foam on top of your drink, one finger hooked around the handle of the cup.

“What happened to them?” he asks softly. When you look up, surprised, he clarifies. “Your parents, I mean. I… didn’t hear how they…”

You sigh, tap your mug. He can sense the deep sadness you struggle with and is just about to tell you to forget he asked when you speak. “I always kind of thought it would be dad who’d go first.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “He was always so frail when we were kids. But mom got sick last year and…” You shrug. “One of the neighbors found them.”

“I’m so sorry.” You wave him off. “No. Honestly. They were nice.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and silence settles again. But then something you said pops into his mind, striking him as strange. “You aren’t living here anymore?” Mentally, he slaps himself. Why did it come out like he’s surprised? He supposes that he’s always just kind of pictured you still… here, in town.

“I’m over in Ashland,” you say, generally gesturing west, toward the city. “I work at the library at the university.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

You shrug. “Mostly good. It’s a job. The library’s usually pretty quiet, so…”

“That’s really cool.”

Ashland is big, much bigger than here in square feet and at least 10 times the people. It’s a real city, with skyscrapers and functioning public transportation and one of the country’s top medical universities. He’s proud of you, he realizes. You’d always planned to leave for the city, too constrained by life in such a small town. For the longest time, he’d planned on going with you. And then, of course, he’d ruined it. It stings a little to know that you’d gone without him like that, that your life had continued as planned, that maybe he hadn’t meant that much in the grand scheme of things.

But then your eyes meet, and he’s confronted by the anxiety and sadness you’re feeling, and he knows he’s just being stupid. Again.

“So, uh…” He feels a wave of nerves wash over him–they aren’t his own. You tap your half-empty mug. “What have you been up to?”

If he’s honest, Yoongi wasn’t expecting you to ask about him. He’s shocked enough that you’d even agreed to be here, let alone that you were interested in his life. “I was traveling,” he starts cautiously, gauging your reaction. You blink slowly, watching his every move. If you can sense his apprehension, you don’t react. “But now I’m up north in Ulmae. I’ve got a pretty good thing going at this restaurant on the North Shore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh…” He chuckles, a little nervous. “They’ve got me bartending on the weekends and let me do music during the week.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you lean forward. “They let you play?”

“It’s only like an hour a night-”

“No, shut up. That’s amazing!” You grin, big and genuine, but Yoongi can sense a tinge of sadness in it.

He’s disappointed when you both finish your coffees and you stand up to put your cup in the little tub by the counter. It’s starting to get late, the sun is starting to set and the streetlights have turned on. It was nice, catching up with you, short though it may have been. It’s not lost on him how strange it is, having to catch up with someone that was once practically a part of him.

Together, you stand outside in the chilly early evening air, looking down the street toward the park. Over the roofs of the shops and houses, Yoongi can just barely see the centinel tree with its sparkling leaves. People walk past–people he recognizes but couldn’t possibly name–some are more subtle about it, but others practically break their necks to stare at the two of you. Suddenly, Yoongi feels exposed outside the cafe, like there are eyes everywhere. He hates this, hates feeling like he’s doing something wrong just for wanting to talk to you more.

You sigh, scuff your shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk, shove your hands deep into the pockets of your dark jeans. “I… probably shouldn’t even ask,” you start warily. “But do you want to come back for a drink?”

The house is the same, yet somehow also different, like one of those spot the difference puzzles come to life. The layout of the living room is the same, but the couch is a different style and color. There’s a blanket folded the same way under the coffee table, but it’s clearly a different pattern than he remembers. Most of the photos are the same, but there are 12 years’ worth of more of them.

Apparently, the stash of alcohol your father kept in the built in cabinet beside the television hasn’t changed.

You pull out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table with a gentle ‘clink.” The shoebox he’d given you sits on the floor. The lid is off, the letters contained within are a mess. Have you read them, or did they spill out? There’s no way for him to really know.

Silently, you hand him a glass and sit on the other side of the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug in your lap. You sip at the double in your glass stoically, and for a moment, you stare at him. He has to resist the urge to squirm under your gaze. There’s something different about how you’re sitting, something in your aura that he didn’t notice in the cafe. Maybe you’d been saving it for private, but he can sense that you’re reining your emotions in.

But then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you turn over your hand. Two pieces of paper sit in your palm. “I’m going to need you to explain these.” The two letters float over to him and open themselves in front of him.

The first is dated only a few years after he’d left.

I’ve been struck by a thought. I had tacos earlier, and I just know you would have loved them. Which made me realize that there’s still part of me that thinks about you at every turn. Your friendship was such an integral part of my life, and not having it anymore feels like there’s a piece missing. Last week it was a song on the radio. Before that, a stray cat I saw that I know for certain you would have loved. Everything reminds me of you, everything leads back to you. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and…

I would like to see you again. Someday.

How have you been doing? Where has your life taken you? I can only hope it’s treated you kindly. It’s what you deserve.

The other is from the day he turned 25.

A quarter of a century, and for some reason I feel incredibly old. With it comes some realizations, things I didn’t understand before. Maybe I was too young, too blinded by my own need to feel free… but it never was about being free from you. I can’t even begin to imagine how hurtful it must have been for you…

I never wanted to make you feel like I was giving up on you, like I didn’t want you. I never wanted to make you feel rejected, because it wasn’t you I was trying to be free from.

I was so scared of having my whole life laid out in front of me. I never took the time to think what my life could be with the bond–I only ever thought about what the bond meant for my life. All of the expectations, what comes with being a familiar, our roles in society and the universe…

I realize now that I could have–should have–communicated it all better. If only so that I wouldn’t have lost you. So that it wouldn’t have led to me making you feel like I was rejecting you. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered; at the end of the day I was still walking away from you. But at least maybe I could have made it more clear that it was never you that I wanted to be free from.

I’m sorry. I feel like it’s useless to say, but I am so sorry for not realizing any of this before.

Wherever you are, I hope you’ll understand. Take care until I see you again.

I hope I see you again.

Yoongi sighs. The letters–all of them, not just these two–tended to be rambling diatribes, a snapshot of his thoughts as he worked through his feelings about his own life and everything and you. He’d been an idiot when he left–he was 17 and full of himself and terrified of the world but too proud to admit it–and it had taken him far too long to realize a lot of important things.

For a moment, it’s quiet as he thinks of what to say. How should he even begin? But apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because you wave your hand and the letters fold themselves back up and float back down to the shoebox. When you speak, you sound exhausted. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I-”

“Because if the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have the balls to come back. On one hand, I’m impressed. On the other…” You trail off and shrug.

He’s quiet, not sure how to respond. He’s got lots of thoughts, lots of feelings–of course he does–but right now, you’re a wall, and he’s not sure how to read the situation. He’s not sure what you need to hear right now. So he says nothing.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and you look down at the glass in your hand, stare into the dregs of the amber whisky you’ve nearly finished. “I’m running on like two hours’ sleep,” you admit. “But fuck, Yoongi, I… I was so convinced that I’d never see you again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” Then, softer. “I’m still not sure.”

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think and god, he just wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

It takes a second for you to process his absolute trash heap of an asinine question. But when you do, your face contorts into somewhere between anger, disappointment, and heartbreak. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” You practically spit the question at him. “You… you… Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life tell you that he wants rid of you?”

“I never said-”

“You wanted to be free. From all of it. From me.” You pick at the corner of the pillow in your lap. “And then you just come back out of the blue like nothing happened and drop this damn shoebox at my feet-” from where it sits on the floor, the shoebox explodes, letters flying everywhere, “-and you just… What did you expect, Yoongi? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” He sounds a little desperate when he says it, and he hates that, hates how pathetic it makes him sound. So he shrugs, takes a deep breath, leans back a little. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just… I missed you. And then mom told me about your parents, and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. “And then I was on a train.”

You stare at him for a moment, a little gobsmacked. You have no idea how to respond. What do you say to that? Where do you even start? There are a hundred things you could say. You’ve played this scenario out a thousand times in your head over the years–what would you do if he came back?–but somehow, it never played out like this. In your mind, he’d never told you that he missed you.

You’d never considered that he would miss you.

But you should say something, right? It’s weird that you’re sitting there, just staring at him in complete silence. Has your jaw been clenched the whole time? Does he think you’re angry with him? Quickly, you school your face into something a little more neutral and say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How long are you here for?”

Truthfully, you probably should have asked sooner. You’ve been wondering since he showed up on your doorstep last night, but it never seemed like a great time to ask.

He sighs. “‘Till tomorrow.”

You nod, probably longer than it makes sense to, but it takes you a bit to process. Tomorrow. He’s back in your life for two days, and then he’s gone again. That’s not even enough time to catch up, let alone actually talk with him. And that’s… you aren’t sure how to feel.

Yoongi watches you quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He’s barely touched it. “Maybe…” he says after a moment, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I should go?”

Part of you wants to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to tell you more about his gig working at the bar. Anything to keep him here and talking to you. But there’s a more logical part of you that’s overwhelmed, that needs some time to think. He’s offering to go, which means that he’s either uncomfortable or his train leaves early in the morning. Or both. He stands, thanks you for the drink, and you follow him to the door. He hesitates just outside, opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it almost as quickly.

You say nothing. And for the second time in as many days, you watch him leave without another word.

The playground was almost empty. Mama said it was supposed to rain, but she’d also said that you would go anyway, for a little bit. You were trying to learn how to swing on your own, and plus Yoongi and his mom were going to be there, and he’d said he’d bring his trucks to play in the sand.

But he wasn’t there yet, so you were on the swing. Mama pushed you, her hand firm on your back, and you closed your eyes. You were flying, wind in your face as you launched forward into the air. And then, just as suddenly, you were falling, swinging backward.

“Remember what I said,” mama said softly. “Kick your legs.”

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that. Your legs were little, and when you kicked out, you felt more like you were going to slide out of the swing seat than anything. You heard her laugh a little, but her hand was on your back once again, propelling you forward.

A few minutes passed in a blur of forwards and backwards. You still didn’t quite understand the whole swinging on your own thing, but mama’s rhythmic pushes kept you going. But then, a small voice at the edge of the playground yelled your name, and you heard excited footsteps in the wood chips. Mama helped you slow to a stop, and you jumped off the swing.

A little boy, his dark hair cut short by his own mom, ran toward you. He was carrying an armful of small cars and larger trucks. He skidded to a stop in front of you, a wide, gummy grin engulfing his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I brought all my trucks!” he announced, looking down at the toys in his arms. “You can be the green one. Here.” He tried to hand it to you, and another fell in the process.

You picked it up and took the green truck from him. It was bright green–the same shade as the lime popsicles Yoongi’s mom usually bought–and it had big wheels. You followed him to the sandbox and you both plopped down. It didn’t take long to have a whole city constructed. Granted, it was all made from rocks and wood chips and other small things you found around the sandbox. But it was a city and it was beautiful.

Yoongi drove his truck over a bump, making engine noises as he pushed it toward you. As he drove the truck down another sand hill, bumping and bouncing it over sticks and rocks, something fell out of the sleeve of his jacket. It was perfectly round, and it rolled to a stop in front of you. You picked it up and inspected it. It was some kind of rock, hard and shiny, but it was also colorful, and you were pretty sure rocks couldn’t be blue.

One look at the rock and he frowned, calling for his mom. She came over immediately and crouched down to see what he was so concerned about. Your mama followed her, and she was the one that saw the rock in your hand first.

“Oh,” she said, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. “You two have found your gem.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Yoongi asked, looking up at his mom.

She smiled and sat in the sand beside him, pulling him into her lap. She held out her arm, twisted her bracelet around so that he could see it. “You know how I have this from your dad? It’s like that.”

“But-”

“Your friendship is special,” she continued, pinching his cheek. Yoongi laughed. “It means you’ve gotta look out for each other now.”

For a moment, he was quiet. But then he nodded, just once. “Okay!” He held out his hand to you, tiny palm face up. “Can I have it?”

“It’s not yours anymore,” his mom said softly, brushing his short hair back. “It’s a gift.”

You looked to your mama and she nodded. “Take care of it,” she told you. “You only get one.”

Middle school was the worst. Everything was difficult. Social situations, interactions with your parents, school. At the time, it all seemed like it was unfairly hard. Making it worse, of course, was getting sick. As a kid, you were never sick that often. Yoongi was a different story. For whatever reason, familiars were just more susceptible to illness, and when he got sick, he got sick.

It was the middle of the semester, and Yoongi hadn’t been to school in days. Your teachers hadn’t even asked, they’d just started giving you packets–homework and printouts of their lessons and extra materials–so he wouldn’t fall behind. So you stopped by his house after school. His mom let you in, offering you some of the snacks she was making for Yoongi before you headed up the stairs to his room.

You knocked gently before entering. The knock was a politeness–you were close enough with him and familiar enough with his room at this point in your life that you could just barge in without warning and you knew he wouldn’t mind. He looked like hell, stuck in his bed buried in blankets. It was clear he’d had a fever at some point, because his hair looked damp and sweaty.

But he sat up when you walked in, coughing deeply before speaking. “You’re going to get sick, too,” he protested weakly.

You waved him off. “Everyone’s sick.” You pulled over his desk chair to the side of his bed and started to go through your bag. “Ms. Miller gave me your math homework, but if you understand it, you’ll have to explain it to me because I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He giggled at that, gummy smile soon hidden by his hand as he coughed. “Here’s the novel for Brown’s class. She said she’d talk to you about making up the paper when you’re back.”

It took a surprisingly long time to go through eight classes’ worth of homework and assignments, but you’d put sticky notes at the front of each packet explaining things, too, so the fact that he was half-asleep for most of your explanation didn’t really matter.

“Will you stay?” he asked when you were done. “Help me with some of this?”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?” you teased.

“I mean, you don’t have to. If you want to go home, that’s fine, too. I just-” He coughed, burying his face in his blankets.

“You staying for dinner, hon?” Yoongi’s mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes please!” you responded, shuffling through the stack of packets you’d brought for Yoongi. “Wanna take a stab at math?”

Halfway through the fall of your senior year, Yoongi started to get… weird. Cagey. Like he was trying to hide something and figure out particle physics at the same time. You’d tried asking him about it a few times, only for him to wave you off with a quiet “just thinking about some things.” After that, he’d be back to normal for a few days. But every time, like clockwork, he would fall back into it.

Finally, on the third day of the new year, he pulled you aside. Tucked back into the dormant foliage of the park, away from prying eyes, he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was nervous, you could feel it deep inside you, but to be honest, you didn’t really need your bond to tell you what was plain to see.

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His brows furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he motioned for you to sit. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” You sat on the edge of a big rock, confused.

“I…” he started again, sitting beside you. You could feel a spike of nerves, and he took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You can just say it,” you told him. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘that’s the problem,’ but after a moment, he continued. “I need to be free of all of this.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the universe doesn’t know what it’s talking about? That maybe you’d be happier if you chose things for yourself?” He frowned. “There’s rules for gifts. We’re only good at certain types of magic because of how we were born. We have to celebrate holidays certain ways, we have to do specific things on our birthdays-”

“-and we get told who we’re to bond to.”

He recoiled at your words. “That’s not-”

“But it’s true, right?” Your gaze fell from him to your hands. “It’s just one more thing you don’t get to control.”

Yoongi sighed. “I just… want to be able to choose for myself.”

Suddenly, you were sick to your stomach. This was the last thing you’d expected. You didn’t particularly like all of the traditions, either, but you were 17. What the hell were you going to do about it? But this felt like he was saying he didn’t want you. You hadn’t yet talked about the kiss at the night market a few weeks prior, but you’d never guessed that he’d do such a sudden about-face.

“Right,” you said softly.

“Just… think about it?” he asked, dark eyes pleading.

You didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like how it made you feel. But you nodded anyway. Maybe he would change his mind.

Days gave way to weeks and months, and before you knew it, spring had come. Yoongi hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he’d gotten more insistent.

“I want to find myself,” he’d told you once. “I need to make sure this is how I want to live my life.”

“I just need to get away,” he’d said one day while you were doing homework together. “Start fresh somewhere new.”

And then, on the way home from school one day, he’d said, “I need to be free of it all.”

And you’d snapped. Three months of hearing him talk about it, three months of him basically saying that your entire way of life was wrong and that he was chafing to get away. You couldn’t help it.

“Fuck off,” you’d told him, taking the trail behind the houses at a faster pace. Despite being so attuned with nature thanks to his familiar genes, he’d had trouble keeping up with you.

He’d pushed. And eventually, you’d given in. Because despite everything, you’d loved him, and if he was unhappy, you wanted to fix that. And now…

Now you’re sitting alone at the train station at ass o’clock in the morning. The train station has just barely opened, and already you’re inside, clutching a cup of coffee. There are a few other people here, milling around, waiting for their early trains to god knows where. You can feel them watching you, can feel them trying to make it subtle that they’re staring. At this point, you’re used to it. Word travels fast in small towns, especially when that word is as earth-shattering as a broken bond gem and a falling out between a witch and their familiar.

You try to ignore them, focus on your coffee and the posters across the waiting area from you.

Report any unattended or suspicious luggage to National Rail personnel.

Bags larger than this poster must be checked into the train’s luggage car.

Please remain seated until your train is announced and National Rail personnel give authorization to enter the platform.

You scroll through the news on your phone. Read the posters again. Stare out the window at the coffee shop across the street. And wait. A train arrives, and the couple that had been staring at you leaves. You sigh and stand to throw out your now empty cup.

Just as you do, the door to the train station opens. You turn to look, and there stands Yoongi. He’s wearing a black shirt, a bag slung across his body. His hair is pushed back off his face and he’s wearing his glasses. He’s clutching an absolutely massive travel mug and his phone in one hand, the other rolls a small suitcase behind him. He looks sleepy, but the second his dark eyes land on you, he jolts a little, as if electrocuted into being awake and alert.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, approaching you.

“Hey.” You wave slightly–awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, still a little gruff from sleep. You get the sense that maybe he hasn’t said much of anything to anyone this morning.

You sigh and gesture for him to follow you to a bench. The next train–his, you presume–isn’t due for another 20 minutes. You have time, but not much.

“I didn’t like how we left things,” you admit. “I… I wasn't sure if you were serious.”

“Serious?” His head falls to the side slightly, confused. But then, it seems, he understands, and he nods. “I did miss you–I do. I spent the entire ride here thinking about how seeing you again was going to go.”

“Were you right?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.”

You hum and nod, and for the briefest of moments, silence settles over you. The stationmaster types away at his computer, the clacking of the keyboard the only sound in the entire station. But then you force yourself to say something that’s been on your mind since he showed up on your doorstep two days ago.

“It’s been good seeing you again,” you say, and even though you mean it, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I… think in a way, after so long, I made you the villain in my head. It’s good to see that you’re… not that.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “That was the worst thing I have ever done, and I just…”

“I get it.”

“What?”

“I think I kind of always did, but… it just hurt too much to think that you were including me in everything that you wanted to get away from, and I just-”

“You were the last thing I wanted to get away from.” Maybe it’s the waver in his voice, maybe it’s the way he ducks his head to make sure he makes eye contact, but you believe him. He sits his mug down on the bench beside him and gathers your hands in his. “I was so fucking dumb. I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat, but god I was too stupid and selfish to take ten minutes to think.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something,” you admit quietly. “I thought that maybe after the night market-”

“No! Oh my god, no,” he exclaims, his hands tightening around your own. “You’re my best friend! I lo-”

“Train 49–the Northern Limited–will be arriving on the platform in five minutes,” the stationmaster announces, not even bothering to use the building’s intercom. “I’ll take you over to the platform when you’re ready.”

Yoongi groans.

“Here.” You pull your hands away from him and immediately miss the warmth of him. But you reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and shoving it into his hands in one motion. “Put your number in.”

For a moment, he stares at you, dumbfounded. But then the stationmaster opens the door to his office, and the noise jolts Yoongi into action. He types quickly and hands you your phone. You don’t even look at it, just lock it and shove it into your pocket. He hands you his phone and you enter your own contact information before giving it back.

You stand at the same time, and for one brief, quiet moment, you worry that maybe he’s just going to leave it at that. But then he rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the stationmaster.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

You nod, almost mechanically. You weren’t expecting it to hurt this much to see him leave again. As he turns to gather his things, something comes over you.

“I- Can we-” You sigh, take a deep breath. “Can I have a hug?”

He makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeak, and it takes almost no time for the pink to start blossoming on his cheeks. He sputters for a second, and you can feel his shock. But then he opens his arms, and you find yourself taking a small step forward.

It’s shockingly easy to fall back into him, to step into his arms. He’s warm, and solid, but still also somehow soft. His cologne lingers on his clothes, all lavender-y and citrus-y and sage-y. Your arms fit around his waist, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is normal, that nothing ever happened and that he isn’t leaving. But you hear the train horn in the distance and you pull away. You kiss his cheek as you part, and his eyes go wide in shock.

“Text me,” you tell him firmly, reaching down to grab his coffee mug and hand it to him.

“I will. I promise.”

And with one last, fleeting look, he steps onto the elevator with the stationmaster to go over to the platform.

You stand outside the station long after the train departs, feeling very much like you did when he’d left the first time. You should be feeling optimistic–for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s hope. For you, for your friendship, for… whatever comes next. But it’s hard to feel any sort of positive when he’s on a train back to a city seven hours away, and you have to go home in the exact opposite direction in a few short days.

As you’re walking back to your car in the lot down the street, your phone dings. When you unlock it, you get the sudden feeling that you’re flying, like a horde of butterflies have erupted within you. It’s nerves and it’s excitement and maybe, it’s also a little bit of hope.

Yoongi 💙: thanks again for not turning me into a bug

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says one late night, his deep, sleep-deprived voice distorted ever so slightly by the distance and the speakers of your phone. You can barely see him–there’s a dim light that just slightly illuminates his face, but the rest of the room is dark.

“Dangerous,” you joke.

“Rude.” He nuzzles down further into his pillow. “I’d like to come visit,” he admits softly.

For a moment, your mind goes blank. There’s a fluttering in your stomach, hundreds of butterflies trying to escape at once. He’d kept his word after the train station, texting and calling you frequently over the past couple weeks. You’d text throughout the week–little messages about bad days and delicious lunches and cute dogs–and then on the weekends, one of you would inevitably end up calling each other. You’d spend hours on the phone, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the silence between you.

The video calls were a recent development. Since they began, you’d watched him cook dinner, he’d played piano while you worked on a spreadsheet for work, and one early morning, he’d called you on his way home after bartending so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the train.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little. Maybe it was a little obvious what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He groans a little, stretches one arm up before covering his eyes with it. He peeks out at you through the cook in his elbow, one singular, dark eye sparkling, even in the poor quality of the video. “I miss you,” he mumbles, and you almost don’t catch it, it’s so muffled by his arm and your phone’s speaker.

You hum. The butterflies in your stomach make themselves known again. “I guess you could come.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Hey now. It’s against the rules to take something like that back.”

He laughs. “What rules?”

“You know. The rules.” You gesture vaguely before pulling your blanket up a little further on your body. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules?” He grunts. “Being away for so long has rotted your brain, I’m afraid.”

“So rude.” His arm is still obscuring his face slightly, but you can see his big, gummy smile as he laughs. “No, but seriously. Are you busy next weekend?”

You frown. You’d been trying to forget about next weekend. “Normally I’d go home for the new year,” you say softly.

“Why don’t,” he begins, stifling a yawn. You’re a little surprised he’s made it this long without seeming tired. It’s almost 3am. “Why don’t I come hang out? We can do new year’s stuff together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about work?”

He shifts, the arm that was over his face now supporting his head under his pillow. “I make the schedule. They’ll deal with it.”

“Yoongi.”

He continues on, ignoring you. “I can work the day shift and get a train right after work on Friday, but I wouldn’t get there until late, is that okay?”

You sigh. It would be nice to not spend the holiday alone. And it would be nice to see him again. Sure, you’ve been talking to him in one way or another, but it’s different than having him in person. You finally agree, and he shoots you a smug, sleepy smile.

The week passes at a glacial pace. Work is slow because of the break in classes for the upcoming holiday, and spending time in an empty library is infinitely less entertaining than you’d expect it to be. Most of your coworkers have taken off, so you’re mostly alone with your thoughts. You fill the time with paperwork, completing literature loan requests for the University’s faculty and doing intake for the newly released journals the library has subscriptions for.

In the small handful of weeks since you’d seen him last, you’d replayed things in your mind. But mostly, you’ve been stuck on how nice it is to have him in your life again. You aren’t fooling yourself. You haven’t forgotten. But there’s a part of you–a large part, if you’re honest with yourself–that hopes that this is a step forward, that you can be close again. Maybe not how you were, but something that resembles a friendship.

After an eternity, it’s Friday. You sit outside of the train station in your car, parked in one of the pick up spots just outside of the main door. The trickle of people into and out of the station has slowed significantly now that it’s dark out–you’ve never seen it this dead. It’s late, the station is getting ready to close, but there’s one last train that has yet to come in. There’s another car parked a few spaces to your left, and you wonder briefly about who they’re waiting to pick up, but it’s fleeting.

The door to the station opens automatically, and out steps Yoongi. He rolls a suitcase beside him, a messenger bag slung across his body, his other hand shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He looks around, confused, his gaze going back and forth between your car and the one to your left. You turn on the dome light and wave and he nods.

He gives you a quick greeting as he opens the back door, shoving his bags in the back seat. When he finally climbs into the passenger seat, he sighs deeply, resting his head against the headrest for a moment before turning to you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey. How was the train?”

He groans. “Long.”

You hum. He’d worked a short, early shift so he could catch the last train from Ulmae to Ashland. He looks and sounds exhausted. But he’s here. He’s not a face on a screen, he’s in your car. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It’s strange. You’d been without him for nearly 13 years. It’s only been a few short weeks since you’d seen him last, but you’re giddy, practically bursting with excitement at the fact that, for the next two and a half days, he’s here. With you.

You drive in relative silence, willing the lights to be green more for Yoongi’s sake than your own. The radio plays a soft hip-hop song, and you vaguely recognize it as one of the bands he’d been obsessed with in high school, but you don’t turn it up. You’re fairly certain that he’s fallen asleep, his head lolled slightly to the side so that he’s facing the window.

It’s a damn miracle that there’s an open spot in front of your building, but you gladly take it. There are people in your building who don’t know how to parallel park—who refuse to do it—but you’d taught yourself just for instances like this. For a moment, you think you’re going to have to wake Yoongi up, but just as you cut the engine, he unbuckles his seat belt and stretches.

Your apartment isn’t large, but it’s bigger than most for what you pay for it. You’re on the seventh floor, the top floor of the building, and your bedroom has a lovely view of the building beside you. But if you lean a little to one side and press your face up against the glass, you can see out into the city beyond, and the university campus in the far distance.

He sits his bags down in your living room and plops down on the couch. You’ve already set out some blankets and a couple pillows for him. The clock on your microwave says 11:05.

“You’re probably exhausted,” you say. “I’ll let you get settled.”

Immediately, he picks his head up from the back cushion of the couch. “’m not tired.” Ever defiant. But you can tell he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes how groggy he is. Normally, he’s up much later than this–you know, because sometimes, he calls you–but between working an early shift and the six-hour train ride, you don’t blame him for being a little sleepy.

“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” you tell him, gesturing down the hall. “It’s the door on the left. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, you leave him there in your living room. You can hear him unzipping his bag as you retreat into your room.

An hour later, you find that you can’t sleep. Not that you’ve even tried. You aren’t even sure why you’re so wired. But you’re sitting in your bed, legs covered by a sheet, in the dim light of your bedside lamp. You’ve had friends stay over before. But this… you feel like you did as a kid, having your first sleepover. Except back then you were wired on soda and sugary snacks and it was a treat to stay up late. Now, you’re just…

You hear the bathroom door open and shut, and after a moment, Yoongi stands in the doorway to your room.

“You have the softest towels in the world,” he says, hair hanging in damp strands in front of his eyes. He pats and scrunches it dry with one of the fluffy grey towels you’d set out for him.

“Would you believe I got them on clearance?”

“I’ll just have to stuff one in my bag, then.”

“I charge a 5% fee for any towels that leave the premises.”

At that, he laughs, a groggy, squeaky sound that shakes his shoulders and crinkles his eyes and leaves a wide, gummy smile in its wake.

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” He shoots you a look that says he doesn’t believe you, and you relent. “Well,” you pat the bed beside you, inviting him to sit, “There’s this thing every year in the park to watch the meteors,” you say as Yoongi eases himself onto the mattress. “But it doesn’t start until late.” He hums. “Was there something you wanted to do?”

“No, just-” He stifles a yawn. “Curious.” He leans back against the headboard, settling in.

Just like that, you fall easily into conversation. It’s comfortable, calm. Just two old friends chatting. He likes your apartment, thinks the tile in your bathroom is really nice. He asks about your job, nods along as you tell him about working in the library and your coworkers.

And slowly, his reactions become slower, delayed, until he finally doesn’t respond at all. You look over, and his chin is tucked against his chest, his breathing gentle. Asleep.

For a moment, you consider going out to the couch. It would be weird, right, to stay here with him? But as you’re about to kick the blanket off, you pause.

We’re adults. Adults can share a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re mature enough to let this just be two people sleeping in the same space.

At least, you think you are.

But as you settle in yourself, snuggling down into your blankets and turning off the light, you’re suddenly faced with the quiet peacefulness of his face. He’d always been handsome, and now that you’re both older, you can appreciate just how beautiful he really is. He sighs and slides down a little, his hand brushing against your arm as he gets more comfortable.

Oh no.

You sit on the floor of your living room, a box of pizza on the coffee table that you’ve shoved out of the way. Yoongi’s beside you, your backs against the couch as you watch some anime he’d been trying to convince you to watch back in high school. You’re three episodes in, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t really care for the basketball-themed show. Part of you is still afraid that if you say something wrong, he’ll be gone again.

His arm rests casually behind you on the cushions, far enough away that it’s more a comfortable way to sit than any sort of advance, but that doesn’t stop the smallest of butterflies from making itself known in your stomach. This Yoongi is so different from the Yoongi you knew—the one who, as a kid, got excited by construction equipment and the concept of ice cream, and as a teen spent his free time hiding from his parents, playing the piano and hanging out with you (though neither were mutually exclusive). He’s quiet, comfortable in the silence, comfortable with letting things linger.

You’re a little jealous of it, to be honest.

Yoongi leans forward slightly, and a piece of pizza meets him halfway, floating gently into his grasp. “Do you remember,” he begins, settling back in against the couch, “when we were 16 and we went camping?” You hum an affirmative. “We spent most of the week playing old board games with my parents.”

You smile at the memory. If anyone had asked back then, you would have told them it was lame that you’d had to spend the whole time with Yoongi’s parents. But now? That was one of the more fun summers you’d ever had. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugs, mouth full of pizza. “I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Things were so much simpler then…”

You nod and hum softly, but ultimately, you say nothing. Much simpler indeed.

“You know,” Yoongi begins, zipping his coat up to his chin, “when you said ‘park’, I was kind of expecting it to be in the city.”

“I think technically it is.” You lock your car and meet him at the front of it.

“We drove for an hour!”

You shrug. “Big city.”

He laughs and shakes his head, incredulous. He can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but there was a sign on the way in with the university logo on it, so he supposes that whether it’s part of the city or not, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a well-lit trail that runs from the shale parking lot up a hill slightly to a clearing that overlooks the city and the rest of the park. It’s busy–people mill about around the parking lot, and he can see a steady stream of visitors on the trail up to the clearing.

He adjusts his coat–it’s cold, and both his shoulder and his senses ache with the impending snow–and when he’s ready, the two of you start walking toward the trail. It’s astonishingly busy, and as you weave your way through the crowd, leading him up the hill, he grabs your hand.

So we don’t get separated, he tells himself. For a moment, he expects you to pull away. Not maliciously, he’s not expecting you to scoff and throw his hand away. But what he isn’t expecting is for you to tighten your grip on him and tug him this way and that as you get closer to the clearing. His hand is warm where your skin touches his, like he’s holding a candle a little too close to the flame.

The clearing is massive, mostly flat but not entirely, with gentle rolling slopes that provide some extra elevation here and there. On one of the little hills, a few food trucks are set up, though how they got there, Yoongi isn’t really sure. Someone must have magicked them through the path or up the hill or something. There are picnic tables scattered around, mostly near the food trucks, but throughout the clearing, as well. Towards the edge of the clearing, there’s a cliff with an overlook that has a spectacular view of the city vista below. People are everywhere. Of course, there are a lot of college-aged kids hanging out in big and small groups. But there’s also a shocking amount of people that are Yoongi’s age and older–professors, he assumes, and university staff here to enjoy the evening. Almost all of them are holding drinks, and just about every one of them seems to be paired with someone.

It’s subtle sometimes, seeing bonded witches and familiars. Of course, the ones who are romantically involved tend to be more obvious, but the ones that are just friends are just as easy to spot once you know what to look for. It’s the people who stand so close together they’re almost touching, the ones who lean in a little extra close to whisper something. And the clearing is full of pairs standing in each other’s personal spaces.

You tug on his hand to direct him off to the left and he blindly follows, squeezing your fingers ever so gently as a response.

There’s a pair of people at one of the tables by the food trucks. They spot you almost immediately, and one of them stands to greet you. He’s a little taller than you are, made even more obvious when he gives you an awkward, one-armed hug over the picnic table’s bench. The other one–a woman–remains seated, eyeing Yoongi.

For a hot minute, it’s weird, as he stands there in silence while you chat with the man and woman. It’s not even the side-eye that the woman’s shooting him. The man is handsome–Yoongi’s not blind–and you are friendly with him. But there’s a moment, the briefest of moments, where you gesture somewhere off to your left. And when your body moves, Yoongi’s arm moves, too, and a little part of him, a silly, childish, hopeful part, soars.

You’re still holding his hand.

Eventually, you introduce him to the two. Alice works the reference desk in your library while she’s doing a doctorate program in linguistics. Her partner is gone in the winter, fighting fires in the far south. Despite her harsh side-eye, she greets Yoongi with a smile and a polite handshake. Jihwan, on the other hand, is the head baseball coach at the university. How the two of you met, Yoongi can only guess, but you make no mention of Jihwan’s partner, and Yoongi doesn’t see a gem anywhere. He almost–almost–starts to feel bad for the guy, but then he opens his mouth.

You ask a simple question, gesturing with your head to the food trucks. “What do they have good?”

“The pierogi guy from last year is back-”

Jihwan interrupts Alice. “Too much butter.”

It’s not even what he says. It’s how he says it. Like you and Alice are toddlers, like you can’t be trusted not to drown yourselves in carbs. But you roll your eyes and Alice scoffs playfully, and Yoongi realizes that this is not the first time Jihwan has done something like this. And suddenly, Yoongi hates this guy.

“Apparently, he’s got a new flavor this year,” Alice says, continuing like Jihwan never interrupted. “But the taco guy is also back-”

“Is the popcorn guy back?” you ask. laughing. “Because I kind of want a front-row seat to that.” Yoongi must look confused, because you explain. “Pierogi guy’s daughter was engaged to taco guy’s daughter. But last year, pierogi guy and taco guy just started yelling at each other-”

“-It was amazing,” Alice adds.

“It was ridiculous,” Jihwan mumbles.

You push him. “It was a little like having our own little telenovela here.”

Cautiously, Yoongi asks, “Why were they fighting?”

“No one knows.” You shrug. “But it launched a campus-wide food war. Everyone was choosing sides. It was like the year the Moondance tried to change its logo.”

Jihwan and Alice look at you, a little confused. But Yoongi knows exactly what you’re talking about. Somewhere around when you were preteens, the owners of the Moondance diner decided that its logo was outdated and wanted to update it. The whole town had been in an uproar, whole neighborhoods entering into a Cold War-esque stand-off over their preferences. People who had been friends for 50 years were suddenly in an unsolvable, unending argument. All over a color palette swap and a slightly newer font. Yoongi hadn’t cared much one way or the other–all businesses change their logos at some point, right?–and he always suspected that you didn’t either, but you’d both gotten swept up in the chaos of it all. It was stupid, ridiculous fun, and he’s pretty sure that his parents still have the buttons you’d made somewhere in their house.

You finally let go of Yoongi’s hand when you’re standing in line at the taco truck, and he’s painfully aware of how empty it feels now. You don’t go far, though, standing close enough that your elbow brushes against his every once in a while. You’re scrolling through your phone, reading some news article to pass the time. It’s gotten darker since you’ve been there, and looking up, he can just barely make out a couple pinpricks of stars in the sky. The clearing is fairly bright, with little flickering balls of light criss-crossing the space like bistro lighting, and the lights from the city below don’t help to make the night sky visible.

You pay for his tacos–”I get an employee discount,” you say, brandishing your university id like it’s a black card–and Yoongi doesn’t think that you were in line that long, but when you return to the table, Alice and Jihwan are gone.

“Where’d-” He’s not even asked the question, but you’re already shrugging.

“Alice’s probably off calling her fiance,” you say it like you’re back in high school, all singsong-y and mockingly, “and who knows where Jihwan got to. Probably trying to take someone home tonight.”

“He seems…”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“How’d you meet him?”

A pang of… something hits him. Your expression falls, ever so slightly, and he regrets asking. But after a brief moment, you clear your throat. “He and I are the only two on campus without gems.”

Oh.

Well.

That makes sense.

“So they…”

You pick a piece of red cabbage off your taco and eat it. “Yeah, they know.”

Which explains Alice’s side-eye earlier. The weird emotion he’d gotten from you is gone now, and you seem to have just brushed right past the awkward feelings.

He hums, not really sure what to say. What’s there to say? So instead of saying anything dumb, he does the safe thing. He changes the subject.

“No wonder they didn’t kick the taco guy out of the festival this year.” He takes another bite of his taco. “This is the best al pastor I’ve ever had.”

“His chimichangas are amazing, but he only makes them on special days.”

“More special than…?” He gestures vaguely. Around you, the lights have started to dim. Yoongi isn’t really sure when that started, but things are definitely less bright.

You laugh, and something inside of him warms.

He hasn’t even finished his tacos yet, but the vibe in the clearing starts to dramatically change. The crowd gathers tighter, a palpable buzz in the air. Alice has returned and stands alone near the head of the table. She’s looking up at the sky, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees why. There’s an aurora in the sky, gentle waves of effervescent greens and blues swirling through the heavens, just like the night market all those years ago. It has to be magic of some sort–the city isn’t far enough north for it to be natural–but he can’t tell who’s doing it.

A hand on his shoulder pulls his focus back to the ground. You’re there behind him, bathed in the dim glow of the floating lights around you. By now, it’s almost dark, but even in the low light and deep shadows, you’re beautiful.

“Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get a good spot closer to the lookout.”

He follows you through the crowd, weaving around the bodies to get closer to the edge of the clearing. It’s tight, and you grab his hand so you don’t get separated. Normally, Yoongi isn’t a huge fan of crowds like this. You’re a small island in a sea of people, and he barely has room to turn in a circle without bumping into someone. You stand close–close enough that he can feel your warmth through the chill of the night.

The city spans the valley below, a forest of metal and windows and concrete. A bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark night. But then, individually at first and then more, the buildings’ lights begin to flicker out.

“They’ve been doing this festival since before the city got public electricity,” you explain, answering his question before he could even ask. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

With the lights of the city mostly out, the stars above are much brighter. He can almost see them twinkling and winking as they burn, millions of billions of lightyears away. The night sky is beautiful, and his eyes drift around to locate the constellations he’d learned as a child. Almost immediately, he finds Perseus, right beside his wife Andromeda. You’d loved the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa when you were kids, and even though he hadn’t looked for the constellation in over a decade, finding it is still ingrained in him.

He nudges you slightly, pointing up to the constellation. But just as he does, a pinprick of light streaks across the sky. You squeeze his hand as more streaks start to appear and the gathered crowd buzzes with ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. The meteors are all sizes. Big and bright. Small and thin. They aren’t constant, only a few show up every minute, but it’s beautiful to watch.

There’s a strange sensation growing in his chest, something warm and fluttering and all-encompassing. You lean a little closer and the feeling grows. You must sense something–he’s never really been sure what his emotions feel like for you–because you look up at him. For a moment, you look confused.

Yoongi isn’t really sure how it happens, but what he does know is that suddenly, your face is centimeters from his own. He thinks that maybe someone bumped you and you took a step closer, but maybe that’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps. He also knows that he’s the one that closes the space between you, leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s quick, a little impulsive, and truthfully, it feels a little forbidden.

He pulls away, not far enough to make it seem like he’s made a mistake, but enough that it gives you an out, if you want it. His brain starts making all these calculations–what he should do if you back away, what he should do if you slap him, what if you don’t react.

But then you whisper, “Why’d you stop?” and your hand slides up his chest to grip the lapel of his coat. You tug with a surprising amount of force, and when your lips connect, he feels himself soaring.

His entire world narrows to the points where your bodies connect. The firm touch of your knuckles against his shirt, the way your leg presses against his, but mostly the heat from your lips as he deepens the kiss. You fit against him perfectly, as if you were made for each other. He’d only kissed you that one time, but somehow, he’d missed it, missed you.

When you finally pull away, you stay close, pressed against his chest–though whether that’s fully your choice or because of the crowd tightening around you is anyone’s guess. He can feel your heart pounding, and when you shoot him a small smirk, he’s pretty sure that you can feel the pace of his own pulse. Your grip loosens on the collar of his coat and you smooth it down coolly before your arm wraps around his back. Without a word, you cozy in, pressed close as your gaze returns to the sky and to the stars.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving, mind empty. But then it’s like he snaps out of a trance, and he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His focus shifts to the shooting stars above, catching one just as it streaks across the sky. As he stands there, staring at the heavens and feeling your steady breathing, his mind begins to wander.

12 years, 7 months, and 3 days. He’d spent most of that time wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t left. If, after he’d kissed you at the night market, he’d been satisfied with whatever life had come after that. He’d been so scared back then, of losing control, of his life not being his own. But now, none of that matters.

Now, he’d give up almost anything to stay here, in this moment, in your arms.

okay so like... what do we think? how are we feeling? I was originally planning on having this be much longer, but I was so stressed out from grad school, I just wanted to get it out now. I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! and let me know if you want to see a part 2 (and if so, what you might want to see in it!!)

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #myg x reader #bts soulmate au #bts supernatural au #set me free

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

omg omg i saw this tiktok before and it deffo gave doctor remus vibes!

this girls boyfriend was a doctor and he was using her as like a test person- like checking her heart rate with the stethoscope, making her take deep breaths and it was so intimate and uggghh remus would make me melt with that <33

This is so perfect haha, thanks for requesting! I’m thinking more med student remus than doctor for this one but we’re gonna call it the same for tagging purposes :)

med student!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 704 words

“I have to think my patients will take me a bit more seriously,” says Remus, voice dry but hinting at a smile.

“Sorry.” You try to quell your giggling. It had started up when he’d been feeling about your abdomen, and now you can’t seem to stop. “It’s just weird seeing you all professional.”

“Well, that is the goal.” But Remus’ lips curve as he takes the flashlight away from your ear. He takes your chin in hand, kissing you softly. “Look straight ahead for me, dove.”

“Wow, Doctor Lupin,” you tease as you follow his directions, keeping your gaze fixed while he shines the flashlight in your eyes, “do you treat all your patients like this?”

“Only the cheeky ones,” he hums. “Now follow my finger.”

“So bossy.”

“Any chance you could let me get through this without the commentary?”

“Not a great chance.”

Your boyfriend huffs a laugh through his nose. “Try not to move your head. Just follow my finger with your eyes, alright?”

You comply a bit more stoically, quiet as you track his finger across the space in front of you. Remus doesn’t make it easy for you, and when it dips out of your field of vision he tsks.

“That’s not good,” he murmurs severely, but you know him well enough to recognize the mirth in his tone.

“Now who’s taking things too lightly?”

“I’m going to listen to your lungs,” Remus pretends he hasn’t heard you, slipping back into his professional tone as he takes his stethoscope from around his neck. He breathes on the end and rubs it with his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Warming it up.” He sits down behind you on the bed. “Just stay facing that way, please. I’m going to put my hand up the back of your shirt.”

“Fine, but don’t make a habit of it.”

It’s like you can hear his eyes rolling. “Behave.”

You stifle your laughter, trying to sit still as Remus sets the now slightly warmed metal to your back.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You do. He moves the stethoscope a few inches upward.

“Again, please.”

You do.

“I feel like I can usually breathe better than this,” you tell him. “It’s harder under pressure.”

“Please don’t talk while I’m listening to your lungs.”

“Oh, sorry.”

A soft chuckle, and then a knuckle skims over the skin just beside the stethoscope.

“A few more breaths,” says Remus, affection warming his tone.

You comply, feeling your face heat slightly, and then his hand comes out from beneath your shirt.

“Alright, now I’m just going to have a listen to your heart.” He bends in front of you again.

You watch Remus’ face as he slips his hand under the collar of your shirt and settles the stethoscope on your chest. His eyebrows twitch closer together as he concentrates, the muscles around his eyes tightening just slightly. He’s starting to accumulate freckles there already, the ones that had faded nearly to nothing during winter cropping up again near the outer corners of his eyes and on the bridge of his nose. Slowly, his lips start to curve into a smile.

“What?” you ask.

“It’s beating fast.” Remus raises his eyes to yours, smugness swimming lazily in the amber pools. “Any reason for that?”

You groan and try to move away, but he sets a hand on your shoulder, laughing properly now.

“Oi, I still need to practice. Just relax.”

“This is mean,” you whine, but you’re smiling too. “You’re practically touching my boob, and I’m supposed to be calm about that?”

“You’d think you’d be used to it.”

“I’m trying to give you a realistic practice,” you joke. “If I was your patient and not your girlfriend, I’d be halfway to a heart attack right now.”

Remus rolls his eyes but relents, putting the stethoscope back around his neck and swooping in for a kiss. “I don’t think I have the same effect on anyone else,” he says.

“Trust me, you’re underestimating yourself.”

He scoffs, but you spot the faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “Suppose I’ll have to adjust my methods, then. Be my practice patient a bit longer so I can figure it out?”

927 notes · View notes

eupheme · 1 year

Text

— looking back

joel miller x f!reader

rated e - 2.2k

tags: jackson-era Joel pov, angst, canon-typical violence/references to death, established relationship, Joel is an ass man, consensual somno elements, posessive!joel, body worship, dirty talk, male masturbation, spitting, touching, come marking

a/n: easing back into writing and started 2 little wips that are sort of "introspective-joel-pov-smut-fics" - here is the first one! 💕

“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”

Or - Joel gets off just from the sight of you

He’s strung as tight as a bow. The lingering adrenaline a notched arrow, leaving him about to snap. Blood seeps into his jeans - splattered across his knees, where he had jerked the knife from the man’s neck.

It had been a mercy killing. A stranger, but they had all seen the bite. He had been the only one to do something about it.

He’s told others that you get used to it. The killing - that after a while, survival wins out.

You get over it.

But you don’t. Instead, it clings to him like a shadow, following him home - down the worn, familiar path. Inside the gates, back to Jackson.

Heavier than it’s been before. An itching beneath his skin. If he was over it, he wouldn’t have to turn himself off. Shutting away a part of himself, only to fight to come back - clawing his way out later.

An aching reminder at how short life could be. That yes, things were different - but he was never really safe.

Not really.

His path brings him to you. A beacon, guiding his way back.

His - your - home coming into view, just as the dawn creeps over the fall, wooden fences. The misty grey brightening into gold and pink with the sun, as he’s unlocking the wooden door, shouldering it open.

A look thrown out the window as he scrubs his hand clean in the kitchen - seeing that the garage light is on. That she’s home, that she’s okay. An automatic check, before his weary feet take him upstairs.

Joel sheds the layers, the jacket thrown over the railing at the top of the stairs. Fingers fumbling with his belt, pulling the worn leather through the loops before his stained jeans crumple on the floor, as he pushes the cracked door open.

The light from the hallway stretches across the wooden floor, creeping into the dark room. Where you still lay sleeping, curled on your side within the blankets and sheets. Missing him in your dreams, that space next to you long empty.

Cold - where your fingers reach out, searching for him.

His path diverts, moving to you instead of the attached bathroom. The edge of the bed sinking under his weight, a soft sound as you stir.

“‘Welcome ‘ome.” You murmur, still half-asleep. A little wiggle as your bent knee hitches higher, the oversized shirt you’re wearing bunching up around your hips.

He reaches out, just the ghosting of his fingers against the soft skin near your knee. The fluttering of heavy lashes as you fight sleep, only to be pulled under again.

Joel’s hand shifts. A warm palm pressing against your thigh. Against soft skin, so different than his own calloused touch.

Home.

It is, isn’t it? As close to he’s had in years. Decades. The old apartment in the QZ had never felt that way, not with the faded floral walls. Those small rooms that still held ghosts.

But here, his own touch lingers. Yours, melding with it. It would never be like before - the picking out of furniture, of paint. But it’s his clothes in the closet. His worn guitar that rests against the couch. His wooden carvings lining the top of the mantle, above the fireplace.

And you - you're scattered throughout. Woven blankets and thick sweaters. Books, covering damn near every surface.

A little bottle of found lotion tucked away in the bathroom. He can smell it now, as he leans over you. A bristly kiss pressed against your cheek, the curve of your shoulder.

Amber, vanilla, caramel.

He’s pulled back to the memory, the light shining in your eyes when he handed the beaten bottle over. The minuscule amount you had worked into your knuckles - the soft sigh of contentment.

A bright laugh when he had pulled you close, the murmured “smells good” against your throat, as you had squirmed in his grasp - smiling as you read the fragrance notes out loud.

Something stirs in him, then. The press of his thigh against yours, as he leans over. Eyes dragging down to the bare curve of your ass, his hand tracing cup your thigh to palm your flesh.

His already uneven breath hitching, as you sigh. That little smile - his name - murmured out as you rock instinctively into his touch. Still on the edge of consciousness, lulled off into a deep sleep with the cooling of summer.

Waking you up wouldn’t be unusual. Half the time you’re already up after these early-morning patrols. Waiting for him.

How he waits for you, on those few days where it’s you out there, instead of him. His jaw working with irritation until you’re home and back and safe, and he’s stripping your clothes from you himself.

It’s selfish to wake you, on a morning where you sleep so deeply. Even with the stress that’s eating at him, simmering in his veins.

But maybe… maybe he can just-

Joel is leaning, his mouth against your neck. A shift as you stretch, baring your skin to him as your lips curl in a smile. A soft, sleepy hum as you reach for him, fingers curving over the thick muscle of his forearm.

The hand on your ass drifting up - across to the small of your back. Meeting nothing but warm, bared skin beneath your shirt.

“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”

Heavy-lidded eyes open then at the sound of his voice - his words - as you tilt your head. A slow sweep over the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his stomach. The spread of his thighs as he kneels behind you. The already half-hard tent of faded boxers.

You had been waiting for him. Anticipating his return, eager for his touch. The cloud of sleep begins to clear as he palms himself, the bed shifting as your hips shift, thighs spreading open for him.

“I can take care of you,” Your voice is scratchy - husky, in the early morning. A hand pressing again on your back as you begin to roll over, holding you in place.

“You already are,” Joel groans, as your hips tilt up, off the bed. Knees pressing into the mattress as he nudges your thighs wider, fitting between them, “Stay just like that, alright?”

The combination feels erotic. His smell on the shirt you wear. The tingling throb between your thighs, the desire in his voice. How much he wants - enough that just the sight of you has him hard, thumbs catching on the waistband of his boxers to free himself.

You relax into the bed, as you watch. The weight of his hand as it moves to squeeze your ass. A pressure as he tugs, opening you up.

“Fuck.”

Joel spits in his palm, before it’s wrapping around his cock. A rough groan as some of that need is eased, with the sharp stroke of his fist.

Just letting himself look. Admire.

A sight that is only his, fingers sinking into soft flesh. The way you trust, how effected you are already - the shallow rock of your hips as the sound of skin-on-skin fills the room.

“You got a pretty little pussy, honey.” He hears himself saying. Watching how you clench at his praise, the little gasp that follows. “Pretty little holes. All for me, right?”

He can feel the weight of your gaze. Darkening, as your hunger grows low in your belly. Darting between his face and the sharp flick of his wrist.

Rarely getting to see him take, like this. Usually he would have been buried in you, by now. There’s the urge to ask, but there’s a power in this - wanting to watch him get off to you. Not having to lift a finger to do so.

“All for you.” You sigh, “Always.”

His jaw grits, teeth clicking together. A bead of precum joins the slick of his spit, that angry fire in his belly transforming.

So different that the little mouse he had taken to bed, all those months ago. Your hands covering your mouth, muffling the moans, until he had pried them away. Pinning them against the pillows, whispering filth in your ear.

Now, he can see the greed in your eyes. The way you glisten, when his own gaze drops. The shift of your thighs as he takes a second to rub himself against the curve of your ass. Dipping down to press against your core.

The tip coming back slick, in a new kind of way - fueling the pressure, building in his belly.

Your moan breaks the early-morning quiet. His name on your lips again - more urgent than before.

The little beg only sends him closer, a rough groan in his throat. His own hand too familiar - used to the quick and precise touch he needs to get off, when he had to.

In the before. In the during - when it was only words that the you of you had exchanged. Heated looks that lingered late into those lonely nights.

Hasn’t felt the urge to, since he’s had you.

He expects you to ask him to fill you, eyes caught on the enticing lift of your hips.

Caught off-guard for the briefest second, a heat flushing over his cheeks, when you shift beneath him instead. Flipping over, onto your back.

Eyes bright, teeth sinking into your lip as you smile.

“Wanna watch.” You admit, and that tension in his shoulders settles in his chest, turning sweet.

His fist tightening around his cock, as your thighs splay over his. Opening yourself up under his gaze, stretching out in front of him.

And fuck, what a sight. There’s a rolling wave deep in his core that he chases with the rock of his hips.

His hand fits perfectly against the curve of your waist, eyes caught on the way your fingers catch on the hem of your shirt.

Pulling it up over your breasts, a path that his eyes follow greedily.

“Christ, darlin’.” The words rumble in his chest.

A rough exhale as your own gaze drops to his fist. The pace that he’s picked up - the peek of the flushed tip when he strokes down to the base.

Already about to burst, like he’s a man half his age. Could say it’s just his own touch, the urge to relieve the weight of his stress.

But he knows it’s more. That warmth in his chest, a tenderness that has only softened the rough stone of his heart since he’s left Boston.

It’s there in the way that he could linger on the slick place between your thighs. But instead he’s watching you watch him. Focusing on the part of your lips, the shine in your eyes.

“‘m close.” Joel breathes, his words low. Rough. “Where do you want it?”

He’ll catch it in his palm if he needs to. If it helps you go back to sleep, after. He hasn’t given up on that wish - to let you drift off for a little longer.

The look you give him, the little smile that turns mischievous, has his stomach twisting into knots. Like butterflies, he thinks.

Your hand drifts down, knuckles brushing over the jerk of his. Soft fingers tracing over hot, swollen flesh. Only to curve over your mound, to spread yourself open for him.

“Fuck.” He breathes, again, “There?”

The answering hum is low, desperate.

“Wanna hear you ask me.” Joel pushes - needing to hear you say it, knowing it will push him over the edge.

You squirm beneath him, affected by the edge to his voice, the soft command.

“Want you to come on me.”

“Where, baby?” The word slides from his lips without thought.

The eye contact breaks, your gaze darting away with embarrassment. But after a moment it’s back - the soft heave of your breasts as you suck in a breath, steeling your nerves.

“Want you to come on my pussy, Joel.”

He can’t help the rough groan, ripped from his chest. The shift of his thighs as he pulls back, as that pressure builds. The pleasure surging instead of ebbing, as he tips his cock downward.

The next stroke of his fist pushes him past the threshold. Relief sings in his veins as he spills across your mound. Painting your abdomen with his release, eyes fluttering closed as his hearing goes fuzzy.

Drowning out his long moan, as you push yourself up. He meets you instinctually, arcing over you as his mouth is drawn to yours.

As his spend drips down the crease of your thigh, so warm against soft skin.

It feels like a weight is lifted, like he’s back in his own skin again. Relaxing into the fingers that scratch into his hair, the tongue that sweeps against his.

But it’s only a few moments before he remembers. Coming back to himself, as he fits his hand between your thighs.

Fingers dragging through his release, bringing his slick fingers to circle against your clit.

Because there’s no way you’re going back to sleep after this. Not if he knows you - which he’s now certain that he does.

"Thank you honey." He murmurs, with lips that press against your cheek.

The smallest smile after, as your own part with a moan - as he croons against your skin.

"Now let me take care of you."

thank you for reading! was excited to explore a little idea I had 💕

(tags: @celestianstars)

#gif credit to @loregifs - she is amazing!#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

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loaksbitch · 2 years

Text

ok this is based on request, but imagine jake sully fucking you with pure hated cause your existence alone fucking irritates him yet he can’t keep his hand off of you yes? HECK YES

warning(s) – enemies with benefits, angry sex, mean jake, clit stimulation, overstimulation, cervix fucking, dumbfication, owning kink (if that’s a thing), cussing, orgasm denial, choking, slight hair pulling, cum stuffing, reader is a bratty minx too.

jake was sat across the hut, reshaping his arrow tip to hunt for later and very much annoyed on how youre in front of him, chewing on your thumbnail so fucking loud, on eywa you’re was so bitchy.

for the past half hours he was trying so hard to block out the chewing sound yet nothing helped, especially with your very aware self doing that purposely.

“can you stop doing that?” jake huffs, doing his best to control his growing anger and hatred.

“what?” you say with an attitude, a brow arched and giving him a stare.

you and you’re fucking attitude. jake licks his lips, tongue poking through his cheek. “that, stop chewing loud you’re distracting me.” he says, pointing to where his reshaped arrows are.

you click your tongue, nodding your head to the door. “if you’re disturbed, the door is that way.” your words are pushing him on edge, wanting to rip you and do things, you on other hand was also feeling the same and you want him away from your sight.

“this place is not yours.” he spat, tone showing a tint of anger. you’re hitting jackpot. “and it’s not yours.” you bite back.

a deep growl leaves his chest, jake frowning as he starts to speed his knife against the wooden arrow. he decides to ignore you, thinking it’s the best to steam down his anger, fuck he really hates you it’s making his cock twitch.

you’re not done with him, especially after yesterday night when he literally scared the cute na’vi male who was talking to you away. this bitch deserves to go crazy with your existence.

“slow down.” you say, voice high and pushing him to the edge. “i swear to God, y/n if you don’t shut the fu—“ you dare to cut him off, you fucking cut him off and his nostrils flared.

“you might not want to cut those fingers, do you?” you tease, empathizing with the fact he has five fingers and is different from the na’vi’s.

he blinks, eyes twitching and triggered before he snaps his head to yours.

“i’m sick of your bitchy self today.” he tries to humble you but you find ways to slap his face with your fiery mouth. “and i'm sick of your bitchy self every day.” you say and jake loudly hissed, amber eyes strictly glaring at you.

“fuck you.” he grumbles

“fuck you.” you hiss back.

done with his shit, you decide to leave and get on your feet. he smirks, lips opening to get on your nerves. “leaving already?” you don’t reply, only one plan in your mind. you’re gonna destroy this man.

intentionally, you walk over to where reshaped and non shaped separated arrows are and nudge your leg to them. you feel them tumble, falling and mixing together. “oops.” you giggle,

jakes’ smirk drops, fading so quickly, this was the last string of patience he had. he lets a terrific chuckle out and your body shivers, maybe you’ve taken it too far.

“you little bitch.” he was now on his feet, walking to you and grabbing you by your hair. you two always ended up in a fight, him not caring if you're a female or you not caring if he was male. you just go for it, punching him when he dared to touch your hair.

“the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you turn to him, face red with anger as well. you’ve always hated when someone had you by your hair. you poke on his chest, pushing him while you knew this drives him insane with maddens cause he hates getting pushed too.

“don’t. push. me.”

both of your eyes were on fire and burning holes to each other’s skull. you swallow nervously yet hold your ground and not let him see how he was intimidating you.

“don’t be an asshat and you won’t be pushed.” you said quietly.

“fuck you.” he says, voice to deep.

“fuck you.” you’re on your tiptoes now, chin raised high to show you’re not scared or bottoming out.

without any warnings his lips were on yours, hot and wet as he takes your lips and devour you. anger was still in him but the lust is winning. both of you are fighting until he was biting on your lips and making you involuntarily moan.

it was his chance, tongue being shoved inside your mouth and being tied. he moans to the kiss. jake suddenly pulls you closer and you whine, hands skimming to his chest and push him away.

he licks his lips, eyes lingering on your lips before lifting to see your eyes. you wipe your lips with your arm, spitting on the floor with disgust. oh trust me, you were so fucking turned on but had to pretend.

“don’t wipe my kiss off your lips.” he demands and you scoff, wiping more and watch his eyes squint, a chuckle leaving him.

“fine then, i’ll mark you all over your body and see if you can wipe it.” he spits and you’re being scooped to his shoulder.

you don’t fight cause you know you want this, but at the same time you’re nervous.

before you know it, you’re being thrown to the hammock, jake crawling on top of you and you almost moan at the sight. “what the fuck are you doing?” you ask, not letting him have a chance to know you’re wanting him right now.

“i think your sexy ass knows exactly what i’m doing.” your inside twists, pussy pulsing at his words. he doesn’t miss how your legs close themselves and he nods, smirking. “that turns you, doesn't it?” you look away when he holds onto your knees and forces them open.

“fuck you.” you say again and this time jake grins. “please do.” he begs this time.

he was between your legs, your loincloth getting ripped away and him untying his gently. he’s so passive aggressive. “i’m gonna fuck you till you’re screaming my name only.” he leans to nudge on your cheek with his nose.

“fuck off, i’m not doing–“ jake was again kissing you, rough and angry that almost breaks your skin. your legs are roughly pushed wider. “i fucking hate you.” he reminds you and anger bubbles in you, “i fucking hate you too–hngh..!” you struggle to answer when pleasure strikes you as jake cups your heat.

“you’re so fucking wet.” your eyes almost roll up to your head, his husky voice being too much. jake was admiring the way he bruised your blue skin when he was marking your neck.

jake trails hot wet kisses down your cleavage and to your breast. you drew a deep breath between your teeth when he took your nipple. jake locked his eyes with yours when he tugged on your nipple, letting it roll between his teeth. the sharpness of his teeth scraping on your nipple and making you shudder.

he leaned back, getting on his knees and glaring at you as he told you how he is proud with the effect he had on you with his eyes. your temper was flaring.

you pull your legs to your chest and try to close them but jake was fast. “uh-uh.” he grips onto your ankle and yanks your legs back open. you grit your teeth, fighting him and his masculine ass to get off of you.

“baby.” he sternly calls and you freeze, “the fuck did you just call me?” you slap his hand away from you when he tries to reach and brush your messy hair from your forehead. “i ain’t your baby.” you growl.

“fine, you want it the hard way?” he spits. “i’ll fuck you then.”

you’re getting pushed back and pinned to the hammock. “fucking stay like that or else…” he threats and you scoff. “no, you don’t tell me what to you, i’m not yours to obey around.”

“you’re not mine?” he arched his brow and you're silent, looking away and staring at the roof until hands are firm, grip on your jaw turns you and makes you meet his gaze. “you’re not mine?” of course at the end of the day you’re his.

“yes, you don’t own me.” every time his nostrils flared, you were very happy because he was getting upset. “we will see about that.” and then he was leaning down to capture your other breast that didn’t get attention.

you were fast to throw your head back, moaning when you felt him lightly bite on your bud and make you squirm under him. you didn’t realize you were pushing his head away from your chest until jake was grabbing your wrist and throwing it away.

right then you arch your back for him to suck on your nipple more he stops and you whine. “you’re not mine huh? you sure you don’t want to take that back?” you huff, eyes telling him you’re not changing your mind.

“yeah,” you spit, watching him grin, “is that so?” he says.

“yes, because you’re— argh!” you groan when his other hand roughly parts your fold and sinks in until his knuckle is a barrier. jake was so rough when he fingers you, your cunt squeezing him deliciously.

your eyes widen when you catch his cock jump and point straight to the roof, precum leaking from the angry tip of his dick. he can imagine how warm and tight you are.

“relax.” he curls his finger inside you, thumb flicking your clit. “relax for me.” he hates you yet look at him going all ‘relax for me’ on you.

“you’re so pathetic, so fucking dumb on my fingers.” he pulls his two fingers out before shoving them in you.

“who am i?” he asks and your answer causes him to curl his fingers inside you. “you’re an asshole!” you mweled. “asshole? i’m an asshole?” jake pinches on your thigh when you try to close them on his hand.

“c’mon pretty, i know you’re better than that. who am i?”

you’re silent, only soft breath leaving you. jake can feel how you pulse on his fingers, telling him you’re about to come. “what the–“ your eyes shoot open when you feel jake pull his hands away from you.

“open your legs wider, be fast.” for once you do as you’re told and jake hums, pleased.

“you’re not gonna get that far until you say you’re mine.” he was very serious and you gulped. you’re spread open and jake closes his eyes when the scent of your leaking slick hits his nose.

you smell so tempting and delicious.

your gaze follows him when he settles between your legs. “gonna fuck some sense into you now.” you throbbed when you said that, feeling your wetness leaking out of you fast and clenching on nothing but air.

jake held both of your legs, pushing them up to your chest and folding you half. it was his turn to squat, watching your exposed and pink folds shining as his angry tip circles on the slit.

“please,” you catch yourself slipping, pride somehow demolished. jake was surprised, “what? can’t hear you.” he gives you an attitude.

you don’t fight back, just wanting to be filled with his dick. “please i need you inside me.” he wasn’t up for teasing now. he needed you as much as you needed him. “fuuuck.” he moans, watching your face attentively when your jaw hungs open.

pain and pleasure hit you, he was not giving you any time to get accustomed to his length. jake thrusts into you, angry and rough.

“you’re mine?” he asks, taking advantage of your hazy mind but you’re no near to being hazy. “fuck off.” you hiss when he pushes your leg to your chest more, almost blocking your lungs from your stretching.

“hm, i’m asking you in a minute and i’ll need you to get it right yeah?” you only moan. jake pressed his body to your folded leg, grabbing your hips and titling your pelvis. you scream when he hits the right spot.

hands sought to his broad shoulders and pushed him when he ruined your tight cunt, it was painful when he started to slip in more. jake can’t help but get shocked when he fucks you open. his cock was literally in your cervix.

“it hurts.” you whine but jake only shushes you. hands wiping on the tears that appear on your eyes. “shh, you’re okay. i’m just so deep, f-fuck don’t do that.” he grips on your hips when you tighten on him. your warm breath hits his lips on how close he is and pressing himself on you.

hands that were wiping your tears slides to hold onto your wrists that keep pushing him away and moving them away from him. “who am i, baby?” you’re now completely gone, his dick controlling your brain and body, even your breath when he ruts to you.

tears are leaking from your eyes as he keeps thrusting into you, abusing your walls and bruising them. you moan and cry louder, nothing making sense with the pleasure and pain you’re feeling.

your breath shortens when jake wraps his large hand on your throat, oh mother eyw—

“who am i?” his tone changes on the last word and you scream? giving in easily. “jake! jake sully!” you cry out, orgasm bubbling in you, you want it out of you, the growing pressure. you want jake to rip it out of you.

“okay, that’s it.” he pats your temple, “ seems like ’m knocking some sense in you.”

“now,” he kisses your forehead, hate still bubbling in him. “you’re mine, yeah?” you wanted to shake your head. wanted to punch him. wanted to…

“c’mon, say it and i’ll give you what you need.”

“i’m yours, i’m yours, i’m yours.” the moment you said it, jake felt something in him burn with ego. you’re his, you gave yourself to him. no going back now.

“good fucking girl.” he huffs, pulling out of you and causing you to cry, like seriously cry loud and he spreads your leg apart, hands wrapping on your waist before he helps you get on him.

your ass sets against his strong thighs and you moan when he easily slipped inside you.

“JAKE!” you yell when he pushes you down, bottoming out before grazing on your earlobe. “you’re mine, you get it? a part of you is mine and i own you.” you hate how his words made your insides clench.

tears are shed, heart in pain with no reason. “i hate you.” you tell him and he smiles, pulling you close to him and hugging you as he fucks himself in you. “i hate you too.” jake chuckles when you hide yourself on his chest.

“i’m gonna cum…” you whine, feeling the man holding you close. “i got you, i’m here.” at this point the hate is confusing because jake doesn’t know what he is feeling any more.

you let go, trusting the man you hate the most and coming. he was soon taking your step, manly whining and hiding himself to the crook of your neck. “shit.” he moans, loading himself in you.

he suddenly feels you pushing him away and hips buckling causing him to slip out of you. he was about to ask what was wrong until glaring at him with pure rage.

“this never happened.” you bark and watch him confused and try to understand. “what?” he innocently asks and you point at him then, down to his semi-hard cock. “this, me and you. we never did it.”

right then it hits him, jake gets that you don’t want this to get out of you two, it was like a dirty secret and jake felt annoyed. “you don’t want no one to know?” you’re quick to nod. “yes.” as much as he wants to show you off.

if you want this then he got you, he was gonna bite his tongue and sit back and you watch him hesitate before nodding.

“good.” you state and move from him to fetch on your loincloth. he only stares at you, the tension you both had a while ago long gone and his amber eyes following you as the mean man he was before disappeared. you don’t even spare him a look as you dress and leave the hut.

too confused and trying to process what just happened.

like + reblog is very appreciated but not pressured! i love each and everyone of you sm!

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mingi-s-dimples · 15 days

Text

dinner table - mingi

pairing: mingi x fem reader

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut (filth), non idol au

summary: Mingi invited you over after your date so you can spend more time together.

WC: 2k

warnings: non idol au, bf!mingi, oral (f receiving), eating out, cumplay, cumming. cum eating, cunnilingus, established relationship. unprotected (wrap up IRL), completely consensual, fingering, big dick!mingi (obvi), overstim, multiple orgasms, multiple rounds implied, squirting unedited (will def edit the formatting later), for sure forgot sth.

Author's Note: This one took me so long I'm so so sorry 😭😭😭 I started school again and I'm getting a loooot busier than usual so I'll try to post as often as possible but the minimum I can do is one fic per week AHHHH 😞 I loved writing it man 😇 It's delicious (to me)

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & doest not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The crisp autumn air greeted you as you stepped out of your apartment, its coolness invigorating as it brushed against your cheeks. The world around was painted in rich hues of amber, gold, and crimson, the trees standing like sentinels of the season, their leaves fluttering gently to the ground. Every step you took crunched against the scattered leaves, the sound a soft reminder of the season's embrace. Today was a day you had been anticipating with a mix of excitement and nervous energy—your first ever official date with Mingi, your boyfriend. You've been hooking up with him for a while, but you just officialised it some weeks ago.

The two of you had decided to meet at a cozy little café tucked away in the heart of the park, a place that, with its warm atmosphere and large bay windows overlooking the tree-lined path, felt like the embodiment of autumn itself. As you walked along the winding trail, the scent of cinnamon and wood smoke filled the air, blending with the earthy aroma of the fallen leaves. The park was alive with the quiet bustle of couples and families enjoying the day, their laughter mingling with the rustle of the trees. It was the perfect setting, a backdrop that felt as if it had been painted just for this moment.

Your heart fluttered with every step closer to the café, the anticipation growing with each passing second. You spotted Mingi before he saw you, his tall figure unmistakable even from a distance. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The soft, golden light of the late afternoon sun framed him in a way that made him seem almost ethereal, like a figure from a dream. His dark hair ruffled slightly in the breeze, and when he looked up and your eyes met, a warm smile spread across his face, instantly melting away the last traces of my nervousness.

You felt a wave of calm wash over you as you approached him, the world around the two of you narrowing until it felt like it was just you and him in that moment. Mingi stepped forward to greet you, his smile widening as he reached out and took your hand, his touch warm against the coolness of the day.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that matched the autumn hues around us. "You look amazing."

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks as you took in the sight of him. He looked effortlessly handsome, his coat hugging his broad shoulders, the color of the fabric harmonizing perfectly with the vibrant scenery around.

You stepped into the café together, the bell above the door chiming softly as you entered. The interior was cosy and inviting, with wooden beams overhead and a fireplace crackling in the corner, casting a warm glow across the room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air, and he found a spot by the window, where you could watch the leaves fall outside as you sipped from the drinks he ordered.

As you settled into the seats, the initial nerves you had felt earlier faded entirely, replaced by a comfortable warmth that spread through you as he began to talk. Mingi's laughter was infectious, and soon you were sharing stories, the conversation flowing effortlessly. The more he talked, the more you realized how much you enjoyed his company, his easygoing nature, a perfect complement to the serene atmosphere around.

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the park and painting the world in deeper shades of orange and red. The day felt like a beautiful, slow unfolding, each moment with Mingi more meaningful than the last. The warmth of the café, the crispness of the autumn air, and the simple joy of being with someone who made you feel so at ease—everything felt just right, as if the world had conspired to make this first date something special, something to remember.

As the evening drew closer, the two of you decided to take a walk through the park, hand in hand. The path was lined with trees whose branches arched overhead, creating a tunnel of golden leaves that crunched underfoot. The air was cool, but with Mingi by your side, it felt perfect, each step took together affirming the connection you were beginning to build.

There was some kind of magic in the air, something unspoken yet understood between the two of you, walking in comfortable silence. The day had been everything you could have hoped for and more, a perfect beginning to what felt like the start of something truly special. As you paused by the edge of the pond, watching the reflection of the fiery sky ripple across the water, you knew that this was a moment I would hold onto for a long time—a perfect first date, wrapped in the beauty of autumn and the warmth of newfound affection.

"H-hey so... I know we haven't been together for long but.."

"Hm?" you said, confused.

"You know that when we were hooking up, you came over at my house multiple times to play my favourite video game with me but... would you maybe want to spend the night... with me? I enjoyed spending time with you today, for this first date. I absolutely loved it", Mingi said, taking your hands into his, rubbing to warm them up.

"Y-yes, babe. Why not? We can watch a movie or something" you said, embracing his broat yet comforting body.

"Okay then, let's go" he murmured and held your hand, walking side by side.

*several minutes later, arriving at his apartment*

"Oh, let me" he said, taking off your coat. "Make yourself at home. In case you'd like some snacks, you know where to find them. I'll get us something to drink and I'll turn on whatever movie we haven't seen." he said and got his flip flops on, stepping onto the dark coloured rug in his living room. "Do you have any preference?" you heard him from the kitchen. "Nooo! Choose whatever!" you shouted back. You took out some random snacks and cookies from the cupboard and went back in the living room, taking a seat next to Mingi.

"I put on some kind of romance, I think we've seen it already but I didn't invite you here to watch a movie, necessarily. I wanna spend time with you. Wanna cuddle, maybe... while watching said movie, hm?" he said, embracing you.

"Yup, sounds good. Here, take some cookies, I just got em from your cupboard" you said, giggling, taking one of the cookies out and bringing it up to his lips. He took a bite and smiled at you, his right hand carresing your thigh.

"So... Mingi, babe. How do you feel about the fact that, after weeks, even months of hooking up.. we finally officialised our relationship?" you asked, looking him in the eyes.

"I was.. shy at first, to be honest with you. Like, we've made out in the past and all but the intimacy we later had because of this relationship was top tier. I don't know, I felt really positive about it." Mingi said, confidently.

*about two hours later, still cuddling up with Mingi on the couch, feeling a tad sleepy right as the movie ends, because he carresed your back the whole time*

"Sweetie, are you asleep?" Mingi said, softly.

"N-no, I was just staying still for a moment, why?"

"D-do you remember how the movie started..?" he said, making you a little bit more attentive.

"Yes, what's with that?"

"You know.. I thought we could.. maybe recreate it?" he said, looking in your eyes, his gaze darkening upon seeing your outfit once again for the night.

Oh.

"Mingi, I-" you stuttered.

"It's totally fine if you don-" but you interrupted him by going in for a kiss, which he took as a 'yes'. He then basically jumped on you, like he has been waiting for this moment for an eternity. One of his hands on your waist and one on the nape of your neck, he was all over you.

"Y-know baby, I've been waiting for this moment for so long" he said, breaking the kiss. "You've always looked so good, damn. But I never dared touch you when we were hooking up. This little... almost fragile-like body of yours... I never dared to feel it.. afraid I might destroy it. But now... oh babe, I am not gonna hold myself back." his kisses going from your cheek to your neck, where he softly marked you.

"D-don't hold yourself back-ngh" you stuttered, already feeling heat pooling in your lace panties, as his right hand was finding it's way under your blouse, now resting on your bra, tugging at it softly.

He put one hand under your ass and one on your lower back, holding you close. You couldn't see where he was going, but you were sure of one thing. He wasn't gonna take it slow.

As he placed you on a table, which was in the living room, he stopped for a moment to look at you. He was eye-fucking you, literally.

"God damn, love." his right hand on your waist, the other one under your breast, holding you still, his thumb brushing over the nipple. "You look so fucking good, like this..." his left hand going to your bra, unbuckling it. "Are you sure you're all good with it?" he asked once more.

"Yes. Mingi, please-" you pleaded.

"I thought so." he said as his hand slid your blouse off, your nipples getting harder at the colder sensation, bare in front of him. He then took you off the table for a moment, helped you out of your jeans and panties. You were now completely naked in front of him, Mingi fully clothed. His hard erection straining against his jeans, you were standing in front of him, looking contently from his lips, where you wanted to plant a kiss, to his bulge, which you wanted to take care of. You tugged at his pants for a moment. He smirked at the sight, but he wasn't quite content with your decision, yet.

"Sweetie, you eat your dinner take out or at a restaurant, I eat mine on this table. Get on, now" Mingi said an tapped the table. You did as he said, of course, and in a second he softly pushed you on your back, being careful about your head hitting the hard wood. He dragged you almost to the rim of the table, to which he halfway kneeled in front of you.

"Oh- my god" you said as he tightened his grip on your thighs, keeping you still.

"Spread out, babe. Don't be shy, I wanna see and eat every part of you" the tall man whispered. He left a trail of kisses on your thighs and without warning, his right hand went right between your legs. You lightly flinched at his touch, two of his fingers rubbing your wet folds. His fingers were soflty fondling with your cunt, his kisses getting dangerously closer.

"Stay. Still" Mingi said and started eating you out, his tongue hitting all your sweet spots. You started squirming under him, but he had a death grip on your thighs which you thought it would for sure leave marks later. His sharp and perfect nose hit your clit numerous times, sending shivers down your spine. Nails digging in your hips, his tongue traveling your body in ways you never thought you'd get explored.

"N-this feels so good-" you murmured. When he hears those words, the rytym of his tongue got faster and steadier, sending you over the edge. It didn't take long for the heat in your belly to appear and with a few more nibbing at your clit, the knot that formed in your belly unfolded and you came, some strings of silky white liquid dripping on the man's chin as he stood up.

"You taste so good... But I'm not done with you" Mingi said and took his clothes off, leaving only his briefs on. You softly gasped at his size, the girth and length for sure being way more than you could take (your fingers or the vibrator you bought a while ago whatsoever). His right hand went to your neck without warning and pushed you on the table again, laying flat on the surface, while his left hand brought your legs over his hips, lining his cock right to your hole. You were basically already all prepped up from him eating you out so he pushed himself in without warning, getting a loud moan out of your softly rising chest. He stood like that for a moment then started rapidly pounding you, the dining table moving under your weight and his power.

"You look so hot, babe. All flushed for me" he said and bottomed down, your cheeks indeed being rosy red and your forehead sweaty, your head dizzy and your legs trembling. He was still going at it and you could already feel the total opposite sensation you usually feel and that was... your body being overstimulated and overwhelmed by all that's happening. He couldn't care less tho, he had and wanted to take care of his own erection, to which he was ramming into you with a lot of power and steadiness.

Though, he was getting closer and closer. A quiet string of curses was leaving his lips, hips snapping against your pelvis, your legs bringing him closer and locking him inside you. He took that action as a free pass to finish in your cunt and did so, the feeling of being filled all up by your one and only man sending you over the edge and another knot in your belly unveiling... this time you squirted all over you and him, his face forming into a pleased smirk at the view. He fucked you through his orgasm and slowed down.

""Cmon up, easy" Mingi said and helped you stand up on your own, legs trembling and head dizzy. He looked at you contently and hugged you, giving you soft kisses. The closure he showed and gave you right after he was inches deep inside your cunt warmed your body up, cuddling against his bare skin.

"Let's get you washed up. How... was it?" he softly said and guided you to the bathroom.

"I have no words... it was fucking amazing!" you said.

"Up for a 2nd round?" Mingi winked flirtously at the shower.

"Mingi!"

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hier--soir · 1 year

Text

whole new can of worms

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: two friends decide to blow off a little steam together. warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] fwb!joel, famous HOG joel miller lmao, age gap [20 years], language, alcohol consumption, established friendship, guitar playing joel!!, oral [f and m recieving], p in v sex, starts slow and careful and ends up rough oops. word count: 6.9k (nice) series masterlist | masterlist a/n: okay LOOK. i’m working on a final part to this little impromptu series, but I got very side-tracked with the idea of a prequel and then the most smut I’ve ever written just fucking spilled out of me. this is the first time they had sex, ladies and gentlemen. you get the beginning before you get the end. enjoy. also, this moment from tlou pt 2 game is what i was picturing for the beginning when joel is playing the song. dont watch if you don't want to, its from a cut scene very late in the second game. zero spoilers, just joel miller strumming that damn guitar in a way i'll never forget. this is part one of my fwb!joel series. you can find the other parts here: two, three, four.

“Play that one I like.”

Joel offered no verbal response, but sat up straighter in his chair, fingers adjusting along the fretboard of his guitar. You relaxed into your seat, closing your eyes and taking a long sip from your glass of amber liquor.

He began playing and you smiled happily, goosebumps breaking out across your skin as the familiar tune filled the air between you and your friend, melding with the sound of rain softly pattering against the roof of his veranda. You kicked your feet up onto the table between you, the tense muscles in your legs aching from the stretch.

“Get your feet off the table,” Joel muttered, fingers never ceasing on the instrument. “Animal.”

Your eyes stayed closed, but you stuck your tongue out in his direction, smirking a little and keeping your feet up, knowing he didn’t really mind.

Both of you had endured a long fucking day.

Winter was fading into Spring, and the trees and plants in Jackson were slowly but surely beginning to bloom again. It meant you were spending more hours in the green house than out on patrol, and you weren’t complaining. Tending to the garden relaxed you, connected you to nature and to one of the food sources in the commune that helped put a little bit of food on everyone’s plate each week. Working there made you feel connected to the town, and you loved it, truly. Except, for when a thunderstorm happened.

They’d scared you for as long as you could remember. Since you were a kid, thunder and lightning had made you want to crawl under the covers on your bed and hide away until the loud noises disappeared. But as a full-grown woman, you weren’t afforded such luxuries. Rain, hail or shine, the people in Jackson depended on each other, and you couldn’t duck out of a shift because of a silly little phobia.

When the rain started pouring down on the glass roof of the greenhouse you hadn’t been surprised. Only a few weeks into springtime, the town was still shaking off the remnants of a bitterly cold winter, and a little rain was still common. It was only when the first crack of thunder sounded that you’d stilled, hands frozen gripping a heavy pot, an unwelcome shiver racing down your spine. You’d had to work for hours, the sound of rain pelting against the roof accompanying you, with flashes of lightning appearing out of the corner of your eye all day.

When all was said and done, you’d trudged through the downpour to Joel’s house and arrived on his doorstep looking like a drowned rat, only to find out that he’d spent his afternoon stuck outside on patrol, in the very weather you were so upset about.

He’d opened the door with damp hair, bundled in warm clothes, the tip of his nose a light shade of pink from the cold.

“Whiskey?” he’d asked.

You nodded. “Whiskey.”

And so the pair of you had ended up on his porch, under cover from the residual spit of rain, forgetting all about the shit day through good company and good alcohol.

As Joel strummed the last few chords of the song you sighed glumly, cracking an eye open to watch him. He set the guitar down gently and reached for his glass.

“So beautiful,” you murmured. “Wish I could play.”

“And then what use would I be?” he chuckled. “Can’t have you learning guitar; I’d have no one to play for anymore.”

You watched him closely. Staring into his glass, you could see him mulling the words over in his head. Ellie had hardly spoken a word to him in weeks, and you could see the toll it was taking, although you never pried. Clearly, something had happened, and although you and Joel were close, you hadn’t wanted to insert yourself into whatever drama had consumed his little found family. It made your chest hurt though, to watch him miss that girl. He’d always loved playing for her.

“Good thing I’m lazy then,” you mused softly. “Swear I couldn’t play an instrument with a gun to my head. I’ll need to keep you around.”

“Works for me,” he said, refilling both your glasses. “You on the patrol roster tomorrow?”

You shook your head, accepting the glass with a grateful smile. A slight buzz warmed your insides, fighting to keep your body temperature up as the cool breeze licked at your exposed hands and face. “Nope, I’m a free agent tomorrow, no responsibilities.”

“God damn,” he rolled his eyes. “Gonna be stuck out there all alone with Tommy.”

“Devastating,” you grinned. “I’m way better company.”

“Too right,” Joel agreed. “What’s your plan for the day, little miss no responsibilities? Still reading that book I found you?”

Probably masturbate. The thought zipped through your mind so suddenly that you felt your chest warm, and you cleared your throat softly.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Probably just read for a while. Dinner at Maria and Tommy's, remember?”

You hoped he didn’t see through the lie, because the truth was that you were embarrassed by yourself. Only a few days before you’d been struck by the realisation that you hadn’t had sex, or even been touched intimately by another person, in months. In fact, you noted sullenly, it had been half a fucking year. And you were struggling. It was your longest dry spell in a while, and every night lately you’d found yourself tangled up in your bed with your hand in your underwear, wishing desperately that someone, anyone, else was there with you.

Trying to ward off the unsavoury thoughts filling your mind, you took a deep gulp of whiskey and shut your eyes, contemplating asking if he had any cigarettes laying around.

Suddenly, a deep groan pierced the air between you and your eyes shot open. What the fuck?

With wide eyes, you saw that Joel was gripping his right leg tightly, thumb rubbing deep circles into the skin above his knee cap, and you forced yourself to relax. A sound of pain, you realised. But your heart had stuttered in your chest, because as out of character as it would’ve been, with your eyes closed it had sounded like a vaguely sexual noise. You rolled your eyes, willing yourself to get a grip. But it had been so long, and the sound of a man groaning in any way was enough to light a fire in your stomach.

“It’s the cold,” he noticed your stare. “Makes my knee ache.”

You nodded knowingly, eyes watching as his large hand gripped his thigh, applying pressure to the tender area.

“What’s up your ass?” Joel asked.

“Huh?” your gaze flashed up to meet his and found him watching you closely, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re frownin’,” he said. “Gone all quiet suddenly.”

“So are you,” you huffed defensively, face warming. “You always fucking frown, I can’t do it one time?”

“No,” he grinned cheekily, stilling rubbing his knee. “I frown enough for the both of us. You can figure somethin’ else out.”

You let out a begrudging chuckle and felt the indent between your eyebrows relax.

“Seriously,” he pushed. “What’s wrong? Is it too cold? We should move inside.”

“No,” you cringed, scratching the side of your neck awkwardly. Lowering your legs off the table you sat up a little straighter in your chair. “It’s good out here, I like it. I’m just… distracted, I don’t know.”

“What’s on your mind?” he sipped his whiskey.

Without needing any more prompting, you gave up on beating around the bush. “When’s the last time you had sex?”

A choked sound escaped him, and he swallowed quickly, coughing into his elbow. “Christ, what?”

“I’m not,” your cheeks were on fire. “I’m not thinking about you having sex, relax. I was thinking about me having sex. Or not having sex, to be more precise.”

He coughed again, an awkward expression flashing across his face.

You and Joel had been friends for a few years now, since he and Ellie returned to Jackson and decided to settle in the commune. After being friends with Tommy for a few years before that, you’d fallen into a natural friendship with his older brother. It was no secret that there was 20 odd year age difference between you and Joel, but in a post-apocalyptic world, it had never phased either of you. Friends were friends, and an age gap didn’t impact much. But sex was a topic that had seldom come up in conversation over those few years. Here and there maybe, but never in detail, and never so candidly.

“I almost walked in on Shae and Petra fucking the other day,” you continued plainly. “She was late for patrol, so I went over to see if she’d slept in, and I could hear them from outside the fucking house. Stood there like an ass for a minute, just listening like a creep.”

Joel watched you closely, and you noticed his hand gripped his glass a little tighter, fingertips white from the pressure “You… listened?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” you cringed, rubbing a hand over your face shamefully. “Just for a fucking second. Hadn’t realised how long it had been, and it was like my feet wouldn’t move.”

“I see.”

“You better not tell a soul about this,” you pointed at him threateningly. “I’ll end you if anybody finds out, Miller. I swear.”

“I believe you,” he snorted, holding his hands up in surrender. “My lips are sealed.”

You relaxed a little, relieved to discover that he wasn’t going to be as awkward about it as you’d first feared.

“How long has it been?”

Your eyes ticked up to stare at him again. “Like, six months or something.”

Joel let out a low whistle and nodded slowly, sipping from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “You poor soul.”

“Oh, come off it,” you scoffed in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re having sex and I’m not? This just keeps getting worse.”

“Fuck you,” he drawled mockingly, that deep Texan accent making you grin. “Would it be such a surprise if I was?”

“S’just bullshit,” you glowered, picking at your nails in frustration. Traces of soil still lined the creases in your palms and you rubbed at it furiously, in a fruitless attempt at cleaning them.

“I’m not,” is all he said, and you frowned at him in confusion. “Havin’ sex,” he added with a smirk. "And it's been longer for me, so quit your whinin'."

You raised your eyebrows, appreciating the honesty. “Well thank god I’m not the only one.”

“Don’t know when I would,” he shrugged simply. “And who would I be having sex with, anyways? Spend all my fuckin’ time on patrol listening to Tommy talk for hours, or I’m sleepin’, or I’m with you.”

The thought itched so suddenly at the back of your brain, and you fought against it, shaking your head ever so slightly to push it away. Don’t think that. But it was persistent, and after a few moments of silence, your mind was filled with thoughts of you and Joel Miller fucking.

Admittedly, it was something you’d thought about once or twice when you’d first met him. He was a handsome guy, and his arrival in Jackson had definitely caused a stir among the women in the commune. But you’d fallen into a friendship so quickly, so comfortably, that the thought had never reared its ugly head again. Until now.

You watched him for a moment. His hair was dry at that point, and short messy curls framed his face and neck. He had neat dark facial hair, with sweet specks of ashy grey mixed in here and there. That familiar scar on the bridge of his nose. Lips that had gone a darker shade of pink from the cold, that you’d never realised looked quite so… plush. Eyes trailing down, your gaze raked over his hands. Long, calloused fingers that wrapped around almost the entirety of his glass. the warmth in your stomach spread downward, and you knew you should feel embarrassed at where your brain was taking you, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Images flashed through your mind of his hands gripping you like that. Fingers leaving marks on your thighs, on your neck. You shivered, looking away quickly.

“Fuck,” you sighed quietly, not even caring if he heard.

“Hey,” he said softly, assuming you were upset. “Someone’ll come along. We could talk to Tommy about setting you up or somethin’.”

You hummed noncommittally and turned in your chair to face him head on. Joel noticed and adjusted his position to do the same, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that look?” he asked, eyebrows pinching together.

Jesus, here goes nothing.

“What if we fucked?”

Joel stared. His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and he put his glass down on the table with a soft clink.

“What?” he said lowly, his voice taking on a sudden gravelly quality.

“I mean,” you searched desperately for the words to explain yourself, licking your lips nervously. “You said it yourself, we’re so busy, right? Always working, or sleeping, or we’re hanging out, you and me. So, what if we just… blew off a little steam together?”

His eyebrows had raised so dramatically you thought they might disappear into his hairline. It wasn’t often you managed to shock Joel, and you laughed gently at the astounded expression that decorated his face.

“You want to blow off steam… with me?” he pointed lamely at his chest.

“Don’t sound so incredulous,” you joked. “You’re a catch, Joel. You know the teens call you a HOG, right? Hot old guy.“

“Shut up,” he held up a hand to silence you, his eyes squeezing shut tightly as you laughed at his embarrassment. “Don’t want to hear that shit.”

“It wouldn’t mean anything, Joel,” you reassured, veering back on topic. “We could just… help each other wind down after a long day.”

You watched each other in silence for a moment, and you noticed him shuffle slightly in his seat, hand gripping his knee once again. For a minute, you worried that you’d upset him. The friendship you two shared was strong, and you always known you could confide almost anything in him. He was trustworthy, and valued your word above so many others. But maybe this was over the line.

As you were about to speak again, about to take it all back and apologise for even suggesting it, he finally opened his mouth.

“It wouldn’t mean anything?” he clarified. “This won’t affect our friendship.”

You shook your head quickly. “Nothing at all. No strings, bud. Final offer.”

With a deep, rumbling sigh, Joel snatched his glass off the table and downed the remainder of its contents before standing up. “Alright then.”

You’d been in Joel’s room a hundred times over the years. Hauling him out of bed for patrol after he’d accidentally slept in, or rifling through his chest of drawers to steal a thick pair of socks. But never for this reason. The pair of you stood awkwardly at the foot of his bed, staring at everything other than each other, as the air crackled with palpable tension.

Joel scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and you smirked, unfamiliar with seeing him being unsure of himself.

“If you don’t want to, we can just forget I ever sai-“

“Just taking your fuckin’ clothes off,” he grunted, staring you down suddenly. Wide eyed, you felt a rush of heat through your thighs.

“Jesus,” you breathed. “Romance isn’t dead.”

He huffed out a laugh and your shoulders relaxed, happy to see a crack through his tense façade. Your tugged off your sweater, and then your shirt, tossing them over the chair in the corner of his room. Working quickly, you undid the zipper on your pants and pulled them down your legs until you were left in your underwear, a thin white singlet, and your socks.

You reminded yourself that Joel had already seen you naked, thinking back on a time when the two of you had gone skinny dipping in a lake you stumbled across on patrol the summer before. But this was so different. This wasn’t a random moment of spontaneity. And at the lake he'd been a gentleman, averting his eyes for the most part out of politeness, but now? Now he was watching your every move.

Silently, he undid the strap off his watch and placed it on the top of his dresser, before working to undo the buttons on his shirt. After he had tugged it off, you let your eyes trail over his exposed skin, and with no fabric covering him, you could see how quickly his chest rose and fell.

“Hey,” you said quietly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his chest. You felt his heart race under the warm skin and smiled. “It’s just me. Let me help you relax, okay?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips quickly, and you wondered what it would be like to kiss him. You didn’t dwell on it though, and leaned forward to drag your lips across the skin of his neck. He smelt like rain and pine needles, and you inhaled deeply, pressing soft kisses along his pulse point. One of his hands landed heavily on your waist and his thumb begun rubbing encouraging circles over your hip bone. You hummed against his skin, pressing your chest against his. Exposed to the cool temperature, your nipples pebbled underneath your shirt, and from his exhale you knew he could feel them pressing against his bare chest.

With a slight tremor in your hand, you trailed your fingers down his chest. Through the soft hair smattered there, over the thick jagged scar on his stomach, to his belt buckle. Joel shivered lightly, gripping your waist a little tighter. You worked quickly to undo his belt, and then you dragged his zipper down. With a low sigh, you rested your hand over the front of his pants. He jolted slightly, hand sliding around your back to hold you tighter to his chest. With your face hidden in his neck, you couldn’t see his reaction, but you took the firm pressure of his hand on your back as a clear sign to continue. You palmed him gently through his pants, listening to the little puffs of air that rushed out of his nose as he kept his breathing calm. A surge of confidence rushed through you, and you stepped away, letting your hand fall away from him. His arm dropped from your back to his side, and he watched with bated breath as you lowered yourself onto your knees in front of him.

You gripped the waistband of his pants and started to drag them down his legs, helping him step out of them. Wearing nothing but a tight pair of briefs, it was impossible not to stare. You could see the shape of him through the dark fabric, your mouth salivated. More, you needed to see more. Without wasting a second, you tucked your fingers into the band of them and pulled them down slowly, giving him the chance to stop you if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He watched you with hooded dark eyes, chest moving with deep controlled breaths, his bottom lip tucked into his mouth. With his underwear gone, Joel’s cock finally came into your sight. He was only half hard, you realised with awe, and your stomach tingled as you realised what you were in for. Reaching out, your traced your fingers slowly over his hip bones, smiling as goosebumps broke out across his skin, before gently wrapping your fingers around him.

A shaky breath escaped from his nose.

“Is this okay?” you asked quietly, hand stroking softly along his length. He nodded jerkily. “Why don’t you sit on the bed?”

Joel dropped heavily onto the edge of his bed, and you moved forward to rest on your knees in between his parted legs, placing your hand back over him. The air in the room had turned humid, and you could feel sweat forming on your back out of anticipation. The only light source came from the moon shining in his window, bathing the both of you in a pale light.

“You’re so handsome,” you sighed wistfully, gripping him tighter. “I’ve always known it, but seeing you like this is different. So handsome, Joel.”

He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, gripping your skin and massaging the knotted muscle at the top of your back. You groaned appreciatively, and without another moment’s hesitation, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his thigh. No more fucking around. You needed him.

Your hand stroked him firmer, tighter, but your mouth was salivating, desperate to taste him. So you dragged wet kisses along his leg until you reached his abdomen, and then you brought your wet mouth to hover over his cock. You heard his breath hitch and smiled devilishly, staring greedily at his ruddy tip, marvelling as a drop of precum leaked out of him. Painfully slow, you pushed forward and pressed a kiss to it, tongue darting out to swipe along him and taste his salt. Joel hissed in surprise, gripping your shoulder tighter as his other hand moved to the back of your head. Not putting any pressure there, just holding you. Lathing your tongue over his head, you moaned lowly at the taste of him. Salty and warm and masculine. You could feel your underwear sticking uncomfortably against you from how wet you were. Closing your eyes, you cupped his balls gently and pressed wet kisses down his length, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein that ran from base to tip, and basking in the short gasps that flew out of his mouth.

“Stop teasin’,” he grumbled, and you looked up with a smirk to see his dark eyes glaring down at you.

“Sorry,” you lied, before taking his head into your warm mouth and sucking gently. Slowly, you pressed forward, taking more of him in. You felt him swell against your tongue, getting harder from the stimulation, and you hummed around him. He was so big. Maybe bigger than anyone you’d been with, and you struggled to take it all. He was so thick and heavy in your mouth, it was all you could think about. Consuming every thought, every feeling; all you could focus on was the weight of him on your tongue. You worked on creating a rhythm, bobbing your head and taking as much of him in your mouth as you could, while your hand gripped him at the base, stroking him at the same time.

And finally, finally, he made a sound.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, drawing out the vowel as a heavy breath he’d been holding escaped his lungs. His fingers dragged through your hair roughly, gripping the back of your head. You pushed yourself forward, taking more of him in until he was pressing into your throat, and you swallowed tightly around him. “Christ, feels so fuckin’ good.”

Seemingly against his will, Joel’s hips bucked upward off the bed and you gagged around him, tears springing into your eyes. He moaned lowly, cursing under his breath at the feeling of your throat contracting around him. Unable to help yourself, you removed your hand from him and lowered it down your body, slipping your fingers underneath the band of your underwear and dipping into the wet heat between your own legs. Breathing harshly through your nose, you moaned around him as your finger brushed your aching clit. You pulled back and worked your tongue over his weeping slit, enjoying the way his grip on your hair tightened as you paid close attention to the most sensitive part of him.

“You’re drivin’ me insane,” he ground out, and you glanced up to see him watching you reverently, eyes wide and glossy, cheeks flushed. “So fuckin’ hot. God, you have the prettiest mouth, how did I never notice that? Never fuckin’ thought about how good my cock would look between your lips until it was happening. I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

Your cunt pulsed against your fingers and you whimpered, taking him back in your mouth as far as you could. God, the way he spoke made you fucking ache for him. after so many years of knowing him, hearing his voice every day, you’d never have imagined him saying things like that to you. But the weight of him in your mouth was delicious, and his words only spurred you to push forward, forward, forward, revelling in the way he groaned as your nose brushed the dark curls at his base. Tears leaked out of your eyes, rolling down your cheeks from the effort, but you didn’t stop. You slid a finger inside yourself and gagged around him again, eyes rolling back in your head at the intoxicating sensation of having something inside both your mouth and your pussy.

“Takin’ me so well,” his thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away the tears. “God, I’m in your fuckin’ throat, baby.” The pet name made your stomach tighten, and you moaned as more slick formed around your fingers.

“Shit,” he choked out suddenly, losing all composure. “Are you fucki-“

You moaned, eyebrows furrowing as you fucked your hand and bobbed your mouth up and down quicker over his length.

“Stop,” he ordered, saying your name firmly. “I- Stop, I’m gonna come.” You ignored him, making a high-pitched sound around him as you felt the hot coil in your stomach begin to tighten. His hand gripped your hair tighter, and he pulled you off him.

You blinked lazily up at him, eyebrows furrowed dejectedly, lips parted. A string of saliva hung in the air between your bottom lip and his tip. You dragged your fingers out of your underwear, chest heaving with heavy breaths.

“Jesus, don’t fuckin’ look at me like that,” he groaned and broke eye contact, gripping your shoulder to pull you up off the floor. “Get up.”

Pushing gently on your shoulders, he nudged you forward onto the bed, and you crawled up before collapsing with your heads against the pillows. His bed was softer than you’d anticipated, and everything smelt like him. The pillows, the duvet. God, even if this was a one-time thing, you’d never forget that smell. He followed you, settling with his legs in between yours, and placed his palms on your stomach, pushing the thin material of your shirt up and over your breasts until it was bunched around your collarbones. Your heart pounded heavily in your chest, and you were aching for him, begging him with your eyes to just please, do something, anything.

And Joel was on you before you could speak, his fingers tracing and over your nipples, squeezing the weight of your breast in his palm before latching his lips onto you. He sucked your painfully tight nipple into his mouth, tongue lazily swiping across it, driving you insane. You sighed heavily, running a hand over the skin of his back and holding him to you. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin ever so lightly and your back arched off the bed. Moving over, he shifted his ministrations to your other breast, his eyes closed as he wet your skin with his slick mouth. And then one of his hands was drifting down your stomach, tickling over your skin, under it met your underwear, and he was cupping you through the fabric. Your hips stuttered upward, and he groaned into your chest, trailing his fingers over the soaked material.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” he muttered into your skin, and you nodded franticly against the pillows. “Did you get this turned on just from havin’ my cock in your mouth? Had to touch yourself?” Surprise zapped through you once more, ecstatic to learn just how much he loved to talk during sex. It was one of your favourite things, and it had always killed you to have sex with someone who was just silent the whole time.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Wanted you to finish in my mouth.”

He bit down onto your chest in response and you cried out quietly, eyes rolling back as he sucked a mark onto your skin with his fingers continued tracing feather light over your covered core.

“Maybe later,” his voice was strained. “Need to see you come first.”

He pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side, and then he was touching you with no barrier, and you trembled beneath him. You’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone else’s hands on you.

Joel groaned as he dipped his middle finger between your warm folds, gliding it up and down along your core, getting it covered in your slick. He swirled the tip of his finger around your entrance and you whimpered, hips grinding desperately against his hand. But he didn’t go inside you. His finger moved back up, all the way up, and swiped gently over your clit and you let out a pathetic moan. Such a small, miniscule touch had your stomach tensing painfully, ridiculously close to orgasm after so much time.

Bringing his face up to rest beside yours, he sucked your earlobe into his mouth gently, before murmuring in your ear, “I want to taste you.”

You didn’t say anything, too stunned by the feeling of his fingers against you, until he probed you for a response, purring your name into your ear.

“Need to hear you say it,” he encouraged. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” you begged, eyes shut tightly as he rubbed soft circles around your bundle of nerves. “I want you to taste me.” A grunt of frustration left your mouth as his hand disappeared and you opened your eyes to glare at him, but your mouth fell open, awestruck, when you saw him raise his soaked digits to his lips.

“Like this?” he goaded, sucking your slick off himself and groaning.

“Please,” you repeated, mouth dry as you watched him hum around his middle finger. “Need your mouth on me, your tongue, I-“

“Okay,” he soothed, moving down the bed in an instant. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

He spread your legs apart, fingers splayed as he held your thighs against the bed, displaying your weeping centre for him to see. A deep sound echoed though the room, and it took you a moment to realise it had been Joel. His dark eyes stared at the spot between your legs, and he dragged his fingers through the coarse hair that covered you.

His movements were torturously slow as he leaned down, pressing sloppy kisses on your hips, along the inside of your thighs, until finally his hot breaths were fanning across your core. You clenched around nothing, whimpering at how empty you felt but knowing it would have to wait.

It was like stepping into a warm bath. The second his tongue was on you, fire raced through your veins, warming your body from head to toe. A sound of relief slipped from your lips, and your eyes rolled back as he licked a broad stripe up the entire length of you. A raspy groan vibrated against you as he pressed a messy kiss against your pussy. You looked down and gasped at the sight of his eyes already on you, watching you and your reactions to him.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he drawled against you and you twitched at the sensation of his lips brushing against your clit. His thumbs pressed against your folds, holding you open for him to see everything, and he lathed his warm tongue against your clit, circling it until you were moaning and tensing your thighs against his hold, muscles screaming at you to press against his head and hold him to you.

You whispered his name over and over as if it were a prayer. As if you’d forgotten all other words in the English language and his name was your only salvation. His tongue dipped inside your entrance, prodding firmly until you whimpered and begged him to please, please, let you come.

He ate you out like a man possessed. Like you were his last meal and he intended to savour every god damn second of the experience. He was ravenous, lips and tongue working together to make every muscle in your body tighten until you were gasping. At some point your hand had drifted behind his head and you found yourself tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling it tightly as his mouth moved against you.

“Joel,” you groaned. He hummed against you, movements never ceasing. “Oh fuck, Joel, I’m gonna come.”

His eager moan into your cunt was all it took for you to be catapulted over the precipice and drop into your orgasm. Your body was on fire, vibrating against him as you trembled through it, moans and cries leaving your mouth as your way of thanking him. His hands held your thighs in a vice grip, and there would no doubt be marks there tomorrow to remind you were his fingertips had dug into your skin. As your body relaxed into the mattress again, he pressed a final kiss to your clit before pulling back and dragging his face across your thigh, wiping the remnants of your slick off his facial hair.

“Fuck,” he rasped, grinning up at you with glistening lips.

“So good,” you agreed, nodding as you tried to catch your breath.

“Almost came all over the sheets,” he admitted and you laughed, beckoning him towards you. He stumbled a bit, one of his knees buckling below him on the bed, leading him to land awkwardly on top of you.

“Shit,” he groused. “Sorry, bad fuckin’ knee. You’ve got me all bent out of shape.”

You chuckled lowly, pulling him up to lay beside you on the bed. “Let’s not put anymore pressure of them then, okay?” He watched you carefully, curiously, as you turned on your side and then moved backwards, pressing yourself flush against his chest.

His cock pulsed against your ass, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, hand splayed on your stomach to hold you against him as he rutted forward. The feeling of his wet tip dragging along your skin reignited the fire in you and you whimpered, lifting your leg only to push it back and drape it over his waist as much as you could.

“You want it like this?” he asked urgently, hot breaths fanning across your sweaty neck. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging on it gently.

You nodded, and waited as he pushed his body a little lower on the bed. His hand disappeared from your chest, and you allowed yourself to pout a little, only because you knew he couldn’t see your face. And then his left arm slithered underneath your shoulder and wrapped loosely your neck, gripping your opposite arm to pin you against him. His free hand gripped his cock and pushed it forward until he was sliding his head between your folds.

Both of you sighed at the sensation and you gripped his arm in anticipation. You could feel his torso moving against your back as he breathed, the soft hair on his chest tickling your skin.

“You ready?” he asked and you grunted, pushing back against him again.

“Joel,” you said in a dangerously low tone. “If you’ve ever cared about me, you will stop teasing and fuck me right now.”

He laughed darkly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”

He notched his tip at your entrance and you gasped as he pressed forward, pressing himself inside of you. It took what felt like minutes for him to bottom out, and when you felt his hips pressing against your ass, you tried to relax. The burn was intense, and you cursed yourself for not anticipating a little bit of pain after such a long dry spell. Joel held still, fingers stroking carefully over the skin of your shoulder, understanding that you needed a second.

“Fuck,” you choked out. “Joel, you’re huge.”

He let out a gravelly sound into the back of your neck, body shuddering against yours. “You’re takin’ it so well though,” he gritted out. “So tight around me, grippin’ me so good.”

He pulled back a touch before pressing back into you, and you moaned deeply. That was all the confirmation he needed to continue, pulling almost fully out of you before moving into you harder, stronger, and beginning a steady pace. Your body jolted forward with every one of his movements, but his arm around your neck held you firmly, never allowing you to go too far.

Curses drifted from your mouth, and you hid your face in his arm, biting down on the muscle of his bicep to stifle your sounds. You clenched around him suddenly and his hips stuttered forward, slamming into you in a way that made your stomach tense deliciously. He was so fucking deep, the angle allowing him to glide against your g-spot with every thrust.

“Fuckin’,” he moaned. “You’re so good, bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you darlin’?”

You writhed in his arms, accepting the brutal pace he’d set. His skin connected with yours over and over, a satisfying smack, smack, smack sound filling the air.

“J-Joel,” you sobbed. “Oh my fucking god, I-“ He cut you off, gripping your chin and swiftly tugging your face upward so he could see you, and then his mouth was crashing down on yours. He groaned into your mouth, tongue pressing against your lips to part them and then tangling against yours. His lips were soft and wet and you didn’t even care about the odd angle your neck was twisted at as you moaned into it. His thrusts didn’t let up for a second, even as you murmured desperate sounds against each other’s lips.

“C’mon,” he grunted into your mouth. “Give me another one.” His hand dropped to grip your neck, the sensation only heightening the feeling of him inside you. Liquid heat was spreading in your abdomen, curling through your veins, turning your entire body into jelly. His free hand drifted down your stomach and then his middle finger was dragging across your clit, and a harsh cry spilled from your mouth.

“Shit,” you gasped, face contorting as you felt yourself near your end. He was fucking everywhere, holding you against him by your neck, pounding into you while his fingers circled your clit roughly, and the coil in your stomach just snapped. You yelled his name, body tensing up as he pushed into you, wet squelching sounds filling the air as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Say my name,” his voice urged in your ear, and you happily obliged, chanting his name like a mantra as he worked your body through it. Within a minute he was groaning frantically, and then he pulled out, and you could feel his come coating your back as he finished. You glanced over your shoulder to see him. His mouth was ajar, soft curses falling from his lips as he gripped his cock, angling it towards you as he painted your skin with his spend.

“Sorry,” he rushed out breathlessly, wide eyes meeting yours. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his orgasm, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and you smiled at the sight. But he looked concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you warily.

“For what?” you frowned softly, rolling forward onto your stomach to free his arm that was trapped underneath you. “What’s wrong?”

“Came on you,” he clarified. “Should’ve asked first.”

A grin split across your face and his eyes lit up when he saw it, face relaxing again. “Ever the gentleman,” you chuckled. “It’s fine Joel, it was hot.”

His body relaxed and he dropped down to rest on his back, looking at you with a soft, curious expression. “It was,” he agreed quietly.

For a moment the pair of you just laid there, gazing at each other in a moment of wonder, before you suddenly became aware of how much colder the room was now that it was over. You shivered slightly, lifting to sit on your knees. Joel’s eyes trailed over your exposed body, gazing at your breasts, and your stomach, before resting on your face again.

“I’m gonna shower, and then hit the road,” you told him, cringing at the prominent ache between your thighs as you stepped off the bed. You picked your clothes up off the chair in the corner and turned back to look at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow night right, dinner at Maria and Tommy’s?”

He was watching you in a daze, eyelids heavy with drowsiness, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Dinner at Maria and Tommy’s.” His eyes suddenly widened and he rolled over, reaching underneath his pillow before revealing a piece of small dark fabric. Your underwear. He held them out in your direction.

“Keep them big guy,” you winked, and he laughed deeply, dropping them back onto the bed.

You padded towards the door, ready to pop into the bathroom and then head home, before a thought struck you. Resting your shoulder against the doorway you looked at him again, smiling at the sight of him lying naked and fucked out on the bed, eyes closed as he breathed deeply. He looked about as relieved as you felt.

“Hey Joel,” you said quietly, and his eyes flashed open, raising an eyebrow at you. “Between us, right? Probably best if we don’t tell anyone else this happened.”

He nodded once, smiling lazily. “Between us.”

part two

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fwb joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #my writing #cat's outta the bag #don't cry over spilt milk #whole new can of worms

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cobaltperun · 9 months

Text

Lost - Born for this

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 4.3k

Story Masterlist / Next part

-They just don't get it, I think they forget, I'm not done till I'm on top-

A fist collided with your forearm as you took a step back, mitigating the effects of the impact. The muscular woman in front of you had blood dripping from her lower lip, and a swelling around her left eye, but she still wasn’t giving up as she pushed on toward you. You lowered your guard, baiting her into growing more confident, only to pull her into a clinch and land two ferocious uppercuts right to her head. She pulled away from you, drops of blood from her nose falling between you in the process.

It was only a matter of time before you’d win. A good hit would end the battle, continuing your streak of victories.

Sometimes it felt wrong, seeing how much you sacrificed for this, but you found peace in a battle, you found the cure to your heart in violence, in the physical pain and fight that would make you feel more adrenaline than anything ever could or would. You felt lost, a lone fighter going up against life itself, left without anyone you could turn to if you lost. No, that wasn’t quite right. She just… wasn’t as present in your life anymore, she couldn’t handle seeing you after your fights, and one thing led to another. So, the only place that didn’t make you feel lost or trapped was, ironically, a cage. Somehow, that felt fitting. The only right thing in your life at the moment were these MMA fights and this was the biggest one of your life so far. The loud cheering of the crowd? Merely a background noise. The taste of blood in your mouth? Just another reason for the adrenaline pumping through your body. The pain you were currently feeling? Both from the exhaustion and the hits you took? That just made your body release endorphins. The opponent in front of you? Soon to be defeated.

A flurry of punches made the already exhausted woman step back enough for you to do a quick 540 degree kick, pushing her against the cage and making her knees nearly buckle. A feint ended the battle as you pretended to aim for a liver shot, she lowered her arms to block and realized too late that you pulled your fist back and spun around. You landed a spinning back kick to her side and she dropped down, unconscious. The beating of your heart slowed down as you took deep breaths. You took a moment to wipe off the drops of sweat and a bit of blood from your forehead, to come back to reality and come back down from the high of the battle as the adrenaline began slowly fading away. The cheers of your name were no longer background noise, you were no longer the underdog, you just won your second local title, proving the first one wasn’t a fluke. You could finally enter the next stage! Take on the world’s greatest female MMA fighters! The euphoria caused by the success was a fleeting thought, a steppingstone. The desire to keep pushing harder, to get stronger and better already settling in along with the anticipation of the next fight.

A reporter came up to you while you were still in the cage, with the belt hanging from your shoulder, and an easy-going confident grin on your face you had to admit you did look good.

“Another KO! Another undeniable victory! How does it feel?” the reporter, a woman that has been following your career almost from the start, seeing the potential in you, greeted you.

You offered her a smile, filled with appreciation for her support. “Amazing, I’d love to say the fight could have gone either way, but I can’t be stopped,” for a moment you turned to the crowd around the cage. “Isn’t that right?!” you raised your arms up, putting on a bit of a show. Trash talking and overconfidence was part of the job, it generated hype, and earned you money. Respect for the opponent was for the behind the cameras.

And the crowd cheered and booed, almost in equal numbers, some wanting to see you keep going, some wanting to see you fall, as long as they came to watch it hardly mattered, especially since living in Woodsboro meant you didn’t have to deal with either group that often.

“And what’s next for the Woodsboro’s upstart fighter, Y/N L/N?” the reporter asked over the yells of the crows.

“The world, of course! Sooner, rather than later I’ll come for the title!” you promised, not exaggerating one bit, that was your goal, the purpose, the reason to keep fighting. You would become the world champion.

“Your target is Anya Golubeva, is what I’m hearing. It’ll be a tough road, but you’ve never been stopped before,” the reporter encouraged you to keep going.

You smirked, knowing full well the current world champion, Anya Golubeva, was a fight that was still far away, and that she might not even have the title by the time you get to challenge her. “Sure, it’s about time someone takes the title from her!”

You kept chatting for another minute or two before saying goodbye and leaving the arena. Your coach, pleased by your victory, was right by your side, waving to the crowd and enjoying the attention much more than you did now that the theatrics were over.

“You’re going right back to Woodsboro?” he asked you as you walked through the nearly empty, dimly lit halls, your footsteps echoing all around you.

“Yeah, I’d rather be there right now,” you said as the two of you stopped by the doors of the locker room. “I’ll see you next week and we can go over this fight and potential opponents for the next one,” you patted him on the arm, really wanting to just take a quick shower and get in your car as soon as possible. The drive back to Woodsboro would take almost two hours, so the sooner you left the building, the sooner you’d go back home.

“Of course, you were great tonight! Keep doing what you do the best and we’ll be at the top of the world!” he was happy, much more excited than you were, and you couldn’t blame him. At least someone was appropriately happy with the success you were having. And it wasn’t that you weren’t happy, but considering you pretty much ruined your chances with Tara by choosing MMA, this wasn’t enough to make it worth it.

You doubted even the world title would be worth that, but those were the thoughts for the darker moments. When you were all alone, in the darkness of your apartment, unable to sleep and replaying the moment you lost her in your head.

~X~

The moment you got in your car you felt a sense of clarity, you no longer felt the high of the battle, just the sense of calm and peace. The drive back to Woodsboro was fun, driving was always fun, well, aside from the times when you’d get stuck in traffic, but that was beside the point. Driving was fun, but driving also meant not answering the phone that kept ringing as if your friends didn’t know you by now. The Babadook theme suddenly caught your attention, and you figured you could stop to fill up the gas tank, so, roughly a mile down the road you stopped and pulled out your phone and returned the most recent call.

You noticed it was a bit cold as you stepped out of your car, and you had to admit, the road to Woodsboro, surrounded by tall trees was a bit spooky this late at night. A few seconds later Chad’s voice came from the other side. “How come you don’t answer any of us? Hmm Champ?”

“Tara has a different ringtone,” you shrugged as you began filling the gas tank. Given how late it was, and that you were already relatively close to Woodsboro your car was the only one at the small gas station.

“Not fair, Y/N,” you could hear the pouting in his voice.

That made you smirk, as if you wanted to be fair when it came to Tara. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you weren’t even sure he heard you as there was a sudden commotion wherever he was. Probably at his and Mindy’s house. While your friends were deciding on who was getting the phone you wondered why you didn’t put on your jacket, because the chill night air and a bit of wind blowing in your face wasn’t exactly fun at the moment. Oh well, this wouldn’t take long, even if the short-sleeved polo shirt would get a weird look from the cashiers.

A few moments later the commotion settled down. “Hey, how did it go?” hearing her voice felt so damn good, especially since you didn't get to hear it that often lately. Tara’s question made you smile. She didn’t watch your matches, but you knew she heard how the match ended from Chad. She wasn’t asking about the match though.

“Let’s see, my lower lip got busted, but it’s really not that bad, other than that there’s nothing out of the ordinary, I’ll have bruises for a couple of days, and I’ll be sore but it’s the regular outcome,” if it was anyone else asking, you’d probably be annoyed, but it was Tara and you missed her. And even if you didn’t miss her, well Tara was Tara, you could never get annoyed because of her.

You could hear a sigh. A sign of disapproval and reluctant acceptance that telling you to stop fighting would only be a waste of her breath. You couldn't stop. You plain and simple couldn't. Not ever for Tara. There was something bigger than simple fighting here, you had an obligation to fulfil, even if deep down you desperately hoped it would be worth it in the end. “Could you pick me up? I’m at Chad and Mindy’s house.”

The question caught you by surprise, she hadn’t asked you to pick her up since two months ago. “Yeah, of course,” you glanced down at the watch. “I’ll pick you up in half an hour?”

“Great! Drive safe okay?” the excitement in her voice made you shiver, and not from the wind, in fact, you barely felt the wind or the cold at all.

“Always, Tara,” you reassured her, fully aware of how much softer your voice got when you said that, as well as how her breath hitched when she heard you. “I’ll be there soon,” you hung up, went inside the gas station to pay, and grabbed a kiwi fruit bar as well as a bottle of water. You paid and were back on your way to Woodsboro.

~X~

“A special ringtone? Seriously?” Chad teasingly accused the moment Tara hung up, even though she was still under the effects of your voice softening like that. Ever since four months ago you rarely spoke that softly to her, and she missed it. She missed the warmth, the gentleness, andit was all because you were respecting her decision.

Tara just shrugged, leaning back into the pillows behind her to appear even smaller, suddenly she found the snacks in front of her to be the most interesting thing in the room. She was just glad she remembered to put her phone on silent when you called back. It was a bit of an unspoken promise between you two, you had the theme from the Babadook as your ringtone when she called and she had a song from your favorite show (movie) as her ringtone when you called her. You didn’t even discuss it really, you just misplaced your phone one night and she called you and heard the theme, prompting questions from her since you did not like the Babadook enough to make it your ringtone. Even she didn’t have that theme as her ringtone! Sometimes she felt like she wasn’t fair to Amber, but you were you! You have been her best friend since she was almost ten, since that day in the rain.

You’ve been her, everything really, her best friend, her protector even when Sam was still in Woodsboro, her first love, but not her first kiss. When Tara thought of being loved, she thought of you, of being held in your arms. But you didn’t love her back. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. You didn’t love her back enough. You chose your career. You chose to be an MMA fighter and Tara couldn’t handle that. The idea of watching you get hurt, or waiting for you to come home with fresh bruises stopped her from telling you how she felt. It was one of the reasons she accepted and, to the best of her abilities, reciprocated Amber’s feeling.

“Forget the ringtone! She’s picking you up,” Mindy had the guts to give her a knowing look as if she actually knew anything. She had the guts to be giddy with excitement over something that no longer mattered.

“Good thing Amber couldn’t make it,” Liv’s taunt soured Tara’s mood instantly. “Shit, sorry,” and she noticed it immediately.

Tara smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s okay,” even if Tara loved you there was nothing but friendship between the two of you and if Amber was going to be unreasonably jealous that was her issue. Not Tara’s. She already compromised enough, she could spend a bit of time with you. She promised herself it would only be the ride to her place and maybe chatting for a bit, not for too long, since you needed your rest, but just for a bit. The thought made the smile reach her eyes. The smile vanished when a message from Amber caught her attention.

~X~

Chad and Mindy’s house wasn’t far from Tara’s. It was definitely within walking distance, but given how late it was, and that it was getting colder, getting a ride wasn’t unreasonable. Not that it mattered, you didn’t need a reason to spend time with Tara. You stepped out of your car, a comfortable car, not exactly built for speed, or off-road driving, it was perfect for you though.

“Champ!” Chad was the first to tackle you into a hug as you approached his and Mindy’s house.

“Hey buddy, take it easy, I got hit there,” you half-joked as you patted him on the back.

“Where?” the teasing grin on his face told you everything.

“Everywhere, you jerk, I was in a fight,” you laughed, stepping away from him. A brief hug from Mindy and a high-five from Liv wrapped up the greetings and congratulations.

“We saw, even Tara saw,” Liv pointed out as the four of you entered the house.

“Nice,” that’s when the meaning of her words finally hit you and you stopped. “Wait, what?” your jaw dropped as you turned back to stare at Mindy.

“Technically she was peeking through her fingers, but she saw the fight,” Mindy explained with that knowing smirk on her face. You glanced through the doors, watching as Tara was getting ready. She had her back turned to you, and you knew you were staring, but you couldn’t take your eyes off her. She actually watched your fight. “Come on you two, let’s take our place as the lovable side characters,” Mindy’s teasing was never going to end, not even now that Tara was with Amber. You just flipped her off, still watching Tara as she placed her inhaler and phone in her bag. You frowned at that. Did she need her inhaler? During your fight or after it? When you turned to look at Mindy and Chad they seemed to lose interest in you and Liv wasn’t much better as she pretended to admire a picture hanging on the wall. Sighing, you went into the living room just as Tara turned around.

Her face lit up and she jumped into your arms, letting you lift her up. “You okay?” you asked as she looked down at you. Her left hand rested on your shoulder as her right hand slipped behind your neck. The warmth of Chad and Mindy’s house was nothing to the warmth of her body in your arms.

“I am, don’t worry about it,” the softness of her voice, the adoration in her eyes, the gentle way she checked the cut on your lower lip, you took it all in, because it’s been too long since you and Tara were this close. For reasons you were almost sure had everything to do with Amber, you and Tara grew distant a month into their relationship. Spare inhaler Tara kept at your place? Amber had it now. Movie nights? Once a month if you got lucky, as opposed to at least twice a week before her relationship with Amber. Tara almost randomly appearing to hang out either at the gym or at your work? That seldom happened over the past three months. So, you figured you could be forgiven for wanting to hold your best friend just a bit tighter and longer than you did before she told you she and Amber got together. You could be forgiven because despite what you felt this was how you were as friends long before you figured out you had feelings for Tara. You could be forgiven because you would never do anything that would affect Tara’s happiness.

“Okay, I’m here if you need to talk,” you assured her softly.

Tara’s smile grew wider. “I know, Y/N,” you could see the reluctance in her eyes as she dropped her left hand from your shoulder and lightly squeezed your biceps, a silent sign that told you to let her down. You did and now the height difference of roughly eight and a half inches emphasized how adorably tiny Tara was compared to you. “By the way, a tiny change of the plans, could you take me to Amber’s house?”

“Sure,” you missed your chance, well, that would imply you had one. Well, you would have had a chance if you didn’t choose to fight. So, you decided there wasn’t a chance to begin with. The drive to Amber’s house was filled with deafening silence broken only by the occasional buzzing of Tara’s phone, filled with unspoken words, and filled with a sense of tension you hated.

As you waited for the traffic light to turn green you realized you haven’t given Tara the fruit bar you bought, so you reached for the fruit bar resting next to the water bottle in your cup holder and silently handed it to her.

“Oh,” you guessed she was surprised, but seeing as the lights turned green you couldn’t look at her. You could only feel the brush of her fingers as she accepted the snack. “Thank you,” she said, causing you to smile.

“Always, T,” your smile widened when you heard a muffled moan of appreciation at the taste of the fruit bar. She always loved kiwi, so you made it a bit of a habit to get her something with kiwi every now and then.

A few minutes later you parked in front of Amber’s house and Tara stepped out to greet Amber, the girl was already waiting by the road. They didn’t kiss though, because Tara pulled away before Amber could do that. For some reason, you had an awful feeling you should say something to Tara. It was a familiar feeling, one you normally got when you realized you were about to get hit but couldn’t do anything but brace for it.

Tara leaned through the window of your passenger seat and reached out for your hand. "Thanks, Y/N," there was that smile again.

"Don't mention it," you gently squeezed her hand as the silence turned from uncomfortable to pleasant and you just looked her in the eyes. Just for a moment, you didn't feel lost, you felt exactly how you felt before she got together with Amber.

A cough made Tara pull back and take a few steps back, choosing to stand next to Amber. “Good night,” Tara waved at you.

“Sweet dreams,” you forced out and drove away, the feeling of being lost came back, right along with that awful feeling that filled you with anxiety.

That night, the only reason you managed to fall asleep was the exhaustion in your body, and as the date changed from 22nd to 23rd you were plagued by nightmares you neither remembered nor could explain.

~X~

The moment Tara followed Amber inside she regretted not going home. Or to your place. She regretted it as she sat down in Amber’s living room, with her arms crossed and Amber clearly fuming. It was a familiar scene, a slasher horror movie playing on the TV to fill the silence, the dinner plate with a few crumbs on it, a half-drunk cup of milk, the usual scene for Amber’s living room when there wasn’t a party of some kind going on. “Amber, Y/N is my best friend!” Tara argued, hoping to prevent the argument before it even started.

Amber laughed, almost maniacally, at that. “Yeah, a friend! You never look at me like that!” she accused, already yelling.

“Yes, a friend, you know there’s nothing between us,” and she didn’t look at you ‘like that’. She knew exactly what look Amber was talking about, the longing look, filled with all her love and desire for you. She didn’t look at you like that since her and Amber got together. She drew a definitive line there; she would never make Amber feel insecure about their relationship. Tara made her choice, you made sure it wasn’t you, that was the end of it. You were her best friend, but Amber was a close second and Amber loved her the way you wouldn’t…

Amber slammed her palm on the table. “But you want to!” she screamed, her eyes wild and filled with jealousy.

Tara didn’t back away, she didn’t flinch, she just tried her best to keep her breathing under control without using her pump. Amber was angry, but Amber would never hurt her. Even if she tried Tara was confident she could get away. “I wanted to, and you’ve always known that! But that’s the point, I wanted to! I don’t want to anymore! I’m with you now!” she yelled back, tired of this argument happening again and again.

Amber took a deep breath, finally calming down, and that was all Tara wanted, she just wanted her girlfriend to remain calm. “I’m sorry, Baby, I just… You know how I get when I see Y/N,” Tara knew, she knew and that was why she accepted to create some distance between the two of you.

It got out of control by now, it wasn’t supposed to be this drastic, but Tara craved the love Amber was giving her, and she had learnt a long time ago that if people loved her, they expected something from her. Her dad wanted a healthy daughter, she wasn’t that, she was sickly and weak and needed to be cared for. So, he left. Sam was the same, Tara couldn’t be the little sister Sam wanted. Sam couldn’t be a normal teenager with Tara around, so Sam distanced herself and then abandoned Tara almost the first chance she got. Her mother was the same, because Tara was the one who tore their family apart. Because Tara clung too hard. Because Tara wasn’t good enough.

Amber was the same, Amber needed a girlfriend that wouldn’t choose you instead of her, Amber needed Tara to choose her instead of you, so Tara did that. That was the cost of Amber’s love. And Tara would pay it. And Amber knew it.

“I know, Amber, I just miss my best friend sometimes,” Tara sighed, a tiny voice in her head telling her you’d never make her choose, that you never once wanted anything more than what Tara had to offer to you. If there was anyone who loved Tara for who she was, without expectations, conditions, costs, or abandonment, it was you.

But you’d never love her the way Tara loved you. Why else would you let her get together with Amber? Why else would you accept the distance? You wouldn’t have done that if you loved Tara back. You fought for a living, so why couldn’t you fight for her?

“Y/N will abandon you Tara, sooner or later. She’s no longer your guard dog. The moment an opportunity for her career comes around, she’ll abandon you. I won’t, I’d never abandon you,” and as Amber sat down on Tara’s lap, Tara found it difficult to argue, especially since you kept winning, and with every win you’d be closer and closer to your goal. You’d leave Woodsboro eventually, searching for a better life, and Tara would be left here, unable to follow.

That same voice in the back of her head, the one that constantly told her to go to you, told her Amber was wrong. Distance made it difficult to argue. Distance made it easier for Amber to convince her this was the truth. In hindsight It almost would have been enough, but then you took hold of her and all of Amber’s efforts were immediately wasted. You nearly took hold of her one day too late, though, but even then, even as she was bleeding out on her kitchen floor, her leg broken, desperately crying out in pain and fear of the one who attacked her so brutally, she still only thought of two people as she barely clung to life. One was Sam. The other? You.

A/N: So, Y/N is an MMA fighter, honestly, I just want the reader to be reasonably capable of kicking Ghostface’s ass, so yeah, the reader is a badass.

Story Masterlist / Next part

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #scream #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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wheeboo · 10 months

Text

i miss you, don't call me | lee seokmin

SYNOPSIS. in which a particular boy has been clouding your mind lately, and you decide to drink away the thought of him𑁋when that isn't the right choice. PAIRING. ex!lee seokmin x gn!reader GENRE. angst, hurt/comfort... but also not really WARNINGS. drinking, swearing WORD COUNT. 2.5k

notes: kinda inspired from the song "i miss you, don't call me" by alessia cara. just wanna say i am forever guilty and full of shame for writing angst for this man. it feels completely out of character to write angst for him 😭😭

You hate the taste of alcohol.

You hate the way it lingers a bitter aftertaste on your lips, the way it burns like a smoldering ember down your throat that refuses to be extinguished, the way it wraps its tendrils around your senses and makes the world spin so merry around you.

You hate the taste of alcohol, yet there's a certain fascination in the way it blurs the edges of reality and a strange comfort in its familiarity. You were never usually one to drink in general, but tonight was different, and you find yourself caught between the resistance and the surrender, tip-toeing on the edge of clarity and a spellbound haze.

This is supposed to make you forget. Forget the deadlines, the expectations, the responsibilities, the miniscule hole in your chest that you have been trying to close. This is supposed to propel you in the right direction𑁋at least, that's what you convinced yourself in the hours before you wounded up in the middle of your living room with a half-empty glass in your hand. It's midnight, or something, you don't know for sure, and you couldn't be bothered to even check anyway.

This is supposed to help you forget him. He did nothing wrong, or anything wrong for the matter. His smile was always so bright like the sun, so full of life. He's like a bruise that refuses to fade, yet merely painful to the touch. You take another sip, and the amber liquid seems to carry with it the warmth of his laughter. And when you close your eyes just for a few seconds, you swear you can feel the warmth of that figurative sun on your face. Or maybe it's the alcohol. Or both.

It's been almost a year since you let him go. The reasons were complicated𑁋or simply, you both were just different𑁋and the echoes of that choice still reverberate in the quiet corners of your heart. You were convinced it was for the best for both of you, and all it took was two sentences for that line to be cut right on the same couch that you sat on.

And yet, the ache of his absence persists, leaving a void in your chest that you couldn't stitch up yourself.

Does he... still think about you from time to time?

It's a question you've asked yourself in the quiet moments before sleep. You wonder if he ever glances at the same moon that hangs in the night sky and thinks of the moments you shared under its wake.

You try to bury the thought away under the weight of another sip, but it resurfaces like an insistent tide as you let out a heated hiss to its taste. The room around you sways slightly, your head is starting to pound, and your thoughts are restless with nothing but just him.

The screen to your phone lights up on the coffee table, and you glance down at it, suddenly contemplating the idea of reaching out to him. Maybe it's the alcohol whispering in your ear, urging you to seek closure, or perhaps, rekindle a flame that was never truly extinguished.

The unanswered question lingers like a spectre in the room. Does he still think about you? The question gnaws angrily at your skin, and you find yourself reaching for the phone almost instinctively, as if drawn by a sudden invisible force.

With a deep breath, you unlock your phone. His contact is still there, his slightly blurry name staring right back at you like an open invitation. You tap a few times before landing on his number, and with a mixture of intoxication and courage, you press the call button.

The phone rings, each tone amplifying the drumming in your head. Your heartbeat quickens with each ring, the sound of it echoing in your ears. The haze in your mind seems to intensify, and you realise you might be crossing a line, but it's too late to turn back now.

The seconds tick away, and just as you begin to think about hanging up, he answers.

"Hello?"

His voice reaches through the phone and into your clouded consciousness. For a moment, you freeze, caught between the impulse to speak and the weight of the drunken-induced courage that made you make this call.

"Hey, Seokmin." Your voice comes out smaller and weaker than you anticipated.

A beat of silence follows your words. The weight of his name hangs in the air. You can almost sense Seokmin trying to process the unexpected call.

"Y/N?" His voice carries a mix of surprise and concern. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah," You reply, your words sounding less sure than you intended. "It's me."

There's another pause, and you can almost feel the distance between you two through the phone.

Then his voice comes through again, gentle and cautious, "Is everything okay?"

"Um..." You croak out, your thoughts stumbling over the words. "I just... I just needed to hear your voice."

Another pause. The only thing you could hear is the faint static on the other line.

"My voi𑁋Wait, are... are you drunk?"

A nervous laugh escapes your lips. "Uh, maybe a little," You admit embarrassingly.

Seokmin lets out a soft sigh on the other end of the line. You can't tell if it's from relief, concern, or disappointment, but the weight of it presses against your chest. It's almost suffocating.

"I just..." You start, the words hanging in the air. "is it bad to... to say that I miss you?"

The silence that follows is almost deafening. You can nearly imagine his face on the other end𑁋the ever expressive sunshine Lee Seokmin whom you spent nearly all of your college years with. A faint smile tugs at your lips at the thought of it, the thought of him. Sure, you've wondered how he has been from time to time, but tonight felt different. You can't tell if the alcohol is confusing missing with longing, or if it's amplifying a truth you've kept buried for too long.

"Y/N, you... We don't even live in the same city anymore." Seokmin's voice breaks the heavy silence. There's some suppression to his voice, like he's trying to hold something back, but you don't seem to notice. "Things have changed."

You bite your lip unconsciously, almost too hard you think it might bruise and bleed. The reality of it all settles in𑁋that you live hundreds of miles away from each other𑁋and a knot forms in your stomach. You take another sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol can provide some sort of shield for the vulnerability seeping through.

"I'm... I'm not asking to get back together, I..." Your voice trails off again, and you swallow a lump in your throat. "Things here have been awful, and I couldn't help... couldn't help but think of you, I guess."

Seokmin's side of the line remains quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of your words. You can almost envision the wheels turning in his mind. There's a siren that wails outside your apartment for a few seconds, before fading away in the distance.

"You're drunk, Y/N," Seokmin states. "This isn't the best time to talk𑁋"

"I just wanted to know if you still thought about me too," You interrupt him, voice firm. The words are forcing themselves out at this point, and there's an urgency in your tone, almost as if the alcohol has taken control of your tongue.

Seokmin sighs audibly on the other end, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair.

"This... this isn't fair," he finally responds. "You can't just... call me in the middle of the night and tell me all this now."

His words sting, not because they're harsh, but because they're true.

"You were... you were always so cheery, you know?" You chuckle, words slurring slightly. "Even when I was drowning in stress, you had... th-this way of making everything feel lighter. And right now, I... I'm looking for a new job. Everything's been a fucking nightmare, and you... were the first person I thought of and..."

You stop your track in your words, gulping down an imaginary mass wedged down your throat. When your cast your eyes around your dark apartment, all you could see are the remnants of a life you used to share with him, and the mess you were left to clean up with.

You tighten your grip on your phone slightly. "Do you remember when, um... we used to stay up late, working on our assignments together? It... it feels like a lifetime ago."

There's a soft laughter you hear on the other end, and you think for a moment you might just have made him smile. You feel a little bit lighter at the thought.

"And... the pizza boxes that we turned into little tables because our dorm room couldn't fit all of our textbooks and a decent eating space?" You add on, finding yourself smiling to the visual. Just a tiny bit.

There's some shifting on the other side. He's remembering all of it too.

"We were a little messy back then, weren't we?" he chuckles fondly.

You bite your lip nervously again. "But... it was our mess, right?"

"Yeah," You hear him say, and there's a warmth in his voice. "Our mess that we somehow made work."

You take a sip of your drink again, even though you really shouldn't. But you can't help it. The alcohol seems to fuel your courage, or perhaps it's the shared nostalgia that wraps around your conversation like a comforting blanket. The messiness, the laughter, the late-night talks with his arms around you𑁋they were all part of a chapter that shaped both of you.

Your mind is hazy, but you press on, driven by a longing you can't quite articulate.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know why I called," You confess, voice trembling. "I just felt this emptiness, and I thought... I thought hearing your voice might fill it, even for just a second."

"It's okay," Seokmin is quick to reassure gently and soothingly. "You don't need to say sorry; it does... feel nice hearing you. But calling me in the middle of the night, when you're drunk... it's not the solution, okay?"

You nod, even though he can't see you. There's some heat that prickles at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, trying to contain yourself. You've already made an enough mess of yourself this entire night.

"I know it wasn't..." You clench and unclench your other hand, nails digging into your skin. "I just... needed someone to talk to, and you were that person for me."

"But... I'm not that person anymore," Seokmin clarifies, and his words seems to hit a nerve. "You have to be that person for yourself."

You inhale shakily, realising that you've been clinging to a version of him that exists only in memories. For a moment, you're suspended between the past and the present. The truth in his statement stings, but the pain is necessary. You've been using this idea of him, the memories you shared, to help ground you.

You wish you could reach through the phone and touch the past, rewrite the script, and undo the choices that led to this painful distance. But you already know you can't. It's too late.

Seokmin's right𑁋things have changed.

"Can you... just answer what I asked before?" You ask softly, carefully, tapping your fingers nervously against the glass in your hand. "If you... if you still thought about me."

There's a sound on the other end. You're not sure what it is𑁋a sigh, a chair shifting, or perhaps the subtle closing of his eyes. Whatever it is, it heightens the anticipation.

"Of course I... I do think about you," Seokmin admits, and that particular weakness to his voice paralyses you. Your heart catches in your throat. "I can never forget about what we had. But... we've both moved forward, Y/N. Life took us in different directions."

His words hit you like a cold breeze. It doesn't bring the comfort you expected; instead, it leaves you with a mix of emotions𑁋vulnerability, acceptance, and a tinge of sorrow.

"Maybe... in a different universe?" You hear the uncertainty in your own voice, a wistful hope that hangs in the heavy air around you.

You try to think you imagine a smile to his face when you say that, but the silence on the other end stretches out, and reality settles in again.

"Maybe," he concedes, and the word hangs there, suspended between what once was and what could have been. Just not in this one. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, Y/N. I need you to be happy, even if it's without me. Life keeps moving, and we have to move with it. You're one of the strongest people I know, okay? You can get through this. I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

You deserve happiness too, Seokmin.

Despite the gloominess to your thoughts, every single one of his words echoes within your head. And it hurts, your head throbbing from the alcohol and emotions. The truth tastes like a bitter pill, and you swallow it down, the sting lingering in your chest.

"I miss you," You admit before you could think straight, slipping out like a confession in the dark, suddenly feeling all too exposed.

"I... I miss you too," Seokmin responds hesitantly, softly; you can hear the small, hint of a smile in his voice. You wonder if he's been smiling like the sun these days. "but... I don't want you to call me like this. Not when you're hurting and drunk. It's not healthy for either of us."

His words carry a gentle yet firm tone, a reminder of the boundaries that now exist between you. You can feel the reality of the situation settling in and the pages that turned since you both went your separate ways.

"I know," You murmur. "I just... needed to say it out loud."

For a minute, you both don't say anything. It's oddly comfortable, yet fragile with an unspoken sadness.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself, okay?" Seokmin's voice breaks through the quiet. It's a request, a plea.

"I promise," You respond, the sincerity cutting through the haze. "And you take care too, Seokmin."

The conversation lingers for a moment, as if both of you are reluctant to sever the weak tie that binds you in this moment.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Seokmin."

When the call disconnects, you sit there for a while, phone in hand, the room now silent except for the distant sounds of the city outside.

You glance down at the almost-empty glass down in your hand, and in a swift movement, down the rest of the drink down your throat, feeling the familiar burn as it goes down. The room seems to sway a bit more than before, and you clutch your phone a bit more tighter as if it might steady you.

Then you shoot your eyes back down at your phone, seeing the way it turns on when you tap the screen, the sudden brightness of the screen stinging your eyes.

Impulsively, you navigate to your messages, and without thinking too much, you find Seokmin's contact and start typing.

[y/n] i love you, i'm sorry

With a deep breath, you hit send, and flip your phone over. Fuck, what did you just do? You're going insane.

Then your phone vibrates again, and you quickly grab it, heart racing.

But then your heart drops. It's not a message; it's a notification.

The number you have reached is no longer available.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts

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crystalflygeo · 1 year

Text

The dragon and the sacrificial lamb ft. eroded!Zhongli + gn!reader

cw/tags: rape/non-con, angst, bad ending, yandere-ish zhongli? feral/eroded zhongli, biting, crying, restraints (courtesy of improper use of geo as usual ehe)

notes: Alright this is a special one get ready. There's two "version" of this story bc I couldn't decide which path I liked more. This one is the dark/bad ending. Both stories are exactly the same at the start, changing a few word here and there but then reach a point where they divert completely in reactions/emotions and the underlying feeling of the stories are very different. They can be read independently ofc so by all means feel free to choose which tags you vibe with more or enjoy picking up the differences between both!

Bittersweet ending version here!!

Once upon a time…

A long, long time ago…

The people of Liyue revered their beloved Archon Rex Lapis. Just and kind, he led his nation for millennia, upholding order and contracts, defeating countless enemies, and defending their safe Harbor.

It is said the Lord of Geo took a human as partner, and fell in love deep and pure.

And his partner loved him just as much.

A love that would tragically become a twisted obsession.

It is said the God understood that even he himself was not immune to erosion, and it would one day be his downfall. So, he made sure his people were ready to live on without him. That his adepti were strong enough to subdue him if the day ever came.

As for his lover… well…

-----

Your bare feet crunch along the soft grass as you run and run, panting, gasping for air, almost tripping and letting out a yelp but quickly regaining balance and scurrying faster, past the falling golden ginkgo leaves, past the soft sound of rushing waters.

The golden sunset is gorgeous, dying the sky pink and orange with pastel hues but you simply ignore it, having grown tired of it, sick even. It is fake, an illusion. Just as everything else in this adeptal abode.

Everything except, of course, you and the beast you are currently fleeing from.

It is useless to try to escape, this you know, and your heart clenches painfully as tears prickle at your eyes. You’ve done this before, played this game many many times. But at least for one moment… just one moment…

A roar turns your blood to ice and against all common sense you look over your shoulder to see a massive long dragon twisting in the air and diving straight towards you.

Your legs tremble and fail you as you fall down, the grass is soft but your body aches, tired, burning. You scramble around frantically to stare at the beast again and your eyes widen in panic as it lands right on top of you, majestic and terrifying, caging you with its serpentine body. The golden claws alone are as long as your forearms, digging on the ground at either side of you.

You whimper.

The dragon lowers his head, growling at you, fangs mere inches apart and you squeeze your eyes shut, tears running down your face.

“Why do you run away from me?”

“Leave me alone!” You scream.

“Are you not happy with me? My mate?”

At the words you only sob harder.

Mate.

Oh, how much joy did that word bring you once. And now you can only feel your heart shatter.

You feel a shift in the wind, in the energy, in the light around you, and when you open your eyes, the massive dragon has faded to a more human appearance. He changes back to the form you’re most used to.

Long strands of dark hair tipped amber, striking golden eyes with stunning red lines that highlight their sharpness, a handsome face and a muscular body with arms died black, and lines of gold… lines that run along his cheek and down his neck. Cracks, like a broken glass, like scars, under his eyes and around his chest, ruining the pristine skin and unable to disappear despite his ability to change forms.

The undeniable marks of erosion.

You snap back to attention when he dips down and starts nosing at your neck, his hands pulling at the robe you’re wearing, the only article of clothing you picked up before scurrying away from the mansion. It parts open easily, revealing your naked body to his eyes, littered in past bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Claims from the dragon.

“W-wait. Stop-!” You try to push him back, panicked, desperately pressing your palms against his broad shoulders, but of course he’s immovable as stone.

You kick and trash until he gets irritated and suddenly your arms are immobilized, held above your head and pressed onto the ground by heavy geo cuffs.

“Submit.” He growls.

You squirm a little more until your body sags into the ground, exhausted, panting. There is no use. Instead, you shudder as his hands grope and rub all over your body, rough and callous.

He spreads your legs and slots between them as your breath catches. His palm presses at a spot on your navel possessively, a glittering geo symbol engraved on your skin there, glowing subtly like his horns. You whine.

Then his touch goes lower and teases at your entrance, circling the hole and dipping in just barely.

“Z-Zhongli-!”

Another growl comes out of his throat, deep and guttural. “You dare speak another man’s name in my presence? In my realm? When you belong to me?!”

Your whole body shakes, with rage, with fear. Your heart about to burst. You grit your teeth and glare at the dragon god with as much venom as you can.

“I don’t belong to you!”

He snarls, eyes widening to serpentine slits.

“Insolent. No matter, I’ll fill you up again and show you.”

The eroded God leans down to bite at your neck and you yelp, sharp fangs break your skin and you cry as you feel the warm blood spill. His claws prick at your thighs as he starts unceremoniously humping against you. The ridges on his draconic cock making your hole twitch and you gasp as he presses in, dipping slightly inside your thigh warmth. No need to prepare your body after so many years of coupling. Your hole already soft and molded to him like a worn-out toy.

“No, please… n-no.” Your voice breaks, tears running down your face.

Everything turns blurry, fuzzy, and your head spins.

How had things ended up like this?

You see no love in his eyes, no recognition. And you don’t recognize him either anymore. This creature, this beast… he is not your lover. He is not Zhongli…

And hasn’t been for who knows how long…

Zhongli raises one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder while straddling the other and pushes further in the slick warmth, ignoring the sounds you make. “Too big! I can’t-!” You scream and it just urges him to slam it in. “No- Ahh!” Sheathed all the way to the hilt, Zhongli groans as you clench around him.

He immediately starts thrusting and you feel the world tilt. It’s all too much, the sound of skin slapping against skin, your walls getting battered by his thick member, his animalistic grunts and groans, and the way your body betrays you… a speck of pleasure mixed in with the pain.

It's so cruel.

“Sto- gh! Stop it! Zhongli, please…!” You sob.

Zhongli hisses, muscles taut and flexing as his hips buck into yours, finally finding that spot that has you choking out a moan, your body shivers, forced to surrender and feel everything, a hot coil building on your lower stomach where the mark of geo glows as he continues to take what he wants from your struggling form. He laps at your skin and nuzzles there, almost lovingly. “Mine.”

Your moans start turning sweeter, previously pained sounds turning to vocalizations of carnal lust, your eyes glassy. You try to fight it, conflicted, but the stimulation is too much.

You come with a raw cry through gritted teeth, tears flowing down your cheeks and your own juices coating your skin causing you to feel dirty in more ways than one. Zhongli continues through your overstimulated state, chasing his own pleasure as his thrust become erratic until finally, he stills deep inside and moans long and low, painting your insides white.

You feel him twitch inside you and groan, absolutely exhausted, overwhelmed with emotions, feeling sick, used and abused. He lowers your leg but doesn’t bother pulling out, keeping you there as he nips at your skin, murmuring soft words. “My mate. All pretty and filled up. All mine. Love you.”

You can’t bear to hear those words, spoken in the voice you continue to love after all this time. It shatters your soul, breaking it to pieces like the corroded dragon’s destroyed mind.

Feeling about to pass out, you close your eyes and your head lolls to the side, sniffling against your own forearm as tears continue to fall. “I love… Zhongli. Miss him. I hate you…”

He dissolves the geo shackles into specks of gold and holds your unconscious body in his arms, satisfied with the claims and scent he’s left on you. His tail swishes slowly, pleased with himself as he carries you back to the abode’s mansion.

Home.

Were he’ll keep you safe, bound to him.

Forever and always.

-----

…It is said that his lover is the key to keep the eroded God confined.

Trapped by the possessive dragon in a sealed realm, to keep him ensnared, enchanted and bound to them.

Until they both turn to dust.

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archesnalleyways · 5 months

Note

PLEAASSSEE write more abt an intox kink... maybe smth with Daryl and/or rick👀 I love ur writing btw

No because I was thinking.

The Apocalypse has been going on for eight years, and you were only 15 when it started. Far from legal drinking age, far from even knowing what effects alcohol would do to you. You’ve maybe had a sip from a parent’s glass way back in the day and that’s it.

But then after a raid Rick comes back with an intact bottle of Scotch with a pleased grin. Both him and Daryl are over the moon and as soon as the chores are done for the day they sit down to share it.

And they start to look so relaxed, so happy, that you get curios.

“Could I have some?”

Rick glances over to you, then looks back at Daryl.

“Well sure sweetheart, don’t know if you’re gonna like the taste, that’s all” he says with a smile, pouring some into a third glass.

You frown a little at that, if they can sit and savour it since it’s so good, why wouldn’t I like it?

So you’re determined to get it down with minimal contortions, figuring out that it’s easier for you if you gulp it down rather than sipping it. And the men chuckle at little at you until they see that your glass is already empty.

“Oh darlin’, you’re gonna be spinnin’ out soon” Daryl says with a grin, tilting his head toward you.

And soon enough your mind get fuzzy edges and you start dancing around the room, giggling at anything and stumbling to sit down again.

“Jeez, you would think it’s your first time” Rick laughs, sipping down some more amber liquid with slightly pink cheeks.

“It is my first time being drunk, silly” you slur.

You can see Rick connecting the dots then, his mouth slightly agape and something dark pulling over his eyes. But it’s also right about then the fuzzy edges take over your whole vision and your mind blanks.

Your next memory is being on your hands and knees, feeling a cock plowing into you from behind. When you open your eyes to deduce that it’s Rick, since Daryl is in front of you, jacking off.

“Stay still sweetheart” he says with a strained voice as he grabs your jaw and pulls your face closer to his dick.

He paints your face with his cum, but with the taste you have on your tongue you’re pretty sure it isn’t the first load you’ve received tonight. Daryl grunts before slapping his softening dick on your face a few times.

“Good girl, would you like another glass?” He asks with a sick grin, already holding it up to you.

You swallow a mouthful of the scotch, some of his cum dripping down over your lips as you do and tainting the taste.

“That’s right, drink up” Rick states through gritted teeth, still going at an insane pace behind you.

As both you and Rick are getting closer to cumming your head starts to grow heavy again, resting it at the couch beneath you, as you feel yourself fade away again.

Rick groans as he pulls out of you, carefully watching the way his cum drools out of you and down your legs.

“God I’ve missed fucking drunk girls”

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

Remus Lupin x fem!reader[2.8K] a pub bathroom, knowing friends, one spilled drink. Smut 18+

You’d missed him, that was evident. Remus had left for the week with James and Sirius, a long awaited boys trip to somewhere in Ireland where they met Frank Longbottom and other former Hogwarts students you couldn’t really remember the names of. He’d sent an owl or two, a photo of them all in a tiny pub, cradling huge pints of Guinness, telling you he was having fun but looking forward to seeing you soon.

Remus had barely managed to hug you hello, his suitcase still by the front door before the phone in his kitchen rang, James’ excited voice telling him Lily got a promotion and everyone was to meet at the Hogs Head to celebrate.

He hung up before Remus could argue, but you shrugged and smiled, leaning in for one quick kiss before you were both apparating to a quiet lane on the outskirts of Hosgsmeade. There was a table of your friends at the back, rowdy and loud about their celebrations, Lily squished between her boyfriend and Sirius, all of them cheering at your arrival with glasses held above their heads.

An agonising hour was spent trying to listen to Lily, nodding along with Dorcas and Marlene as she explained the aspects of her new role and how excited she was to start. But Remus was beside you, sipping slowly from a glass that held something amber, chatting quietly to Frank and one of the Weasleys as he curled his hand around your bare thigh.

He got bolder the longer no one noticed, fingers trailing upupup until they breached the hem of your dress, calloused tips pressing nicely to the inside of your thigh. You startled, glass tipping, your own vodka cranberry spilling onto the table. Dorcas squeaked and Sirius grinned, syphoning up the liquid with the tip of his wand before he winked at you across the table.

“Drunk already, darling?”

You glared at him, knowing his teasing came from noticing your flushed cheeks, the way his friend's hand had slipped under the table and never reappeared.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, not trusting your voice. Your throat felt thick, your chest warm. “My hand slipped.”

Remus leaned in at that, hand still very much on your leg, his mouth at the shell of your ear. He smelled like he always did, like citrus and sage and something smoky and his lips brushed your skin as he spoke.

“Clumsy,” he tsked and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Did you spill some on yourself?” Remus was quiet as he spoke, that soft cadence that made your cheeks warm and your thighs squeeze together around his hand.

You shook your head, hoping no one was watching, the chatter of your friends around you sounding further and further away as the boy pushed closer against you, head ducked down to hear your reply.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” you lied. You weren’t fine at all. But the drink had missed your lap, your dress dry and unstained. “It missed me.”

Remus hummed, keeping close, head bent to yours so it merely looked like you were both sharing a conversation, tucked together like young lovers who couldn’t hear each other from the din from the rest of the pub. His hand was on the move again, faint scars and papercut lines from his books trailing over your skin, making you push your toes into the old carpet beneath the table.

From the outside, Remus looked himself. Messy haired and gentle smile, kind brown eyes and a new scar that was already fading, slicing through his right brow. White shirt under a too big sweater, the collar creased, the wool a pattern of muted browns and reds and forest green. He looked perfectly rumpled, sleep soft and bookish, even years out of school.

He also had his hand pushed to the junction of your thighs, fingers pressed over the cotton of your underwear.

“You sure you didn’t spill it on you?” Remus’ dropped his voice lower, his smile lazy as he dropped his free arm around your shoulder, listening to the way your breath hitched against his ear. “There’s a little wet, here.” His fingers glided up, just a fraction, middle and pointer pressing directly down onto your clit and making you jump, again, knee banging off the underside of the table.

Everyone stared, conversation stalling as your friends took in your wide eyes and parted lips with raised brows. There was a beat of silence, a small cough and grin from Remus that he hid behind the hand he finally pulled away from you.

“Toilet.” You choked out. “Excuse me.”

Remus was behind you before you could shut the door, squeezing past the gap with a grin that made your toes curl, his wand pointed at the lock as he muttered a few charms, his gaze heavy on you.

“You’re awful,” you hissed, even though you didn’t mean it. You were already letting him crowd you against the wall, elbow hitting off the paper towel dispenser as you reached up to tug at his neck. “That was cruel, Remus.”

The boy seemed pleased no matter how scolding your words were, yielding to you as he bent, letting you manhandle him the way you wanted, expression smug. “I’m awful?” He mused, pretending to frown. His lips skimmed over your cheek in search of your mouth, landing kisses where he could. “Rude. I just missed you, that’s all.”

His hands made quick work, nudging at your waist until you were trapped between the cold tiles and his warm frame, pushed onto your toes so you could reach him. He kissed you slowly, smiling at your impatience, lips curving over yours. He tasted like honeyed bourbon and smoke, a whisper of Sirius’ stolen cigarettes despite his insistence on quitting.

“Missed you too,” you managed to murmur back, eyes fluttering as he pecked at your cheek, your jaw, the skin just beside your lips, mouthing down and along your throat until you were tugging at strands of hair that curled around his neck.

This was a far cry from being the first public place you’d let the boy have you in, but the pub outside was much louder than James and Lily’s guest room, and the idea of someone barging in seemed much more possible.

“I locked it,” Remus whispered, as if he could read your thoughts. Sometimes, you thought he could. “And silenced it.” He was kissing you between words, cut off sentences that ended with syllables trapped between your lips, settling on your tongue instead.

And then he was moving down, lowering himself to his knees so his nose could graze over your stomach, warm breath through your cotton sundress. He gazed up at you, earnest despite his dark eyes, his filthy intentions. His voice was still sticky soft when he said:

“I’ve spent all night thinking ‘bout making you come,” another kiss, adoringly gentle, just below your navel. “Will you let me, sweetheart?” His hands, wide and warm, teasing the hem of your dress, dragging it up your thighs. “Been dying to put my mouth on you, s’awful.”

You made a noise then, not a protest, not an agreement, just a high keen, a broken moan that might’ve been the boy’s name. Remus didn’t go further, your dress rucked up all messy over his forearms, his own sleeves rolled up, his hands gripping your hips. He pushed his nose to your hip bone, let his cheek rest there as he looked up at you.

He was the picture of boyish innocence, despite his intentions. Hair misbehaving, sandy brown strands sticking up from your own hands, caramel coloured eyes hazy and dreamlike, cheeks flushed, pink and freckled from the start of a new summer.

“People will notice we’re gone,” you tried to argue, albeit weakly. You hand your hands back in his hair, holding him close. “Fuck, Remus— they’ll, they’ll know.”

“Can be quick about it,” he promised softly. “You know I know what you like, can make you feel real good.” You knew he could. That’s why you were letting him drag your left leg over his shoulder, hand curling around your thigh to hold you there. “But if you wanna stop, jus’ tell me, sweetheart, don’t have to do anything.”

You knew he meant it, that you could say no, reject his generous offer and go back to sitting with your friends and spend the remainder of the night horribly frustrated. But Remus was squeezing the dough of your thigh, the slight stubble along his jaw scratching the sensitive skin there just right and then you were groaning, fisting his hair between your fingers a little tighter.

“Please,” you whispered and suddenly, you were desperate.

He grinned, all boyish and charming, nose nudging along the line of where your dress lay on your thigh, pushing it up until the lace edge of your underwear came into view. “Please, what?”

“You’re awful,” you told him again, a needy sound twisting around a laugh, “god, Remus, please just—”

He hitched your leg higher, spread it open wider and used his free hand to make quick work of your underwear, damp cotton pulled to the side with two long fingers. No more time was wasted, your breath and words stolen from you as the boy leaned in, licking a slow, wide stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Oh fuck.”

Remus hummed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he closed his eyes and pushed into you more, nose resting against your soft skin, cheeks flushed as he let out a groan that vibrated through you. “You taste too good,” he murmured, voice a hoarse rasp. He already sounded wrecked. “You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this, and you’re calling me awful. So mean to me, love.”

You might have had an idea. Remus was generous like this, loving on you whenever he could, wandering hands and slow kisses stolen all the time, teasing you through the day only to spend the entire night on his knees for you, between your legs, sucking, kissing, licking—

“Remus,” you mewled, body bowing over his head, knees buckling slightly when he let his tongue drag over your clit, kissing around it before going back to those slow, deliberate licks. “Oh shit, oh my god.”

He was soft about it, hands keeping you up, keeping you open for him, eyes full of fierce affection as he watched you fall apart for him, tongue nudging against your entrance until you sobbed, curling over your clit again and again and again until you were too close to bear it.

“Need you,” you sniffed, eyes glassy, a hand dragging over his cheek. “Fuck, Remus, need you inside me.”

Remus pulled back, only just, huffing out a breath of warm air over your poor, sensitive cunt as he laughed. “Thought we were being quick, hmm?” He asked, tone light and teasing. He knew you were close, could tell by the way you’d went pliant against him, pussy fluttering each time he swiped his tongue through your folds. “C’mon, you gonna come for me?”

You nodded, breath hitching, nose scrunching at the effort of staying upright. “Just need more,” god, you sounded out of it, almost slurring despite your one spilled drink, your lips still kiss bitten and red. “Can I have your fingers, handsome, please?”

Remus cooed at your affection, leaving kisses and lilac bruises over the tops of your thighs, his mouth busy elsewhere. He brought two fingers to where you wanted them, getting them slick between your folds, groaning at the velvet feel of you.

“You’re absolutely soaked, love, fuck,” his voice was all awe and appreciation, his cock twitching under his slacks, kicking up in protest at being left out. “There you go, that better?” He slid his digits in, marvelling at how easy you took them, how warm and wet you were, fluttering around him already.

You nodded, gasping, body almost bent in half as you clung to his hair, his face pushed into the mess of your creased dress and slick skin, your leg still dangling from his shoulder.

“C’mon on then, baby,” Remus was being awful now, truly. Words coming with a bite of condescension, wrapped up all silky and pretty with his soft tone. He only really called you ‘baby’ like this, the affection making you feel small and lovely, just for him. “Make yourself come, there’s my good girl.”

You knew what he wanted. And who were you to deny him?

You straightened up, head thrown back carelessly against the tiles as you gripped the boy’s hair a little harder, tugging a little mean, nails scratching at his scalp. You shifted your hips, searching for him, for his mouth, for his tongue. And you found it when he ducked back down for you, kissing over your cunt with the softest of touches, making you work for it as he slid his fingers in and out of you. You moved with more intent, hips grinding against his face, Remus’ free hand sliding down to grab at your ass, squeezing meanly.

You shifted and his tongue caught your clit just right, a needy noise leaving your throat and letting the boy know that wasn’t to dare stop what he was doing. So he kept his tongue pressed to you just like that, groaned into you a little wild when you held him there, moving over him to chase the high you were guaranteed to get.

It was obscene, the noises you made, the sounds he let out. It was filthy, the way he scratched his short nails down the back of your thigh, curling his hand under your knee to pull you closer. It was dirty, the way you came on his tongue, Remus’ eyes rolling back before his lashes fluttered shut, nose pressed into your folds, tongue licking up everything you gave him, his fingers sliding out of you to trail over your leg, leaving wetness in his wake.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, drunk sounding, standing up a little shakily after he dropped your leg slowly back to the ground, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee as he did so. “Christ, you’re too pretty, y’know that?”

It was dizzying, the buzz that lingered over your skin, the high that was still coursing through each limb. His lovely words settled over you like wildflowers, blooming between the cracks of your ribs, twisting over your neck, your cheeks as he kissed you sweet.

“Remus,” his name was a clumsy thing on your lips, sticky with affection, cloying at your throat. You still wanted him, possibly more than you did before. He tasted like you when you kissed him, pressed shakily to your tiptoes, reaching for his jaw greedily for more. “Take me home, please.”

He hummed, pleased, the sound turning to the throaty groan when your kisses changed to filth, your tongue kitten licking over his bottom lip, sucking it between your own to chase the taste he took from between your thighs. His hands grabbed your hips, smoothing down your dress for you before petting at your hair, piecing you back together after he’d ripped you apart.

“Please?” Remus repeated, a pretty smile playing at his lips. He looked as dazed as you felt, his cock still painfully hard and pressed between you both but he seemed unphased, more than happy to have you like putty in his arms. “You’re lovely, you know that? S’too much, too sweet.”

You nodded, eyes heavy lidded, eager to agree to whatever he said. “I’d very much like to show you how lovely I think you are too. Let’s go.”

That made him blush, cheeks rosy, eyes bright, as if he was a schoolboy with a crush and not a twenty something who’d gotten his girl so worked up in a public setting, he had to have her there and then.

“They’ll notice,” he murmured, ducking back down for another kiss, smiling through it, whispering against your lips like he couldn’t bear to part from you. “They’ll be horrid about it.”

You knew who they were. James. Sirius. You realised you really didn’t care. Not then, maybe tomorrow, probably when you met them for the lunch they always demanded during hangovers. Three pizzas shared between five, jugs of fresh lemonade made by Lily and maybe a bowl of chicken wings if James was feeling extra delicate.

You shrugged, unbothered, hair still mussed despite the way the boy had tried his best to fix it, lipgloss all gone, your neck kissed and bitten, all marked up in the best way. You looked like you had been doing exactly what you had been doing.

“Better be quick about then,” you told him, dragging him out of the door, the charms bursting around you both, glittering in the air.

You ignored the whistles, the whoops, the hollers - but god, you really couldn’t help laughing when Sirius called Remus a dirty harlot. And when you both got outside, the sun setting across the village, Remus kissed you as you disapparated, and if you landed directly in his bed, well.

That was just good luck.

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kckt88 · 5 months

Text

You Really Got Me.

Summary:

After being dragged to a club by his brother, Aemond meets the girl of his dreams.

Warning(s): Alcohol, Flirting, Banter, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex M & F Recieving, Multiple Orgasms, P in V sex.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x Y.N

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 3384

A.N - Shout out to @zeciex for suggesting I write this!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As the bass thumped through the club, Aemond Targaryen leaned back against the plush leather booth, a tumbler of amber liquid swirling in his hand. His older brother Aegon was at it again, prowling the dance floor in search of his next conquest, his laughter mingling with the music and the chatter of the crowd.

Aemond couldn't help but shake his head at Aegon's antics, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Some things never changed, no matter how old they got. But then, his attention was caught by a figure sitting at the bar.

She was captivating, with long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders and a leather jacket over her dress only adding an edge to her ensemble.

Her fingers tapped against her thigh in time with the beat, a subtle rhythm that drew Aemond's gaze like a moth to flame and he found himself unable to look away.

As the music pulsed around them, Aemond felt a surge of courage wash over him. With a glance towards his brother, who was still lost in his pursuit, he made his decision. Setting down his drink, he straightened his jacket and approached the bar, a newfound determination in his step.

It had been a good few months since he’d last took a woman to his bed and tonight, he would take a chance, and see where the night would lead.

With a steady resolve, Aemond made his way through the pulsating crowd towards the bar where the captivating woman sat. As he approached, he couldn't help but admire the graceful way she moved to the music, her presence commanding attention.

Just as he was about to speak, fate intervened in the form of a misstep.

The woman turned at the wrong moment, her sudden movement catching Aemond off guard. Before he could react, their paths collided, and the contents of her drink went tumbling through the air, splashing across the front of his shirt.

"Whoa, I'm so sorry!" Aemond exclaimed, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady her as they both stumbled back from the collision.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise, a look of mortification crossing her features as she took in the mess they had created. "Oh gods, I didn't see you there," she apologized, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

"It's alright, really," Aemond reassured her, offering a warm smile despite the dampness seeping through his shirt. "Accidents happen."

Together, they shared a rueful laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating into shared amusement.

As they both cleaned up the mess, the woman offered a sheepish smile. "I'm Y.N," she introduced herself, her voice soft but carrying a hint of warmth.

"Aemond," he replied, offering his hand with a gentle shake. "Nice to meet you, Y.N, despite the unconventional start."

Y.N's smile widened, a glint of amusement sparkling in her eyes. "Likewise, Aemond. And I must say, you handle unexpected collisions quite well."

Aemond chuckled, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks. "Years of practice," he quipped, enjoying the easy banter that flowed between them.

Feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between them, Aemond gestured towards the bar. "Can I make it up to you by buying you another drink?" he offered, hoping to extend their conversation beyond the initial mishap.

Y.N's lips curved into a playful grin. "I suppose that would be fair compensation," she teased, a sparkle of mischief dancing in her eyes.

With a shared laugh, they made their way to the bar, the music and chatter of the club fading into the background as they continued to get to know each other.

As they settled into a more intimate corner of the club, Aemond and Y.N continued their conversation, their laughter blending seamlessly with the music.

"So, what brought you here tonight?" Aemond asked, genuinely curious about the woman sitting across from him.

Y.N's expression softened, a hint of wistfulness crossing her features. "Honestly, I was just about to leave," she confessed, her voice tinged with a touch of disappointment. "My friends bailed on me, and I didn't really fancy staying here alone."

Aemond's brows furrowed sympathetically, but a playful twinkle lit up his eye. "Well, I suppose luck was on my side then," he remarked with a charming smile. "Because you're not alone anymore."

Y.N's lips curled into a smile, touched by his sincerity. "I suppose you're right," she conceded, a warmth blossoming in her chest at his words.

As the night wore on and their conversation deepened, Aemond and Y.N found themselves drawn to each other in ways they hadn't expected. With each shared laugh and exchanged glance, the spark of attraction between them ignited into a blazing flame.

Aemond leaned in closer, his voice low and husky as he teased Y.N with playful banter. "You know, I must say, you're quite the captivating presence," he remarked, a hint of admiration in his tone.

Y.N's cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and delight as she returned his gaze, her eyes sparkling with a newfound confidence. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she quipped, her smile playful yet inviting.

Their flirtatious exchange continued, a dance of words and glances that spoke volumes without the need for further explanation.

Aemond couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards Y.N, her wit and charm captivating him in ways he hadn't anticipated. And as he watched her laugh and playfully toss her hair, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to explore where this newfound attraction would lead.

For Y.N, the feeling was mutual, her heart racing with excitement as she found herself falling deeper under Aemond's spell. In his presence, she felt alive in a way she hadn't in a long time, her every nerve tingling with anticipation.

As the night progressed and the chemistry between them intensified, Y.N found herself drawn to the subtle intricacies of Aemond's appearance. With a gentle touch, she reached out to tuck a stray strand of his long, silver hair behind his ear, her fingertips lingering against his skin.

"You know," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "You have to be one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through him at the sincerity in her gaze. He met her eyes, his own blue orbs reflecting a depth of emotion that words could scarcely capture.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of humility and gratitude. "That's-quite the compliment."

Y.N smiled, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of him. "I mean it," she insisted, her fingers trailing lightly along his jawline. "Your sharp features, the colour of your eye-it’s truly mesmerizing".

“-And the eyepatch and scar?” mused Aemond.

“Proves that you’re a survivor” replied Y.N smiling.

Y.N's gaze lingered on Aemond's profile, the soft glow of the club's lights casting gentle shadows across his features.

With a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, she couldn't help but voice her admiration.

"You know, Aemond, your side profile is absolutely incredible," she remarked, her voice hushed yet filled with genuine appreciation.

Aemond turned to face her, a faint blush tinting his cheeks at the unexpected compliment. "Really?" he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

Y.N nodded, her eyes tracing the elegant curve of his jawline and the noble slope of his nose. "Yes, really," she affirmed, her tone earnest. "There's something about the way the light catches your features-it's like you were sculpted by an artist."

Aemond's heart fluttered at her words, a warmth spreading through him at the sincerity in her gaze. In Y.N's eyes, he felt seen in a way that went beyond mere physical appearance, a recognition of the uniqueness that defined him.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with gratitude.

Aemond found himself unable to resist the magnetic pull drawing him closer to Y.N. With a silent exchange of longing glances, they closed the distance between them, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss that ignited a firestorm of passion between them.

In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of Y.N's lips against his own, soft yet electrifying. Aemond's heart thundered in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his hands instinctively finding their way to Y.N's waist, pulling her closer to him.

Y.N responded eagerly, her arms winding around Aemond's neck as she melted into his embrace.

As their kiss finally broke, leaving them both breathless and flushed with desire, Aemond gazed into Y.N's eyes, a question lingering unspoken between them.

"Y.N," he began, his voice husky with emotion, "Would you like to-go back to my flat?"

Y.N's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Yes," she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet longing that mirrored his own.

With a surge of elation coursing through him, Aemond took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining with hers as they made their way through the throng of people towards the exit.

As they reached the door, Aemond fumbled for his keys, his fingers trembling with anticipation. With a satisfying click, the door swung open, and they stumbled into the dimly lit interior, their bodies pressed together as their kisses grew deeper, more urgent.

“A-Are you sure?” asked Aemond.

“Yes, I’m sure-“ replied Y.N as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him for another kiss, the tongues gently caressing one another.

Aemond’s hands then slipped her leather jacket off her shoulders and draped it over the back of a chair before he took her face in his hands and ran his tongue over her lips, eliciting a low moan from Y.N.

His long fingers sliding up the back of her neck and into her hair, his forehead resting against hers.

“So beautiful” whispered Aemond.

“I-I want to see you” muttered Y.N softly.

Aemond hesitated, he never took his eyepatch off around anyone except his mother, brothers, and sister.

But there was something about Y.N that instantly made him feel comfortable, so with a deep breath Aemond slipped his fingers under the strap of his eyepatch and pulled it from his head.

Y.N stood silent she stared at the scar the bisected his cheek, extending through his eyebrow. The sapphire that he’d placed in the eye socket, glinted in the moonlight.

“You are-so-beautiful” whispered Y.N as she leaned forward and placed a number of kisses along his scarred cheek and over the sapphire.

Aemond closed his eye in delight at the tender gesture, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

“Hmmm” rasped Aemond as he ran his thumb over Y.N’s bottom lip, his eye going wide as she opened her mouth and nipped at his thumb before sucking it into her mouth.

Aemond could feel his eye roll into the back of head, fuck his cock was throbbing.

“Please-“ moaned Y.N

Aemond removed his thumb and quickly shed his jacket before throwing it on the sofa.

Wasting no time, he pulled Y.N to him, his lips once again claiming hers.

He put his arm around her waist and kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as she moaned into his mouth. His tongue pushing against hers.

Y.N ran her fingers across his lithe body. His muscles rippled under her fingertips.

She unbuttoned the white shirt he wore, placing feathery kisses on his sparsely haired chest as the shirt was removed.

Her fingers toying with the silver cross chain he wore.

Groaning against her creamy smooth skin, he kissed her neck, sucking on the delicate flesh as she leaned into him, enjoying his every touch.

Her dress felt heavy on her. She wanted to be rid of it. She wanted to feel his skin on hers. She reluctantly broke free of his embrace and turned her back to him moving her hair out of the way.

His fingers trembled as he grasped the zip to her dress and pulled it down, the sound echoed through the quiet apartment, and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

Using his long fingers, he freed her from the confinements of her dress, and it fell to join his shirt on the floor.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, which excited him to no end.

Goosebumps appeared where his fingers moved over her. Cupping her ample breasts from behind, Aemond pulled Y.N against his chest. Burying himself in the crook of her neck, sucking on the skin whilst his fingers massaged the soft mounds and played with her hardened nipples.

Aemond turned her to face him. Kissing her again, he trailed kisses down her body and took a rosy nipple in his mouth. Sucking on the aroused bud, he bit down lightly, earning a low moan from deep within her.

He continued his actions on the other breast and kissed past her stomach until he knelt before her. Her fingers in his hair tightened as he ran the tips of his fingers from her stomach down to her core.

Slowly he hooked his thumbs on the sides of her knickers and pulled them down.

Fuck she was dripping, and it was all for him. He could not wait to taste her. Somehow, he knew she would taste delicious.

Y.N delicately stepped out of the lacy material, and Aemond's long fingers grasped her buttocks. His fingers dug into her delicate flesh.

He felt her lean in eagerly. Gently he swiped his tongue across her hairless pussy, instant gratification as her fingers tightened their hold on his head, and a low moan left her lips.

Aemond smirked. Using his tongue, he gained access to her wet, pink folds. She tasted fucking amazing. Aemond enthusiastically ran his tongue along her slit, flicking his tongue over her swollen clit.

Y.N effortlessly placed a leg on his shoulder, spreading her thighs for better access. Oh, how he welcomed it.

Her clit was a swollen mass of pleasure waiting to explode. He pressed his tongue hard on it and sucked on her pulsating womanhood. Again and again, he felt her squirm. He felt her heat, she was so close.

Y.N felt the flow of heat accumulate behind her navel as she hovered on the cusp of orgasm. She let out a loud moan as she intricately spun a bundle of nerves that exploded within her.

"Fuck!" Y.N cried and buckled under the weight of her release.

Wave upon wave of unbridled passion unleashed within her as an earth-shattering orgasm tore throughout her body. Her slick juices dripped down his lips and chin. He didn't stop until she was utterly spent.

Pushing his tongue further in, he fucked her with his tongue till her orgasm ceased.

"Aemond," whimpered Y.N as she began to wobble.

Smirking, Aemond rose to his feet and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Y.N regained her composure and keenly clung to him, returning his kisses while undoing the button of his trousers.

Not skipping a single step as she directed him backwards towards the sofa.

Kissing him full on the mouth, her fingers stroked his body, not missing an inch of flesh.

She marvelled at the feel of his body. It was so lithe and fit. Trailing kisses past his stomach, she came face to face with his sizeable bulge.

Biting down on her lip, kneeling between his legs she pulled his trousers and boxers down his shapely legs and threw them next to her.

Even in the dim light, Aemond could see she was impressed. His rock-hard shaft stood up, eagerly awaiting its reward.

Y.N bent her head and licked a line from his balls to his pulsating head.

Aemond groaned aloud as she clasped her fingers around his girth and moved her hand up and down the hard shaft. Y.N enjoyed his slow torture. She smirked and licked the underside of his cock.

"Y.N-" whimpered Aemond.

His eye closed, and he felt her tongue at his head, licking the pre-cum that oozed out.

Without warning, she took him in whole, deep-throating his length. Aemond knew he would not last, he could not hold back any longer, but gods he did not want her to stop.

She was sucking on him, her lips tightening around his cock as she built a beautiful pace.

"NO!" groaned Aemond and Y.N withdrew.

She barely had time to react. Before he grabbed her around the waist and moved her on top.

“I-have condoms-somewhere” mumbled Aemond.

“I’m on the pill and clean-“ exclaimed Y.N her eyes going wide as Aemond lined up his cock with her entrance and sheathed himself inside her with one hard thrust.

Y.N moaned as Aemond withdrew and entered into her repeatedly.

Faster and faster. Harder and deeper, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

"Please don't stop," cried out Y.N

"I have no intention of stopping" growled Aemond, his feet planted firmly on the floor to allow him to increase the intensity of his thrusts.

A satisfied smile spread across his face as he quickened and angled his movements, so his cock rubbed on that special place inside her.

Aemond was mesmerized by the sight of Y.N’s breasts bouncing in front of him and unbale to resist any longer he surged forward, his mouth wrapping around one rosy bud.

His teeth and tongue teasing the stiffened peak.

“Gods-yes Aemond” shrieked Y.N as she bounced on his cock, her hands coiled in is long silver hair.

“That’s it baby-take it-take all of me” growled Aemond leaning back as he moved Y.N’s hips in time with his thrusts.

“Oh gods-” wailed Y.N.

“That’s it-FUCK Y.N” groaned Aemond as he took hold of her and quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, his cock never leaving the warm wetness of her as he began to pound into her, the sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing around his apartment.

“P-Please Aemond. Don’t stop. Don’t stop-“ whimpered Y.N.

“Come for me baby-come for me” growled Aemond as he felt her clenching around him.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N as she exploded, her nails digging into his back.

Aemond held back for as long as he could, but his release was upon him.

Surrounded by her wetness, he closed his eye.

With a final hard thrust, he spilled rope after rope of his seed.

He muffled his groans into her mouth as she hung onto him, kissing him fervently.

Only once she milked him dry did he collapse on top of her. She held him close to her body, whispering words of comfort and satisfaction while running her fingers down his back.

The sweat on his back stung against the scraps her nails made.

As they lay entwined on the sofa, their bodies bare and glistening with the remnants of their shared passion, Aemond and Y.N savoured the quiet intimacy of the moment. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle halo around their entangled forms.

Aemond's fingers traced lazy patterns across Y.N's skin, his touch tender and reverent as he explored the contours of her body.

With a contented sigh, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his heart overflowing with gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate that had brought them together.

In the stillness of the night, a silent thanks drifted through Aemond's mind, directed towards Aegon, who had unwittingly led him to the club where he had found Y.N.

Aemond couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't want this to be just another fleeting encounter. With Y.N nestled against him, her warmth radiating against his skin, he felt a longing stir within him—a desire to see her again, to explore the depths of their connection beyond the confines of this single night.

Gathering his courage, Aemond brushed a stray lock of hair from Y.N's face, his voice soft yet resolute. "Y.N," he began, his heart pounding in his chest, "I don't want this to end here. Would you-would you like to go on a date with me?"

Y.N's eyes lit up with delight, a soft giggle escaping her lips as she looked up at him with a sparkle of excitement. "Yes," she replied, her voice brimming with warmth and affection. "I would love to."

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond x reader #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen smut

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callmedaleelah · 14 days

Text

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— cause i see sparks fly whenever you smile : is it possible that he was starting to let you see his subtle moves?

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, amber glow across the campus. You sat on the bench just outside the classroom, your body weighed down with exhaustion. The library books in your bag felt heavier than usual, as if mirroring the burden of your thoughts. You tried to clear your head, gazing up at the soft pinks and oranges of the sky. It felt like the world was slipping into something calm, but your mind was anything but.

The day had been long—too long. After receiving feedback on your lab report, you were grateful for the chance to correct it, though it was hard to shake off the gnawing feeling that it wasn’t entirely your victory. Your mom’s push to email your professor had gotten you that second chance, and while you appreciated it, you couldn’t help but feel like you hadn’t earned it.

You slumped down onto a nearby bench, the weight of your bag dragging your shoulders down. Inside were the thick, heavy books you’d borrowed from the library, your attempt to arm yourself for the next wave of study sessions. But your body was protesting, tired and aching from a long day. You let yourself gaze at the fading sky for a moment, trying to relax.

"Just finished your class?"

The sudden voice made you turn around, surprised. Standing a few feet away, Tsukishima regarded you with his usual cool expression, headphones hanging loosely around his neck, his volleyball jersey peeking out from his jacket.

You offered him a polite smile. “Yeah, just finished.”

He glanced at you, then toward a nearby food truck. “Let’s get a hot chocolate.”

Your eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. It wasn’t exactly what you’d expected him to suggest, especially since Tsukishima wasn’t the type to initiate casual outings. You hesitated. “You like hot chocolate?”

He gave a small shrug. “Not really.”

“Then why are you inviting me to get a hot chocolate?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Do you not like hot chocolate?” he countered with a quirk of his eyebrow. The way he threw the question back at you made you pause, lips parting slightly. Tsukishima always had a way of turning the conversation back toward you, in that sly, almost smug manner.

“No, I mean, I like it, but—”

“Then why don’t you want to get hot chocolate?” He shot the question back at you smoothly, his tone unreadable.

You blinked at his bluntness but couldn’t help a small chuckle escaped your lips, shaking your head at his roundabout responses. “Fine,” you relented. His invitation felt more like a command, but it was hard to refuse when he was being this unexpectedly considerate. Without another word, you stood up and followed him, your legs feeling a bit lighter as you walked side by side.

As you reached for your bag, Tsukishima, in one swift motion, grabbed it from the bench and slung it over his shoulder. You stared at him, wide-eyed. The gesture had been so sudden, so seamless, that it left you momentarily speechless.

“Hey, I can carry it myself!” you protested, trying to take it back.

He glanced at you, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “It’s heavy. Are you carrying textbooks or bricks in here?”

You giggled, the teasing in his tone light but enough to make your heart skip. “Exactly why you should put it down.”

Ignoring your protests, he began walking ahead, leaving you no choice but to follow. Your cheeks burning with a mix of frustration and amusement. Despite his teasing, there was a gentleness to his actions—one you weren’t used to seeing. It left you flustered, trying to reconcile this Tsukishima with the one who usually scolded you during labs. As you walked, you noticed how effortlessly he carried the weight, as if it were nothing.

The walk to the food truck was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You found yourself stealing glances at him every now and then, your mind wandering to thoughts you had tried to suppress. The warmth of his earlier gesture, his quiet care, and the unspoken moments you shared were starting to gnaw at you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

The food truck was parked near the park entrance, a cute little stand that served coffee, pastries, and their renowned hot chocolate. The warm smell of cocoa filled the air as you approached, and you found yourself smiling at the cozy atmosphere.

Tsukishima placed his order for a latte while you eagerly ordered the hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. “I thought you were getting hot chocolate?” you questioned, eyeing him with mock suspicion.

“I didn’t say I was ordering it,” he replied nonchalantly, leaving you to roll your eyes at his deadpan response.

“Here you go,” the vendor called, handing over your drinks.

You thanked them, taking your cup eagerly. The warmth seeped into your fingers, offering a comforting contrast to the cool evening air. You took a small sip, sighing contentedly as the sweet taste melted over your tongue. “This is so good,” you said, almost to yourself.

Tsukishima glanced at you, and before you realized what you were doing, you held the cup out toward him. “You should try it!”

You came to a stop, holding the cup toward Tsukishima, your excitement palpable. He halted beside you, his eyes flickering to your face for a brief moment, then to the cup. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers grazing yours as he took a sip from your cup in your hands. The casual touch sent an unexpected warmth rushing through you, and you froze and watched him closely as he brought the cup to his lips, his expression unreadable as he tasted the hot chocolate.

“Nah, too sweet for me,” he said simply, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes as he looked at you.

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly brought the cup back to your lips, trying to hide the way your pulse had quickened. How did he manage to make something so simple feel so charged? You couldn’t stop thinking about the way his fingers had brushed yours, or the way his gaze lingered just a bit too long.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” Tsukishima comments, his tone as casual as ever, though tinged with familiar sarcasm. His hands are buried deep in his jacket pockets, and his eyes flick toward you, briefly scrutinizing your reaction. It’s been a week since that night at the park, the one with the drunk guy near his apartment. Since then, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi have both been checking in on you, and you’ve brushed it off, claiming you’re just not sleeping well, nothing serious.

But his comment today hits differently.

You reflexively rub your eyes, suddenly conscious of the dark circles beneath them. Have they really gotten that bad?

“I’m fine,” you mutter, adjusting the scarf around your neck to hide the sudden flush on your cheeks. It was a weird habit of his lately—picking on you but in a way that didn’t feel as harsh as it used to. Or maybe… maybe you were just imagining it. “You really didn’t need to walk me back, you know. I can manage.”

He shrugs, eyes on the path ahead. “It’s on my way.”

Liar. His apartment wasn’t anywhere near your dorm. You knew that much. And you want to call him out for it, but something stops you. Instead, you chuckled softly, letting a small bubble of warmth rise in your chest. The quiet moments you spent with him like this had become something you looked forward to, even if he rarely showed much outward emotion.

The conversation lulled into silence again, the air between you both comfortable but filled with unspoken thoughts. The park was quiet now, the soft sound of leaves rustling underfoot as you both walked the narrow path.

After a while, you couldn’t help yourself. “Can I ask you something?”

He gave a small nod, sipping his latte silently.

“How was your test with Professor Isamu in Neuropsychology? People say he’s tough.”

Tsukishima seemed to ponder for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “It was fine. He doesn’t care much about textbook answers. His tests are more about applying critical thinking, like using case studies from his lectures. You’ve got to listen carefully to what he says. If you miss the nuance, you’ll miss the answer.”

The description made you frown slightly, feeling the nerves knotting in your stomach. “I’m kind of worried about his class. He said he won’t tolerate bad grades and might fail students if they score low.”

You felt Tsukishima’s gaze shift toward you, a hint of something flickering in his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he said, “Show me your notes. I’ll help.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, staring up at him in disbelief. “Wait, you—seriously?”

“Before I change my mind,” he added, the barest smirk curling on his lips.

“Oh my god, thank you so much!” you exaggerated, pretending to bow dramatically. “I’ll be your humble servant, Tsukishima-senpai.”

He rolled his eyes at your theatrics, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “It’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you,” he teased, his voice laced with sarcasm.

You burst out laughing, your heart fluttering at how easily he slipped into humor, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

Back at your dorm, you nervously fumbled with your keys, unlocking the door. The moment it swung open, you froze, eyes wide at the mess sprawled across the middle of the room—your half-assembled IKEA bookshelf scattered with loose parts and a crumpled instruction manual. Quickly, you shut the door behind you, stepping back into the hallway, cheeks flushed.

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed, leaning slightly as if waiting for an explanation. “What?”

You chuckled nervously, glancing at him. “My room’s a bit of a disaster right now.”

“Uh-huh,” he responded dryly, clearly skeptical.

Swallowing your embarrassment, you opened the door again and stepped inside, forcing yourself to embrace the chaos. “I tried putting it together this morning… before classes,” you gestured at the scattered bookshelf parts, a tinge of frustration in your voice, “but I gave up. I mean, who even writes these manuals?”

Tsukishima’s eyes scanned the room, his gaze falling on the IKEA parts. He didn’t say anything, but the slight twitch of his lips made you certain he was holding back a smirk.

You hurriedly set your cup down in the kitchen area and crouched down, trying to sweep the mess aside. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it later—”

But before you could finish, Tsukishima had already stepped forward, eyeing the manual you’d abandoned. “I’ve got this in my apartment. It’s not that hard.”

“I really don’t—” you began to protest, but he was already picking up the pieces and fitting them together with an ease that made you feel more embarrassed.

You watched, dumbfounded, as he calmly sorted through the various parts, fitting them together as if it was second nature. It was ridiculous how effortlessly he was making it seem—especially after you had spent half the morning wrestling with just the frame. He didn’t say much, only occasionally glancing at the manual, his fingers deftly tightening screws and aligning panels.

As he worked, you tried to focus on cleaning up the area around him, but your eyes kept drifting back to him. There was something so different about seeing Tsukishima here, in your space, helping you with something as mundane as assembling a bookshelf. The ease with which he moved, the concentration in his expression—it was oddly... endearing.

After a short while, he stood up, brushing his hands off as he admired the now fully assembled bookshelf. It was perfectly straight and sturdy, standing proudly in the center of the room.

You gasped, genuinely impressed. “Wow, it looks... perfect. I—thank you.”

He shrugged, as if it was nothing, but there was a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “Where do you want it?”

“Over here, in the corner,” you pointed to the empty space near your desk. Without hesitation, he helped you lift it and position it in the corner.

When it was finally in place, you couldn’t help the rush of excitement that bubbled up inside you. Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed Tsukishima’s arm, clinging to him in a brief moment of joy. “Oh my god, it looks so good! Thank you for helping me out with this,” you gushed, your excitement bubbling over.

Tsukishima stiffened slightly at the unexpected contact, his eyes flicking down to where your hand gripped his arm. But instead of pulling away or making a snide comment, he simply smiled—an actual, genuine smile that softened his normally sharp features. He even chuckled lightly at your excitement.

You blinked up at him, realizing what you’d just done, and quickly released your grip, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry, I just... I’m really happy with how it turned out.”

“No problem,” he said, his voice low and surprisingly warm.

You turned your attention back to the bookshelf, trying to cover up your flustered state. “I’m gonna put my books here. It’s going to look so good once it’s filled up!”

Tsukishima just watched you with that same soft smile, shaking his head slightly. “You’re easily pleased,” he murmured under his breath, but there was no bite to his words.

You glanced back at him, catching the slight amusement in his eyes. “Maybe. But I don’t think I could’ve done it without your help.”

He shrugged again, as if he wasn’t used to receiving praise, and you found yourself smiling at how modest he could be despite his usual aloof demeanor. There was something deeply comforting about having him here, quietly helping you with something so ordinary, yet making it feel significant.

As the two of you began tidying up the leftover parts and tools, the air between you felt different—warmer, more relaxed. With that task done, the real reason for his visit loomed—studying for the upcoming test. You both sat on the floor, textbooks open between you, and Tsukishima started walking you through the material.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, nervously tapping your pen against your notebook. Tsukishima skimmed through your biochemistry notes, eventually stopping at a page filled with complicated diagrams of neurotransmitters and receptors.

“Let’s start with the basics—neurotransmitters,” he said, pointing to the structure of acetylcholine. “You know what this does, right?”

You nodded. “It’s involved in muscle contraction and plays a role in memory and learning.”

“Right. Acetylcholine is released at neuromuscular junctions to initiate muscle contractions, but in the brain, it’s also crucial for cognitive functions, particularly learning. In your case, biochemistry exams,” he added with a hint of amusement.

You laughed nervously, feeling the weight of the upcoming test. “I get the basics, but the pathways and all the enzymes confuse me.”

“Fair enough,” Tsukishima replied. “Let’s break down how acetylcholine is synthesized.” He gestured toward the diagram. “It’s made from acetyl-CoA and choline, catalyzed by choline acetyltransferase. Simple enough?”

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “But what about degradation? I always mix that up.”

He adjusted his glasses and pointed at the next step in the pathway. “Acetylcholine is broken down by acetylcholinesterase into choline and acetate, which stops the signal. This is crucial because if acetylcholine wasn’t degraded, the neurons would keep firing, leading to constant muscle contraction or overstimulation in the brain.”

You sighed, scribbling down notes. “So... it’s like a feedback loop?”

“Exactly. Without proper regulation, neurotransmitters like acetylcholine can overwhelm the system, leading to conditions like myasthenia gravis—an autoimmune disorder that targets acetylcholine receptors. That’s why understanding these pathways is so important in biochemistry. Even small disruptions can lead to major disorders.”

You blinked at him, slightly overwhelmed. “You make it sound so... logical. How do you remember all of this?”

“It’s just repetition,” Tsukishima replied with a shrug. “Biochemistry is all about understanding the interactions between molecules. Once you get the hang of it, everything starts to connect.”

As the conversation continued, Tsukishima walked you through the interplay between neurotransmitters and enzymes, explaining how they influenced broader biochemical processes. His explanations were clear, but it was hard not to get distracted by how calm and focused he was, leaning in closer to make sure you understood each concept.

But the more time passed, the more you felt a growing exhaustion settle over you. Between the mental strain of studying and the quiet closeness of Tsukishima beside you, your energy was beginning to drain.

When you finally put your pen down after the last question on a practice test, you stretched and let out a sigh. “I’m fried.”

Tsukishima didn’t respond at first. Instead, he leaned back and, without a word, laid down on the floor beside your desk. He stretched out lazily, using his arm as a makeshift pillow and staring up at the ceiling. “You’re not the only one,” he muttered, his voice tired but relaxed.

You blinked at him, a bit surprised by the sudden change in his posture. It was rare to see him so laid-back—literally. After a brief moment of hesitation, you decided to join him, slowly lowering yourself to the floor beside him. You lay down on your back, but as you settled in, your head accidentally nudged against his bicep.

You instantly sat up, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

But before you could move further, Tsukishima’s hand reached out—gently rested on your side head. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but firm enough to stop you from pulling away. Without looking directly at you, he shifted his arm, guiding your head back to rest on his bicep.

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, his voice almost too soft to catch. His gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, but there was an unmistakable warmth in his usually cool tone.

For a moment, you were too stunned to react. Your head was resting against his arm, close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. There was an unexpected gentleness in the way he’d pulled you back, as if he didn’t mind the proximity—maybe even welcomed it.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the small space between your bodies, the quietness of the room amplifying the soft rhythm of his breathing. Your mind raced with the unexpected intimacy of the moment, but you stayed where you were, too tired—and maybe too curious—to pull away again.

As the two of you lay there, the silence stretched on, comfortable and heavy all at once. Neither of you spoke, but the lack of words didn’t feel awkward. If anything, it felt like something unspoken had settled between you—something quiet but significant, like the first glimpse of a deeper connection.

After what felt like an eternity, you turned your head slightly, sneaking a glance at him. His eyes were still trained on the ceiling, his expression unreadable, but the faintest trace of a smile lingered at the corner of his lips.

You turn to face Tsukishima, your head slightly tilted as your eyes meet his. “Thanks for helping me study. I think I’ll need you every time I have a test,” you whisper, your smile soft and sweet.

Tsukishima’s gaze lingers on you, softer than you’ve ever seen. His smile is small but genuine, his eyes crinkling slightly as he holds your gaze. “Now you know how to take advantage of me.”

You both share a quiet laugh before his hand gently cups your cheek, and in that moment, everything shifts. The image of Tsukishima—the sharp-tongued TA who once scolded you in the lab—fades away, replaced by this softer, more tender version of him. His touch is careful, protective, and the warmth in his eyes speaks volumes.

The tension in the room changes, the air growing heavier as the reality of who he has become to you settles in. Tsukishima, once just an authority figure in your academic life, now stands as something more: a person who is always there, always looking out for you, someone who makes you feel… loved? The thought lingers in the back of your mind, almost too much to process, but undeniably there.

For the first time, the distance between you feels smaller, almost nonexistent. He’s no longer just your tutor, the guy who teases you or keeps you on track—he’s something more significant, someone who brings you comfort and quiet strength. His touch and gaze say what words can't, and suddenly, you’re not sure if you want to break this moment at all.

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr

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mariel-g · 2 years

Text

Heat?!

Subby-ish Zhongli x fem! reader smut

warnings: heat cycles, monsterfucking, choking, knoting/breeding, inappropriate workplace behaviour, the TINIEST bit of rimming (fem receiving)

MINORS DNI! thanks nadine or WHATEVER

“Ms L/N! How did an old hag like you and Zhongli end up together?”

“Paimon it’s rude to call people old hags,” traveler admonishes.

You three are seated at third round knockout, watching your husband appraise some noctilucous jade at the nearest market seller.

“Well, I always had a crush on him for a long time, but never really talked to him, you see. He was always such a regal man, felt completely out of my reach, but then one day I ran into him during an...unfortunate incident.”

Needless to say, when you walked in on him sprawled on his office floor at Wangsheng funeral parlor, his shoulders heaving in agony, you were shocked. Actually, you were beyond shocked, you were scared.

“Zhongli are you okay??” You whisper-shout, swiftly closing the door behind you and locking it.

His head drunkenly turns towards you, his hazy eyes flickering with recognition.

“Dearest – please, bring me some water and close the blinds.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end from the sound of his voice. The naturally deep timbre of his voice was several octaves lower than normal, reaching a depth that would be considered paranormal.

Concerned, you start towards him but the look in his eyes makes you take a step back. The usual amber colour of his iris is now an intense shade of orange and gold, and his pupils are narrowed into slits like those of an animal.

“What the hell," you whisper. Placing your hands over your mouth, you hurry to fill a cup with water and hand it to him, pushing his silky hair away from his face as you ask:

“What is happening to you?!”

His muscular chest heaves, exposed by the buttons that are nearly completely undone to his waist. There is a scaleyness to his forearems and the veins seem to have a golden glow to them. Is that what his arms have always looked like? He always wears long gloves so you aren't sure.

When you look up your eyebrows nearly disappear into your hairline. From his hair sprouts two black horns that fade into an amber colour- much like his hair- and twist up in a beautiful arc on either side of his head.

“Heat.” He croaks out, gratefully taking large gulps of the water.

“What can I do to help? Is it like, a sickness? Should I call the doctor?’

“No..just…” He leans towards you, grasping the back of your calves with his hands. “Just come closer – please.”

You cautiously sit on your haunches, and nearly yelp when you feel his breath on your neck.

“Is this part of the treatment or…?”

Instead of answering he inhales at your throat and lets out an obscene moan that has embarrassment and arousal instantly flaming your cheeks.

“Mate with me. Please- let me satisfy you. This is the only thing that will help me," he murmurs into your neck, moving his head so that he can stare up at you with a glazed hopeful expression as he nuzzles the palm of your hand.

You choke at the crudeness of his words, unsure of how to proceed. To be completely honest with yourself, you’d always dreamed of a day where you’d be able to see this powerful man on his knees for you; begging for you. The way he’s always so controlled and polite makes you desperately want to see what he’d be like if he lost it.

Slowly, you run your thumb over his bottom lip, admiring how red and plump it is. He opens his mouth obediently and his tongue runs over the pad of your thumb. It’s long and appears forked as he trails it down your thumb and to the pulse point on your wrist, where he lightly sucks.

You press your thighs together in an attempt to relieve yourself. He’s so gorgeous that you can’t stand it and you tell him so.

“You’re breathtaking.”

At your words he preens, the slight glow to the veins under his skin increasing in intensity. He straightens to his full height and lifts you up, your back hitting the wall behind as he ungracefully sits you down on a large mahogany desk, knocking off books and corresepondents in your wake.

“I’m trying to hold myself back for you but I don’t know if I can for much longer.” He whispers, fluttering multiple kisses over your face and lips.

“Don’t hold back then.”

You kick off your heels and slowly run your feett up the leg of his suit pants. Resting your socked feet on the indent of his (slutty little) waist, you spread your legs in front of him. Allowing him to get a good look up your skirt and at your panties dampened by your arousal.

“Ahh fuck- .” He moans at the sight, roughly grabbing your hips and flipping up your skirt, exposing your underwear completely.

“Do you want to take it off?” You tease.

He growls deep in his throat in response, and you shudder. The feralness of him in this state is so sexy it makes your skin flush with heat. He bunches the skirt at your waist and slowly drags your underwear down your legs, lifting the piece of fabric to his nose and inhaling.

“Your pussy smells so good- Fuck.”

Gently lifting you off the desk, he turns you around so that you're facing the wall. “I'll make it easy for you to take me ” you hear the muted thud of knees against carpet “bend over and grab onto the desk.”

You momentarily feel his hot breath lingering on your inner thighs, kissing up the backs of your legs. You groan, trying not to buck your hips and interrupt his work.

After his kissing and teasing he fully submerges his face into your pussy. He languidly licks you from your clit to the seam of your pussy and back again before he focuses all of his attention on your bud, flicking and sucking at it with precision.

“Yes, baby,” you pant “I want your tongue inside.”

He instantly complies. He parts your folds with his tongue before stroking his way inside. Your eyes close and legs start to shake as he slowly fucks you, pressing his fingers to your clit as he rubs it, steadily working you to an orgasm.

He groans when you start grinding against his face, his free hand coming up to kneads your ass and thighs before spreading them to lightly rim your hole with his tongue. Your eyes fly open, cheeks heating at the embarrassing position and the way he happily moans while getting you off.

His mouth migrates back to your clit and sucks on it while he patiently inserts two of his large fingers into your hole, gently curling and rubbing them against your walls as you roll your hips on his fingers and tongue.

He alternates his attentions between your clit, hole, and ass until your grip on the desk tightens, your eyes rolling back in your head as your knees buckle from the force of your orgasm. You ride his face as you cum, clutching onto any available purchase for dear life as your orgasm until it starts to slowly ebb away.

He releases your clit with a ‘pop’ and stands up, helping your shaky legs take a seat back on the desk. You sag against the wall behind the desk as you stare at him, watching the way his tongue savours the remains of your juices on his lips.

“Come closer, I want to kiss you.”

He complies, leaning over you from your place on the desk as you start feverishly kissing down his neck. You suck on his collarbone and carress under his jaw, pleased by the whimpering sounds you are rewarded with.

“Undress me now.” he says hoarsely, pulling your hair to detatch your lips.

You leap embarrassingly fast towards his pants to do his bidding. Having disposed of them, you then unbutton the rest of his dress shirt, slowly peeling it off his broad shoulders. Reverently tracing your hands over the unique gold markings etched onto his skin, your marvel at the way his muscles tense and relax as you drag your fingers over his body. If you had the chance to, you’d sit and admire his torso all day, but right now you have a pressing need to satisfy the ache that has resettled between your legs.

Moving onto his boxer briefs, you trail your hands over the waist band and cup his bulge through the fabric. It feels heavy against your hand. You pull the boxer briefs down to his-mid thigh in one swift motion.

When his cock springs out from it’s confines your jaw hangs to the floor, eyebrows scrunching up in abject horror. That belongs in an AK47 briefcase. Not in somebody’s pants.

He lowers his boxer briefs all the way to his ankles before kicking them off, leaving him standing completely naked in front of you, a sight that you were openly relishing.

“It’s not gonna fit.” you pant, softly stroking him from root to tip.

He makes a sound somewhere between a chucke and a whine. “We’ll make it fit.”

His hips start to thrust into your hands as you squeeze his cock.

“Oh, that feels...” He replaces your hand with his own, fisting his dick as his eyes train on your soaking pussy. “I want to be a good boy for you, but I can’t wait.” He grips your calves, raising them to rest on either of his shoulders.

“Do you want my dick inside you?”

You nod frantically, rubbing your lips against the head of his cock to show him how badly you wanted it.

“Say it.” He hisses.

“Please Zhongli, I want you to fuck me so bad. Need to feel you cum inside.”

A pained whimper tears from his throat at your eagerness for him before he finally sinks inside. He’s so big that it’s slightly uncomfortable as your pussy adjusts to the size of his dick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

When he’s to the hilt he starts slowly rocking against you, making you whine as his tip massages the sensitive promimnence inside you.

His body trembles over you when you tighten around him. “Mhm sweetheart, it’s so good to be inside you- been dreaming about this, been wanting to breed you for years” he whimpers.

Inwardly, your jaw unhinges at his confession. Looks like your unrequited love wasn’t so unrequited after all.

“Need to be quiet, ‘kay?” You whisper, tenderly stroking his unruly hair from his face.

He nods and softly presses his lips to yours.

Then withdraws all the way out before slamming back into you.

He continues at this ruthless pace, using you as a fleshlight while lewd sounds pour from his lips. Your hand depart from his hair to wrap around his elegant neck, lightly squeezing when he jolts.

“Oh please y/n...thank you ma’am.” he chokes out, somehow pressing your bodies even closer together. His hands clutch onto your thighs for dear life as his pace grows irregular, his golden veins positively shining at this point.

Being able to witness the mild-mannered Zhongli succumb to such base instincts, and the knowledge that you’re one of the very few - if not only person to ever see him like this had your toes curling. When he harshly rubs his thumb against your clit you cry out, the knot of heat in your belly uncoiling as you grip onto his hair as an anchor as your orgasm rolls over you. It seems to last forever as wave after wave of pleasure overwhelms you.

“It’s so good,” Zhongli sobs, “the way your pussy is milking me is so good.”

His breath is hot against your neck as he looks up at you from half-lidded eyes.

“I’m close, yn, I’m so close.” He slurs, “am gonna cum so deep inside...”

He presses you completely into the wall, folding you under him (for reference, your legs r on his shoulders and ur kinda folded like a lawn chair rn) as he lets out a depraved moan. His hips stagger once, twice, before his body completely stops, laying flush against your own as his warmth floods you.

The magnitude of cum he gives you makes you moan from the sheer eroticness. It serves as proof of his virility and desire for you.

He keeps himself balls deep inside you, his cock still twitching even as his orgasm subsides.

Post-orgasm haze fogs your brain as you allow yourself to swim contently in the aftershocks until muffled voices from outside Zhongli’s office tethers you back to reality.

“Zhongli...? I’d stay like this all day if I could but the others will get suspicious.”

“Dearest...I can’t move.”

You gasp as you feel something expand inside you - subtle at first- but soon the stretch starts to burn. Zhongli’s cock feels as though it lodges itself even deeper inside you, making it impossible for any of his semen to leak out.

“I- am I being knoted right now?” You ask in disbelief, glancing down at Zhongli who’s now pointed ears have brightened to a dark red.

“My apologies y/n, I’m afraid I am unable to control it.”

You can’t help it, you burst out laughing.

“Don’t - worry - about - it” You choke out between a fit of giggles (more like villainous cackles but let’s keep it cute). “It’s quite pleasant actually.”

The inital burn has retreated, replaced by the feeling of being perfectly filled. The intimacy of the moment charms you, affection warming your heart as Zhongli looks down at you with a gentle gaze, lightly touching his hand to your cheek. Your heart flutters a little bit.

“It will be over soon, I’m sure.”

Another fit of laughter attacks you at his words.

“I’m sure?” you echo, “have you never done this before?”

“Never, an Adeptus can only mate one person in their life.”

“Oh!” you stare up at him, shocked. Of course the fact that he chose to mate you of all people makes you want to punch yourself to figure out if this is a dream or not, but his admittance of his virginity is what really has you reeling.

Althugh he is young-looking you always had a feeling that his appearance did not betray his true age. Based off of his personality and eating preferences alone you would have guessed he was at the advanced age of 70 years old and certainly not a virgin.

“Really? You’re quite handsome you know, I’m surprised you haven’t been fucked yet.”

His face morphs into a look bordering smugness and abject embarrassment. “Ah, thank you.”

You smile at him, touching your hands to his cheek as he did to you before.

“So, are we married now or something?”

Placing his hand over yours on his cheek, he leans down to press soft searing kisses over your temple.

“By human culture, yes we are married. However there is no such thing as divorce.” He says the word ‘divorce’ like a dirty curse. “You are shackled to me forever.”

“Hm, having your first time and wedding in a funeral parlor is kind of shitty then, huh.” You allow your expression to turn dramatically thoughtful. “Let’s just hope we don’t get fired.”

“ZHONGLI!!” A voice yells outside his office. “OPEN THE DOOR! IT’S LOCKED.”

His smile instantly disappears.

“Ms L/N? Are you going to tell the story or not” Paimon huffs, “you’ve just been staring into space.”

The complaint brings you back to the present.

“Paimon! Leave Ms L/N alone, she’s treating us today.”

They bicker back and forth while eating and you smile contentedly at the two of them.

Gently lifting one shoulder in a shrug, you breathe in the fresh saltiness of the oncoming wind from the harbour and revel in the lovely atmosphere of Liyue as your husband comes striding back to you with a satchel of noctilucous jade.

“Some memories are better kept to oneself.”

#zhongli smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #zhongli x reader #obsessed with the word virility now #obsessed with zhongli #dom reader #but not really #sub reader #but not actually #fem reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 7 months

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i know your already working on my series but just hear me out okay. hear me out. crazy x crazy trope but with ethan and reader puts bratty cocky ethan in his place. "not so confident now are you, you little bitch? or are you that drunk off my pussy you can barely think?" while he just pouts and glares at her but is quite literally unable to speak and can only whine and whimper for her. double points if she's ghostface with the baileys, taking revenge because of lets say she was either ambers ex or younger sister and is PISSED at tara for taking her girlfriend/older sister away. (TRIPLE THE POINTS if she knew ethan, quinn and richie since childhood too) sorry its thot hrs and i wanna dom him

I hope you like this! I was determined to finish it tonight. I love a good psychotic moment💕

Savages - Ghostface!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: You and your childhood best friend both lost someone from what happened in Woodsboro at the hands of the Carpenter Sisters. You start to plot with him and his family to get revenge, but he's being a little brat after his first kill.

Contains: 3.2k words, Sub!Ethan, Dom/Psycho!Reader, Oral - m and f recieving, Face sitting/riding, p in v, unprotected sex, mentions of death and violence/blood. (If I missed anything, please let me know. My brain has tapped out for the night haha)

A/N: I hope y'all like it:) I love sub Ethan and a good psycho!reader moment.

Ethan knew he loved you, but the second you put on the Ghostface robe and mask, he fell even harder. It’s hard to believe that the two of you made it to this point. He was a sweet kid, and you were always with his family growing up, until the day your parents moved you to Woodsboro. You tried to remain friends with him, until you got a girlfriend. You weren’t anything more than best friends at that point, but he’d message you like a controlling boyfriend. He professed his feelings, but it was too late. You’d already found someone in your new town. Someone you could experience a relationship with.

He was devastated when you rejected him, and when he wouldn’t let it go, you eventually had to block him. Amber was pretty much the exact opposite. She even asked you about opening the relationship up to other people, just because she wanted you to experience other things. She wasn’t possessive like Ethan, but she never wanted to just let you go.

When Richie showed up to the hospital with Sam after Tara was attacked, he recognized you immediately. He pretended he didn’t, though, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he wasn’t originally from the area where he met Sam. You finally pulled him to the side one day and talked to him, and he pleaded with you to not tell anyone that you already knew him. That was the moment that you knew he had something to do with what was happening.

You didn’t suspect Amber, though, until the day of the party. You were upstairs in her room when she pulled out a knife.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she said, plunging the knife into your abdomen.

“What the fuck? It’s you?” you sobbed, dropping to your knees as you noticed the blood starting to drip onto her carpet.

“I can’t have you on the suspect list. You trust me, don’t you?” she asked. You hesitated before nodding, “I didn’t stab you anywhere that will cause a lot of damage, okay? I’m going to call 911, and by the time they get here, Richie and I will be done, and you’ll be saved.”

“I feel really dizzy,” you cried out, Amber’s hand wrapping around your mouth so you couldn’t make anymore noise to draw attention to yourself.

“You’re going to pass out soon. You’re losing a lot of blood,” she said, before the rest of her words sounded muffled, your vision completely fading.

She was right, you were saved. You woke up in your hospital bed the next day, and learned that Amber and Richie didn’t survive. You were devastated, but you knew the one person you could talk to that would understand your pain.

You unblocked Ethan’s number and called him. You could hear the tears in his voice as he answered. When he found out that you’d been a part of everything, he was mad at first, screaming at you until his voice was raw. He eventually heard you out, mainly because he had no voice to speak, and learned that you had nothing to do with what happened to Richie. The two of you decided that the Carpenter sisters needed to pay for taking away your loved ones.

You fake-smiled when Sam and Tara walked into your hospital room a little later in the day.

“Someone’s doing better,” Sam said, pushing Tara up beside you before taking a seat at the foot of your hospital bed.

“Yeah, I’m on a lot of good drugs,” you laughed, as Sam and Tara exchanged their glances. “What?” you asked, feeling like there was something they knew and you didn’t.

“Richie and Amber were, uh…” Tara said, looking over to her sister for help.

“They were what?” you asked, turning your attention to Sam as well.

“Your girlfriend and my boyfriend were together,” she said, a stoic look on her face. “We were both getting cheated on by psychos.”

You were livid that Sam was talking about her like that, but you felt a little hurt. You and Amber always promised that if you were going to see other people in your relationship, you’d let the other person know. A few tears started to slip out as Tara offered you the box of tissues on the bedside table.

“Thanks,” you said, grabbing a couple out of the box before Tara sat it back down. “How do you guys feel about getting the fuck out of here? Like, once Tara and I graduate?”

“What did you have in mind?” Sam asked, thinking that it might not be the worst idea.

“I think we should go to New York. I grew up there, and I really think you guys would like it,” you smiled, as Tara nodded.

“Fuck it, let’s start looking into schools. After you get out of here, of course.”

You called Ethan, squealing in excitement when you and all your friends got their acceptance letters. That’s when the plan was officially set into motion, with the help of Quinn and his dad. Having a detective on your side of things was going to heavily benefit the outcome of everything, and you couldn’t wait to make the people that took Amber from you pay for what they’d done.

Once you started school, you were ‘introduced’ to Ethan. No one could know that the two of you already knew each other in attempts to not ruin the plan before you got to do any damage. Fortunately for the two of you, when you immediately hit it off and seemed to have your own little inside jokes, they chalked it up to young love.

You weren’t official with Ethan for a while, until your “Friends’” constant nagging about it convinced you to give him the chance he wanted. Once you found out that poor boy was a virgin, and you helped him out with that, he was wrapped around your finger. He worshipped the ground you walked on and would do anything you asked him to. The only thing he hated was when you brought up Amber. He hated that she got you first.

The night Ghostface “killed” Quinn and actually killed Anika, you were waiting in the alley on the opposite side of the building for your boyfriend to finish what he went in there to do. You were both supposed to be in econ, but you were his alibi. They’d never suspect you, so they could never suspect Ethan if you said you were with him in class.

He was stripping off the robe as he bolted down the fire escape. He tossed it down to you, and you quickly put it in your backpack as he joined you to walk in a normal pace towards the alley exit at the back of the building.

“How was it?” you asked, smiling at him.

“God, baby. It was the biggest rush. I wish you could’ve been in there with me,” he said, pulling you into a kiss once you made it onto the sidewalk.

“I’m so proud of you. You’re doing such a good job for me,” you praised, ruffling your fingers in his hair a little as he started to pull away. “I can’t wait to make the others pay for what they did to Amber.”

He huffed, his irritation at the mention of her name obvious as you cocked your eyebrow at him. “Do you have a problem?”

“Yeah, I do. I was so excited about what just happened, but then you mention your stupid fucking ex. I feel like she’s all you care about,” he said, his angry tone and harsh remarks about Amber pissing you off. “We’re in this together, remember? Me and you?”

“Yeah, and your dad, and Quinn.”

He started to walk away from you, heading towards his dorm. You followed him, trying to keep up with his pace.

“Quit acting like such a brat,” you said, a few feet behind him on the otherwise empty sidewalk.

“Quit being such a bitch,” he muttered, but the second those words left his mouth, he knew he was in trouble. You quickened your pace, slamming him against the brick wall the second you made it to him.

“What did you call me?” you asked, his eyes going wide at the lust in your tone. He stayed silent, just watching you. “Huh, nothing to say now?” you scoffed, “You know I’m in charge here, baby.”

You pulled away, smiling sweetly at him as you took his hand in yours.

The walk back to the dorm was silent because Ethan knew what he was in for. He was excited, but also nervous. The few scenarios where he did decide to get mouthy with you ended in him being edged to the point of tears, begging you to finally let him cum. He was hard at the thought, but he was always scared you’d just walk away and not let him get the release he needed.

Once you made it inside the dorm he shared with Chad, you knew you had plenty of time to be alone with him. Chad probably wasn’t coming back for the night, but you knew you’d have to get back home at some point.

“Take your clothes off,” you said to Ethan, the stern tone in your voice making him comply. You watched him shed each article of clothing and smirked when you saw the tent in his boxers once he removed his jeans. “Aww, baby. Did you get hard from killing someone? Or was it me pushing you against the wall earlier?” you cooed, as he slid his boxers down, his cock standing at attention in from of you.

“It’s because of you,” he said, his arms resting at his sides as he waited for you to tell him what to do next.

“That was the right answer,” you smiled, “Lay back on the bed.”

He did what you said, watching you intently. You walked over to him, and started to stroke his cock that was resting against his tummy.

“Fuck,” he groaned, before you leaned down and took him in your mouth. He thought you were going to take it easy on him tonight, until you pulled your head away after a minute, his cock drenched in your spit. “Babe,” he whined out.

You rolled your eyes at his neediness. “I want you to grab your cock and start stroking, baby.”

He did what you said, your saliva making his hand glide up and down with ease. After a few minutes, he started to whine.

“This doesn’t feel as good as when you do it,” he whimpered, the tip of his cock turning red as he tried to get himself to cum.

“Well, that’s too bad, baby. What was it that you called me?” you fake-pondered, your pointer finger going in between your teeth, “Oh that’s right. I’m a bitch.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, his eyes pleading for you to touch him again. You noticed his hand was no longer moving.

“Did I say you could stop?” you questioned, as his hand movements started back up. “Good boy.” He whined at your words, his hand moving faster. “Do you want me to keep praising you, baby?”

He nodded his head as he kept going.

“You did such a good job tonight. You know how wet you made me when you killed her?” you said, your sadistic side on full display. “I’m so proud of you for doing whatever I ask you to.”

You noticed he was starting to get close, his hand moving even faster and his heaving chest, along with his whimpers making it obvious. Just as he was about to cum, you stopped him.

“Don’t you fucking cum,” you scolded, his hand coming to a stop as he started to whine even more from the lost orgasm.

“I needed it so bad,” he begged, as you shook your head.

“I don’t know if you deserve to cum. Maybe if you didn’t feel the need to call me names…” you trailed off, as he started to get really frustrated.

“I wouldn’t have called you that if you wouldn’t have brought her up,” he snapped, your eyes getting dark at his words.

“Hmm, I think someone’s a little insecure. Are you worried that she fucked me better than you do?” you questioned, “Because I don’t know what other reason you have to be jealous of someone that’s dead.”

“Stop talking about her,” he said, growing furious at the thought of you having sex with someone else.

“You are just too cute,” you said, slipping your shirt over your head. “I can’t believe that you think you’re going to have the upper hand in this, ya know? Like you really think that I’m going to stop talking about her. I loved her, Ethan.”

His eyes stayed on you as you continued to strip out of your clothes,

“What? Cat got your tongue, baby? You have nothing to say?” you asked, sliding your panties down. “Even if you did, I know the perfect way to shut you up.”

You crawled up on the bed, your knees right beside his head as you swung your leg over to straddle his face.

“You better make me cum, or you don’t get to cum. Got it?” you asked, as he nodded before you lowered yourself.

His tongue gently moved against your clit at first. He knew just how you liked it, so he wanted to pace himself. Once he started to lick a little faster, your hands went down to his curls as you really started to ride his face.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you moaned out, his hands going to your hips as he helped you move against his mouth.

You whimpered when his tongue dipped inside you, the muscle massaging your walls as he ate you out. Once he could tell you were getting close, he lifted your hips a little to focus on your clit again. The second he sucked it into his mouth, you started to feel your orgasm building. You gripped the headboard to keep yourself stable, your hands and legs starting to shake.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whined out, one hand staying on the headboard as your other went back to his hair. You were tugging at it as that euphoric feeling hit, his groaning from your pulling making the orgasm more intense. He kept your hips moving until you rode out your high, your body getting a little tired from the release.

You got off his face as he tried to catch his breath. He was anticipating what you’d do next, because he made you cum, and he was hoping you’d keep up your end of the deal. You didn’t say anything as you straddled his waist and lined his cock leaking precum with your entrance. He groaned out when you sank down, the feeling making his brain turn to mush.

You started slowly; your hands placed on his chest as you took your time. He was desperate for more, but you weren’t going to give in that easily.

“You aren’t so cocky now, are you? You little bitch.” You put extra emphasis on that word because that’s what he called you, and he needed to know his place. He glared at you as you continued to take your time with him.

Whimpers flooded out of his mouth when you started to bounce on him, his cock almost completely out of you before you sank back down onto him. His hands went to your hips to help you keep your pace feeling like he was finally getting somewhere. He started to babble, his words sounding like ‘I fucking love your pussy’. You smirked at his current state.

“Look at you, so drunk off my pussy that you can’t even talk,” you said, your breathing getting heavy as the tip of his cock kept hitting your g-spot. “Are you okay, sweet boy?”

He started to whimper again, his orgasm quickly approaching. You decided to let him cum, as you leaned forward, your chest almost pressed against his. He gripped your hips harder as he started to thrust up into you, your hips rolling back to meet each one.

Your orgasm was right on the edge, your walls starting to flutter a little. He was trying so hard to get you through another one before he came.

“Fuck, baby. I’m cumming,” you moaned out, as his whines got even louder. Your walls spasmed around him, making his breath hitch in his throat.

The skin slapping and his sounds were bouncing around the room as he kept pounding into you.

“Can I please cum?” he begged, praying that you’d say yes.

You were proud of him for using his words that he hadn’t been able to form. “Yes, baby.”

He whimpered out as his hot cum painted your walls, his grip on your hips getting shaky as he slowed your movements.

“Holy fuck,” he said, his hands rubbing against your back as his cock stayed inside of you.

You listened to his heartbeat as you got out of your dominating headspace, starting to feel a little bad.

“I’m sorry I talk about her so much. I really loved her,” you mumbled against his chest.

“I guess I just feel like I’m always coming in second place to her,” he sighed, sadness in his voice.

“You aren’t, though. I think we would’ve ended up together one way or another,” you laughed a little as he kissed the top of your head.

“After we’re done with all of this, can we just focus on us?” he asked, as you nodded against him.

You laid there for a few more minutes, before remembering that you needed to head back to the apartment.

“I have to go, baby,” you said, sitting up. He groaned as you slid him out of you.

“Do you have to?” he asked, wanting nothing more than for you to stay in his bed with him a little longer.

“If we want this plan to work, then yes,” you said, noticing his cum dripping down your inner thighs as you tried to grab your clothes off the floor. “You came a lot, fuck.”

You grabbed some tissues and wiped it from your thighs before you started to put your clothes back on. He started to laugh a little as you glanced over to him. “What?”

“My cum is going to keep dripping out of you,” he said, as you rolled your eyes.

“Lucky for you, I think it’s hot. It’s a nice little reminder of how good I made you feel,” you said with a smile. “I love you, baby,” you said, kissing him before grabbing your purse and rushing out of the room.

“I love you, too.”

You’d almost made it to the apartment when you noticed all the flashing lights up ahead and could see Mindy and Chad sitting on the sidewalk.

“What’s going on?” you asked, looking around to see the black tarp covering a body in the alley.

“Anika,” was all that Tara could say, before Sam spoke up, “And Quinn. Our apartment is a crime scene right now.”

“Oh my god,” you said, turning on your crocodile tears as you looked over to Mindy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Was Ethan in class tonight?” she asked coldly, her question catching you off guard.

“Yeah, he was sitting beside me the whole time. Then we went back to his dorm for a little bit before I came home,” you lied, as she started to shake her head.

“None of this makes any fucking sense.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream smut #ethan landry smut #scream #smut #Ghostface!Ethan Landry

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