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tojigasm · 2 months ago

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﹒୨𝑒 ﾟ ˖ ⠀Bed Chem

ᥫ᭡... Bucky Barnes x female!reader

⊹₊˚ꕤ˚₊⊹ finished this at like 1am lol. This will most likely have a second part. Anywhooo i hope you all enjoy

Springtime brings about fresh starts. Buzzing bees and lavender and rose that dances about the wind. Baby birds and bunnies. And all of that and more wrapped in a bow of new beginnings.

And with the promise of all things new and rebirthed came a change in you and your best friend's friendship.

You can't pinpoint the exact time when something shifted between you and Bucky, your best friend of six years.

It seemed as though it happened overnight that you began to notice just how good he looked in those tight compression gym shirts and his henleys he wore on off days. Or the way his muscles buldged and the size of his hands in comparison to your own. His thighs and how they made your mouth water at the thought of sitting on one of them or both. And just how deeply and attractive his voice was.

But whatever spring aphrodisiac was dancing throughout the pollen in the warm air was beginning to piss you off.

It was driving you insane.

Involuntary shivers and swooning eyes or your mouth going dry at something he says so nonchalantly paired with that oh-so-laidback demeanor of his.

He's driving you fucking crazy and you're not sure how much more you can take.

For the most part, you've been able to push your carnality to the side and remain reserved in your behavior but it's becoming increasingly difficult to do so as Bucky's domineering nature only worsens with his comfortability it seems.

the worst part of all is that you're pretty sure he knows you've got a crush on him. He's always been too observant for his own good.

You admit, there's moments that stick out to you in your mind.

Like the time the two of you had come back from a mission, battered and disheveled on the quinjet.

Bucky had kept his metal hand at the dip of your back, helping you to stay upright and encourage you to make those last few steps as you made your way up the ramp.

"Y'got it?" He'd asked you as you took your seat, struggling somewhat to get yourself strapped in.

Too tired to really speak, you had offered him a gentle nod only to grimace as the ship rocked upon take off, jolting your bruised ribs.

Bucky had left towards the cockpit, allowing you to relax for a few moments.

You'd let yourself rest against the seat, eyes fluttering closed as the ship settled smoothly in the air.

It'd only been about 15 minutes before you could hear Bucky's heavy boots against the floor as he made his way back towards you.

Feeling his eyes on you, you'd opened yours to meet his furrowed brows.

"Where were you?" Your voice came out rough and broken.

"Was checkin' on the guys upfront. Just makin' sure everyone's okay." He said, hand on his hip as he looked you over.

You nodded tiredly with a hoarse hum, eyes almost falling shut again before you felt a hand cup your jaw softly.

Bucky's thumb stroked the skin of your chin softly as you met his eyes with a tired pout.

"And how 'bout you, sweetheart. You doin' okay?"

You could've cried right there.

And of course, there was the time he butted in on your designated me time while you were watching TV at the tower.

You could hear him as he walked into the communal kitchen and rummaged around in the fridge before making his way into the spacious den and sitting down right beside you with a cheese stick and a handful of carrots in one hand.

"Whatcha watchin'?"

"Succession," you said rather buntly.

You werent exactly pleased with someone invading your space during the small amount of free time you got to yourself, especially when that someone had been making your every waking moment an anxious pit of hell for the past month or so.

Bucky chuckled from beside you, taking a bit of his cheese stick.

"Someone's grumpy," He sneers at you mockingly before leaning back against the cushions and throwing his arm back to rest behind you atop the couch.

You give a small huff, ignoring that comment for the most part as you focused your attention back to the screen.

A few moments of quiet passed before you found yourself getting mildly uncomfortable in your position on the couch. Your legs had been tucked under you for too long, and they were beginning to grow numb.

That, and you were much too tense all thanks to Bucky's presence.

"Can hear you thinking from here," Buckt comments, biting into a baby carrot.

You fight the urge to drop your head back against the couch, reminding yourself that his arm was very much still there, and the last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself by being clumsy.

You were way too on edge.

Bucky was becoming a serious fucking problem.

"M'not comfortable." is all you say as you cautiously move your legs out from under you to stretch.

You're still trying to stretch out the pins and needles as you debate on where you'll rest your legs for the majority of the episode until you're able to leave the room without it being too awkward.

Testing different places in the small area of your spot on the couch to get comfortable, Bucky makes the decision for you and pulls your legs up into his lap.

"I've gotcha, girly."

And it registers to you then. While your legs are thrown over his thick thighs and the cool tips of his metal fingers trace up and down the lengths of your calves, big blue eyes focused on the screen on front of the two of you, that Bucky might like you back too.

And Bucky -Bucky was fucking tired.

Tired of the whole nonchalant bullshit front that he knew you were putting on.

he was seriously fucking tired of it.

You hadn't realized you were staring at him until he turned away from the TV. Pouty baby blue eyes focused on you in a smug look.

"Everything alright over there?"

Having half a mind to pick your jaw up off the floor, you nod through a quiet and shaky breath.

"Yeah?" Bucky brings his hand up from your leg to cup your chin with his thumb and forefinger, "That pretty head go a little quiet just now?"

It's completely audacious and all the more exhilirating when he merely dropped his hand from your jaw and gestured towards the TV screen.

"Finish your show."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The days that followed were no better.

One of the days when you were out in the field, Bucky hadn't said so much as a word to you during prep for the mission.

You just shrugged it off as him being preoccupied or not wanting to stress you out before heading out.

But while waiting in the quinjet as you made your way to the drop point, Bucky had passed by you on the way to the cockpit and mumbled softly:

"Hey, kid."

He didn't say a word to you the rest of the day.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

So it only makes sense that you're upset with him.

That he's playing hot and cold with you.

And so you decide two can play at that game.

So you start dishing it back. With soft and gentle hello's to short and reserved replies.

It doesn't last long, however, which you should've guessed so.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

"Have I been neglecting you?"

Bucky's voice is deep and soft from behind you on the couch. A hand comes down to hold the curve of your jaw.

You're rendered immobile.

Your legs, pulled to your chest, begin to tremble.

"That's what this whole thing has been about, right? The whole reason you've been givin' me attitude."

You can hear the fucking smirk in his voice and a simmering heat rises in your belly. In irritation at him and yourself, that he's reduced you to his mercy so easily.

You move to push him off, and he shushes you, placing his hand back onto the curve of your jaw.

You rest your hand on his forearm. His veins pulse beneath his hot skin.

"Don't push me away." Bucky places a metal palm to your forehead, guiding you to tilt your head back against the tops of the cushions, wide pupils meeting his baby blues.

"Hey there, pretty."

You flush instantly, eyes widening as he strokes the pad of his thumb over the soft skin of your jaw and chin.

"I–"

You can't find the words. Your train of thought is gone as soon as you open your mouth to recount his teasing.

You mentally plead with yourself to do something, anything, to stop the involuntary heat rising to your cheeks and the inescapable shiver in your voice.

"Not so tough, huh." Bucky preens, "just need someone to make that pretty head of yours so quiet for a bit."

In a last-ditch effort, you're pushing yourself up from the couch and heading to your room without so much as a look back.

You don't see Bucky for about a week after that.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

8:00 pm on Sunday nights are for resets of the week and are solely dedicated to respectable hours of designated selfcare.

Which is why you were tucked away in your candle-lit bedroom, playing songs from your favorite playlist and rubbing vanilla lotion into your skin.

The day had been almost perfect. You'd completed all reports that required finalizing and even got ahead of some papers that needed drafting and filing for the upcoming week.

And then, you were able to get to the gym, try a new dish you'd circled in your cookbook, and finished the day with a much needed and refreshing yoga and shower sesh.

So it only made sense that because all your metaphorical stars were aligned that some asshole was going to ruin that.

That asshole was Bucky.

You could hear his heavy boots from all the way down the damn hallway as he spoke with Sam.

Rolling your eyes, you increased the volume on your TV just enough to drown out the noise without drawing too much attention.

You hunkered down and prayed he'd just keep walking past your door.

But this day had been too damn good to you, and things had gone on in your favor for far too long for you to finish the night off without any interference.

So fucking of course Bucky knocked on your door before walking right in without even waiting for a response.

Shutting the door behind him, he leaned back against the wood.

"What if I was jacking off."

Bucky raised his brows and hands mockingly, "Oh no, not that."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your necklace, "The hell do you want?"

Bucky made his way across your bedroom, taking a seat on your comforter beside you.

"Just wanted to see what's up with you," he picked at a callouse on the palm of his hand, "haven't seen ya' around, kid."

You did little to hold back your rather blase reaction, dropping your brows boredly to return back to massaging lotion into the soft of your thighs.

"You're not exactly pleasant to be around." You say beneath your breath. You know he heard you.

"D'awhhh," Bucky sneers. "How come you always clam up whenever I talk about fucking?"

Bucky seems to notice your rather delayed reaction as he places a large hand onto the small of your thigh, massaging the pad of his thumb against your soft skin.

"Y'with me?" He coos, ducking his head some to meet your eyes.

Your mind seems to turn back on and tune back in, and you offer him a reassuring nod.

"That pretty head of yours still loading?"

You give a rather tight-lipped smile, "Well, I think I better start getting ready for be–"

"Has daddy been bein' mean to you?" He practially purrs the epithet, and suddenly that feeling is back.

And it simmers in a shivered heat in your cunt and your mouth feels dry and your eyes water and your brain turns to mush because you most definitely weren't expecting that.

with wide eyes, you meet his blown baby blues. His thick brows rise in amusement.

"Oh -" Bucky's voice deepens, and his eyes narrow, "You liked that, didn't you." He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, moving closer to your spot on the bed.

You're completely frozen.

Bucky looks like a wolf, dark hair and brows shadowing his light eyes. You feel as though he's literally hunting you.

You're too lost in your mind to realize he's begun to run a hand up the inside of your thigh.

blinkling blankly, you cower in on yourself, making yourself appear smaller.

wounded creature seeking comfort in its devourer.

"S'okay, baby," Bucky's thumb strokes the soft of your chin, holding your gaze on him, "Y'can tell me." Bucky's voice tapers into a soft whisper as his lips meet yours in a swift and soft kiss.

"Buck -" you try, threading your fingers through his hair, seeking purchase in anything, for something, seeking control over what's happening.

"Shh," Bucky meets your lips in another kiss, running his tongue over your plush lips.

you moan into his mouth, and he whimpers back, pulling you by your hips into his lap as he sits on the edge of your bed.

Your hips rock into one another, and you're woven undone in his hold, rupturing at his touch and whispering his name against your lips like a poiosned prayer.

There's something unrbideled and untammed simmering beneath the heated surface of your skin. It follows his touch along your body as if he owns some piece of you.

As if he's returning to a part of you.

you're shaking, trembling and grasping onto him.

He wills you still, tucking you beneath his chin and stroking his hand down the trembling soft of your spine.

"Why're you shakin', sweetheart?" He asks, pulling back to meet your eyes, "S'just me, s'just Bucky."

It's so hard to relinquish control – to submit fully and trust in his hand.

He soothes his hand over your back again, drawing lines from the dip of your spine to the nape of your neck.

You inhale shakily.

"Okay," his voice is light and airy, soothing, "so we're not ready to talk yet. That's okay."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Bucky's tongue laps against the soft of your cunt, your lips spread open by his pointer and index. His plush lips press deliciously against your pussy.

You give a choked sob, keeping your hands at the backs of your thighs, holding yourself open for him.

Bucky, without missing a beat, pulls your hands from your thighs and drags one to the top of his hair, letting you weave your fingers into his dark locks while he takes hold of your other.

"Buck–" you press him further against your sopping cunt.

"I know, I gotcha."" He mumbles into your heat.

His beard tickles the insides of your thighs and adds a devilishly taunting intensity to your already heightened pleasure.

You imagine his cock as Bucky slips a finger past your folds, curling it to stroke the spongey patch of your cunt.

The stretch of him, thick weight of his girth stretching your sensitive gummy walls, the heat and taste of him.

"Y'with me, pretty girl?"

Bucky's voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you drop your eyes to meet his own.

He's smirking at you from between your thighs, pumping a finger into your heat.

You nod through a whimper. Eyes threatening to close at the humilation of it.

At the thought and all-consuming realization that he's watching you.

After this, the two of you will never be the same.

Bucky pulls himself up to his knees and leans over you, planting a hand beside your head on your pillow. His finger still pumping against your walls as he adds a second.

You're flushed beneath him. Heat rises to your cheeks at the proximity.

"Hi," you whisper, wrapping your hand around the wrist beside your head.

"Hi, baby," Bucky coos with a soft smile before meeting you in a kiss.

It's short and sweet and somehow everything you need as your cunt begins to pulse around his digits.

"Yr'gettin' close, huh." Bucky pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, "can feel ya tightenin' up on me," he chuckles, earning a soft giggle from you.

When you cum, your jaw falls open in an 'o' and the metal plates of Bucky's wrist shift beneath your squeezing palm.

"Thereee she is," Bucky soothes you over, "Deep breath. That was a big one, huh."

Your mind bursts with pleasure, and your body shivers in his hold.

You no longer know where you begin.

The room blurs.

You suppose you're waiting for him somewhere.

You're not sure where.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #beefy!bucky #bucky barnes smut

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hsangel64 · 5 months ago

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˙✧˖°🦊 ༘ ⋆｡˚ farmhouse lovin’ ˙✧˖°🦊 ༘ ⋆｡˚

pairings: farmhouse!ellie x fem!reader (domestic)

synopsis: a day in the life of you and ellie at your beloved farmhouse

warnings: nothing just some cursing and a little bit of friskiness- also shimmer never dies and so does joel-

a/n: tooth rotting fluff! i have so many ideas written down so get ready for some content!!

the morning rays hit your face and the cold chill of the morning air wakes you up. you turn over to see ellie still fast asleep, her light snores filling the air and making you smile. you slowly get out of bed and throw your robe on feeling chilly from sleeping in basically nothing. you kiss and pet your guys dog, lady, she usually joins you in the morning. you make your way downstairs and start your morning routine, every morning you’ll usually be the first awake and you go put your boots on to go let all your guys animals out. starting with the chickens, grabbing your usual basket to grab the eggs that you happen to find from the night before.

“what do we have here ladies?” you mumbled as you went into the coop and checked in their little cubbies. you were successful with about 15 eggs, thanking the girls and making your way to the other animals. you opened the barn door walking to the horses first.

“good morning miss shimmer and good morning to you too silver.” you greeted them with some pets to the head and went and grabbed their feed. feeding them and then grabbing the hose to poor some fresh water in their buckets. once finished with that you head over to the sheep and let them out of the barn. you went back into the house with lady and headed to the kitchen, starting to clean the eggs. grabbing all the things to feed lady, you start on that. you heard footsteps coming down the stairs, turning around you see ellie coming down the stairs rubbing her eyes of sleep.

“hey pretty lady.” she said as she walked over to you and grabbed your waist from behind.

“good morning honey.” you giggled as she started swaying side to side, kissing down your neck. getting that butterfly like feeling in your stomach.

“how long you been up?”

“just about an hour at most.” she nodded and kept her head in the crevice of your neck. you both stayed like that for what felt like forever, not wanting to move from each other. the warmth of your bodies bringing you comfort.

“have you done everything already?”

“mhm, got 15 eggs today so we can use those for breakfast!” ellie finally pulled away and grabbed the dog bowl from you to give to lady.

“what did you want to have?”

“well we can do simple bacon and eggs because joel brought us that bacon earlier this week. i also have some stuff for french toast. honestly its up to you!”

“lets do some french toast, we can still use that bacon and have it on the side. so we can let joel know how it was!” you agreed and started to grab what you would need. walking into the living room you started up a record so you had some music in the background. the best thing about living here was you could be as loud as you want.

“what record for today?” you yelled into the kitchen.

“how about some queen!” you nodded and out the record on. walking back to the kitchen you got started on the french toast.

“hey i was thinking we go for a little right today maybe visit jackson, joel usually has something for us.”

“yeah that sounds perfect it’s the one day this spring that we haven’t had rain.” as you were at the stove starting up some french toast and ellie pulled you away.

“lets dance baby.” you giggled at her as she grabbed your hands to put them around her neck and placed her hands at your waist. you felt lady jump up on you guys.

“oooo miss lady wants to dance too.” ellie bent down to give her kisses all over.

“you are such a good girl aren’t you.” ellie said in a cute little baby voice and she barked in response. standing back up putting her hands around you again.

“i love you, so so much my love.” your face turning read at the love and pet name.

“i love you more.”

“oh but i love you most.” you both shared a laugh and she started to kiss all over your face.

“ellie ellie i need to get to the food, its gonna burn.” giggling the whole time, she pulled away and let go of you, going back to her job. you both cooked in a comfortable silence with the music playing, every so often sharing kisses and teasing touches.

you had finished cooking and plated everything so nicely, sitting on the couch and turning on the tv. you guys had found a bunch of dvd’s at this old movie store and had been hooked on this show series you two found called friends, so you put that on to watch a couple of episodes while you eat. lady came and sat on the floor in between you begging for food like always. cutting the first little piece of french toast and cheersing.

“first bite!” you both said and both let out an ‘mmm’ at how good the food tasted.

“holy shit this is so good babe!” she yelled and kissed your cheek. you giggled at her excitement over the food, that was the way to her heart. you watched two episodes before finishing and going to wash the dishes.

“you know i am on rachel’s side she should be mad, ross was an ashole for that.”

“we were on a break, my ass! typical man.” you finished the dishes and made your way upstairs to find ellie already dressed in a brown flannel and some jeans.

“well hello there sexy, you single?” you walked into your shared room and walked over to ellie.

“no no i have a beautiful girlfriend.” you laughed at her giving you the hand and shooing you away.

“i’ve trained you well.” ellie laughed and walked past you slapping your butt which leads you to let out a small scream and a hey. you heard her footsteps pick up indicating she ran and you just shook your head. making your way to the closet and grabbing some short considering it wasn’t too cold today you took it as a sign. throwing on those and a cute matching flannel to ellie, you walked to the bathroom to do your hair. on a patrol you guys found a hair salon and found working hair tools and snatched them right up. you and ellie had a ‘his and her’ sink, getting lucky with that. taking your spot next to her to straighten your hair, it took some time to get it to work but thanks to joel and tommy they got the electricity to work.

you both finished getting ready, making your way downstairs and putting your shoes on. you grabbed lady’s harness to put on her, you usually let her roam without a leash so the harness is just for more protection.

“come here girly, harness time.” she came to you and got into position knowing she was going on an adventure. you guys had found her when she was a puppy, someone in jackson was giving away some puppies that their dog had just given birth to and lady was one of them. you were able to train her to know to kill bad people and she had been a great edition to your little family.

“hey you got everything?”

“yup all good!.” both grabbing your bags and heading out to the animals. lady came with you guys to herd the sheep back into the barn.

“good job girl go get em’” you patted her and sent her on her way. watching her as she herds the sheep inside ellie walks over to the chicken coop and lets the girls back inside. you walked over and grabbed your horses to get going. usually the way to jackson was only a 30 min hike and the patrol kept the trail pretty empty so it’ll be a nice relaxed ride over. you two get on your horses and are on your way. the feeling of the chilled breeze on your skin sends shivers, making you grab your cardigan from your bag to cover yourself.

“i could never get over the view.” you heard ellie say from behind you and you nodded your head at the comment.

“me neither its too good every time.”

“oh no that view, this one.” you turn confused and see her staring at you. your face turning red at the eyes on you.

“oh shut it.”

“never!!” ellie yells as she passes you. rolling your eyes you follow behind.

———————————————————————————

you see the gate to jackson and signal to the people at the watch that it’s you and ellie. they open the gate and you guys make your ways inside. you both say hello to everyone on the way to the stables.

“hey guys, visiting for the day?” the woman, angie who runs the stables, said and pulled silver into the barn.

“yeah it felt like a good day to do so get ourselves out the house for a little!.” she nodded and you walked out the barn to meet with ellie.

“hey baby.” she kissed you on your cheek and you both made your way our of the stables. lady already made herself at home getting all the lovin’ from dina.

“hey d!” you yelled over at her and caught her attention.

“hey guys, what are you you two doing here today?” she said getting up and hugging you both.

“just visiting, wanting to drop in and see if joel had anything for us, maybe catch a drink.”

“awesome! jesse is actually waiting for me we’ve got patrol unfortunately but we should see you guys before you head out.”

“awe no fun.”

“i know but i can’t miss more maria will kill me….” you said your goodbyes and started the walk to joel’s. walking through jackson makes you forget the world around you, saying your hellos to everyone you pass by, taking a second to play with some of the kids and just overall catching up with everything. you finally appreciate being alive again, having people who love and care about you and a cozy home that you had always wanted. it helps with the horrors that are away from jackson.

finding joel’s house you both make it up the steps and knock on the door. there’s a second before you hear footsteps and the barking of joel’s dog, aka lady’s boyfriend, chuck. the door opens and lady immediately runs inside to say hello.

“woah lady, hi there pretty lady.”

“hey kiddo, oh and ellie.” you cackled as he came and hugged you.

“yeah yeah i get it you like my girlfriend more than me.”

“oh shush silly come here.” he said and pulled ellie in for a hug.

“what are you kiddos doing here, just visiting?”

“yeah we figured since its so nice to come see everyone.”

“well good thing you did i’ve got some stuff for you guys i picked up earlier this week.” he got up from his chair to grab what he got.

“see i told you.” ellie whispered to you and you both chuckled at joel always having something for you guys. he came back in the room with a basket full of stuff.

“so i harvested some stuff finally and wanted to give you guys some of it, i’ve got some strawberries, apples, bell peppers, green onions, and some of those avocados you guys like. i went and did some huntin’ as well and got some good venison meat, and then maria made you folks some meatballs for pasta. i made some cool shelves for your bathroom under the stairs, y/n mentioned you guys needed some.”

“thank you so much joel thats so thoughtful.” you thanked him for doing what he does for you guys. he started to garden because you have a small garden behind the house and asked if you could teach him. you taught him all he knows now and you’re so happy to see he’s harvesting now.

“i can help you folks bring the shelves if you’d like so you can carry whatever else you get.”

“we would appreciate that, thanks joel.”

“its no problem kiddo.” you all smiled at each other and ended up getting caught up in conversation again. catching up with each other you guys ended up at the food hall with tommy and maria having some lunch.

“we wanted to host a dinner with everyone at the farmhouse soon, after we get some more stuff decorated.”

“that would be wonderful we haven’t had a good family dinner in a bit.” you smiled at joel being excited for a family dinner with everyone. his hard exterior was slowly coming off and he was just a big ole teddy bear. it was cute.

“hey were having a festival soon, ill let y’all know the date so y’all can come down and spend it with us.”

“yeah we found some fun stands at the warehouse down south that would be perfect for carnival games.” tommy nodded at maria staring at her with the most loving look.

“well that sounds very exciting, we will definitely be there. let us know if there’s anything we can do to help!”

“well we could use your paintin’ skills ellie.” joel pointed at her and winked.

“sounds great, i’ve been wanting a small project.”

“perfect why don’t you guys come back in two days and we can get started.” tommy proposed and you both agreed excited for a new project. you all chatted and finished eating. maria had some stuff for you guys, just some essentials like bread and some soap.

you guys were at the tipsy bison now with everyone. you started to get really sleepy, feeling the adventure of the day hitting you hard and the alcohol hitting harder.

“hey els, im feeling sleepy.” you placed your head on her shoulder resting your eyes.

“okay do you want to start heading back?”

“yes please.”

“okay baby let me let joel know so we can head out.” she kissed your head and made her way to the bar where joel was. the feeling of dina’s hand rubbing your back was lulling you to sleep. dina was always super affectionate with you all, always has a hand on you. she was like a sister to you, it brought you comfort. ellie came back and pulled you up into her arms.

“hey baby we gotta go, gotta get on the horse now.” you didn’t realize she had carried you all the way to the stables, you had been set down and you just really felt so tired. stretching your body out trying to wake yourself up.

“tommy’s gonna come as well to bring the rest of the stuff and so joel has someone when they come back.” you nodded at her and said your goodbyes to everyone. you had the best day with the people you are glad to call family.

———————————————————————————

you had made it home safely, the cold wind hitting your face the whole time was the only thing keeping you awake. you guys rode the horses into the barn and set them up for the night.

“hey head into the house okay go get comfy honey.” you nodded and kissed ellie before walking the ways to the house. you walked upstairs and grabbed some comfy pajamas, it was a colder night so you threw on something that would keep you warmer through the night. you walked downstairs to help joel and tommy put the food away.

“already gettin’ comfy kiddo?” you rolled your eyes at joel’s comment.

“once i get home i will be in pajamas.” they both laughed at your comment and you all put the rest of the stuff away. joel showed you the shelf and it was perfect next to the mirror. you thanked him and walked them out to the porch where ellie joined you guys.

“thank you so much for the help and the stuff we really appreciate it.”

“of course, y’all are helpin’ me with the stands so its all comin’ around.” tommy patted ellie’s back and pulled her into a small hug. you said your goodbyes and set them off on their ways. ellie gabbed your waist and you waved goodbye at the two men like little old ladies.

“okay lets go im freezing.” you pulled her into the house, closed and locked the door for the night. you went around and did your ‘closing shift’ and closed all the windows and locked them all up. going through your mental checklist of things to do before bed, turning off the lights downstairs and making your way up. ellie was in the bathroom already getting ready for bed and in some pajamas.

“hey cutie.” you gave her a side hug and kissed her on the cheek, you could smell the faint bit of cologne she still had on from the day and her freshly washed face. she had resisted the first time you mentioned that she should start washing her face because she insisted she didn’t need it now she does it every night before bed.

“hey beautiful, i made sure to feed to animals and they’re all good and in their little beds.”

“thank you my love i appreciate it a lot, i don’t know why i feel so tired.”

“we had a big day together.” smiling up at her you kissed her, the kiss lasting longer than expected.

“up.” ellie mumbled in your ear, you jumped and she picked you up to place you on the counter.

“you’re so pretty baby.” not a second later you crashed your lips into hers, your hands traveling up to her hair. ellie pulled you closer towards her deepening the kiss, you cheeks flushed feeling her pull you into her and feeling her hands make her way down to your butt. she pulled you up off the counter still kissing you taking you to the bed. you giggled at her throwing you down onto the bed, kissing up and down your neck and your face the feeling tickling you. she made her way back up to your lips and you both slowed down your kisses, softly feeling every curve of your lips hitting each other. you stay there for what feels like forever just enjoying the moment of each other. you feel the whine of a little puppy dog right next to you, you both turn and see lady sitting their with a smile on her face and her tail wagging indicating she wants attention too.

“hey girl you want some kisses too??” ellie moves from on top of you and goes over to her and gives her kisses all over her face, she licks ellie all over her face and tackles her. its so cheesy but hearing ellie’s laughs filled you with such joy, the amount that you two had been through to get here she deserves to be happy. this simple life was all you had wanted, you were so happy to just settle down in a beautiful home with the most amazing girl and surrounded by the most amazing people.

“hey sweetie, you still with us?”

“oh of course!”

“you okay?”

“more than okay.” you smiled at ellie, falling into each other on the bed with your head on ellie’s chest. hearing her heart beat was the only way you could fall asleep now, can’t live without it.

“i love you baby.”

“i love you more els.”

“i’ll let you win this round.” you both giggled settling into each other, with lady at your feet. ellie reached over and turned the lamp off, both of you humming into each other. ellie playing with your hair makes you drown out the night noise and fall right too sleep. she notices you had fallen asleep and kissed your forehead.

“i love you more than you know.” lulling herself to sleep of the sounds of your soft snores.

———————————————————————————

a/n: i have already started another one shot that’ll be out tomorrow for abby! i hope you enjoyed this!! requests are open!!

#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams fic #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #tlou fic #joel and ellie #ellie x fem reader #the last of us part 2

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briefinquiries · 3 months ago

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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 18

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 18

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: You struggle under the weight of guilt, convinced you've become a burden in Tommy’s life.

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch.

A/N: Hey y'alllll, thank you again for reading this far. I'm getting my gallbladder taken out tomorrow (wish me luck) so I won't be able to update for a little while. In the meantime, please feel free to send me suggestions / feedback for if you want this story to continue or if I should start something new :)

The scent of fresh bread and strong tea hung in the air as you moved around Tommy’s kitchen, the morning light filtering through the windows in hazy streaks. Your head still ached faintly, but the worst of the pain had dulled since the night before.

You poured tea, keeping your movements steady, deliberate. It felt good to be upright, to be functioning, to be contributing in some small way, even if your body still moved slower than it used to.

Tommy sat at the table, cigarette in one hand, the morning paper in the other, half-read and already smudged with ash. He glanced at you once over the rim of his cup, eyes lingering a second longer than necessary, like he was still waiting for you to collapse.

The front door creaked open a few minutes later, and you heard the familiar shuffle of boots and low voices. Arthur’s laugh carried in first, followed by John’s unmistakable muttering and the lighter tap of Ada’s shoes across the floor.

“Morning,” Ada called, walking into the kitchen and pausing when she saw you. “Oh good, you’re up. How’s the head?”

You offered a small smile. “Better. Sorry I missed the dinner you lot had planned last night.”

“No need to apologize,” Polly said as she appeared behind Finn and Esme, her voice gentle but resolute. “You rest when you need to.”

You nodded, but that gnawing guilt nestled just a little deeper beneath your ribs.

Everyone filtered into the kitchen, plates pulled down, chairs scraped along the floor, casual conversation building between bites and sips. For a moment, it almost felt normal.

Then Finn, already halfway through a slice of toast, leaned towards you and frowned. “John said someone knocked your head around pretty bad. Are you alright now?”

You managed a soft smile, trying to keep your tone light. “I’ve had better weeks, Finn.”

Finn gave a small, sheepish grin. “Yeah… well, you still look better than Arthur after the bar fight he had last spring.”

Arthur, mid-sip of tea, snorted. “Oi! What’re you sayin’ about me over there?”

Finn chuckled, shaking his head before muttering, “It’s true. You looked like a mucky boot. Plus he ended up puking in Polly’s roses.”

“That was one time–” Arthur grumbled.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Polly interrupted, though the corner of her mouth twitched with the faintest amusement. She turned her attention back to you. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation for taking time to heal. Especially not us.”

You nodded again, but the guilt didn’t ease. Not fully. You could feel it growing roots beneath your ribs.

As the noise returned, mugs clinking, light teasing continuing, Tommy quietly set a plate down in front of you, his hand brushing your shoulder for the briefest moment before he took a seat across from you.

You looked up, catching the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his posture carried more tension than usual.

John leaned forward. “Tom, you set to still head to London tomorrow?”

Tommy didn’t even look up from his tea. “No.”

John blinked. “Thought you said you needed to meet with the solicitor about that deal.”

“I’m not going,” Tommy said flatly, final.

There was a small beat of silence around the table.

Arthur glanced at him. “Tommy…”

“I said I’m not going,” he repeated, voice quieter now, but firmer. “It can wait. Or one of you can go in my place.”

The guilt tightened around your chest like a vice. He hadn’t said it, but you knew. He wasn’t going because of you. You dropped your gaze back to your plate, appetite slipping away entirely.

Across the table, John frowned. “Tommy, we’ve been working on that deal for weeks. If you’re not there–”

Tommy cut in, sharper this time. “You and Arthur can handle it.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “It’s not about whether we can handle it. You’ve been lead on this since the start. They’ll want to see you.”

Tommy leaned back slightly in his chair, his jaw tight, eyes cold and unreadable. “Then they’ll have to learn to deal without me.”

John scoffed under his breath. “Right. And what happens when you keep pushin’ things off? You think that’s not going to cost us?”

Tommy set his tea down with a heavy clink. “What happens when I’m not around someday, aye?” His voice was low but firm, edged with something that cut deeper than the surface tension in the room. “You two need to stop acting like I’m going to hold your hand through every meeting.”

Arthur and John both stilled at that, exchanging a quick glance.

You kept your eyes down, fingers curling slightly around the edge of your plate.

Arthur leaned forward, his forearms braced against the table. “This deal… it’s not just numbers on a bloody page, Tom.”

John nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s the shipping route. That new line through the South docks– if we lock it down now, we control half the imports before anyone else even knows it’s on offer. Weapons, whiskey, opium, whatever the hell we want moved.”

Arthur exhaled sharply. “And if Sabini or Solomons get wind of it first, it’s gone. Slips right out from under us.”

You looked up slowly, watching the tension settle deeper into Tommy’s frame. He didn’t move, but his jaw worked, tight and deliberate.

John added, more quietly now, “It’s not just money. It’s positioning. Power. This deal puts us ahead of every other crew this side of Camden.”

Arthur nodded, tapping his fingers once against the table. “Could make the Blinders untouchable for a long time– if it goes through.”

There was a long silence. You could feel Tommy’s gaze drift your way, just for a second, and the guilt in your chest twisted tighter.

“You lot always balk about having more responsibility. You want to run the business like we talked about,” Tommy added after a beat. “Then run it.”

Ada's gaze flicked between the three of them but she didn’t speak. Even Finn had gone quiet. The clatter of cutlery and soft rustle of chairs filled the silence, but the unease lingered just beneath the surface, along with the guilt still blooming in your chest.

The tension still lingered, heavy in the air like smoke, but Polly, ever the one to smooth sharp edges, lifted her teacup with a pointed glance around the table. “No more talk of business over breakfast. Not today.”

She didn’t raise her voice, but it was final. The kind of tone that settled everyone without question.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Since when do we have rules at breakfast?”

“Since now,” Polly said sharply. “Some of us would like to finish our eggs without hearing about bloody ledgers.”

Ada chuckled. “Amen to that.”

John muttered something under his breath, earning a swat on the arm from Esme.

Then Finn piped up, voice light but earnest, “This is the first time we’ve all had breakfast together in weeks. That’s something, innit?”

Ada grinned and ruffled his hair. “Look at you, getting all sentimental.”

Finn shrugged. “Just sayin’. It’s nice, that’s all.”

That earned a few smiles, a little warmth returning to the room as conversation shifted to less business, and more stories and teasing.

Eventually, the clatter of cutlery slowed, plates emptied, and conversation mellowed into quiet chuckles and soft sighs of contentment. Esme stood to pour more tea. Ada started teasing Arthur about his terrible handwriting. Finn tried to sneak another piece of toast before Polly swatted his hand away with a muttered, “You’ve had four already, love.”

But you stayed mostly quiet, your fork absently nudging crumbs around your plate.

Tommy hadn’t looked at you since the London conversation. Not directly, anyway. But you felt his presence beside you, steady and close, the way you always did.

Eventually, the table cleared, and the others filtered out of the house after saying their goodbyes, leaving only the two of you behind. You stood at the sink, rinsing plates in slow circles, your movements more for something to do than out of necessity. The ache in your head was growing now, along with the heaviness in your chest.

Tommy was still seated at the table, cigarette between his fingers, eyes following the lazy curl of smoke drifting upward.

“You didn’t eat much,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

A beat passed. The only sound was the soft clink of porcelain and the faint hiss of his cigarette. You wiped your hands on a towel, lingering at the sink a moment longer before finally turning back toward him.

“Tommy, why aren’t you going to London?” you asked quietly.

His eyes didn’t move from the smoke curling toward the ceiling. He took another slow drag before replying, “John or Arthur can go for me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

His gaze dropped to you then, steady and unreadable. “It’s not urgent.”

You studied him, arms folding across your chest like a shield. “But John said it was. That it was a deal that needed to be handled in person.”

“It can wait,” he said again, the edge of finality creeping into his voice.

You hesitated, the words sitting sharp behind your teeth. “Is it because of me?”

He didn’t answer right away, but he didn't deny it either. Instead, he just sat there, smoke curling from his fingers, jaw tightening slightly.

You stepped closer, your voice softer now. “Tommy, you don’t have to stay here with me all the time.”

His eyes finally lifted to yours, sharp and unreadable. “I know.”

“Then why are you?” The question came out thinner than you’d meant, wrapped in guilt you hadn’t quite managed to bury. “I’m not asking you to babysit me. I’m not asking you to put everything on hold.”

“You’re not asking,” he agreed, voice quiet. “I’m choosing."

The finality in his voice left no room for argument, no space for guilt to take root again.

So you just nodded, small, almost imperceptible.

“Okay,” you murmured softly.

Tommy held your gaze a moment longer, then slowly stood. The chair scraped gently against the floor as he moved, shoulders rolling back with a quiet exhale. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and struck a match with one fluid motion. The flame flickered briefly before catching, and he inhaled deeply, the smoke curling through the air in soft ribbons.

Then, without a word, he picked up the folded paper from the table, eyes scanning over the print like nothing had just happened.

You watched him move, watched the shift of his shoulders, the way his fingers curled around the edge of the paper, the quiet steadiness in him that always seemed just out of reach but somehow comforting.

After a moment, your voice broke the silence again. “Can I at least make myself useful and go back to the Garrison soon?”

Tommy’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, unreadable. You pushed on, quieter now. “I can work the bar. Just a few hours to help Harry out.”

His mouth twitched, not in amusement, but something closer to disbelief. Tommy stood slowly, cigarette still between his fingers. The chair scraped quietly against the floor as he stepped toward you, eyes fixed on your face.

“When you can make it through an entire day without going blind or vomiting,” he said dryly, “we’ll talk about it.”

You looked down, lips pressing into a tight line. You nodded again, biting back the sting in your chest. His hand found your shoulder, warm and steady. A moment later, you felt the press of his lips at your temple, soft, grounding, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

He didn’t say anything else. Just let his hand drift down your arm briefly before stepping away, footsteps soft as he walked toward the door.

When it clicked shut behind him, the silence wrapped around you again.

…

Three days passed.

You could feel it– the distance growing between you and Tommy. Not because he had changed, but because you had.

It was Campbell’s shadow that lingered, not Tommy’s. But it didn’t matter. Every time Tommy reached for you, every time his hand grazed your waist or his lips found your temple, your body flinched before your mind could catch up. And it wasn’t fair, because he wasn’t the one who hurt you. But the memory lived under your skin like poison, curling in your muscles, coiling behind your ribs.

There were moments when you reached for him first. When you pressed into his arms and, for just a breath, the world stopped spinning. Because somehow, in his arms, you didn’t feel fragmented. Only when he held you did you feel put back together, like your pieces might actually belong somewhere again. Like you weren’t entirely broken.

But only when it was on your terms. Only when your body didn’t feel like a battleground, when your skin didn’t feel like it still belonged to someone else.

And then came the shame, the quiet, creeping shame that made you want to crawl out of your own skin. That made you feel like none of it should be this hard. Like you should’ve healed faster. Like it was your fault that every soft, loving touch still carried a ghost.

That night, back at the house, the fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. Tommy sat in his armchair, legs stretched out slightly, a stack of papers in his lap, cigarette burning low between his fingers. His eyes skimmed over the documents, brow occasionally furrowing in thought, the silence between you filled only by the scratch of the fire and the rustle of turning pages.

You watched him for a while from your spot on the couch�� watched the way his jaw flexed as he read, the way his fingers shifted the pages with that same quiet control he carried in everything he did. The ache behind your ribs hadn’t lessened, not really.

But your body moved before your mind could talk you out of it. Quietly, without a word, you rose from the couch and padded across the rug toward him.

Tommy looked up, eyes flicking to you, but he didn’t speak, just set his papers aside slightly, already shifting in the chair to make room.

You climbed into his lap carefully, your knees folding on either side of his hips as you settled into him, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders.

Still, he didn’t ask. Didn’t question it. He just opened his arms and let you in.

One arm curled around your back, anchoring you gently against his chest. The other reached for the papers again, as if this was nothing unusual, as if holding you there, close and steady, was just as natural as reading through business ledgers.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as his warmth wrapped around you. His heartbeat thudded softly beneath your ear, and for the first time all day, your chest eased just enough to breathe.

Tommy’s fingers absently ran along the curve of your spine, slow and comforting, like he didn’t even know he was doing it. Then his hand drifted upward, tracing lightly over your shoulder blades before settling at the base of your skull.

His fingers moved gently there, slow circles worked into the tense muscles at the nape of your neck, easing the tightness you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

After a moment, his voice came low, near your temple. “How’s your head tonight?”

You didn’t answer right away, just let yourself lean a little heavier into him, eyes still closed, letting the rhythm of his touch lull some of the ache from your bones.

“It’s okay,” you murmured eventually.

His thumb brushed tenderly along the edge of your hairline. “You’re a horrible liar.”

You sighed. “So you’ve said.”

Tommy’s hand stilled for a moment, then resumed that slow, grounding motion at the base of your skull.

The fire had burned low by the time you drifted off in Tommy’s arms, but at some point during the night, you vaguely remembered the feeling of being lifted– strong arms curling beneath you, the warmth of his chest against yours, the soft rasp of his voice murmuring something you were too far gone to understand. A door creaked open. Sheets shifted. A blanket tucked carefully around your shoulders.

Now, you stirred again to quiet stillness. The bed beside you was empty, the space where he’d been still faintly warm. You sat up slowly, your head heavy but clear. You rubbed your eyes and glanced toward the door, catching the faintest trace of light beneath it. Voices followed, low, hushed, but tense.

You stood, careful not to make the floorboards creak, and padded silently toward the hallway. Down the stairs, flickering firelight spilled from the open door of Tommy’s study.

And then, the voices grew clearer.

“I told you they were skittish,” Arthur was saying, his voice low and tense.

“They didn’t just get skittish,” John shot back. “They pulled out, full stop.”

A pause.

Then Tommy’s voice, sharper, more clipped. “Just tell me what happened.”

“The deal is shot, Tom. The whole fuckin’ thing,” John muttered. “Said they didn’t like that you weren’t there yourself. Didn’t trust it.”

“Thought you were hiding something,” Arthur added darkly.

You stayed frozen at the bottom of the stairs, barely breathing.

“Word is they’re talking to Sabini,” John said. “Maybe already signed with him.”

A beat of silence. You could picture Tommy now, leaning back in his chair, jaw clenched, that familiar flicker of calculation in his eyes.

And then you heard it, the thing that made your throat tighten and your chest ache.

“Because you weren’t in London,” John muttered. “Because you stayed here.”

You stepped back instinctively, the words hitting like a blow to the chest. It wasn’t said with malice, not really, John’s voice hadn’t carried blame. But the implication rang louder than anything else in the room. The guilt crawled up your spine like something cold and living.

You turned quietly, retreating up the stairs before your presence could be noticed. Each step felt heavier than the last, your head buzzing, chest tightening with the weight of everything unsaid.

By the time you reached the bedroom again, the silence felt different. Not comforting this time, but thick and echoing, like it was pressing in around you.

You sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curling in the bedsheets, eyes unfocused.

You had to get it together.

You couldn’t keep falling apart every time the air got too still, every time your head ached or your heart clenched with a memory. You couldn’t keep leaning on Tommy like he was the only thing holding you upright, not when it was starting to cost him.

He’d already sacrificed too much. And if things kept slipping, if the business continued to suffer, you’d be the reason. You couldn’t stomach that. Not after everything.

Even if your chest still tightened at night. Even if there were moments when the world tilted sideways and it felt like your ribs might crack from the weight of it all.

Even if it meant smiling when your head was pounding. Even if it meant pretending your hands weren’t trembling the moment Campbell’s face flashed behind your eyes.

You’d just have to hide it better. Be steadier. Stronger. More convincing.

…

The next morning, you woke before the sun had fully risen.

The dull ache in your head had returned– not blinding, but ever-present, pulsing quietly behind your temples like a reminder that your body was still catching up to your bravado. You sat up slowly, blinking away the haze, willing the room to stop its slow tilt. It didn’t. Not entirely. But you braced your palms against the mattress and breathed through it until it passed.

When you made your way downstairs, the scent of tea drifted from the kitchen. Tommy stood at the stove, sleeves rolled, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he stirred something in a pan.

You straightened your posture and forced your steps to stay steady.

“Morning,” you said lightly, grabbing a mug from the counter like your limbs didn’t still tremble faintly.

Tommy glanced over his shoulder. “You’re up early.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of coffee, trying not to wince at the way the bitterness sparked behind your eyes. “Figured I’d get a head start. Thought I might stop by the Garrison.”

Tommy’s brow lifted, his stirring slowing just slightly. “You thought you might?”

You nodded, pretending not to notice the weight behind his gaze. “Just for a few hours. Nothing too much. I’ll help Harry with the stockroom or polishing glasses– whatever he needs.”

He said nothing at first. Just turned back to the pan, jaw tight, the silence dragging.

“I feel fine,” you added, softer now, trying to meet his eyes.

Tommy didn’t turn around right away.

“Do you now?” he said finally, low and clipped.

You held your ground, trying not to shift under the weight of his voice. “I do.”

He turned slowly, setting the spoon down, his eyes narrowing just slightly as they met yours. “You’re still flinching when you stand up too fast. You get quiet when the light’s too bright. And you think I haven’t noticed how your hands shake when you think no one’s looking?”

You swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “I’m not saying I’m at a hundred percent. But good enough to go back."

Tommy studied you, arms folding across his chest now, brow furrowed in that unreadable way that always made your chest tighten. “You pushing yourself to prove something to me isn’t going to help you heal faster.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything to you,” you said, voice steadier now. “I’m just trying to be useful.”

He stared at you for a long beat, cigarette burning low between his fingers. Then finally, he sighed, slow and reluctant.

“One shift,” he said, pointing toward you slightly with the hand holding the cigarette. “A short one. And if you so much as wince or wobble, you come straight home. You don’t argue.”

You nodded quickly, almost too quickly. “Fine.”

Tommy’s mouth twitched, barely a smile. He stepped forward, pressed a kiss to your temple, and muttered against your skin, “You’re bloody stubborn, you know that?”

“Must be catching,” you murmured back, just under your breath.

He gave a faint scoff and turned back to the pan.

...

Your shift had started slow– organizing glasses, taking light orders, helping Harry restock the shelves in the back. At first, it felt manageable. Easy, even. The motions were familiar, your body moving on instinct, muscle memory guiding you through the steps. For a while, you almost felt like yourself again. Like things could go back to normal, if only you tried hard enough.

But somewhere along the way, the hours had slipped by unnoticed. You’d told yourself it was fine. Just one more hour. Then another. And another after that. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been standing, how much you’d been pushing, until the dull throb behind your eyes started to build into something sharper.

Now your head was pounding– a slow, pulsing ache that bloomed beneath your skull like a storm brewing just out of reach. The lights above the bar felt too bright, the low chatter of the patrons far too loud. Every clatter of glass, every burst of laughter sent a fresh spike of pain radiating through your temples.

Still, you kept moving.

You couldn’t fall apart here. Not in front of everyone. Not when you were trying so damn hard to prove you could handle it.

You smiled politely at the next patron, even though it felt like your skin was stretched too tight across your face. You wiped down the countertop with a damp cloth, even though your fingers trembled slightly against the rag. Your vision blurred at the edges, just enough to make you blink hard and press your lips together to keep from swaying.

Harry glanced over from the end of the bar, eyes narrowing slightly. He’d been watching you more closely than usual all day, though he hadn’t said much. Until now.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked, tone low but gentle, concern evident in his lined features as he approached.

You straightened a little, forcing a breath through your nose and nodding too quickly. “Fine,” you said, a little too brightly. “Just a bit warm in here.”

But even as the words left your mouth, you felt the ache pulsing again– like a warning just beneath your skin.

Harry didn’t look convinced.

In fact, his brow furrowed deeper as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Thought Tommy said you were only meant to do a few hours,” he said, wiping his hands on a bar towel. “You’ve been on your feet half the bloody day.”

You gave another faint smile, trying to keep it casual. “He worries too much.”

Harry huffed. “Aye, well… in his shoes, I might too. You look pale, love.”

“I’m fine,” you said again– quieter now, more like a prayer than a statement.

But before Harry could push further, the front door creaked open. A rush of cool air filtered in with it.

And there he was.

Tommy's eyes scanned the Garrison with calculated ease before locking onto you behind the bar. His jaw tensed instantly, just a flicker, but you saw it. It felt it like a punch to the ribs.

You stood a little straighter, tried to summon a smile, pretended like everything was fine. You even picked up another glass to polish, just to look busy.

But Tommy didn’t move right away. He just stood there in the doorway, watching you with that unreadable look– like he already knew everything he needed to know before you’d even said a word.

Harry muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “Shit.”

You turned to face Tommy fully, heart thudding as if the pounding in your skull wasn’t already loud enough.

“Hey,” you said, feigning lightness. “Didn’t think you’d come by tonight.”

His eyes flicked to the rag in your hand, then back to your face. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

His voice wasn’t loud. Wasn’t sharp. But it cut through the room like a blade.

You straightened your spine a little more, holding that polite smile like a shield. “Just lost track of time,” you said softly, setting the glass down. “It’s not a big deal.”

Tommy stepped forward now, slow and measured, his eyes never leaving yours. “You were supposed to be here for a few hours.”

“I know.”

“And how long’s it been?”

You hesitated, your eyes darting toward the clock. The answer hung in the air between you. Too long. Long enough for him to be right. Long enough to feel it in every throbbing pulse behind your eyes.

“I’m fine, Tommy,” you said again, quieter this time.

“I’m not asking how you feel,” he said, voice lower now as he came around the bar, closer to you. “I’m telling you your hands are shaking.”

You instinctively curled your fingers tighter around the rag, hiding the tremor. But it was too late, he’d already seen it. He always saw everything.

“I said I’m fine. Let me finish wiping down–”

“No.”

You stiffened. The word landed heavy between you, sharp and final.

You blinked up at him, your jaw tightening. “You don’t get to tell me when I’m done.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice stayed calm. “We’re not doing this here. Let’s go.”

You shook your head, the frustration swelling in your chest like a rising tide. “Christ, Tommy. I’m not made of glass. You can’t keep dragging me out of rooms like I’m going to fucking collapse every time I breathe too hard.”

Tommy sighed, like this whole thing was a massive inconvenience. “I’m not dragging you anywhere. I’m telling you you’ve done enough for one day.”

“Enough for your standards, you mean.” You stepped back, trying to shove past the heat crawling up your throat.

"Yeah, my standards. Last time I checked, I was the one employing you."

Your jaw flexed. Fuck, you thought. He was right. You hated that he was right. You hated that your body was still betraying you. That every time you tried to prove you could keep going, you ended up like this, shaking, dizzy, broken glass at your feet and tears you couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

"I'm not something fragile that needed protecting all the time."

“Then stop acting like it,” he snapped.

Your eyes widened, breath catching hard in your chest.

The words cut deeper than they should have, sharp and unrelenting, worse than the sting of the glass or the pounding in your head.

You turned on your heel before he could say anything else, pushing your way into the back room and slamming the door shut behind you. You needed space– just a second to breathe, to collect yourself, to stop the way your chest was tightening.

You reached for a glass on the shelf, anything to keep your hands busy. Anything to keep from feeling the sting in your eyes.

But your fingers trembled. The ache in your head flared sharp again. And before you could even react, the glass slipped from your grasp.

Crash.

It shattered against the floor, loud and jarring. And that was it.

The tears came before you could stop them– hot, angry, humiliated tears. Not from the glass, not from the pain, but from the frustration, the helplessness, the exhaustion of pretending everything was fine when your body was still screaming otherwise.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to blink it all away, trying to hold yourself upright even though your legs suddenly felt too weak.

But then you heard footsteps behind you.

“Are you done proving your point–”

Tommy stopped mid-sentence.

You didn’t have to look at him to feel the shift in his presence, or the way his entire demeanor softened the moment he saw your shoulders shaking, the tears on your cheeks.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentler now, quiet. “Hey.”

You turned away, trying to wipe your face, but he was already there, stepping over the broken glass, reaching for you carefully like he was afraid you’d break just like the pieces on the floor.

“Come here,” he murmured, arms outstretched, steady and warm.

You turned, eyes wet, throat tight, just in time to see his arms start to reach for you.

But you stepped back sharply, shaking your head. “Don’t.”

Tommy stilled.

“I’m so sick of this,” you snapped, voice cracking. “Sick of being treated like I’m some fragile thing that can’t take a deep breath without falling apart.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak. Just stood there, steady, watching you with that infuriating calm.

“I’m trying,” you said, voice rising. “I’m trying to feel normal again, to be normal again. But you don’t get it,” you said, bitter now. “You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and not even recognize your own body anymore. To be afraid of your own mind and what it can do to me.”

Your breath hitched, another tear slipping down your cheek before you could stop it. “I don’t want to be a burden, Tommy.”

He stepped closer again, slower this time. “You’re not.”

You shook your head, hands curling into fists at your sides. “You can say I’m not all you want, but I am, Tommy. You’re giving everything up just to babysit me, and I–” Your voice cracked, raw and exposed. “I heard you.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Heard what?”

You swallowed hard, chest tightening. “The other night. You were talking to Arthur and John… about the London deal.”

Tommy went still.

“I wasn’t trying to listen,” you rushed to add, voice shaking. “I’d woken up, and you weren’t there, and I came downstairs and… I heard John say it. That they pulled out because you weren’t there. Because you stayed here with me.”

Tommy’s expression didn’t change much, just a subtle flicker in his jaw, the smallest shift in his eyes.

You blinked through another wave of tears. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. That I cost you something important. That the whole reason it’s falling apart is because I couldn’t keep it together.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting the sting behind your eyes. “What happens when you fall behind on business? When things start slipping? What happens then?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “Since when are you up for giving me business advice?”

You straightened slightly, heart pounding, the tension curling tighter beneath your ribs.

“I’m not giving you business advice,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just saying… you don’t have to stay with me all the time, Tommy. I’m not expecting you to.”

He looked at you then, and there was something unreadable behind his eyes.

“You think I’m here out of obligation?” His voice was low, steady, but there was a clipped edge beneath it. “You think I stayed because I felt I had to?”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched.

“I think you’ve got a business to run. A family to look after. And you’re putting that on hold.”

His jaw flexed.

“And I’m just saying maybe you shouldn’t.”

He let out a humorless breath, more a scoff than a laugh, and turned away.

You pushed a little further, the guilt pressing harder. “You stayed in the hospital with me for a week– you must have missed other meetings, other deals.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the profile of his face, his clenched jaw, the flicker in his eyes. “What’s your point?”

You stepped closer. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re falling behind. Christ, I’m not completely helpless– I can take care of myself.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer, your voice quieter now, but no less firm. “I heard the way Arthur and John talked to you.”

You swallowed, eyes dropping briefly to the floor. “I don’t want to be the reason things start to unravel.” You hesitated, your throat tightening. “They think I’m holding you back. And maybe they’re right.”

His expression hardened slightly, not with anger, but something quieter. Something wounded.

“I’m not trying to cause a rift between you and them,” you added. “They’re your family. Your blood. I’m not even–” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “I’m not part of that. Not really.”

You crossed your arms tightly, the tension in your shoulders finally catching up to you, dragging you down with it. Your hands came together in your lap, twisting over one another, trying to wring the nerves from your fingertips.

There was a beat of silence. Tommy’s jaw ticked, his shoulders squaring as he studied you. The muscles in his throat moved as he swallowed, slow and deliberate.

“You think that’s how I see you?” he asked finally, low and quiet, but laced with something that stung more than shouting ever could.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

After a moment, Tommy’s mouth tugged into a crooked, humorless half-smile. “I’ve had lots of women in my bed before,” he said, voice low.

Your eyes stung before you could stop it, a sharp pressure building behind them as your chest tightened. That ache, deep, quiet, relentless, spread beneath your ribs, heavy and hollow all at once.

“Pretty ones. Clever ones. Ones who only wanted to ride the high while it lasted.” His gaze flicked over you.

You blinked hard, a tear slipping free despite your best efforts. Your hands curled tightly in your lap as you tried to imagine where the hell he was going with any of this.

“I’ve had lots of women in my bed before,” Tommy said again, quieter now, like he regretted saying it the first time at all. “But none of them ever made me give a fuck about anything but myself. They were good for a night. That’s it. Never once made me want to change a thing. They were just noise. Something to fill the time.”

His voice lingered in the air, quiet but weighted, hanging between you like smoke.

You didn’t look up, not yet. You couldn’t. Not with your eyes burning and your throat thick with the ache of it. But you felt him move closer.

The scent of him, smoke and cologne and something warmer, something familiar, wrapped around you like a balm. His shoes stopped in front of yours, and slowly, carefully, he reached out to tilt your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“But you…” he said. “You’re not just noise.”

You met his gaze, finally, and there it was, laid bare in the blue of his eyes. Not just guilt or tenderness. But need. Affection. Something deeper than all of it.

“You’re not just in my life,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “You’re the only part I give a damn about.”

Your eyes met his again, full of something fragile and raw. “I’m scared that you’ll look at me and regret these choices– because you were too busy worrying about me and my mess.”

Tommy’s expression didn’t waver. His eyes met yours, steady and unreadable. “I thought you were dead, you know?”

The words stopped you cold. He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t need to. It was low. Heavy. Final. “I’ve seen a lot of things. Done worse. But that…” His jaw locked, throat shifting with the effort to keep it together.

“That’s not something I can just walk away from.” He finally looked at you again, eyes shadowed and tired. “So if I’m skipping meetings, taking time… it’s not because I think you need me. It’s because I don’t want to be away from you right now. Because I need to remind myself that you didn’t die because of me.”

You didn’t know what to say. The heat in your throat burned, your chest tight with emotion you couldn’t quite name.

Tommy held your gaze, his jaw set now, voice steady and resolute. “John and Arthur can handle the business. That’s what we’ve been building toward. And if they can’t–” he shrugged once, slow and deliberate, “then I’ll deal with it later. Business comes and goes. Deals fall through. We build new ones.”

He stroked the softness of your cheek, enough to make sure you were looking at him. “But I lost you for two whole fucking days. I nearly lost you for good– and I refuse to lose you now,” he added, jaw clenched. “Not because you wanted to prove something. Not because you wanted to work a bloody shift at the Garrison when you should’ve been in bed.”

Tommy’s eyes softened, the edge in his voice giving way to something more fragile, something far more human.

“So, will you please stop arguing and just come home with me?” he asked quietly.

You blinked up at him, breath catching.

“So that I can remind myself that you’re still here. That I didn’t lose you.”

His words settled into your ribs, aching and tender.

You hesitated, eyes flickering toward the shattered glass on the floor behind you. “But… what about the glass? I can't leave that for Harry..”

Tommy let out a rough breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head as he closed the distance between you.

His arms wrapped around your frame, firm and grounding, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other anchoring you against his chest.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with affection. “Bloody hell.”

You sank into him, fingers clutching the front of his coat, letting yourself breathe for the first time all day.

“Come on,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s go home.”

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#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction

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sinnabarmoth · 6 months ago

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Tribute for the Dragon (2/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: Reader finds her footing as the servant to her new draconic master. Just like there is much of the mountain to explore, so there is much more to learn about the dragon.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18)

Read on AO3

The following morning you woke up and sat with the reality that you were indeed still inside a dragon’s lair. You were now employed to a dragon that looked far more human than you expected a dragon to look. That did not make him any less dangerous. In some ways, you worried that it made him more so.

Without much other choice you slid out of bed and found the clothes that you had worn yesterday. Such finery was not meant for the day to day work of cleaning and cooking. You decided to makeshift one of the layers into a simple working dress and pulled your boots back on. Your first task of the day was going to be finding a bathing room or something.

As you walked about the tunnels you realized that in the years since the mine had closed down nature had taken back over immensely. There was an entire ecosystem in this mountain. Some poking around you found a room with a fresh water spring running through it so you knew you had a place to get drinking water. You took the time to get a drink and wipe some of the grime from your person before moving on.

You eventually found the dragon in one of the tunnels. He was carving a large X into the stone above an archway. He turned his head to look at you. “Morning, you slept late.”

“I don’t really know what time it is. There aren’t exactly windows in here or clocks.” you shrugged. “What are you doing?”

He gave you a look and you held back a groan. “Will you tell me what you are doing, master?”

He smirked and turned back to the arch. “I’m marking the rooms you aren’t to enter. Simple enough for you to understand?”

“Very.”

“Good.” he turned to you fully, his gaze raking you up and down much like it did yesterday. “Is that what you are wearing?”

You looked down at your makeshift dress and shrugged. “I didn’t exactly pack to stay. This is the best I could do.”

“I see. Follow me.” he started walking off without bothering to see if you were actually following.

You had to rush to keep up with his long strides. “Where are we going?”

“To find you something suitable to wear hopefully.”

“Oh…alright.” you kept behind him. “Um, master?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a bathing room in here? Somewhere I can relieve myself? I haven’t come across anything like that yet.”

“There is one down the tunnel to where your room is. I’ll show it to you after we are done here.” he kept walking.

You were led through the tunnels until you saw a bright golden light shining from around one of the corners. Upon turning the corner your jaw dropped as you took in the splendor before you. This was the largest room you had seen in the mountain so far and almost every square inch of it was covered in gold and jewels. It shined so brilliantly it was practically blinding. You guessed you’d be able to buy the entire country with just a quarter of this amount of treasure.

The dragon had stopped and was watching you with an amused smile. “Never seen a proper hoard, have you?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen more than a sackful of gold before. This is…intense.” your foot slipped on some of the gold coins and you slid forward.

Without blinking the dragon had whipped out his tail and steadied you once more. “Watch where you step.” he let go and moved further into the room.

Among all the jewels and gold there was a plain stone dais in the center of the room. There was no treasure on it which was strange considering that the wealth was so overflowing it trickled out into the tunnel. Why leave the dais untouched?

The dragon was rifling through the mountains of gold until he uncovered a chest hidden underneath it all. He pulled it out, sending an avalanche of jewels tumbling away. The chest itself was ornately decorated, inlaid with rubies and emeralds the size of your fist. He opened it and sighed, finding more jewels inside. “Wrong one.” he shoved the chest aside and started sifting through the piles of riches again.

“What are you looking for, master?”

“There is a chest in here somewhere.” he said, pulling out another chest from underneath an expensive looking carpet. He opened the lid and slammed it down again. “I can’t remember which one, but it had clothes in it.”

“Dragons hoard clothes?”

“Dragons take whatever they feel like taking. And I felt like taking a rather large chest that I thought would be full of jewelry but was instead filled with women’s clothing. Ah, found it.” he lifted the chest lid and inside was indeed a pile of clothes in nothing but black.

“Mourning attire,” you picked up one of the dresses. “Good fabric though. It should work.”

“So, what do we say?” the dragon leaned closer with a sharp smile.

“Thank you, master.” you slung the dress over your arm. “I will go get changed and start making breakfast if it is well with you.”

“Go on.” he shooed you away. You took one last look around the room and fled back to your room. You changed into the black dress, relieved that it fit as well as it did. The dragon came by a few minutes later lugging the chest over his shoulder and dropped it in the room for you. You thanked him again before going about your work.

The next couple of days you started to fall into a routine. You woke up, got changed, made breakfast, then started cleaning. You had made the kitchen your first priority. Back when this was a mine this must have been the place miners would rest and cook meals between shifts. Most of the meals you made involved just cooking meat but over time you had been able to find some edible plants around the mountain to help supplement your diet. The dragon could live as a carnivore but you could not.

Your other constant task was trying to find your way around the mountain. It was a labyrinth of tunnels and more than once you got hopelessly lost trying to explore. It was embarrassing to say the least when you ended up in some dark corner of the mountain unable to remember which way you had come from. In those moments you had to call out for the dragon to come find you to escort you back to more familiar sections.

“I’m going to have to put a bell on you one of these days.” he said after you had managed to get yourself lost again. What you really needed was a map.

One day you were exploring once again and came across a shaft of sunlight. You rushed towards it and came out onto the side of the mountain. There was a outcropping of a flat patch of land where a series of hot springs descended down the side of the mountain face, leading to the largest one at the bottom.

The dragon was lounging inside the spring, steam billowing up around him. “Exploring again I see.” he said when he noticed you standing there.

“You didn’t tell me there was a hot spring here!” you huffed. “I’ve been heating water over a campfire for days to bathe and these have been here the entire time? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You found it eventually, didn’t you?” he shrugged. “Besides, you never asked.”

“How was I supposed to know to ask?”

He quirked an eyebrow up at you. “You’re awfully haughty today. What has got a bee in your skirt?”

You straightened. “Nothing. Sorry for intruding, master.” you turned to leave.

“No need to scamper off.” he called you back. “Your appearance is actually well timed. Come closer.”

You took a deep breath and turned around to face him, walking to the edge of the hot spring. “Yes, master?”

“Wash my hair for me.”

“Really?” you had been doing a lot of work but none of it pertained to the dragon himself outside of cooking meals.

“Believe it or not but claws do not help a lot with grooming.” he crooked a finger at you. “Now stop procrastinating and get over here.”

You walked around to the edge of the hot spring where he was reclining and took up the soap he handed you. You hesitated for a moment unsure where to start or how to work around the horns. You decided to just go for it and started lathering his hair, taking care to avoid touching his horns. To your surprise he reclined into your touch, his eyes closed.

Any time you had come across the dragon in the days you’d been in the mountain he always looked bored or was grinning like a hungry mountain lion. You had never seen him look so peaceful before. There was something delicate about it, like it was an emotion he wasn’t used to. You started massaging his scalp as you lathered his hair and a content sigh left him. With those claws he probably wasn’t used to soft hands touching him, let alone being able to properly massage anything.

You could have stopped and rinsed his hair already but there was something soothing about it all. You kept going, enjoying the motion of washing his silvery hair, the suds sponging over your fingers and the small satisfied hums that left the dragon.

One of your hands got a little too close to where his horns sprouted though and you swore he growled at you. Your hands immediately sprang away and his eyes opened. “What are you doing?” he asked, his gaze intense. The black of his pupil almost overtook the red.

“Sorry.” you said, “I uh…should I be steering clear of your horns? I didn’t mean to touch them.”

“No. It’s fine.” he closed his eyes again, his chest heaved a deep breath. “They are…sensitive.”

“Oh.” You wouldn’t have guessed that dragon horns would be sensitive. You figured they were more like deer antlers or something like that. “So do I need to avoid them or not?”

“You do not. If anything, they probably need cleaning but I don’t usually take care of them.”

“Oh alright.” Carefully you went back to massaging his scalp, taking the time to actually massage the area around his horns. When you did more small growls escaped him but didn’t make it past his lips, more like a rumbling in his chest. They sent a shiver down your spine and you had to wonder. Were his horns sensitive like a bruise or were they sensitive like the center of a palm? If it was the latter you couldn’t understand why he wanted you to keep massaging them, if it was the former could he be enjoying it? And if so, how much?

You suddenly found yourself glad the steam concealed the fact that a new rush of warmth filled your face. You tilted his head back more to rinse out the suds finally. “There, all done.”

His eyes opened again and before you could step back he shook his head furiously like a dog trying to get dry. “Hey!”

He grinned again, the peaceful dragon you had seen once more gone. “Oh, did I get you wet?”

“You know you did.” you crossed your arms over your chest. “Do you not have a towel?”

“Not out here.” he said.

“Would you like me to fetch you one?”

“If you would.”

You nodded and took off back into the mountain to find a towel or something for him to dry off with. If he knew he was going to be getting in the hot spring why hadn’t he brought one with him? Was he just going to drip dry? And what about modesty? Was he going to walk around without anything on until he was dry? Was that what he usually did?

The more you thought about it the more flustered you got. You were no stranger to nudity. In the past you had lovers so it was not as if you were an innocent naive virgin. But you also weren’t comfortable just going about your chores knowing that your dragon master might be strutting around the mountain naked. For goodness sake, you didn’t even know the man’s name! You didn’t want to see him walking around in the nude. Not that you thought he would look bad but it was the principle of the thing.

You found a towel and made your way back out to the hot springs. Thankfully he was still in the spring so you didn’t need to worry about that. You left the towel next to him and made to leave again when something occurred to you.

“Master?” you turned around. “May I ask a question?”

“What is it?”

“Do you have a name?”

Curiosity lighted his face. “Of course I have a name.”

“May I know it?”

“Why do you need to know it? You already have something to call me.”

Your insides tightened. “I know, but a servant would still like to know their master’s name even if they don’t use it. It’s a common courtesy.”

“Human ways are interesting little things.” he tapped his claws against the side of the spring. “Very well, if you want to know you have to give me some information in return.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Do you miss your village?”

Not what you were expecting. “Yes. Of course I do.”

“Anyone in particular that you are missing? Should I be worried about someone coming up here to try and slay me to bring you back?”

“The only person I can think of doing something like that would be my father but he is old so I do not expect him to scale a mountain and face a dragon just to save me.”

“No lovers back home that may try to play the hero knight to save the damsel in distress?”

“No. I had past courtships but nothing ever serious. I certainly had no affiliations when I left the village.” Besides, anyone that you had feelings for in the past were off fighting in the war now. “Now, I’ve answered a lot of questions from you and you have yet to answer one.”

“Yes. Well, you may call me Sylus.”

“Call you Sylus? Is that your name?” It sounded far too human to be the name of a dragon. Was he lying perhaps?

He shook his head, bored once more. “My full draconic name does not translate well to the human tongue. So if you must address me by name, you may call me Sylus.”

“Thank you, master Sylus.” It felt nice to have a name to put to his face instead of just referring to him as the dragon or master the entire time. He felt a little less intimidating with a name.

Then, as if to punish you for having a quiet moment of gratitude he decided to stand up. You quickly averted your gaze but not quick enough to avoid getting an eyeful of his dick as he stood out of the water.

He chuckled, stepping out of the spring. “Such an adorable reaction.” he stepped closer, wrapping the towel around his hips. The heat of his body and the coolness of the air caused steam to rise off of him. You weren’t sure if it was the steam or his breath that dampened the back of your neck though as he leaned in close. “How much of a maiden are you, exactly?”

“Not that much.” you balled your hands into fists, “I just don’t appreciate being flashed.”

“Fair, I suppose.” he straightened to his full height. “Now that you’ve found the springs feel free to use them as much as you wish.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, trying to not think about how close your legs were to giving out on you.

Sylus left and the moment he was gone you relaxed, leaning against the wall for support. You had really hoped you were getting used to him and then he went and did stuff like that! Did the man enjoy tormenting you? You closed your eyes, trying to center yourself and his dick popped back up in your memory.

“Fuck me!” you groaned. “Get out of my head! I am not dealing with this!”

It was moments like this where you wished that he had just been a normal dragon that ate you instead.

Although, that did bring up something that you had been wondering about. Everyone had bid you farewell as you left the village and probably assumed you had died. You had no way to let them know that you were alive or that the dragon had agreed to protect them. What if they sent another woman up the mountain.

“Shit!”

You ran back into the mountain, determined to find Sylus. You needed to find a way to send a message to the village and do it fast. You were sprinting through the tunnels and eventually found him in your room.

“What are you doing in here?” you asked, out of breath.

“Getting some pants.” he said, tightening the drawstring that closed over the top of his tail.

“Why do keep pants in my room?”

“I need to keep them somewhere. Now why are you running about?”

“Right. I’m worried about the village.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “I promised I would defend them and defend them I shall. The bandits you are worried about are still far off so it will be some time before they are upon your village and you will actually need any defending. Why the concern?”

“I’m worried that because I haven’t been able to send word to the village that you accepted our deal that they may try to send another maiden.”

“Another?” his eye lighted, “That could be interesting.”

“No! You already agreed. You do not need more women!” you protested, forgetting for a moment that you were addressing a dragon.

“No? Are you worried about your position?” he stalked closer, pinning you against the wall with his presence alone. “Worried your master will not have use for you if another woman wandered these tunnels?” He tapped a claw under your chin, forcing your head up so you were staring straight into his eyes. The tip of claw stayed pointed on your chin, not breaking the skin but could be if a little more pressure was exerted.

The air around you was sweltering, you couldn’t suck in more than a wisp of a breath. The corner of his mouth cocked up in that damn half smile that you had become so familiar with over the last couple of days. “There’s nothing for you to fret over, my little wildfire. There’s far too little work to actually be done around here to justify having two servants. It would just make you both idle and then I may as well be letting you live here for nothing.”

“So you don’t want to accumulate a harem of beautiful young women to with as you please?” You were somewhat serious with the question.

He scoffed, “One of you humans is trouble enough. I don’t need more getting lost in the tunnels every other day.”

You wanted to argue that you didn’t get lost that often but you both knew it was a lie. “Rest assured, if someone comes they will be sent away. Does that please you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” When he stepped away his claw dragged lightly against the underside of your chin leaving a thin line of red that welled and dripped with blood and goosebumps that shivered down your arms.

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads mc #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #dragon sylus #lads dragon au

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christopherisfoive · 1 month ago

Note

could u maybe do a seungmin or minho with prompt(s) 10,14,15? thank u i love ur work <3

☕ Order’s up, angel! Your Seungmin enemies-to-lovers tension just got topped with a dash of soft candlelight and a near-kiss that almost changes everything. Hope it hits just right. ₊˚ෆ

Snow Lines

Pairing: Kim Seungmin × Reader Setting: College Friends • Spring‑Break Cabin l Prompts: 10 “Were you just about to kiss me?” • 14 Enemies‑to‑Lovers tension • 15 Sharing a bed for the first time

The old van sputtered and rattled its way up the narrow mountain road, each bump jolting you awake from your half-sleep. Through the fogged windows, the surrounding pines stood like silent sentries under the weight of fresh snow. The distant lights of the cabin gradually appeared, blinking softly between branches.

"Almost there," Chan announced from the driver's seat, his voice laced with exhaustion but still warm enough to feel comforting. Behind you, Felix mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, head lolling against Hyunjin's shoulder, while Jisung recorded the moment, whispering dramatically into his phone camera.

Nine friends crammed into one cabin for spring break—what could possibly go wrong?

The van finally came to a halt with a final exhausted wheeze. Doors swung open, unleashing a flurry of boots hitting gravel and laughter mingling with the sharp mountain air. Felix's camera swiveled around, capturing everything from Changbin’s exaggerated stretch to Jeongin slipping on the icy patch, his startled laugh echoing into the night.

“Careful, I.N!” Chan called, chuckling as he pulled bags from the trunk. “We’d like to keep everyone alive this week.”

Inside, the cabin air was tinged with the scent of pine, dust, and years of vacationers before you. It felt cozy in a worn-in sort of way, wooden walls adorned with outdated ski lodge posters, rugs faded by footsteps. Hyunjin, already comfortable in his role as unofficial trip leader, waved a laminated floor plan triumphantly over his head.

“Gather round, peasants,” he announced dramatically, spreading the map across the battered coffee table. “Bunks go to pairs. And the lucky winners get the queen bed in the loft.” He reached into his beanie, revealing folded slips of paper. “Fate decides tonight.”

You watched the draw unfold with mild amusement, too tired from the trip to mind much either way. Felix cheered when paired with Jisung; Hyunjin high-fived Changbin as if they'd won a grand prize. Jeongin, Minho, and Chan took the triple bunk room in resigned acceptance.

Only two slips remained. Hyunjin grinned as he pulled them free, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And for the queen suite—Y/N and… Kim Seungmin.”

A collective "oooh" filled the room, Jisung’s camera swiveling rapidly between you and Seungmin as if hoping to catch a dramatic reaction.

You glanced at Seungmin, who stood with an unreadable expression, eyebrows raised just slightly in quiet resignation.

“Try not to kill each other,” Chan said with a tired smile, earning scattered laughter.

Seungmin only sighed lightly, picking up his neatly packed suitcase and heading for the stairs without another word. You grabbed your duffel and followed slowly, already mentally preparing yourself for the days ahead.

Upstairs, the loft held a simple warmth, slanted ceiling lined with exposed beams, the bed large enough to dominate the small space. Seungmin placed his suitcase precisely at the foot of the mattress, claiming territory without hesitation.

You dropped your bag next to the window, making sure to stake your own claim. Silence lingered, awkward enough to make the space feel smaller.

“You don't snore, right?” Seungmin broke the quiet, voice dry yet edged with just enough sarcasm to remind you of your usual dynamic.

“You don't alphabetize your dreams, right?” you shot back lightly.

His lips twitched slightly, neither fully a smile nor a frown, but it eased the tension slightly. Outside, snowflakes began tapping softly against the window, creating a gentle rhythm.

"Come on," he finally said, tilting his head toward the stairs. "If we don’t hurry, Felix will eat all the good snacks."

You hid your surprise at his easy peace offering, simply nodding as you both headed back downstairs—uncertain allies, at least for now.

By the time you and Seungmin stepped outside, the bonfire was crackling to life. The firepit, ringed by snow-dusted logs, bathed your friends’ faces in flickering amber. Sparks spiraled gently into the velvet darkness above, vanishing into the cold night air.

"About time," Changbin called out, eyes playful as he threw another log onto the fire. "We thought you'd already started arguing about room decor."

"Don’t worry," Seungmin answered smoothly, tugging his beanie lower over his ears. "We've saved plenty of arguments for your entertainment."

You rolled your eyes, though your lips curved upward slightly. Seungmin caught your expression, the corners of his mouth lifting briefly before he turned away, adjusting the cuff of his jacket.

Felix, ever the unofficial videographer, waved his camera excitedly, catching the moment. "Did you two just smile at each other?" he asked, pretending disbelief. "The plot thickens."

"You’re hallucinating, Lix," you called back, voice dry as you took a seat on a log opposite Seungmin, the fire between you feeling both literal and symbolic.

Chan distributed steaming mugs of hot cocoa, the warmth radiating comfortingly through your gloves. You wrapped your hands around the cup gratefully, inhaling the rich scent. Across from you, Seungmin carefully stirred his cocoa, movements precise even in casual comfort.

"Alright, gather round," Changbin announced dramatically, leaning forward with a mischievous grin, flames casting dancing shadows across his face. "Who’s ready for ghost stories?"

Jisung raised his phone instantly, eyes sparkling in anticipation. "Wait, wait, wait—let me get the right angle."

"Are we sure that’s wise?" Jeongin asked, eyes wide and playful. "Last time Bin told ghost stories, Felix didn't sleep for three nights."

Felix looked affronted but nodded in solemn agreement. "It’s true. My sleep schedule has never recovered."

Hyunjin tossed a marshmallow toward Changbin, narrowly missing the firepit. "I’ll risk Felix’s sleep for the sake of tradition."

As Changbin launched into a tale, voice theatrically deepened, your gaze drifted across the fire, landing on Seungmin. He sat quietly, half-listening, half-watching the flames. Shadows danced across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the gentle sweep of his eyelashes. When his eyes flickered up, meeting yours unexpectedly, your stomach tightened in surprise.

Caught off guard, you quickly looked away, heat rising in your cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire.

Hyunjin interrupted the ghost story abruptly with an exaggerated scream, sending Felix into startled laughter and Jisung toppling backward off his log. "That’s it, no more stories for Hyunjin," Chan declared firmly, though his voice was warm with amusement.

"You’re banned," Jeongin agreed, mock-serious as he helped Jisung up from the snow.

Seungmin's low chuckle drifted across the fire, quietly amused. The sound was unexpectedly gentle, a stark contrast to his usual dry remarks. You glanced at him again, curiosity piqued.

"You didn’t find that scary?" you asked, hoping your voice sounded teasing rather than genuinely curious.

His eyes flicked to you, a small, knowing smile appearing. "Ghost stories? Not really. Hyunjin’s scream? Terrifying."

You laughed softly, the moment of unexpected camaraderie surprising you both. "Agreed. Gonna have nightmares tonight."

"Good luck with that," he replied lightly, stirring the cocoa again, gaze dropping to the swirling liquid. "I’m not rescuing you from nightmares."

You raised an eyebrow playfully. "Who said I'd need rescuing?"

He glanced up again, eyes glinting softly in the firelight. "Just a guess."

Changbin interrupted, waving his hands dramatically. "If you're done whispering sweet threats at each other, maybe you'd like to join our marshmallow roast?"

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks as your friends laughed good-naturedly. Seungmin, for once, looked equally caught off guard, hiding his face partially behind his mug.

"You heard him," you said, forcing casualness into your voice and standing quickly. "Time to burn marshmallows."

You grabbed a marshmallow from the bag Felix offered and poked it onto a stick with determination, refusing to glance back at Seungmin, though you felt the warmth of his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary.

As the snowflakes thickened, floating gently through the firelit air, Chan finally stood, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Alright, team, time to head in before we freeze."

A chorus of playful complaints rose immediately, but Chan, ever practical, simply shook his head with a smile. "Tomorrow’s snow-day chaos will be more fun if we actually survive the night."

Slowly, everyone rose, stamping cold feet and dusting snow off jackets. Seungmin stood across from you, eyes briefly meeting yours again over the dying embers. He hesitated a moment, as if considering something, then gave you the slightest nod, quiet acknowledgment passing silently between you.

You nodded back subtly, not fully sure what had changed, only knowing that it had—just a little, just enough.

Together, the group trudged toward the warm glow of the cabin windows, laughter and teasing trailing behind you like footprints in the fresh snow.

By the time you climbed the stairs to the loft, the cozy warmth from downstairs had already faded, leaving behind only the chill of the mountain night. Through the thin walls, you could still hear the faint sounds of laughter as the others settled into their rooms, a comforting murmur that only underscored the awkward quiet now stretching between you and Seungmin.

He moved around the room methodically, setting his phone carefully on the bedside table, stacking books with precise corners aligned, pulling a charger from his bag with practiced efficiency. His calm organization seemed almost exaggerated in contrast to your own quiet hesitation, and you found yourself watching him, half-irritated, half-curious.

“Are you always this meticulous?” you asked finally, breaking the silence as you unpacked your pajamas, trying to keep your voice casual.

He glanced up, eyebrows raised slightly. “Does it bother you?”

You paused, considering his question for a beat longer than you intended. “It’s…intense.”

He smiled faintly, clearly amused. “I prefer ‘efficient.’”

“Of course you do.” Your reply slipped out dry and automatic, prompting another quick twitch of his lips.

Turning your back, you changed quickly, trying to ignore the prickling awareness of Seungmin moving quietly behind you, the rustle of fabric as he slipped into sweats and a faded university hoodie. When you turned around again, he was already climbing under the quilt, sitting up against the headboard with a book in hand. The image felt strangely intimate, far more so than you’d prepared yourself for.

Swallowing awkwardness, you slid into your own side of the bed, carefully pulling the blankets around you, leaving a deliberate space in the center as if to mark an invisible boundary. Seungmin noticed but said nothing, simply flipping a page, seemingly absorbed in whatever he was reading.

Silence stretched again, softened only by the gentle sound of snowflakes tapping rhythmically on the skylight above your heads. You found yourself hyper-aware of every sound—his slow breathing, the faint rustling of pages, your own pulse thudding in your ears. It felt oddly tense and yet strangely peaceful at the same time.

Finally, he placed his book on the nightstand, clicking off the small lamp and plunging the room into quiet darkness. You lay still, staring upward into shadow, your thoughts spinning quietly. Sleep felt miles away, your mind refusing to settle, body stubbornly shivering despite the layers of blankets.

Several minutes passed—maybe more—when you heard Seungmin exhale softly, clearly not asleep either. His voice drifted quietly from the darkness, low and tinged with reluctant amusement.

“You realize you’re shaking the whole bed, right?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, embarrassment heating your cheeks even in the dark. “It’s colder than I thought.”

A moment passed, then you felt the blankets shift as he moved beside you. Before you could ask, the gentle weight of another layer settled over your shoulders—his fleece blanket, still warm from his side of the bed. You froze for a moment, surprised at the small act of kindness.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said quietly, as if reading your hesitation. “If you freeze to death, I'll have to explain it to everyone.”

You relaxed slightly, grateful for the way humor eased some of the awkwardness. “How thoughtful.”

He hummed softly in reply—a gentle, amused sound that vibrated through the silence, relaxing your tense shoulders a little further.

Quiet settled back around you again, this time softer, easier. Your shivering slowly eased, replaced by the comforting warmth of shared blankets and quiet breaths syncing unconsciously in the dark.

Just before sleep began pulling at your consciousness, his voice came again, barely above a whisper. “Better?”

“Much,” you murmured quietly. “Thank you.”

There was a pause, and you felt him shift slightly closer, not enough to bridge the gap between you, just enough that you felt his presence more clearly beside you.

“Sleep well,” he finally whispered, voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

You smiled slightly in the dark, letting yourself relax fully for the first time all evening. “You too, Seungmin.”

As you drifted off, warmth cocooning you comfortably now, you wondered briefly at how something as simple as a borrowed blanket had shifted the boundaries you thought you'd clearly drawn—softening a rivalry into something much harder to define.

The cabin woke late the next morning, lulled by thick snowfall and the promise of no real schedule. Sunlight filtered through the frost-glazed windows, bouncing off snowbanks stacked like walls around the house.

You lingered in the loft a little longer than usual, reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth and blankets. Seungmin had already slipped out, quiet as always, and by the time you joined the others in the kitchen, Felix was declaring war.

“I’m serious,” he said, tossing a pair of gloves at Jisung. “Full-blown snowball fight. Team rules, field boundaries, the works.”

“Didn’t you almost cry last year when Hyunjin hit you in the face?” Jeongin teased, dodging a sock Felix hurled in retaliation.

“I’ll wear goggles,” Felix declared.

“It’s happening,” Chan said around a mouthful of toast, barely hiding his grin. “No backing out.”

The teams formed quickly, almost instinctively—Chan, Jisung, and you on one side; Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Changbin on the other. Felix declared himself the ‘official cameraman,’ strapping on his GoPro like a war correspondent and giving a serious nod.

Outside, the snow was soft but deep, perfect for ammo. The teams split to opposite sides of the yard, forming makeshift forts behind sleds, overturned bins, and chunks of fallen branches. Breath fogged in the air. The only rule: no mercy.

You launched the first snowball—direct hit to Changbin’s back.

He yelped. “Oh it’s on!”

Chaos erupted.

Seungmin was strategic—calculating angles, leading attacks, covering Hyunjin’s blind side with frustrating precision. He dodged with ease, barely mussing his hair, which irritated you far more than it should have.

“Can you at least pretend you’re having fun?” you yelled, packing another snowball as fast as you could.

“I am having fun,” he replied calmly. “Watching you miss.”

Your next throw veered wide, and you hissed under your breath.

“Rough morning?” he teased.

You gave him a look that promised revenge.

Jisung was hit mid-dash and collapsed in the snow for dramatic effect, yelling, “Tell my story!” as Chan pulled him to safety. Hyunjin slipped, face-planted, and popped up with a snow-beard that sent everyone into laughter. Somewhere in the chaos, Jeongin switched teams, claiming it was for “balance” but mostly for fun.

You spotted Seungmin crouched near the porch and sprinted for cover—only to misjudge your step on a slick patch of ice. Your foot flew out from under you, and you landed hard on one knee. Pain spiked immediately, sharp and burning.

“Shit—”

The laughter stopped.

Seungmin was at your side before you could even brush the snow off. He didn’t say anything at first, just crouched, eyes scanning your face and the awkward angle of your knee.

“Stop moving,” he said, voice clipped but low.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, even as your hands trembled slightly in the cold.

“You’re not,” he said, slipping a gloved hand beneath your arm to steady you. “Can you stand?”

You nodded, but the second you shifted weight onto your leg, pain shot up your thigh. You hissed, and without another word, Seungmin pulled your arm over his shoulders and lifted you partially off the ground, supporting your weight as if you didn’t weigh a thing.

Felix abandoned his post to open the cabin door while the rest trailed in behind you. Inside, warmth hit you like a wave, along with the low murmur of concern.

Chan brought ice. Felix fetched painkillers. Hyunjin patted your head like a scolded puppy.

“Nothing’s broken,” Chan said after checking you over. “Just a nasty bruise.”

You offered a stiff nod, pulling the blanket Felix draped around your shoulders tighter.

Everyone laughed when Hyunjin replayed the GoPro footage of your fall in slow motion—except Seungmin, who leaned against the far wall, arms crossed.

“She’d have dodged if she trained more than her sarcasm,” he muttered when Changbin jokingly called him a hero for rushing in.

The room laughed. You didn’t.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t meet Seungmin’s eyes. Instead, you offered Felix a strained smile as he handed you a hot drink, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere else.

He hadn’t meant it cruelly—not exactly. But it hit in a way nothing he’d said before had. Maybe because he was supposed to be the one who noticed when he went too far.

You sipped the cocoa, staring at the steam curling above it. The laughter around you resumed, but it no longer felt as warm.

Dinner prep fell to you and Seungmin. Of course it did.

Chan claimed he was on firewood duty. Jisung and Felix volunteered for playlist curation, which somehow turned into a hallway dance-off. The rest conveniently vanished to “tidy up” or “take inventory,” which you knew just meant avoiding the awkward silence brewing between you and the guy currently chopping garlic like it had personally offended him.

You stood at the stove, wooden spoon stirring pasta that had long since finished cooking. The steam fogged the tiny kitchen window, leaving only your reflection staring back—tight mouth, unreadable eyes.

“You’re still mad,” Seungmin said without looking up.

“I'm not mad,” you replied too quickly, too sharp. “I’m fine.”

He glanced at you then, long enough to see through it. “Right.”

You tightened your grip on the spoon. “Why would I be mad? You just embarrassed me in front of everyone and made a cheap jab while I was literally in pain. That’s nothing, right?”

The air shifted.

He set the knife down slowly, wiping his hands on a towel as he turned toward you. “It was a joke.”

You scoffed. “No, it wasn’t. You meant it. You always mean it. The sarcasm, the digs—they’re not always harmless, Seungmin.”

His jaw tensed. “I thought that’s how we worked.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, blinking quickly. “Maybe I’m tired of being the joke.”

That landed. You saw it in the way his mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

The pot bubbled over. You moved to shut off the heat, wiping at the mess with shaky hands.

He stepped forward, voice lower now. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.” You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t need to. The disappointment clung heavier than anger.

“I don’t know how to…” he trailed off, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. “Sometimes I say things because I don’t know what to say when it actually matters.”

You exhaled slowly, finally turning to face him fully.

“I’m not asking you to say the right thing. Just don’t say the thing that makes it worse.”

He nodded, quiet, gaze falling to the floor.

The door creaked open behind you.

“Dinner smelling good in here?” Felix called out cheerfully, poking his head in.

You stepped aside, gesturing toward the food. “Yeah. It’s done.”

The others filed in, laughter and music quickly filling the kitchen again. You and Seungmin didn’t speak for the rest of the meal. Not out of spite, but something quieter. Something still mending.

He passed you the salt once. You said thanks. He didn’t correct your pasta portion like he normally would. You didn’t tease him about his precision chopping.

Small things. But different.

After the dishes were cleared, you slipped back upstairs early, your bruised knee aching and your mind heavier than you cared to admit.

You expected the cold. The silence. The usual friction.

What you didn’t expect was a soft knock at the door an hour later.

The knock was gentle—barely there. But the cabin was quiet now, most of the others tucked away in their rooms, laughter from earlier faded into sleepy murmurs behind closed doors. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, hoodie wrapped tight around you, your knee propped up on a pillow, phone screen dimmed to black long ago.

The door creaked open just enough for Seungmin to peek in, candle in hand, his hoodie sleeves pulled down past his palms.

“The power’s out,” he said quietly. “Storm took it.”

You nodded once, voice caught somewhere in your chest.

He hesitated—then stepped inside.

“I brought this,” he added, holding the candle forward. The warm glow cast soft shadows across his face, making his usual sharp features look a little gentler. “Couldn’t find the lanterns.”

You reached out, fingers brushing his as you took it. He didn’t let go right away.

“You okay?” he asked finally, gaze dropping briefly to your knee.

“I’ll live,” you muttered, setting the candle down on the nightstand. “Not sure about the ego though.”

He gave a soft laugh, just enough to break the quiet tension.

“I was out of line,” he said, voice low. “I know I was.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched him as he stood awkwardly near the end of the bed, like he wasn’t sure if he should sit or leave.

“I didn’t mean to say something that would stick like that,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “But the truth is… I don’t always know how to talk to you.”

That surprised you.

“You always seem so sure,” you said slowly.

“I fake it,” he replied, smiling ruefully. “I thought poking at you was the only way I could… get to you.”

You blinked. “Get to me?”

He finally sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away slightly, hands braced on his knees. “Yeah. Like maybe if I kept pushing, you’d push back. You always do. And I’d know where I stood.”

You looked at him carefully. “And where do you want to stand?”

He turned to meet your gaze then, expression open for once—not defensive, not sarcastic. Just honest.

“Closer,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

Your heart thudded unevenly in your chest.

“You don’t make this easy,” you whispered.

“I never said I was easy,” he murmured, voice low. “But I meant what I said earlier—I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I don’t always know how to show when I care.”

The candle flickered beside you, painting golden light across the quilt. The air between you shifted again, quieter now—like the moments that come after storms, when the world feels new and tentative.

You reached for the blanket between you, tugging it slightly so he’d get the hint. He blinked once—surprised—but didn’t hesitate to shift under it with you.

You lay side by side in silence, the closeness unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His knee brushed yours, and this time, you didn’t move away.

“You’re warm,” you muttered sleepily, voice softer now.

He chuckled under his breath. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” you replied honestly. “You give off strong cold-shoulder energy.”

Seungmin smiled. “Maybe just for everyone else.”

The silence returned—not heavy, not awkward. Just quiet, and kind. And slowly, as the candle burned lower, your eyes began to fall closed.

Just as sleep tugged at you, you felt his fingers brush lightly against yours beneath the blanket. Barely touching. But there.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered, voice a warm hush against the cold night.

You didn’t answer. But your fingers curled softly against his. That was enough.

It was hard to say how long the two of you had been lying there, but the storm outside had calmed. Only a few stray gusts still rattled the windowpane, and the candle had burned itself down to a waxy stub on the nightstand.

You thought Seungmin had fallen asleep. His breathing had gone quiet, even. But then—

“You’re still awake,” he said, voice low, barely above the hush of the wind.

You turned your head slightly, your cheek grazing the pillow. “So are you.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Been thinking.”

You shifted slightly to face him, just enough to see his profile in the pale blue-gray light leaking in through the curtain. His brow was relaxed, but his lips were drawn tight—like he was holding something in.

“About what?”

A long pause.

“…That maybe I don’t want to go back to the way things were,” he said.

Your breath caught a little. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.

Seungmin kept his eyes on the ceiling, but his voice was steady now. “All we ever did was get on each other’s nerves. But the last couple days… I don’t know. You don’t feel that shift?”

You did. You had.

And it scared you a little.

“Maybe,” you said, your voice quieter now.

He finally turned to look at you fully. The space between you had narrowed over the past hour without you realizing. Now, your faces were inches apart, pillows cradling your heads at the same level, the blankets pulled up to your shoulders like a shared secret.

Your gaze flicked to his mouth for just a second—just a second—and you could feel the tension rise instantly.

Not uncomfortable. Just heavy with something new.

Seungmin’s voice dropped even lower. “You keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to do something about it.”

You felt your chest tighten. “Do you?”

His lips quirked—not in his usual sarcastic way. Just the faintest smile, touched with nervousness. “I might.”

His hand moved beneath the blanket, fingers brushing yours, pinkies hooking without full contact. You could feel your heart hammering, your skin humming.

And then he shifted forward, barely closing the distance. His forehead nearly touched yours, breath ghosting across your lips. You could feel everything—the pause, the hesitation, the hope. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

And that’s when you asked, barely above a whisper—

“Were you just about to kiss me?”

Seungmin’s voice came just as soft, just as close. “…Was kind of hoping you’d beat me to it.”

You opened your eyes, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then there were footsteps in the hallway. A floorboard creaked, someone’s voice muttering half-asleep.

Seungmin pulled back just enough to breathe. Not retreating, not hiding—just waiting. Respectful. Intent.

You smiled faintly, heart still pounding. “Maybe tomorrow.”

He nodded, voice warm and low. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You didn’t fall asleep right away—but you didn’t feel the cold anymore either.

#stray kids #author jules ღ #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids enemies to lovers #seungmin #jules skz requests 𝄢#seungmin stray kids #seungmin scenarios #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #seungmin oneshot #seungmin skz

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bearmansbabe · 2 years ago

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Ollie Bearman x Reader

Summary: You give Ollie a special reward for his victory in Monza...

Warnings: Smut, NSFW content

“Ollie Bearman wins in Monza!!” the commentator blares. An uncontrollable, wide grin spreads across your face as you watch your boyfriend cross the line. The Prema garage erupts around you with joy.

You join the rest of the Prema crew in the pitlane and watch as Ollie stops his car in front of the #1 marker stand. He leaps out, pumping his fists in the air, and rushes towards you. His strong arms wrap around you in a firm hug. The adrenaline pumping through his veins cause him to hold you a little too tight, but you love how well you fit in his arms.

He releases you and embraces the rest of his team before heading inside to fulfil FIA checks before the podium. You wait impatiently to see him celebrate on the podium. After 15 minutes, they do the podium. He comes out, a huge grin across his face. He raises his trophy above his head and sprays the champagne over the other drivers on the podium. Then he blows a kiss down to you – instantly, you know fans on TikTok will be clipping that up, wishing he was doing that to them. You knew how unbelievably desirable your boyfriend was but had no intention of sharing him with anyone.

After the podium, you let him go and celebrate with the team and return to the motorhome to wait for him…

Ollie opens the door 30 minutes later. “Hey baby,” you say as he enters.

His soft brown eyes look at you. His messy, brown hair perfectly frame his gorgeous face. His usually curly hair

“Hey,” he replies, placing his trophy and champagne on the table and then walking towards you.

“How’s my winner feeling?” You ask.

“I’m exhausted,” he replies, his eyes closing as he hugs you gently.

“Well, you can relax now, baby. Let me take care of you,” you say. You capture his mouth in a soft kiss, beginning to undo his Prema overalls. You suck his neck, his heavy breath in your ear. You slowly peel his Prema overalls off his body and let them hang from his waist. You drop to the floor and remove his boots. You’re on your knees as you pull his overalls off, exposing his boxers and the noticeable bulge in them. You take off his socks and return back to your feet.

You start kissing him again. It’s more passionate and desperate now. Your lips crash together harder. You grip the hem of his shirt and pull it up. He gets the memo and raises his arms so you can pull his tight white undershirt over his head. “I love your body so much!” you exclaim as you expose his chiselled abs and toned arms. His mouth forms a wide grin as you take in the magnificent body in front of you.

His body is coated in a layer of sweat and champagne. It glistens in the light on his wonderfully toned body. You begin a tour of his perfectly sculpted physique. You begin at his tight pecs and gently play with his adorable pink nipples. You stroke your hand down his chest and over his sensational abs. Your eyes wander to the thick bulge in Ollie’s boxers, a malevolent smile creeping across your face.

You take a nipple in your mouth, tweaking the other with your hand. Again, he exhales deeply at your touch. Your cold hand against his warm body like a shock of electricity. You lay a trail of kisses down his body, over his impressive chest and defined abs, slowly dropping to your knees. The saltiness from the sweat and the velvety notes of Champagne mix to form a delicious concoction on your tongue. You kneel before him, face-to-face with his suggestive tent. You gently scrape your nails against his skin and under his waistband. You slide his black boxers off to unveil his thick, 7-inch cock which springs up, almost hitting you in the face.

It's the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. His pulsating purple head, already glistening with precum, makes you salivate instantly. His long and thick shaft is made even more beautiful by the bulging veins across its surface. A trimmed bush of hair frames his impressive cock and his balls, full of his delicious cum, look enticing.

You wrap your strong hand around his length. A soft moan escapes his lips as you run your fingers over his member. You begin rolling your fist along his shaft, his foreskin gliding back and forth to expose his head which beckons you to swallow it. His moans become louder as you stroke him faster.

“Are you liking it?” You ask him, looking up at his magnificent body.

“Mmmm…” he agrees, nodding his head, “I love the feeling of your hand round my cock.”

“Well if you’re enjoy this, you will love what’s coming next,” you reply. You stop pumping his impressive cock and move your mouth towards his meat. You see him shiver as he feels your breath against his cock. Then you slowly circle your tongue around his head. You hear Ollie exhale deeply and his cock throb at the touch of your tongue.

Next, you swallow the head of his cock in your mouth, and he lets out the most delightful moan.

“Fuckkkkkk,” he moans. This is all the encouragement you need to progress the blowjob. You slide your lips down his shaft and begin bobbing on his shaft. You start slowly and gradually increase the pace. Ollie’s moans become more desperate, high-pitched, and loud.

“You’re wearing way too many clothes,” Ollie stated through bated breath.

You pop off his cock and flash a flirtatious smile at him. “We ought to do something about that then,” you reply, returning to your feet. Now at face level, you hold strong eye contact until he places his large, soft hand on your cheek and pulls you into a passionate kiss. His pulls back for a moment and pulls your shirt up. You raise your arms, and he lifts your shirt over your head. He ogles at your body like you had done earlier before resuming the kiss. His hands start roaming your body, desperate to touch every inch of your body.

You break away from the kiss and say, “I want to get back to sucking your fat cock.”

“Strip for me first, please, babe,” Ollie says, pouting.

You pull off your socks and then slide your trousers off. You stand there in just your underwear and watch as he stares at your body, gently stroking his cock. You remove your underwear and drop to your knees again. You start by sucking his balls. They feel so full in your mouth. You lick a stripe up his cock and then envelop his cock with your mouth again.

Your eyes travel up Ollie's body to the Briton's soft face. The F2 driver's cheeks shone a shade of crimson. Your tongue forces Ollie's eyes to roll to the back of their sockets. You begin to bob quickly, sucking hard on 18-year-olds’s thick cock. The Prema driver places his hand on the back of your head as you pleasure him. Your hands hold his smooth muscular thighs legs. Devouring the length of Ollie's shaft, you suck the delicious cock. He grabs a handful of your hair and presses your face down so far that your nose presses against his pale crotch. You send waves of pure pleasure through the F2 driver's body.

“I’m close, babe,” Ollie moans. This makes you increase the pace. You take his entire length in your mouth. It tastes amazing and is covered in your saliva. You suck harder and faster until he explodes in your throat.

“Ohhhh, yessss,” He moans, followed by a string of expletives, as he finishes in your mouth. You swallow his delightful load. The salty taste lingering on your tongue.

“That was heavenly,” Ollie comments and he recovers his breathing from your intense moment.

“Now it’s your turn,” you say, returning to your feet.

“Okay, let’s take this to the bedroom,” he says. His strong arms pick your naked body up like a trophy and he carries you to his bedroom to have his way with you…

#ollie bearman smut #ollie bearman #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #ollie bearman x reader #formula 1 smut #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #smut #imagines #formula 2

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nonsensical-pixels · 1 year ago

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part 1 of some requests from ghoularcade at the wishing tree... and some extras!! i realise it's only april, but have @nolan-sims' warlock wears, madame mystique, and borrower's outfit, taken from various simblreen treats of theirs, converted from ts4 to ts2! 3 spring treats just for you 🤍

they're all largely medium-poly and for at least 2 ages, with all appropriate morphs. not all of them turned out exactly as i was hoping for them to, but i'm so relieved that they're done. stay tuned for more... soon, i hope? there's more stuff and details under the cut!

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF 🌼

credits go of course to @nolan-sims for the original ts4 outfits and their meshes & textures; to @madlensims and ea/maxis for the original shoes used in the outfits; and last but not least to @paluding, without whose tattooer the madame mystique dress would not have been possible! 🥰

CLOSE-UPS + DETAILS

4T2 NOLANSIMS WARLOCK WEARS OUTFIT [SFS | MF] - for tm-am, but elder enabled - 5820 polys, all morphs - 15 swatches with tm repo'd to am - categorised as everyday/formal/outerwear - paired with 4t2 bg oxford fringe, converted by me

4T2 NOLANSIMS MADAME MYSTIQUE OUTFIT [SFS | MF] - for tf-af only - 8234 polys, all morphs - 15 swatches with tf repo'd to af - categorised as everyday/formalwear - paired with 4t2 @madlensims sonata heels, converted by me *note: the original had shoulder straps, but these were wonky and i couldn't bone-assign them properly... so i yeeted them. think of it as a stylistic choice? if you know a way to convert the outfit with the straps, PLEASE DO, i'm so sad that i couldn't include them! @paluding has added the straps back to the outfit!! MAJOR thanks to them, grab the updated meshes here!!

4T2 NOLANSIMS BORROWER'S OUTFIT [SFS | MF] - for tm-am, but elder enabled - 5041 polys, all morphs - 15 swatches with tm repo'd to am - categorised as everyday/outerwear - paired with 4t2 gp04 button boots, converted by me

if there are any issues that you find with this set, please don't be afraid to let me know! happy simming, and when you download this, do keep in mind,

Love, ~ Ky 💗

#sims 2 download #the sims 2 cc #ts2cc #s2cc #sims 2 cc #the sims 2 #sims 2 #4t2 #4t2 cas #suggestions #sims 2 suggestions

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seat-safety-switch · 5 months ago

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Let's be honest, folks: you've gone through like half a dozen socks in the last couple of months, haven't you? Yeah. Socks nowadays suck, and we've all got our reasons why. Blah blah globalization wah wah market won't reward quality woo woo creeping degradation of the moral universe. That's whining, and when I whined as a kid my mom locked me in the basement until I built an intricate machine to fix whatever I was whining about. Sometimes, if my uncle was already locked down there, she'd make me do it in the shed instead. Let's go to that shed right now and make a machine to make socks.

Winter is the hardest season for sock survival. For one thing, it's real dry. You get that rough skin, that static electricity, bristly boot soles all the time, and they fall apart on your feet. Big holes. I'm sure Big Sock gets a huge rise in their stocking price – get it? – around this time every year, as everyone needs new socks for Christmas or other seasonal/denominational shopping holidays. Fuck 'em, is what I say. We're going to fix their little red wagon.

Now, you might be unsurprised to hear that humanity already has a machine to make socks. We just don't put good materials in it. Unfortunately, I was never trained to make a machine that makes "good sock materials," whatever those are, so we're going to cut a corner here and slap a Chevy small-block V8 on an AliExpress "Full Automatic High Capacity Socks Machine Sock Knitting Machine for Sport," which I paid $39.95 for and got a 15% off coupon in exchange for giving it a five star review, no matter how many children it maims. Critically: it has free returns, so I can get that forty bucks back when we've made a year's supply of foot coverings.

The most important part of this job is building a good coupling. The massive amount of torque from the vee aight needs to be transferred into the sock-making machine, ideally without breaking it. Otherwise you're going to just spend more money on clutches, dowels, wrist pins and spring baskets than you would have on more socks. It helps if you've gone through an entire undergraduate materials-engineering degree, but for those of us who have gotten a restraining order from their local university, well, we have to do what works. Which is a truck clutch, tactically welded onto this sucker, using the display unit welder that they have at Princess Auto while the employees weren't looking.

Now, let's rev this piece of shit up and make us some socks.

Okay, things have not gone well. I admit that "roaring fire" is a big downside. Turns out that these things really need some yarn loaded into them first. If you just fire it dry, what it actually does is try to turn its own asshole inside out. The good news is that I can probably wear this prolapsed chunk of smouldering wiring harness as a sock. Seems pretty warm, I'm going to count this as a win.

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 years ago

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Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Five

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Smut. Angst. Word count: ~3.5k

Chapter summary: Aemond dwells upon the past while trying to live without her.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

The flat door clicks closed behind Aemond and he lingers in the corridor for a moment. This was for the best, he was sparing her, so why does his heart feel so heavy? Every step towards his car feels as though he’s walking through quicksand.

He loads Vhagar into the boot, throwing his overnight bag onto the backseat and sits wearily behind the wheel, gripping it with enough force to turn his knuckles white. He screws his eye shut, attempting to will away the prickling sensation around the rim, alongside the lump in his throat.

I’ve done the right thing. I’ve done the right thing.

**15 YEARS PRIOR**

Aemond looks up at her from where he’s seated on the edge of the hotel bed, brows arched in pain and disbelief, as tears slip down his cheeks. “So that’s just it, you’re ending things?”

Alys purses her crimson stained lips, perfectly manicured nails of the same shade brush against his cheek as she stands over him. “Oh sweetheart,” she coos, “You had to know that our little arrangement wasn’t forever.”

His heart twinges at this, what could she possibly mean? They are made for each other, two halves of the same whole. He stares at her, confused. “But I love you…”

She laughs, green eyes crinkling with mirth and the sight and sound is a dagger to his chest.

“You don’t love me,” she says, her tone condescending, “You’re barely twenty, you don’t know what love is. You just like the idea of an older woman.”

He shakes his head, feeling himself become angry at her cold dismissal of his feelings. “Then why? Why bother with me?”

Alys sighs. “Look, we both got something we wanted out of this arrangement. You got to have a little fun, and I made sure I got the Harrenhal contract.”

Bile rises in Aemond’s throat, his eye narrowing hatefully as he stares at her, acrid warmth spreading throughout his chest.

She’d used him.

**PRESENT DAY**

Aemond’s own flat feels too big, too empty, too quiet, when he returns to it. The pitter patter of Vhagar’s claws against the hardwood floor as she potters towards her bed is the only audible sound.

He’s never stopped to consider his own living space much before, preferring functionality over comfort. He is out most of the time anyway, so what does it matter as long as things do what he needs them to do?

It’s only as he leans against the spotless granite of the kitchen counter that he is struck by how lifeless and sterile it is here. He’s grown used to the warmth and cosiness of being at her place; the smell of jasmine that wafts delicately in the air from the incense sticks that her and Mysaria always seem to be burning, being pressed against her on the tiny sofa, her feet in his lap as trashy TV plays just a little too loudly, the tiny space is filled with laughter, comfort and love. Dropped back into his own space he feels as though he’s been set adrift, empty and hollow, yet he has no one to blame but himself.

The bed is too big, he has too much room, he misses the feel of springs digging into his back as he curls himself around her on her tiny mattress. This bed doesn’t feel like home, not anymore, not since he’d laid her down upon it all those nights ago, put her legs over his shoulders and…fucked it all up by leaving without saying anything the next day, just like he fucks up everything. She’d given him a second chance and he’d squandered it.

No, he did what he needed to.

I’ve done the right thing. I’ve done the right thing.

He groans, scrubbing a hand over his face and throws the covers off, walking to the bathroom. Rifling through the medicine cabinet in search of painkillers to dull the throbbing ache in his left eye socket, his fingers close around something cool and metallic.

He plucks it out, studying it carefully. It’s a bracelet of hers, probably left there accidentally from one of the few times she’s stayed over. He turns the silver bangle over in his fingers, remembering the first time he’d seen her wear it. He’d thought to himself it looked cheap, but now as he holds it it feels like the most precious treasure in the world. It’s all he has left of her.

How had he allowed things to go this far? It was only ever supposed to be transactional but he’d allowed it to evolve, letting her occupy a space in his heart and mind that left them both vulnerable. He ended things, not wanting to cause her unnecessary pain and yet in doing so has devastated them both.

Aemond doesn’t do love or relationships. Not even his own family can stand him, so how can he expect another person to feel that way about him, or open himself up to the possibility of having those feelings for someone else? It’s a path he’s trodden before and it doesn’t end well.

**5 YEARS PRIOR**

Aemond leans in to kiss Floris, she turns her head and he catches her cheek instead.

“I’ve just put on lipgloss, Aem,” she says, her voice saccharine, “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

“Mm. Was just about to leave, love,” He tells her, grabbing his keys.

“Forgetting something?” She says with a slight pout and tilt of her head.

“Ah, of course,” he fishes his credit card out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and hands it over to her, smirking as the diamond of her engagement ring glitters with the movement of her fingers, “I’ll see you later. I love you.”

“You too!” She calls over her shoulder, already walking back towards the bedroom.

It’s not until Aemond is almost at his car that he realises he’s left his phone in the flat and heads back upstairs to retrieve it. As he opens the front door he can hear Floris on the phone, only able to pick up on her side of the conversation, he pauses to listen in.

“...I can only put him off for so long. I have to do it occasionally, otherwise he’d get suspicious. It’s that horrible prosthetic eye, it gives me the creeps–”

“...only a few months until the wedding, then I can get a quickie divorce and take half of everything–”

“...no, he hasn’t made me sign a pre-nup, he’s too obsessed with me for that–”

Aemond’s breath catches in his throat as a dull ache spreads its way through his chest. He slams the front door hard enough to alert Floris that he’s home and strides towards the bedroom.

**PRESENT DAY**

The next few weeks are a miserable dirge for Aemond. He buries himself in paperwork at work, in an attempt to push away thoughts of her, yet finds his mind wandering to how she might be spending the working day, whether she’s finally managed to get the museum to commission the exhibit she’s been pushing for or not. He considers dropping by the museum, just to see if he can watch her from a distance, but decides against it. It was his decision to end things, it was for the best, the least he owed her was to stay away.

Aemond sits on his couch in the evenings, the cold, hard leather unwelcoming against his back, the space too expansive as he attempts to watch the same trashy TV on his widescreen that he’d watched with her on her TV. He finds he couldn’t give less of a shit about which couples are voted off of Love Island or who scored the lowest on Come Dine With Me, for him the experience was about being snuggled up next to her on the sofa, feeling her warmth, hearing her laugh. Now she’s gone, and none of the things that accompanied that seem to matter.

Family functions are unbearable without her. He misses the way she’d smile up at him when he placed his hand at the small of her back, misses how effortlessly she converses with his family, even the members he struggles to get along with.

Without her to keep him grounded, he bickers with Aegon, is aloof with his mother and Helaena and actively goes out of his way to antagonise his nephews. He hasn’t just reverted back to old habits, he’s worse, and it’s obvious his family have begun to notice too. He elects just to stay away entirely when invitations are extended.

That is until the night of Helaena’s birthday party. His only sister would never forgive him if he didn’t show up, so grudgingly he goes to the gathering his mother is having for her at her place.

He stands out on the decking, the same decking where he’d shared his first kiss with her, the memory plays on a loop in his head, he can still taste the red wine on her lips.

The cherry red tip of his cigarette as he takes a drag provides further illumination alongside the soft glow of the lights through the windows of the house, and the moon that shines bright in the night sky.

It’s quiet, save for the muffled bass of the music coming from inside. It gets louder as the French doors slide open for a moment, quieting once more as they slide closed.

Aemond rolls his eye, blowing out a tight line of smoke, his shoulders tensing. He wants to be left alone, he had hoped that escaping to the garden would have made that perfectly clear to everyone.

“It’s just me,” Helaena says softly, coming to stand beside him.

Aemond softens, glancing down at her, his gaze drawn to the bubbles that rise to the top of the glass in the gin and tonic that she’s taking delicate sips from.

“Happy birthday, Hel,” he says, facing forward again and taking another drag.

“It’d be happier if you’d actually come inside,” She nudges him gently with her elbow.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be,”

“What’s going on with you? You’re miserable lately.”

“I’ve always been miserable,” He throws his cigarette butt down onto the decking and crushes it under foot.

“You were less miserable when you had your girlfriend. I liked the guy that you were when you were with her,”

“She’s not my girlfriend, never was,” Aemond’s tone is clipped, he purses his lips as he feels irritation prickle at his skin.

“Why not?” Helaena taps the rings on her fingers gently against her glass.

“She deserves better than me. I’ve spared her the inevitable hurt I’d cause her,”

“Hm. You know, there’s only so many times you can use that excuse before it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy,”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve ended things because you don’t want to hurt her, but I bet doing that has hurt her, and you,”

Aemond scoffs, “I don’t do relationships, Hel,”

She huffs a quiet laugh, “No, I don’t do relationships because I’m aroace. You do do relationships, Aemond, you’ve just made crappy choices in the past and you’re allowing fear to dictate your future,”

He narrows his eye, glancing towards her again, “And how do you know so much?”

“I’m incredibly fussy about the insects I choose for pin-mounting, and those just go on my wall. I’m even more particular when it comes to people. I’ve seen how you two look at each other, don’t chuck this away,”

“Hel–”

“I mean it, Aemond. She’s your…your atlas moth! Pin mount her before somebody else does,”

“A truly horrifying metaphor, but thank you,”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles warmly, “You gonna come inside now?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to go. Do you mind?”

“Gonna go get your girl?” She asks with a grin.

“Perhaps,” he says with a bow of his head.

Helaena deposits her drink on the railing and claps her hands together excitedly. “Then of course I don’t mind, go!”

Aemond pulls out his phone as he gets into his car, seeing the Instagram notification pop up on his lockscreen.

mysaria_ww has started a live video

Allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, he clicks on the notification and startles slightly as pounding music blares from his phone’s speaker. The camera sweeps shakily over a couple of obnoxiously lurid drinks before it lands on her.

Aemond feels his breath catch in his throat, his heart seems to skip a beat at the sight of her and he holds his phone in trembling hands as he makes a note of the location sticker. A cocktail bar not far from here.

He locks his phone and is starting the car before he has time to properly think about it.

The bar is dimly lit, the music not to Aemond’s taste and far louder than he’s comfortable with. It’s the type of place that has seemingly endless happy hours and serves drinks that are mostly ice. He bristiles uncomfortably as he descends the steps, but refuses to be deterred. He needs to speak to her.

He freezes when he sees her. Her elbow is propped against the edge of the table, her chin resting on her hand, an easy smile graces her lips as she listens intently to whatever Mysaria is whispering to her.

They’ve been apart for so long that he’s forgotten just how beautiful she really is. It’s like the first night he met her all over again, when he’d gotten out of the car to greet her and she’d stolen his breath away. He hadn’t let her kiss him that night, afraid she’d just be doing it for the money. He won’t make that mistake again tonight.

He walks slowly over to her table and the way her face falls when she notices him makes it feel as though his stomach is in free fall. She looks so shocked and unhappy, she’s never not been pleased to see him. He hates this.

“Can we talk?” He raises his voice to be heard above the music as he reaches their table.

She shakes her head, climbing unsteadily from her bar stool and grabbing her bag. “Oh, I am too drunk for this…”

He watches in dismay as she staggers away, flanked by Mysaria, before deciding to follow them both outside.

“Hey, wait–” He says, reaching for her, and she whips around, eyes wide and mouth tightened in anger.

“I’ll be right here,” Mysaria says softly to her, stepping to the side and pulling up the Uber app on her phone.

“No, you wait!” She shouts at him, “I have spent weeks trying to get over you. You don’t get to make someone fall in love with you and then act like that’s nothing!”

She’s in love with him?!

He feels his chest tighten at the admission, standing there dumbfounded, he allows her to continue.

“I let you go,” She sobs, streaks of black mascara track their way down her cheeks alongside her tears, “I respected your decision, I didn’t reach out, even though I wanted to. I left you alone, so what gives you the right to ruin girls’ night?! You broke my heart and acted like you were doing me a favour, so why the fuck should I listen to anything you have to say?!”

Because I love you too.

He can’t say anything, as much as he wants to, his throat has run dry. His fingers flex uselessly by his sides, longing to reach out and wipe away the tears and make up that have run down her face.

She’s pulled away by Mysaria as an Uber pulls up to the curb and he can do nothing but watch helplessly as they drive away.

You’re losing her. Do something.

Sleep does not come for Aemond. The image of her tears plays over and over in his mind as he tosses and turns, tears from hurt that he’d caused her.

He has experienced crying in relationships before; he’d cried when Alys ended things, but he was young and stupid and thought he was in love with a woman twice his age. Floris had bawled when he’d confronted her about what he’d overheard, but they were the crocodile tears of a desperate woman caught out for being a gold digger.

Aemond has never seen the real anguish of heartbreak before, at least not on another person, and he never wants to see it again. He has to make this right. It’s not until he feels the drip from his jaw onto his collarbone that he realises that after weeks of holding them in, his own tears have begun to fall.

It is almost midday the next day when Aemond has everything he needs prepared. The big white van he parks outside of her block of flats is cumbersome to drive in comparison to his sleek, black sports car, but he hopes the inconvenience will be worth it.

Come outside.

He texts her, relieved when the bubble displays as delivered, at least she hasn’t blocked his number.

He climbs out of the van, leaning against it, heart pounding as he looks up to see the curtains of her living room window twitch.

A few moments later she’s stepping outside, a look of confusion on her face. “What’s this?”

“An apology,” Aemond says, “Letting you go was a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I fucked it up, it’s what I do, I fuck things up. But I’m sorry, and I want to be with you, whatever that looks like for you. I want to do this properly.”

“Why are you doing all of this now?” She asks, folding her arms defensively.

“Because I’ve tried to live without you, and I can’t. What we had was good, so fucking good, and I threw it away because I’m a coward. Just let me make this right, please?”

She sighs, “What’s in the van?”

He motions for her to follow him, and opens up the back, revealing a brand new mattress, still in its plastic wrap.

“A replacement, so I can stay over without feeling like someone has spent all night attempting to make balloon animals with my spine.”

“Presumptuous of you,” She says with a raise of her eyebrows.

Aemond shrugs, “I’m all in,”

She runs her hands through her hair, eyes flitting between him and the mattress. “How the fuck are we supposed to get this upstairs?”

He smirks. “There are removal people coming in an hour, they’ll take your old one away and bring this one up,”

“And what happens if I say no?”

“Well, that’s why I told them to leave it an hour, so I’d have time to cancel in case you did,”

He can see her fighting against the smile that tugs against the corners of her mouth. “I’m not letting you off that easily,”

“I know,” He says, taking a step towards her.

“So what do we do for the next hour?”

“We could give that old, lumpy thing on your bed upstairs a final send off,” he reaches for her and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re pushing it,” she whispers.

“Hmm,” he runs the tip of his nose against her cheek, “I’ve missed you,” he presses a soft kiss to her cheek, “none of it matters,” he kisses her other cheek, “not the money, not anything,” he kisses the corner of her mouth, “not without you,”

When their lips finally meet it is slow and soft, and a contented sound rumbles within Aemond’s chest. It feels like he’s taking his first breath of air in weeks.

They waste no time in helping each other out of their clothes as they hurry upstairs. He smirks to himself as he lays back against the bed, feeling the familiar springs dig into his back, he pulls her to straddle him, allowing her to set a pace she’s comfortable with.

He moans low as she sinks slowly down onto him, the tight wet heat of her enveloping him causing his balls to tighten in a way that builds steady pressure at the base of his spine.

Gazing up at her with reverence, fingers digging into the plushness of her hips, he watches transfixed as her breasts bounce softly with each undulation, committing to memory every breathy moan and gasp. She feels like home, and it has never felt better to return.

When she eventually collapses against his chest, tightening and spasming around him as she falls apart, she takes him with her and he grunts as he feels himself pulsate and spill deep inside of her.

He strokes her hair as he holds tightly, gratitude and love overwhelming him. “You forgive me?” he asks, voice thick with emotion.

“I’m working on it,” she whispers back.

“I can wait,” he reassures her, “I’m all in.”

Chapter four || Epilogue || Series masterlist

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unsoundedcomic · 8 months ago

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Whumptober 2024 - 15 - "Childhood Trauma"

Will Argenti leaned in close, to be heard above the chatter of the busy tea house. "Do you ever dream about it?"

He sounded sad, uncertain. Mikaila wasn't so very much in the correct temper for sad uncertainty. "Look," she answered instead, grinning and pointing through the crowd. Her friend Genevieve was trying to balance four little plates of green tart, two in each hand. "Genny!" Mikaila called, "Genny, you're listing starboard! Ah! There you are, perfect! Upright! Upright! Impeccable! You're almost here-! Will, no!"

Will had moved to vacate his seat and help her, but Mikaila held him fast by the arm. "There is Mr Farold," she whispered, gesturing to a red-faced Soud scolding two Soud waitresses near the dessert case, "We need him to see her excellent balance and coolness under pressure. Genevieve is questing for employment here in the spring, while her Tomas ventures to Grettaerin on an errand for the family. Her father said she can wait for him if she brings in some coin while he is gone. Is that not the most romantic thing?"

"I don't want Genevieve serving here," Will groused, "She hates me and she'll skimp on pours."

"Genny is a perfect doll," Mikaila protested, "If she doesn't like you there is some good reason for it."

"I might have called Tomas a cocksucker once."

Mikaila's hand flew to her lips but the laugh was too fast for her, and spilled out everywhere. Will would never use such language with the other girls. But those were other girls. "What did Tomas do to you?" she asked merrily. Will shrugged a shoulder and started emptying his pipe into a drained tea glass.

"He was spelling his boots clean and I didn't like the way he asked me why mine were so muddied. He knew why. Cocksucker."

Mikaila exhaled through her teeth, one eye still on Genevieve's cake walk. "Is it growing worse, old bean?"

"I don't like pymary, is all," Will answered without answering, "I don't like it. You can tutor me until the silver's gone out my hair and into yours, but I'll never like it."

Mikaila didn't doubt it. She'd learned it was her good friend's heart and her good friend's memories that were in the way of her good friend's spellcraft. There was otherwise no reason why a young Silver gentleman with William Argenti's prospects had such difficulties conversing with the khert. "You think about it too much," she diagnosed, quieter, "I see it come upon you, when you cast. You tremble like the last… like the last bead of water, hanging to the kettle spout. You're so afraid of… what? Falling? Failing?"

Some guttural grunt hunched in Will's throat. He looked away. "I'm not bloody afraid. I just don't like it."

Wisely, Mikaila did not press the point. Genevieve had been stopped by Mr Farold. Some earnest conversation was happening there, but still the tart plates wobbled. How might Mikaila salvage them if they started to tip? So delicate, the motions so erratic. Her palms burned as she thoughtfully licked her lips and considered Momentum reversals. Oh, Ssael, would it be worse if Genny lost a plate or two or if four tarts catapulted up splat! against the ceiling?

Will watched her intently. Then, again, he asked: "Do you dream about it?"

"Hmm?" She jiggled her head a little as though dislodging a fly. "Sometimes. Less and less. But then I wake up, and it is today. The sun is high, there are new things to learn, and everyone I love is here and safe."

"Not everyone."

Mikaila's attention did not stray from Genevieve and her four plates.

"You remember him better than I do, Will. Don't think me wicked, but I'm happy to forget. Papa says memories are heavy, but we're the only ones stopping ourselves from setting them down."

"That doesn't make sense." Anger darkened Will's eyes to the colour of a storm's belly, and he scowled down at his weed pouch. Half his pinch was spilled to the tabletop. He gathered it up, tried to mash the moist strands together, but his hard wooden fingers were not well suited to the delicate work.

"How does it not make sense?" Mikaila asked gently.

"I was even younger than you when that monster- that monster ate my arm. But I haven't forgotten any of it. The stink of its mouth. The two-toes' eyes shining in the dark. And knowing that Roger Foi-Hellick was laughing about all of it; near but not near enough to kill him, hiding, laughing." The fingers of his simulacrum fumbled the pinch again. Mikaila touched his false wrist in a wordless gesture. He paused, and she gathered the fragrant strands herself.

"I think what happened to you was far worse," she whispered, pushing the wad into the pipe bowl, "And perhaps you haven't had… all I had. Perhaps it's worse for you now, even still."

"Don't say that. I don't want to hear that dogshit. Forget it, I'm fine. Everything in Durlyne is fine. And I don't dream about anything."

She put the pipe in his hand, closed his clicky false fingers over the stem, and pointedly did not light it with a spell. Will reached instead to his belt for a firestarter. Drag, scratch, flick! and then flame. It was a good smell. The weed caught, smouldered, and that smell was even better. Happier to associate it with Will than with a dead man. A dead man, impossibly tall, hunched over a desk in a messy library, puffing fragrant clouds, singing an old aria to himself while he scratched line after line in a book she was not allowed to read…

"My sincerest and humblest apologies for the wait, madame!" called Genevieve suddenly. Without a sound, a plate of green tart was settled atop the table - very professional! - then slid towards Mikaila, who clapped with showy gusto and appreciation.

And maybe a little pymary. She touched the base of her throat.

"I'VE NEVER EXPERIENCED SUCH EXQUISITE SERVICE!" boomed her voice over the heads of the tea house's clientele. Each one swivelled to face her. "I SHALL BE TELLING ALL OF MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS OF THIS FINE DINING EXPERIENCE."

Genevieve coloured prettily and Mikaila knew without asking that she'd been offered a job. "Thank you, madame! Honourable patron! Respected customer! And this man, is this your servant? Here you are, Silver Boy, some tart for you."

She set the tiniest of the slices in front of Will. A very long and curly blonde hair was draped across it, and the crust was broken. He sighed.

#unsounded #whumptober #for darling miao

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poeticpascal · 2 years ago

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Stay (Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: After being betrayed by a FEDRA agent, losing your belongings and getting severely injured, you have no choice but to steal and kill your way to survival. But when Joel and Ellie become your next targets, you never could've imagined how they'd save you in more ways than one.

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: smut, 18+ content, MDNI, PIV sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving), violence, descriptions of killing, descriptions of injury, guns, blood,

A/n: eek, I'm so in love with this fic! I'd love to know what you think, and if you have any Joel x reader ideas, requests are open so send them my way! :)

As the sun sets beneath the tree-lined horizon, you can’t help but think about how worryingly close to death you are by now.

Spring brought cold winds and heavy rain, washing away the den you’d managed to live in for a few months. It’s a wonder it lasted that long, really.

You could’ve managed. You’ve managed for years now; your whole life, in fact. You never could remember your mother or your father, if you had siblings, if you had friends. All you know is you were 6 years old when Outbreak Day destroyed the world, and you’ve been alone from then on, lucky enough to get brought to a QZ and lucky enough to escape it when you were 15.

You could’ve managed the shitty weather, until you were betrayed, by a FEDRA agent no less. One you’d dealt with for a few months now, smuggling whatever drugs he wanted into his QZ in exchange for the food and medicine and warm clothes they had there. You never wanted to go back, could never let yourself get locked behind those walls again, but you had to admit their resources were far better than any you could attain out here, alone in the infected world, and so you made it your business to get your hands on it.

It was a week ago now. The agent - whose name you never bothered to learn - must’ve been caught with the gear he got from you. Of course, FEDRA let him off easy, as long as they gave him a name. Your name.

So instead of pocketing a new med kit and a crate of food, you got beat, shot at, nearly tortured before you could make your escape into the shrubbery and away from the small legion of agents that came for you. But not before the agent you’d dealt with led them to your base, where they burnt your every belonging, every piece of tattered material and weaponry and sentimentality you owned.

And so here you are, no food, no clothes but the ones on your back, one gun with just a few bullets left and a blunt knife hidden in your boot. And you’re fucking pissed.

Pissed that you’re dying. Pissed that over a decade of fighting, looting, trading had been burnt to ash in just moments. Pissed that the bullet wounds in your torso weren’t enough to kill you, but just enough to let you live in agony, spurred on by hunger and dehydration.

Even the small stashes you’d spent years placing strategically around a good 25-mile radius were useless without a map of their locations. Which you had made, obviously - you haven’t survived this long out of luck. You’re smart, you know how to traverse this world, and you know how to protect yourself. But everything got fucking burnt.

So perhaps you don’t know how to protect yourself at all, because you’ve spent the last week wondering how you could’ve been so stupid as to let this happen.

It’s not like you’d trusted the agent. You don’t trust anyone.

But you worked with him, and somewhere along the line you must’ve slipped, told him where you keep your base, let him choose a meeting point when it should always, always be you to choose. You can’t even remember what it was, what error you made. Untreated bullet wounds do an awfully messy thing to your mind.

You collapse through a string of branches and shrubbery, landing with a wet thud on the muddy path. You’ve stumbled into a clearing, and with as much strength as you can muster, you pull your cheek away from the dirt and look up to see the old building you’ve been looking for. A small, weak smile tugs on your lips. A glimmer of hope.

It used to be a doctor’s surgery, as far as you know. Written on the decayed wooden sign was ‘Dr. Hardman’s Healthcare Services’, though it was so faint it was almost unintelligible, and the cracked blue floor tiles gave a clinical air to the place, even in its decrepit state.

Obviously, it would have been looted beyond recognition within a week of Outbreak Day.

But there were those stupid enough to go in and search it anyway. And that’s why you always came back to places like these over the years.

The first time you did it, you were 16, not long free of the QZ and still getting to grips with life on the outside. With surviving. It was a different building, a warehouse somewhere near Philadelphia as far as you remember. One you hoped would have something left, anything worth taking. It didn’t - but it did have people. Other looters, a small group of around 3, all of whom had split up to search while leaving a pile of rucksacks near the front entrance. It was incredibly easy to take what you needed, and you learned then the brilliance of lying in wait for others to bring their resources to you, and taking, and running.

It was sleazy, and you’re not proud of it. But it’s the only way you could survive those first few years, before you cemented your foundations, able to source your own food and build solid relationships and make decent trades that let you survive.

And now, you have to do it all again, because your shit’s all burnt and your blood’s surely depleting and breathing is starting to get really difficult.

You just hope it’ll be simple, that they won’t even realise what happened, ‘them’ being whichever unlucky soul happens to stop by first. Not because you’re afraid to kill - you accepted a long time ago that it was something you had to do to survive - but because you really don’t think you can survive a fight.

You don’t even pick yourself up from the floor where you fell. You’re just about hidden below the bushes, with a good view of the building, and the mud you’re lying in has warmed up from your body heat, providing much needed comfort as the rain continues to pour.

You spend a few hours like that, falling in and out of sleep, when you finally hear voices. Two, you think, though you raise your head to see properly and sure enough, there are two people making their way up the path to your right. It’s an odd pairing; there’s a man, tall, rough-looking with his beard and messy hair. The other is a woman, a girl even, she can’t be more than 16, you think. His daughter? Perhaps. She’s excitable, almost galloping up to the house, shouting back at the man who seems to only grumble in response.

They’re far enough away that you’re confident you won’t be seen, but close enough to just about hear them, straining your ears against the rain’s pitter-patter.

“This place is creepy, dude. Do we have to stay here?” The girl whines, spinning herself around a pillar that stands at the entrance, childlike.

The man grumbles, stopping before the steps of the building, looking up at it with a hand rested on the strap of his rifle. You’ll have to get them while they’re asleep, you think.

“Yes, Ellie. We do. I’ve gotta stash of some things left here, and it’s the only proper shelter for miles.” His voice is low, southern you think, and undoubtedly appealing. Not what matters right now.

“But Joel-”

“Just get inside.” The man, Joel, enters first, clearly protective of the girl - Ellie, you think he called her - as he finally gives her the go ahead to follow him in. The door shuts, and your head falls back to the ground, knowing it’ll be a few hours yet before you can make your move.

Joel and Ellie. You remember their names as you start to fall back asleep, figuring if you had to kill them later on, it’s the least you could do.

You’re nice like that.

You really regret the whole ‘lying face down in the mud for 6 hours’ thing once it’s time to actually get up. Everything hurts, the rumble of your stomach aches against the wounds that puncture it, and the dirt has soaked through your clothes and onto your skin so thickly that it almost weighs you down.

But it’s now or never, so you all but drag yourself towards the building, doing everything you can to hold back the whimpers that threaten to break through your lips.

You enter the back way, a quieter one, where the frame is empty of a door and - hopefully - where you’d be able to sneak in without detection. The front entryway was too obvious, too bold, and if they expected anyone to come in, it’d be through there.

There’s an upstairs, but it’s pretty miserable, even by the current day’s standards. You’re fairly confident they’ll have stayed downstairs; the reception area was particularly favoured among the less experienced travellers, though from Joel’s apparent knowledge of the area and the gun on his back, you suspect he’s not one of them.

You’re right; they’re not in the reception, so you continue to tiptoe through the halls, checking through windows and the gaps in doors before finally hearing a slight rustle coming from the end of the corridor.

You smirk, slightly endeared to these two; they’d made a good choice. One you always make whenever you spend the night here. They’re in the clinic’s bathroom - for some reason, bathrooms in any building were always forgotten by looters. As if no one would think to sleep there. It’s a small but cosy space, close enough to the front door to make a quick escape, but just hidden out of way enough for it to be easily the safest spot to hide.

There’s also no window into the room for obvious reasons, and while that’s served you well many times while you stayed here, right now you curse as you plan your next move to get in and out undetected.

The rustles are quiet, not the movements of someone awake, but turning in their sleep. You wrap a hand around the door handle, giving you full control of its swing as you open it as slowly as you can manage, your other harm held tight against your aching torso.

The door opens easily, silently, and you’re grateful. Joel is lay closest to the door - his protectiveness on show again - using his bag as a pillow. Dammit, you think. The girl, Ellie, is lay against the back wall, her frame noticeably much smaller than his from where you’re crouched, watching from the small slip in the door.

You search the room, the hint of desperation you’ve managed to push down for this long finally creeping up on you, your head suddenly going dizzy.

Then, you see it.

Ellie’s backpack in the corner of the room, by Joel’s feet, tucked under one of the sinks. Within arms reach if you can just fit in at the right angle.

You push your arm through the gap, trying to find balance with your free hand while not leaning against the door so much that it opens further and inevitably hits Joel, waking him. If the guy’s as experienced as you think he is, your pained, whispered gasps alone may be enough to do that. But you carry on, twisting at the elbow and pressing your cheek against the doorframe, flailing your hand until it finally, finally brushes against the dense material of the bag.

Relief floods you, and for a moment, you almost don’t feel the pain anymore. You strain further, your fingertips pulling the bag towards you just enough to be able to properly grab it, and you’re almost reckless with the way you snatch it through the door and back away quickly.

You stand on shaky legs, not even thinking to check the contents of the bag; you just needed to get out now. You head for the front door, letting the wall guide you there as you lean against it for support, the dizziness stirring in your head once again.

Then, you hear it.

The unmistakable sound of the safety being taken off a gun. One you’d produced yourself too many times to count.

“You’re gonna put that down, and you’re gonna walk away. ‘Else i shoot you.”

It’s him. The man, Joel.

His voice is far more gruff now than it was before, when you were outside. You turn to face him, still clinging to the wall, the bag still in your hand. His expression is a mix of anger and nonchalance; like this was more of an annoyance to him than anything else. He just wanted a good night’s sleep, but here you were, padding through the shadows and stealing from them.

He’s about as happy as you’d be in this situation.

“Put it down,” he repeats himself, louder this time, the unwavering aim of his pistol pointed right between your eyes.

He must’ve woken up Ellie, because you hear movement from the room behind Joel, and next thing you know she’s creeping out the door with her eyes wide open. “The fuck is going on?”

Joel curses, rolling his eyes, and you just watch their strange dynamic unfold. “Get the fuck back in there. I’m just dealing with a little… problem,” he turns back to you.

You really didn’t want it to end like this. You never do. But this is the way it goes, more often than not. Still, the girl’s spunky, with more life than you’ve seen in anyone for a very long time. And he, well… he’s hot, and if that isn’t a good enough reason to feel bad about killing someone, you don’t know what is.

There’s no doubt in your mind that you can pull it off. You’ve been in this situation a thousand times - gun pointed at your head, no escape route in sight - and you’ve left every time with your pockets full and a handful of dead bodies behind you.

You brace yourself to launch, to throw the bag at the man then draw your gun just as fast, but you’re cut off by a shriek-like sound from the girl, “oh, shit.” She’s looking at you, but at your face; you follow her eyes down to your abdomen, and yeah… shit.

You’re bleeding. Like, really bad. You’ve been bleeding for 7 days now but this is a fresh, gushing stream of blood that spurts from the left bullet wound and mixes with the mud that cakes you into a dirty, sticky mess.

The dizziness hits you again, for longer now, and you stumble. Any escape plans are long gone as everything blurs together, nothing but one tall shape and one short one visible before you, and Ellie speaks again, “dude, is she… dying?”

Yeah. Maybe.

The two exchange more words, but you don’t hear them. They could’ve been screaming into your ear, just one inch from your face, for all you know. Your senses cloud completely, you think you feel yourself fall, and then… everything turns black.

—------------------

You groan, fighting the heavy pull of your eyes to stay closed, completely disoriented. Your eyes flicker open for moments at a time then shut again, your brain seemingly not ready to wake up yet. You’re already going into overdrive, though.

Because you feel really fucking weird.

You’re warm. The room you’re in is warm. The bed you’re in is warm. You haven’t slept in a bed in years, and yet here you are, soaked in sheets as light as clouds and laying on a mattress that cradles you like a child.

The pain is gone. A dull ache sits in your abdomen, but it lulls, more like a stomach ache than a week-old and most likely infected bullet wound.

You feel good.

Weirded the fuck out, but good.

You use your strength to lift an arm, groaning again, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a gasp from across the room, and suddenly there are feet hitting the floor and a loud shout, “Joel! She’s awake!”

The voice is familiar, probably the only thing around you that is, but you can’t place where. Its owner has left the room as you finally scan it, pulling yourself to sit upright.

The room’s actually really, really nice. It looks normal, like the bedrooms you saw in those old Hollywood movies you’d managed to find one day. You’re lay on a king-size bed, set inside a carved wooden frame, with matching side-pieces and a dressing table directly across from you. There’s a white wardrobe to your right, and just beyond that, a large window where the curtains are blowing back slightly, letting you see out into the neighbourhood. It’s quiet, but pristine. It’s normal.

It’s weird. To your left is the only door, presumably where the other person who’d been in there with you left from, making that a no-go in your escape route. Window it is.

You swing your legs off the bed with a whine, the ache in your stomach intensifying. It’s only then that you notice the bandages wrapped around your torso, perfectly neat and clearly fresh. Like someone had been replacing them.

You hear two sets of footsteps, one is quieter but quicker, running up the stairs outside your room. The other is much heavier and slower, and the juxtaposition of them both causes a sudden flash in your mind of the pair you recently met -

“Hi,” Ellie says, having reached the top of the stairs and charged into the room before you could even comprehend your own trail of thoughts.

You just stare at her, in what must’ve been the most confused and annoyed expression you’ve had in your life. She stares back, with a mischievous look on her face that both sets you on edge and endears her to you at the same time.

Joel appears then, the same scowl on his face as he’d worn before you passed out, terribly unimpressed as he stares down at you on the bed.

For fuck’s sake.

“Where am I?” You ask, given up on your plans to get out of there. Your body’s too tired.

“Bill and-” Ellie starts, but Joel quickly shuts her up with a sharp glare. “Oh shit, erm, it’s a secret. Can’t tell you where you are.”

You roll your eyes, looking around the room again before setting your eyes back on the two. “Why am I here?”

“We saved your lucky ass,” Joel replies, his tone almost mocking. He shifts from the doorframe, walking towards you and folding his arms, stopping only a metre away from where you sat. “Shoulda’ killed you when I had the chance, but this little pain in my ass,” he nods towards Ellie, “insisted we save your life. After you fuckin’ stole from us.”

“To be fair, she didn’t get very far,” Ellie quips, then addresses you directly, “you fuckin’ fainted, dude. I thought you were dead!”

Joel just grumbles at her interruption.

You squint, leaning your head back in a poor attempt at a stretch. Your body is screaming at you to move, to walk around, to remember how to function. You push the desperation down, not ready yet to try anything, not with those two just staring at you.

You push them instead, unsure, untrusting. “You’re saying you just decided to save me? Just like that? After I stole from you?”

Ellie nods enthusiastically, smiling. Joel grunts again. He does that a lot, you’ve noticed.

You huff, looking away, unsatisfied with their answers. “Should’ve let me die.”

Joel sighs, unfolding his arms and throwing his head back in annoyance. He points at Ellie, as he makes his way out of the room. “Fuckin’ told you this was a bad idea.”

He leaves. It’s awkward. Ellie just continues to stare at you as you hang your head, hands clasped in your lap, trying to figure out what to do next.

“We literally saved your life, you know,” Ellie breaks the silence. You look up at her as she continues, “you were so nearly dead. It was so weird. You were literally-”

“Yes, yes, I get it.” You interrupt her, rubbing your aching head. It’s silent for a little longer, still awkward, and you let out a sigh. “Thank you. For - for saving me.”

She smiles. A big, cheesy grin that somehow lifts your mood with its genuinity. Then she gestures to the door, the one Joel had disappeared from minutes before - “it’s him you need to thank. He’s the one who carried your sorry ass 3 miles to get here.”

You laugh, something foreign to you after all these years, and she giggles back. The air between you both seems softer now, lighter, and the tension that filled your body when you woke up has dissipated completely. You think she can sense that it has, too.

“Frank told me to tell you there’s fresh clothes in the closet, and the shower’s out the door and on your right,” she points in the vague direction she’d described. “We’re having a barbeque later, just come downstairs when you’re ready.”

You nod, and she leaves you with a final smile. You take another look around the room and sigh, wondering just what you’d gotten yourself into.

—------------------

Bill and Frank are fucking lovely. Bill’s a little grumpier than his partner, but just as sweet all the same, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the little life they’d built together.

When you came downstairs after your shower, you’d bumped into them in the kitchen, preparing food and drinks to bring outside for the barbeque. Frank explained how things worked, how they live off the land, growing and making everything they could ever need to live happily here forever. How Joel had helped them stay safe, setting up the large metal gates that surrounded their small, solely-occupied community. It sounded like he really cared about them, and then Frank told you about Ellie, how Joel had taken her under his wing and they were travelling together on some sort of mission that they couldn’d built together.

That was a few hours ago. You were alone now, sat in the living room, listening to the soft music of the radio and the laughter of the group outside. You didn’t feel like joining them; they wouldn’t want you there, a looter and murderer, and even if they did you weren’t the type to make friends. It’s a dangerous habit in this world.

So instead, you sit on your own in the house, feeling a little sorry for yourself and really craving the sausages you could smell cooking outside.

You hear something behind you, turning around to see Joel traipsing in through the back door. He kicks his shoes off, making you smile at the politeness from such a rough, grumpy man, and stalks through the house towards the kitchen. He stops when he sees you.

The two of you just stare at each other, for a good few moments, the kind that feel like hours.

“What’re you doing in here?” Joel asks. You can almost sense something honest in his tone. Like he genuinely wondered why you were here, alone, and not out there with them.

“Thinking,” you just reply, quietly.

“‘Bout what?” And there it is again, that earnest intrigue.

You shrug, not sure what to tell him. “What to do next, I guess.”

Joel furrows his brows, and begins to stride towards where you sit on the couch. He walks slowly, hands buried in his jean pockets, before taking a seat on the chair across from you and relaxing into the cushion.

It’s strange seeing him act so casually, so normal, when just days ago he’d had a gun pointed at your head and every intent of pulling the trigger.

You suppose he feels the same about you, sat on a floral-print couch, covered in a far-too-big plaid shirt and - for lack of a better word - sulking.

“So what’re you gonna do next?”

He’s looking at you, fiercely so, his eyes unwavering from yours. You don’t know whether to look at him, or the floor, or your hands fidgeting in your lap - his stare is uncomfortable and intoxicating, all at the same time. You opt for your hands.

“I don’t know. All my shit’s gone. That’s - that’s why I was there. At the clinic. Ste-… taking your stuff.”

Joel pushes out a breath of air, almost a laugh but not quite. It’s not mocking, though - not like his tone was earlier. It’s understanding, like his way of telling you, “I know.”

And then he says it. “I know.”

You just nod, and he continues, “you gotta be more careful out there. Anyone less caring than Ellie woulda let you die there on that floor.”

“I’ve done this my whole life,” you shoot back. “And if it weren’t for - fuckin - this” - you point to the bandages round your torso - “I’d have killed you both and left you with everything you have.”

Joel rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of something playing on his lips, like the beginnings of a smile. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and maintaining his stare. His brow is cocked upwards.

“Well, ain’t we lucky you had your little problem there, huh?” You scowl at him, finally meeting his eyes and being almost surprised by the sheer depth of them. There’s pain in those eyes, you can see it because it matches your own, and yet there’s a kindness in them that you’d not seen in the man until now.

“And what about you?” You ask, feeling bolder now. “Why didn’t you let me die?”

“The kid made me help you,” he answers with speed, like he’d rehearsed it. You can tell there’s something on his tongue, something waiting to spill, and so you stay quiet. Coax it out.

“And… those wounds, you didn’t get them from some average Joe’s gun. And someone your age, someone who must’a grown up in this hell… you don’t go stealin’ from people like me for the fun of it.”

You nod, offering him a small smile, one that says thank you. You think it’s the only form of thanks he’ll accept.

“I did want to kill you, though.” Joel says, so casually he could’ve been telling you about the weather that day.

You huff. “And I wanted to kill you.”

His eyes stay trained on yours, and you don’t look away this time. It’s close, intimate. “I really don’t like you.” He seems to lean in as he says it.

“I don’t like you either,” you reply, mirroring the sly turn of his mouth.. Your answer seems to satisfy whatever it was he was looking for, and he nods.

“Good. We’re on the same page then.”

In unison, you back away from one another. “Yeah,” you say, though it’s redundant. “We are.”

With that, Joel stands, offering his hand to you. You just stare at it, unsure of what he wants. “C’mon,” he says, gesturing outside. “Come and sit with us.”

You think on it for a moment. You still don’t know what you’re going to do next - where you’ll go - and you certainly don’t want to make friends. But here’s this man, with his calloused hands and the scars on his face that tell a thousand stories, and you just can’t seem to say no to him.

So, you take his hand, letting him help you through the doors and onto the lawn where the three others sit drinking and lauging. There are a few burgers and hot dogs left out, which you eye up hungrily, making Joel laugh. Bottles of wine and whiskey sit on the table, a few cans of soda for Ellie, too, and two empty chairs sat round the camp fire waiting for yourself and Joel to sit down on. A feeling of joy spreads through you at that, the fact they’d thought to leave a chair out for you. You try to ignore it.

—------------------

The night is filled with laughter, and drinking, and telling stories of a world long gone that make your heart hurt and your mind spin with wonder.

Joel’s distant, and you have a feeling that’s just how he is, the type who prefers to watch and listen than be the loudest person in the room.

Ellie, for whatever reason, has taken to you quickly. You think it’s because you’re one of the first women she’s hung out with in a long time, someone she can relate too, and for all the attention she gives you, it’s nice in a way. Albeit overwhelming.

That’s what all of this is, really. Overwhelming.

Because you don’t live here. It’s not your home. None of your things are here. None of your things are anywhere but that wretched pile of ash, most likely collapsed in the rain and buried in mud by now.

And though you won’t admit it, it hurts. It hurts to have lost it all. It hurts to have to start again. It hurts to have these people, these great people, showing you so much hospitality and knowing you’ll have to leave because this won’t work. It can’t work. Friendships can’t work, and by god, whatever it is you’re starting to feel for Joel cant work either.

You’ve stayed at Bill and Frank’s for four days now. Three nights from when you woke up. And in that time, you’ve found yourself drawn to Joel in a way you’ve never felt before. He’s distracting. He talks, and even without having to try, you hang on to every word he says. You wonder if he feels the same way. You don’t talk much, at all - only if you absolutely have to. And yet when you do, he’s there, listening.

The one you do talk to, more than the others, at least, is Ellie. You see some of yourself in her, you think. Someone lost in a world that had given up on her before she even had the chance to try.

And that scares you, too. If there’s one thing you’re not, it’s someone to look up to, and yet that’s all the kid seems to do.

It’s something you think about as you pack your bags.

You’re not stealing anything, per say. Except the bag. And the things you’re putting in it.

But it’s what you need to do in order to leave, and get out of their way for good. If that means losing a shirt or two and a pack of sandwiches, then so be it.

It’s late, around 3am, when you’re sure everyone will be asleep. You tiptoe down the stairs, holding the back tightly to your side, checking behind you every few minutes knowing that Ellie’s as sneaky as she talkative.

You slip through the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a brick. You curse yourself for not packing a coat, it must’ve slipped your mind as you rushed, but it’s too late to go back now.

You head down the patio steps, your only priority now being to get out of there as quick as you can. You’d managed to disable the security on gate 1, it should mean you can slip out pretty easily, and then it’s back to your old life again. Back to survival.

You didn’t think you’d feel as sad as you do right now. You’ve been alone for so long, convinced yourself that it’s what you wanted… but loneliness never felt like this. It never hurt. And now, as you make haste away from Frank and Bill’s house, away from Ellie, away from him… you wonder if the bullets hurt less.

Until you’re stopped, that is.

“Where the hell are you goin’?”

The similarity to your first meeting with Joel isn’t lost on you.

Except now, as you turn around to face him, it isn’t anger drawn across his features. It’s hurt. Real, deep, hurt. Heartbreak, you’d be inclined to call it, if you didn’t know better. If you thought that was possible.

His eyes drop down to bag you’re holding, clearly full, then up again to meet yours. His expression saddens even more, somehow.

“You’re leaving.”

It’s not a question.

So you don’t answer.

It’s hard to tell if he expects you to or not. But in this agonising silence, he calls your bluff, because he knows you have something more to say.

“I have to.”

He shakes his head, and answers just as quickly as he had a few days earlier in the front room. Except it’s not rehearsed. It’s raw, and desperate, and pleading. “No you don’t.”

Tears brim in your eyes, stinging. “I do. I do, Joel. It doesn’t work. Friendships don’t work. And this-“ you stop yourself from gesturing between you, from finishing your sentence at all. He knows what you were going to say. But he still pushes you.

“And what?” He begins to walk towards you, as slowly, as painfully, as usual.

The words are gone from your mouth, I forgotten but unspeakable, too powerful to tell him. But he knows. He knows.

And before you know it, he’s reached you. It’s the closest you’ve been yet, closer than when he sat across from you on the couch. His breath fans your face. Your fingers brush his, and you tell yourself it’s not on purpose.

“And what?” He whispers, not because it’s nighttime, or because you’re already so close. But because he’s scared.

Then he kisses you, leaning in so heavily you think he’s trying to fuse you with himself, to keep you there forever. And in that moment, that’s all you want. You kiss him back, dropping the bag and wrapping your arms around his neck while his go to your waist, the kiss deepening and his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You moan, spurring him on, his crotch now pressed flush against yours. You let one hand fall from his neck, glide down your bodies and slide between you, palming his already half-hard cock. Joel groans into your mouth, bucking his hips and kissing you so desperately that your teeth collide and you miss one another’s lips at times. Neither of you care.

Before you can realise what’s happening, Joel’s sweeping you up, hooking your legs round his waist and holding you up by your thighs. He’s careful to never break the kiss, to never let go of you, and you hardly recognise the movement as he begins to carry you back inside the house.

Your escape bag is left behind on the grass.

Joel’s careful as he brings you upstairs, quiet, though his need for you never falters. It’s hot, passionate, and his grip on your thighs leaves bruises that you hope will last forever.

He nudges his bedroom door open with his back, letting you fall in, entangled together. He finally breaks your kiss, the both of you gasping for the air that your noses alone weren’t enough to breathe.

You land on the bed, bouncing softly below Joel’s gaze. He’s quick to climb on top, guiding you backwards so your head hits the pillow, just as soft as the one you’ve been sleeping on the past few nights.

And then, for the first time since he discovered you trying to leave, the two of you just… stop. Joel lifts a gentle hand to your cheek, brushes his calloused thumb across it, watching you with a cocktail of amazement and care and the same fear you saw before in his eyes.

It’s sweet. It’s gentle, and soft, and there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you it’s something more. The same something you weren’t able to say when Joel caught you leaving.

Now, you don’t know what love is.

You’ve never known what love is. You’ve seen films, old pirated copies you’d been able to find on your travels, that you watched tucked away in a camping tent on the DVD player you looted from some old store. You’ve heard music, sweet tales of love and loss, told through melodies and lyrics that seemed too much like fairytales to be true.

You don’t know what love is, and yet for all the stories you’ve watched and heard, this feels pretty damn close.

You don’t know how, but Joel sees the struggle behind your eyes. The way your mind spins at a million miles an hour.

“Hey. You okay?” He whispers, his southern drawl sultrier than ever.

You nod, but it’s not enough. “No, come on. I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. I’m okay, Joel,” you breathe, and he seems appeased.

“Alright.” He kisses you again, much slower this time, letting your lips slide together like they’d been made to fit just right.

The kiss becomes heated, the same passion rising within you both again, and Joel reaches for the rim of your shirt, pulling it over you with a quick check for your agreement. You lift your arms, letting him expose your already braless chest, and you’d be lying if you said the way his eyes light up and his cheeks fill with blush didn’t fuel your ego.

You take his shirt off next, then reach for the zip of his jeans, but he stops you. You look up at him, confused, and he just smiles before leaving a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Not yet.” He murmurs, before kissing down your neck and onto the plane of your chest. You moan, hands tangling in his hair as he leaves marks across your skin, finally reaching the peak of your breast and sucking it into his mouth. Quiet gasps fall from your mouth, sensual, basking in the feeling of his hot tongue on your nipple.

“You like that? My mouth on your tits?”

Another loud moan leaves your lips at his words, dirtier than before and making wetness flood at your core. Joel grins - your eyes are closed, but you can feel the stretch of his mouth on your breast, and your grip on his hair tightens in response.

He finally, finally starts to move to where you want him. His fingers are painfully slow as they work to pull your jeans down, revealing your soaking wet cunt to him, and the groan that escapes his throat at the sight only makes you more needy.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.” He moans, spreading soft kisses along your public bone, centimetres from where you need him. “How bad d’ya need my tongue, honey?”

You could scream at how badly he’s teasing you, but you’re able to hold it, responding in a way you certainly weren’t proud of. “So - so badly. Please, baby, please.”

Your hands flex in his hair, tugging on the strands haphazardly, and the way his breath speeds up against your core lets you know he likes it. On your word, he delves into your cunt, dragging his tongue over your folds and burying it in your clit.

“Shit, shit, Joel - ah -“ your moans are getting louder, more needy, desperate as he tortures your cunt and licks across your bundles of nerves again and again.

You arch your back off the bed, not even in control of your own body at this point, his tongue now plunging so deep inside you that you can hardly remember your own name.

He fucks you with his mouth, moving his lips against your hole as his tongue curves around your walls, curling in a way that makes you whine so loud you fear any one of the others in the house would hear you. Joel doesn’t seem to care though, his only focus being on you, your pleasure, your screams for him.

“J- Joel, please, I’m gonna -“

You regret warning him. You regret the words as soon as they fell from your mouth because he fucking stops.

“What? Baby I-”

He shushes you, climbing back up to meet your lips, calming their begs with sweet kisses. “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. I gotcha.”

His hands roam over your sides, teasing the edge of your breasts, one still wet from his mouth and sensitive in the cool night air. He kisses you again, making you moan as the taste of your own wetness hits your tongue, and you’re sure you can feel his cock swell against you at the sound.

He must feel it too because he desperately pulls his jeans off, throwing them behind him with no care for where they land. He does it without breaking your kiss, a grace to his movements that mesmerises you, leaves you victim to whatever he wants and needs as long as you get to feel his skin and his touch and his taste.

“Have you done this before?” Joel’s words are croaked, broken apart by the tightness you left in his throat, by your words and your touch alone. So much so you hardly hear him, too lost in the realm of desperation to register that he’d spoke.

“Baby?” He taps your chin, making you finally open your eyes and look up at him, drowning in the brown husks that meet your gaze. “Baby, have you done this before?”

You swallow, nodding your head so quickly that it makes you dizzy. Or maybe it’s the way he starts to grind against you, his bare cock slipping between the wet folds of your cunt, threatening to slip inside while leaving you so empty you could cry.

And it was true; you had done this before. Not many times, and only when necessary. The first time was before you left the QZ, with a boy your age who was just as curious about what all these new feelings and hormones actually meant. FEDRA was terrible at many things, and sex education was one of them. Another time was with a FEDRA agent - ironically, you thought - one who’d promised you food and shelter but left you in the dirt as soon as you smuggled in the pills he needed.

You’ve done this before, but you’ve never done this before. You’ve felt skin on skin, sweat dripping down your neck, a tongue in your mouth that felt foreign but explored your body all the same.

But you’ve never felt this passion. The way your body cries when it loses his touch. The way your mind is alive with sensation and need, begging to feel his fingertips and hear his voice in your ear again and again until the coil inside you unfolds and you give yourself, endlessly, doubtlessly, to him.

You don’t know how he knows. And you don’t know how you know that he knows. But Joel’s eyes pierce yours, his breath falls into your open mouth, and there’s just something in the way he looks at you that tells you his every desire is the same.

He needs you like you need him.

And so he begins to pump his cock, moaning into your mouth as you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck once again. Where he feels most secure against you.

“Shit, I-” He mumbles against your lips, half incoherent, and you break the kiss. Your eyes search his, looking for whatever it is that’s tripping him up, and it’s only then that you realise just how much he’s begging for you. How his hips grind against yours with so much need that he could cum right there and then, you think.

And fuck, it turns you on.

“Need your cock, Joel. Need your big cock filling me up so badly.” You moan into his mouth, not even kissing him anymore, just letting your heavy breaths fall into the cage of your lips pressed together, perfectly fit.

He buries his head in your bare neck, revelling in the soft skin that greets him there, a canvass for his touch as he peppers kisses and bites across your throat and over your collar bone.

His hands settle on your hips, draggin you as close to his own as possible, and you wrap your legs around his waist again on instinct. He presses his forehead against yours, willing his eyes open, though you watch how they flutter and it makes you need him more.

Joel whimpers, catching himself from falling as he brings up to your cheek, stroking it gently. “You can do this, baby?’

Your heart warms at his words, blooming flowers only made for him. “I need it. Joel, I need it, I need you-”

Before you can finish, he’s heard you, pushing the bulging head of his cock into your cunt as you try to stop a scrambled scream in its steps. Joel’s head burrows further into the crook of your neck, teeth bearing down on the skin so hard that you’d scream if you weren’t already incapacitated by the fullness of his cock inside you.

You moan in unison, gripping him like your life depends on it as he bottoms out, tears brimming in your eyes as he draws himself away from you and slams back inside again.

“Fuck, Joel, so fuck - so fucking good,” your moans break the thick sound of skin on skin, as Joel slams into you again and again, aching your hips and scrambling your brain into nonsense. He groans, the hand that rested on your cheek now balanced on the pillow beside your head, allowing him to fuck you harder, deeper than before.

Sweat paints your skin, reflecting in the moonlight that seeps through Joel’s curtains, matching the thin veil of the man above you. You wince as the headboard begins to smack against the wall, hitting it again and again, making the unyielding pace of his hips all the more heady as you drown in his sounds and his scent and his thrust.

“Babygirl, fuck, fuck,” he’s getting closer, you can tell, and it takes everything you have not to come right there on the spot.

Instead you flex your hips, meet his thrusts with legs still tight around his waist, pulling him further, deeper inside you. “Need to fucking - ah, ah - J- Joel I need to cum.”

His head frantically nods, still buries beneath your jaw, before he musters the strength to emerge from his new-found home in the crook of your neck and meet your eyes once again. He rests his forehead against yours, both sweaty and sliding, but neither of you care as his hips rut faster and faster into the warmth of your cunt.

“You- fuck, you can cum, baby. Need ya to come for me babygirl.”

At his words, your desperation unfolds, tethers of pleasure unraveling from your core and tightening around his cock, still fucking inside you without respite. He groans, his pace finally faltering as he feels your warmth coil around him, welding his hips against yours where he finally releases ribbons of thick, hot cum inside you.

Joel collapses on top of you, careful to rest at least some of his weight on the hand beside your head, but otherwise burying as much of himself into you as he can. His cock stays inside your cunt, plugging you with his cum, and in your post-orgasm haze you can hardly think as you bring a hand to the back of his head, stroking his hair and letting him rest atop your chest.

“Don’t leave.”

You don’t hear him at first. Truly, you don’t. You know he’s said something, felt the vibrations of his whispered pleas on your skin, and yet you’re still so caught up in the sweat and the smell and tingling of his body on yours to even register his words.

But he’s desperate. He’s sad, and hurt, and hopeful. Hopeful that tonight meant as much to you as it did to him. Hopeful that you weren’t about to continue your plan and leave into the night, as much of a ghost as when he’d found you.

“Don’t leave,” he repeats. “Stay.”

For all the shades and emotions and words you’ve seen in his eyes, there’s something in them now that you can’t place. You wonder if he even knows what it is himself.

You just nod, gasping slightly as he takes your small, delicate action as all the confirmation he needs to move, keeping you tethered together as he rolls onto his back and pulls your limp, shaking body on top of his.

Joel’s hands finally move from their vice grip on your waist, one wrapping tightly around your back, holding you to him, the other cradling your head. You crave him, his touch, and leave kisses on any expanse of skin you can find on the scar-riddled chest you find yourself huddled against. The one you wish you’ll never have to leave.

It’s hard to say how you know you’ll fall asleep first. Maybe it’s because he continues to move, to soothe, as you drift off in his grasp. Maybe it’s because he has his mouth pressed against your ear, whispering promises of togetherness that melt into a dream of hope and sweetness, one that stains the very sheets you’re lay in.

Maybe it’s the way he’s fucked you so good, you can hardly keep your eyes open.

Whatever it is, it works, and your eyes drift shut in the wake of his touch. You hold him, sinking into his softness with an ease you’ve never felt before, and his last murmurs before you finally fall into your dreams fall into the air like smoke.

“Just stay. Please, stay.”

#joel miller x yn #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller

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shy-urban-hobbit · 3 months ago

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From the prompts, 15. Gently kissing the other’s split knuckles from punching something or someone, or 24. A gentle kiss on the forehead, a sweet goodbye they didn't know would be their last, with Lambert and Aiden if you want to! :3c

This went so damn angsty and I regret nothing!!!

If the geldings annoyed nicker was anything to go by, Lambert was probably being a little rougher than necessary saddling up his horse. He gave them a brief scratch behind the ear in apology whilst also determinedly not looking at or talking to Aiden, despite the others multiple attempts at trying to speak to him or catch his eye as they broke down their shared camp for the last time.

He may be being slightly petty in acting like Aiden didn't exist but right now it felt perfectly justified. Their last night before parting ways for the winter had...not been their best.

The Cat had once again rebuffed his offer to spend the winter up at Kaer Morhen, whilst simultaneously complaining about life at Dyn Marv. Lambert had felt his last nerve - already tender from Aiden's rejection - snap. He'd angrily asked why the other was so keen to go back to the caravan since all he did was bitch about it. Aiden's hackles had risen as he explained that winter was the only time he saw those few siblings that he did get along with, before waspishly pointing out that it wasn't like Lambert didn't do the exact same thing when talking about Kaer Morhen. And when exactly had it been decided that Aiden had to be the one to travel to the mountains?! What was stopping Lambert from accepting Aiden's own invitations to accompany him to Dyn Marv if he was truly so desperate to spend the winter with him? It had only escalated from there before they'd spent the night in separate bedrolls on opposite sides of the fire.

Truth be told, up until then, Lambert couldn't remember the last time they'd had a truly serious fight about anything - probably back in their early days when Aiden was still spending every spare minute trying to convince Lambert that he wasn't planning on murdering and/or robbing him. It didn't sit right with him, but any guilt over how the night had gone was currently being drowned out by the part of his brain mulishly insisting that he didn't have anything to apologise for.

"Hey." Aiden rested a hand on Lambert's shoulder tentatively, "We-We're alright, aren't we? It was just a stupid fight."

Lambert grunted a "sure." in reply.

"I'll see you next spring, the usual spot?"

Lambert didn't fight it when Aiden gently tugged on his chin, coaxing him to look him in the eye rather than at the mud between their boots. He did however, turn his gaze skyward instead, "That's the plan."

He resisted at the first sign that Aiden was going in for a kiss, pulling his face free and turning his head before Aiden could press their mouths together. Trying to ignore the spike of hurt in the others scent.

"Lam-"

"I have to go." He finally met Aiden's eye for the first time all morning, not missing how the other seemed to be searching his own face for something before giving a reluctant nod and leaning in lightning quick to press a closed mouth kiss to Lambert's forehead instead.

"You know I love you?"

"You too." Lambert answered, freeing himself from the others loose hold on his arm and mounting up before nudging his horse into a quick trot without looking back.

Lambert stared at the too familiar Cat medallion in his hand. The one that bastard Jad had decided to keep as some sort of sick souvenir. The one that still carried tiny rust flecks of dried blood in its open maw, which undoubtedly belonged to its true owner. The one he'd used to tug Aiden into a kiss too many times to count.

Aiden....he shook his head as the same thoughts he'd been battling against for too long already started to roil in his head in a perfect storm of blame, anger and grief.

If only Aiden had accepted his invitation, if only he'd decided to accompany Aiden to the caravan, if only they'd both stopped being so fucking pigheaded about the whole thing. If only, if only, IF ONLY!

If only Lambert hadn't been so fucking proud as to ignore Aiden's attempts to make things right that morning, if only he'd waited to see what he had to say instead of cutting him off and running away. If only he hadn't shrugged off the last kiss his Cat would ever give him.

He clutched the medallion tighter in his fist, not caring when he felt the sharp edges cutting into his palm and fingers, fresh blood mingling with that which had long ago been spilled as he tried desperately to remember Aiden's lips on his; how he'd felt, how he'd tasted....

He fell to his knees when all he was able to conjure up was a mocking phantom of those lips pressed too briefly to his brow.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #lambert x aiden #lambert/aiden #lambden #aiden x lambert #aiden/lambert #witcher aiden #lambert #witcher lambert

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vintagelasvegas · 5 months ago

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Opera House / Beckley building / Pioneer Club

Vegas Vic sign and 25 Fremont St, Las Vegas – a timeline.

Opera House ('08-'12) Beckley Building ('12-)

'08: Feb. 12, The Opera House, the first building at 25 Fremont opens. The second floor was used for plays, social, dancing, and meeting hall. Some time later the first floor became Thomas Department Store. (Age 2/1/08, Nevadan 12/18/77)

'12: May 26, Opera House destroyed by fire.

'12: Fall, a new 2-floor building completed, seen in photo before Election Day. This building, expanded in '29, still stands as of the 2020s. Another fire hits the new building in '14. (Age 5/24/13, Age 5/23/14)

'15: Will Beckley’s The Men’s Store ("Beckley's") moved into the ground floor of the building, circa late '14 to early '15. Beckley later buys the building from M. C. Thomas for $12,500. (RJ 2/9/58)

'29: Building renovation, 3rd floor level and 1st St. canopy added. Richard D. King, Architect (Los Angeles). The work was started in Apr. and the building was dedicated on Dec. 11.

'41: Sep: Nevada Assemblyman, lawyer Clifford Jones applies for Pioneer Club’s gaming licensing. Jones’ office is in the Beckley building, along with other lawyers including Louis Weiner Jr, and Paul Ralli. (RJ 9/5/41)

'42: Jan. 12, Beckley store is closed, building leased to Pioneer Club. (RJ 1/12/42)

Pioneer Club ('42-'95)

'42: Apr. 10, Pioneer Club opens. Ads list the owners as Charles Addison and L.B. Tutor Scherer, and “associates” Bill Curland and Milton Farmer Page. Cliff Jones was also an unlisted owner with a “$5,000 interest that paid him $14,000 a year” (Kefauver commission report, 5/1/51). The building renovation included new entrances, A/C, and Terrazzo sidewalk. Architect and structural engineer, Aloysius McDonald. “Largest sign in Nevada” by YESCO, weighing two tons, supported by three tons of angle iron. (RJ 4/9/42)

'48: Jan., Pioneer Club sign depicting Chamber of Commerce's “Vegas Vic” character with the words “Here it is, the Famous Pioneer Club” built by YESCO on the rooftop of 32 Fremont St. “The sign was more expensive than the building … it was mounted to the fillings in the basement.” - Thomas Young Jr. (2017)

'48: Pioneer Club’s neon marquee is altered – “Pioneer Club” added to the corner.

'51: Apr., Full-body “Vegas Vic” sign installed. First color set: yellow checkered shirt, red bandana, detailed blue pants. New neon marquee with “Gambling” on the corner. “Big gala” presentation planned for 5/12/51 during Helldorado Days celebrations. The sign’s first mechanical breakdown happens in Jun. (Salt Lake Trib., 3/25/51, RJ 4/28/51, RJ 5/12/51, RJ 6/14/51)

'55: Mar., “Here it is” sign on 32 Fremont dismantled and the building demolished.

'56: New marquee at Pioneer Club, circa Fall '56 – “Pioneer Club / Gambling / Pioneer.”

'56: Dec 1., Ownership of Pioneer Club is Milton Prell (38%), A. F. Winter (35), Joe Hall (16), and L. B. Scherer (10). (RJ 11/29/56)

'58: Aug., Ownership of Pioneer Club is Al Parvin (82%) and Sam Diamond (18%) as New Pioneer Inc. (RJ 8/21/58, RJ 9/23/58)

'60: Pioneer Club remodeled throughout the year by Bill Yates (Al Parvin Co.) and architect Julius Gabrielle, AIA (RJ 1/1/60). Facade walls added to the building, circa Spring '60. New marquee sign, with “New” next to the Pioneer Club logotype, Fall ’60. Second Vegas Vic color set, Fall ’60: Yellow shirt with the bandana minimized to the shoulder in blue, pants in blue (Corduroy), yellow & white boots.

'64: Norbert Jansen becomes primary owner of the club. “Famous” replaces “New” on the Pioneer Club marquee.

'65: Pioneer Club annexes Hotel Elwell (200 S 1st) as Pioneer Club Hotel, through ’68.

'67: Jun., Pioneer Club is sold to Margaret Elardi, Frank Schivo, and Wendall Tingley as Vegas Vic Inc. (RJ 7/2/67)

'68: Jul. 19, Pioneer Club is closed by Nevada Gaming Commission (RJ 7/1/68 p1, 7/24/68). Tingley resigns. Reopened in Aug. without card games (RJ 8/7/68).

'74: Bill and Bob Richardson (grandsons of Will & Leva Beckley) become the landlords of the property with minority owner Bruce Beckley (son of Will & Leva). (RJ 6/28/79, RJ 11/10/82)

'77: Red and white panel facade on the building replaces the ’60 facade. Third Vegas Vic color set: Yellow shirt, red bandana, blue pants, yellow boots. Face colors have become more black & white.

'81: Elardi family opens Pioneer Hotel & Gambling Hall in Laughlin, NV. A replica of the "Vegas Vic" sign is built by YESCO for the Laughlin casino. The replica is called "River Rick."

'83: Jan. 1, Bill and Bob Richardson, and Mike Ensign become the Pioneer Club owners; sale from Elari finalized in Fall ’82.

'83: Jun, Pioneer Club partners buy Club Bingo (17, 21-23 Fremont St), soon expands into the neighboring property and extends Pioneer’s red & white facade. (RJ 6/1/83)

'92: Dec., Pioneer Club sold to partners Steven Burnstine (35%), Marc Curtis (35), Ian Schneider (20), Louis Nichmin (10). New owners plan to exploit Vegas Vic merchandise.

'94: Dec., "Vegas Vic" sign is temporarily removed from the building. The south side of the hat is shortened by 2', and the placement of the sign is moved further out from the building, to allow for the construction of the Fremont Street Experience canopy around the sign. A publicity event wedding ceremony is held for "Vegas Vic" and "Vegas Vickie" signs on Dec. 15.

'95: Jun. 29, Pioneer Club is closed (RJ 6/30/95). Mirage Resorts Inc. temporarily takes custody of the property, exercising a 6-month option to buy 25 Fremont, with plans to expand Golden Nugget into four parcels on Fremont St (17, 21-23, and 25 Fremont). The option expires at the end of the year.

Gift Shop era

'95: Construction of Fremont Street Experience includes closing 1st Street to traffic at Fremont. Later in 2006, much of the first block of South 1st is built over by Golden Nugget expansion.

'98: Jan., 25 Fremont is sold to Schiff Enterprises, along with 17 Fremont. Silver Lining Construction renovates the building. “City inspectors have watched the world closely to make sure the building is brought up to code while preserving its historical value for future generations.” (RJ 9/5/98) Reopens as gift shop at a later date.

'99: Laughlin's Pioneer Hotels Inc. (Elardi) is granted a U.S. trademark #2397704 for the full-body "River Rick" image, claiming its first use in '82. In 2005, Archon Corp. buys the holdings of Pioneer Hotel Inc, and subsequently claims trademark ownership of "Vegas Vic."

2000: New corner marquee, "Souvenirs Gifts T-Shirts." Approximate date of Vegas Vic fourth color: tan hat, black & white face, red bandana, red & yellow checker shirt, blue jeans, tan boots.

2014: Paneling on the east wall of the Beckley building, and the "Souvenirs Gifts T-Shirts" marquee are removed, as the Beckley building is extended to the area of former South 1st St.

Photos of Pioneer Club

Headline photos above: (1) Opera House circa '08. (2) Beckley building, c '15. (3) Renovated Beckley building, decorated for celebrations marking construction of the dam, 9/17/30. Beckley Family Photograph Collection (PH-00148), UNLV Special Collections & Archives. (4) Construction on S. 1st St, 6/4/2014 - Charles G. Haacker.

Dec. '42 – Pioneer Club's first year. Photo by Peter Stackpole, LIFE Magazine.

Jan. '48 – Installation of the rooftop sign at 32 Fremont. Unknown photographer, possibly Las Vegas News Bureau. L. F. Manis Photograph Collection (PH-00100) UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

c. '51-52 – “Vegas Vic” with original colors. L. F. Manis Photograph Collection (PH-00100) UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

'62 – Beckley bldg covered in panels; Vegas Vic's second colors. Las Vegas News Bureau.

'80 – Beckley bldg covered in red panels; Vegas Vic's third colors. Photo by Jean-Marc Loubat.

2005 – “Souvenirs” marquee; Vegas Vic fourth color set. Photo by Limonene.

Fire Anniversary. Las Vegas Age, 5/24/13 p1; Fire Destroys Thomas Store. Las Vegas Age, 5/23/14 p1; New Gaming Club Looms for Vegas. Review-Journal, 9/5/41; Beckley's Store Closed Today. Review-Journal, 1/12/42; $100,000 Club and Cocktail Lounge Opens. Review-Journal, 4/9/42 p1; Largest Neon Sign in Nevada Installed at Pioneer Club. Review-Journal, 4/9/42 p1; Seven-Story ‘Cowboy’ Sign Construction End Seen. Salt Lake Tribune, 3/25/51; Guidepost. Review-Journal, 4/28/51 p3; Another Big Hit for the Pioneer Club (advertisement). Review-Journal, 5/12/51 p9; Vegas Vic Has Heat Stroke; Collapses. Review-Journal, 6/14/51 p2; Tax Commission. Review-Journal, 11/29/56 p1-2; Don Ashbaugh. Will Beckleys Have Watched, Aided Las Vegas. Review-Journal, 2/9/58 p30; Now Under New Boss. Review-Journal, 8/21/58; Gaming Board. Review-Journal, 9/23/58; Remodeling Program Underway at Pioneer Club. Review-Journal, 1/10/60; Pioneer Club Sale Approved. Review-Journal, 7/2/67; Elizabeth Harrington. Las Vegas’ First Shows. The Nevadan, 12/18/77; Leva Beckley, Pioneer Vegas Woman Dies. Review-Journal, 6/28/79; Laughlin casino preparing for neon naming ceremony. Review-Journal, 12/25/81; Pioneer Club Sale Revealed. Review-Journal, 11/10/82; Clyde Weiss. Owners of Pioneer Club agree to buy Club Bingo. Review-Journal, 6/1/83; John Gallant. Cowboy to get new hat. Review-Journal, 12/3/94 p1; Shaun McKinnon. Downtown celebrates neon nuptial. Review-Journal, 12/17/94; Jeffrey Cohen. A Golden Opportunity. Review-Journal, 2/3/96; Hubble Smith. Pioneer Makeover. Review-Journal, 9/5/98

#Pioneer Club

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