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stevebabey · 5 months

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have sum steddie! maybe modern!au, no upside down!au & a meet cute <3

Steve sits in the booth, his foot tapping away mindlessly under the table, with half a mind to abandon the table entirely.

In fact, the only reason he hadn’t yet was because of the $20 he was hanging out for at the end. And the bragging rights, of course.

Robin had set him up on this blind date, plied him with all the promises in the world that he would enjoy it — said she’d spent a decent amount of time hunting for the right first gay date for Steve.

She also conceded that if he, for whatever reason, didn’t enjoy it, she would cough up 20 whole bucks for his wasted time. But he had to actually see the date through for the prize to be claimed.

And the bragging rights were so that Robin — with her uppity, healthy, and happy relationship that Steve was only a little bit envious of — could ease onto the breaks when it came to Steve’s love life.

So it was looking a little bleak at the moment, so what? Every stallion or… lion or whatever had their moments, right? Moments where their mane is a little uncouth and food is low and…. Where was he going with this?

The point was, that Robin got into one relationship and suddenly decided she was fit to become a high and mighty matchmaker. Never mind that Steve had reminded her numerous times that he had dated a lot more than she had.

So, for 20 bucks and the right to stick his tongue out at his best friend when she tried to meddle, Steve could stick one night out.

Besides, she was right about one thing. They weren’t in Hawkins anymore — and San Francisco had a hell of a larger dating pool than his hometown.

Still, that didn’t make people anymore for prompt for dates though, apparently. Steve’s foot taps incessantly under the table, his knee bouncing up and down in his nerves. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch again.

7 o’clock, Harvey’s Diner, a cute little Italian place that Steve had begun to frequent since they moved to the city, and a date with a dude called Daniel whom Steve had no idea what he looked like.

This was his Friday night plans.

His watch reads 7:12pm and Steve sighs, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch just for something to do. Great. He had gotten all dressed up for this? To be stood up? How was this any better than his usual Friday night plans that Robin claimed were so pathe—

“Hi.”

Someone sits down in the booth across from Steve, landing with a thump loud enough to give him a fright.

Steve’s head whips up from its focus on fiddling with his watch and— woah. Steve blinks once, twice, and feels his jaw unhinge a little, his lips parting an inch as he gazes at the stranger across from him.

Holy shit, this dude was hot.

He’s got curls for days, dark chocolate ringlets all messy and unkept spilling over his shoulders— long and probably perfect for burying your hands into. Steve flushes a little at the unexpected thought.

He has beautiful brown eyes, widened with a smudge of eyeliner and framed with long lashes. Steve thinks he can spy a smattering of freckles across his forehead. His nose is long and his lips are plush and pink and holy shit, this dude was pretty.

“Oh— hi.” Steve manages to remember his manners. Only after he fully checked this dude out, of course.

God, couldn’t Robin have given him a better warning than just ‘he’s probably your type’? Couldn’t she have warned him that this dude was ‘do-a-double-take-on-the-street type hot?’ What the fuck Robin?

The man across from him grins, wicked and alluring all at once, and shucks off his heavy leather jacket. His eyes do a once-over on Steve, taking his time to check him out— which is great because Steve is stuck on all the glorious tattoos that have just been revealed. So much skin shown in his roughly chopped muscle-tee, swirling ink all down his arms. This dude is hot.

Silently, Steve curses Robin and the 20 dollars that is totally slipping away from him. Why did she have to be right all the time?

“Been waiting long?” The man, Daniel, asks as he makes himself comfortable across the table. He pushes his hair back with both hands, using one hand to gather it into a ponytail, holding it up to air out his neck and Steve now realises he is slightly puffed.

He must’ve run part of the way here, to avoid being later than he was. Steve can’t help but be slightly endeared by that fact.

The man grins again, “Promise I was trying to be on time but, you know how the subway is.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, any annoyance at being kept waiting melting away at his date’s sincerity.

“Not too long,” Steve admits, smiling to ease Daniel’s apparent concern. Across the table, Daniel slumps a little and releases his hair, his curls pooling back around his shoulders. Steve watches, entranced.

“Well, that’s good,” Daniel smiles, eyes bright like he really means it, and his hand darts out to steal the drinks menu from the edge of the table. He looks back over to Steve, a furrow in his brows. “You didn’t order anything?”

“I thought I should wait,” Steve says with a shrug. No point paying for food if your date never shows up.

Daniel looks up from the menu through his lashes and smiles, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, you’re sweet.”

Steve is a little embarrassed by how easily the compliment makes him blush, feeling his cheeks glow lightly. Across the table, Daniel seems to revel in it, drinking in the way Steve’s face filled with colour with a cheeky smile. His eyes flick back down to the menu.

“You know,” Daniel begins, keeping his eyes on the menu, scanning it with a hum. “Chrissy said you were good looking but I think she seriously undersold you.”

He takes his eyes off the menu to trail up Steve’s body, his gaze heavy. Steve feels a delighted zing go up his spine, feels the way he preens at Daniel’s attraction. Steve opens his mouth to respond, more than ready to return the flirt when—

“Can I get you two started with anything?”

The waitress interrupts. She’s poised with her notepad, standing at the edge of the booth. Daniel perks up and nods.

“Can I get a chocolate milkshake please?” He asks with a polite smile. Steve laughs lightly at his selection and Daniel’s gaze cuts from the waitress to Steve.

“What? Not a milkshake man?”

Steve tries to contain his grin, all too endeared by the man before him. He shakes his head and raises his hand in defense. “Nothing against milkshakes just… for dinner?”

Daniel gasps theatrically and his head snaps back to the waitress. “This man has never had the delight of a Harvey’s milkshake with his dinner. Please bring us two chocolate milkshakes!”

Steve watches as the waitress dutifully writes down the order and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen. He turns back to his date and gapes, taken aback by the forwardness.

“Did you just order for me?”

“Did you just diss milkshakes?”

Steve scoffs, but even then he can’t stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He can’t believe it but he’s genuinely glad he waited this date out. It's not at all like he was expecting. Even Robin's short description of this dude pales in comparison to the real thing. Steve nudges his foot forward into Daniel’s shin lightly.

“I did not diss milkshakes,” Steve argues, his smile widening at how Daniel’s eyes dart to the table before back up at Steve with a grin.

“Uh huh,” Daniel nods, his voice sarcastic and 100% unbelieving of Steve’s insistence. “Just wait, okay? You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Harvey’s milkshakes are class. I’ve had a thousand of my best ideas in here, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.”

Steve grins and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Under the table, he feels Daniel’s boot nudge against his leg gently— and he laughs to himself. This has gotta be the most teenage way of flirting and he’s fucking loving it.

“You know,” Steve begins hesitantly, letting his forearms lean up against the table. “You’re not quite what I expected, Daniel.”

Across the table, Daniel scrunches up his face, his expression one of pure befuddlement. He puts his hands flat on the table and leans forward.

“Wait, you think my name is Daniel?”

Steve splutters for a moment because even though the answer is duh, yes, it’s become increasingly apparent that the man across from him is not who he was expecting. But if he’s not Daniel, who is he?

Suddenly, the door chimes and someone else is entering the diner. It’s a man dressed like Steve — on the preppy side with hair that must’ve taken at least an hour. He scans the booth and spots Steve’s booth, wandering over, his eyes fixed on the man across from Steve.

“Hey, are you Eddie?” He asks confidently, ignoring Steve’s presence on the other side of the booth.

The man — Eddie — freezes as he glances up at the newcomer and then back down to Steve ahead of him. Steve deflates a little inside as he realises abruptly what’s happened— a mix-up of wrong dates that was completely warranted because this dude dresses exactly like Steve. Steve doesn't stare too long to see if he's any hotter.

Instead, he tries to give Eddie the all-clear with his eyes. He smiles polite as he can and gives a little nod to let him know it was alright to abandon him for the date he was supposed to go on. Not to get stuck with Steve.

Eddie clears his throat and smiles, not cheeky like he had with Steve, but stiff and polite. “Ah sorry man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. My name's Daniel.”

Huh? Steve takes his eyes off the table to steal a glimpse at Eddie (is his name even Eddie?) and something inside him burns hotly when the man glances across at Steve and winks.

The man standing by the booth wavers for a moment, glancing between them in the booth as Steve schools his expression to neutral. After a moment of silence, there's a half-assed apology as the man retreats, heading back out the door he had just come through. The door chimes again on his way out.

Steve straightens up and peers over his shoulder, watching the door slowly swing shut. He turns back to the man across the booth and squints at him. The waitress returns briefly, dropping two large chocolate shakes onto the table, topped with a mountain of cream. She murmurs something about coming back to take their order in a moment.

"Wait, so who are you?" Steve asks, gently sliding his shake closer to him. "Daniel or Eddie?"

His date —well, his new date— has already begun taking a big long sip from his own milkshake, so enamored with it that when he pulls away there's a dot of cream on the end of his nose. He swallows with a satisfied ah and grins across the table at Steve, not noticing the dairy on his face.

"I'm whoever gets me talking with you a little bit longer."

Steve grins, an endeared roll of his eye at the blatant flirting but he can't deny how it makes his chest warm. He grabs one of the napkins and reaches forward, adoring how Eddie goes cross-eyed as he watches Steve smudge away the cream on his nose. He laughs sheepishly, giving his nose a little wipe with his own hand.

"I'm Eddie." He says, finally introducing himself. He doesn't offer his hand, just gives Steve a little nudge under the table and a grin over his milkshake. "And I think you just saved me from a terrible date."

Steve laughs, giving a little shake of his head. He finally goes in for a sip of his own milkshake— and it's just as heavenly as Eddie had promised, glorious chocolate dancing over his taste buds.

Steve groans quietly, eyes bright when he glances at the other man over his glass, entirely amused by how wide-eyed Eddie has become. He releases the straw and sits back, more invested in this date than he has been in... years. Stallion's got its mojo back. Or lion. Whatever.

"I'm Steve," He responds, giving a little nudge back under the table and a grin of his own. "And I think you saved me from being stood up."

#what..... is this????#i haven't really written modern au for them #and i wrote it in about 2 hours so hopefully its like. not terrible #wahoo !#i luv a little meet cute #meet cute #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie blurb #ummmm i haven't posted in literal eons ive forgotten all my tags oh well #enjoy ?

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drak3n · 6 months

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TATTOO ARTIST/PIERCER!CHOSO

CONTENT WARNINGS: unestablished relationship, smut, public sex, mentions of body modifications, cunnilingus, implied blowjob at the end, choso has a prince albert-, tongue- and a vertical eyebrow piercing

sena’s note: i know there’s a lot of tattoo artist choso already but i folded — anywaysss up next is my man gojo 🖤

MINI-SERIES MASTERLIST

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who was very well-known for his talent despite being so young; who was always pretty gifted with his hands and used peoples’ skin like a canvas, gracing it with the prettiest designs, simple and small, or detailed and large

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who shared a studio with a few fellow tattoo artists and piercers, but had a goal of having his own studio someday

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who had just finished a 5h back piece on his last client and walked towards the front desk to retrieve his cigarettes and take a break, just for his hooded, brown eyes to set on you

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who saw you standing next to your friend and encouraging her to hand in her data sheet for her tattoo, and who watched as your friend was immediately guided into one of the rooms by a tattoo artist, just to leave you all by yourself

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who came back from smoking minutes later to see you sitting on one of the leather seats, flipping through pages of the shop’s magazine that showed many different designs of tattoos, and also piercings

“you want to get anything done?”

nearly flinching at the cold voice sounding a couple of feet away from you, your eyes met choso’s, who was leaning against the wall, revealing fully tattooed forearms through his loose-fitted t-shirt. he looked very… unique, to say the least.

“oh, no, i’m just waiting for a friend,” you smiled kindly, “she’s getting tattooed right now. think it’ll take some time.” you felt guilty that you stared at the man like he was some kind of alien. his features were just really captivating, the plethora of tattoos peeking out from his short sleeves and from the collar leaving little to the imagination that they continued even beneath that shirt.

his eyebrow tattoo shone under the light, but when he opened his mouth, your jaw nearly dropped at the sight of a tongue piercing.

you suddenly remembered what they said about guys with tongue piercings, and felt deeply ashamed about getting such thoughts about a hot stranger.

“come,” he invited you towards the room he usually worked in, “you’ll get bored here. you’ll get a piercing on the house.” he didn’t know why he offered that. maybe, just maybe it was because he didn’t want the other piercers and tattoo artists to charm you first.

at the end of the day, you left the studio with your freshly tattooed friend and a pierced nose.

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who hoped you’d walk in again, and whose shoulders nearly slumped in disappointment upon seeing your friend coming in by herself a few days later to get her tattoo checked, without your company

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who — totally on accident — saw that the studio had been tagged in multiple stories on instagram, one of which being yours, a spontaneous picture taken of your side profile that showcased the gem he had pierced into your cute nose

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who absolutely didn’t follow you after that, just to see mere minutes later that you did, and before he could stop himself, he followed you back

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who really wasn’t the best texter, which left you wondering if you should even try and talk to him at all; whose eyes went wide in surprise when you waltzed into the studio to get your thigh tattooed weeks later

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who showed you that same day how it felt to get eaten out by someone with a tongue piercing

“c—choso… fuck— what if someone—”

your hand clamped in front of your mouth to stifle a moan threatening to force itself out when the ball of metal on choso’s wet muscle bumped against your bundle of nerves. you were seated on the couch he’d previously tatted on, both of your bare legs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted on your delicious pussy.

“let them,” he spoke gruffly into your cunt as his tattooed hands dug into the underside of your thighs. he didn’t hide the smirk displaying on his lips at the way you drooled from the sensation of his piercing coolly gliding against your wet pussy lips.

“c’mon. use your words. i’ll let you cum if you do.”

“pleasepleaseplease let me cum… please choso.”

“cute. you want to feel what the piercing on my dick feels like?”

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who totally did make you beg on his thick dick adorned with a shiny prince albert piercing, and who couldn’t even be mad at you when you flashed him a tongue piercing you had gotten at another studio to surprise and make him see stars just like he’d done for you

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bethanythebogwitch · 6 months

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Wet Beast Wednesday: walrus

There are a lot of iconic arctic animals, such as the polar bear and narwhal, but my personal favorite is the walrus. Known for their large tusks, prominent whiskers, and habit for busting myths creepy eyes, walruses are unique amongst the pinnipeds. Most people know of the two main groups of pinnipeds: Phocidae, the earless or true seals and Otariidae, the fur seals and sea lions. Walruses however are in a class of their own, being the only surviving species of their own family: Odobenidae. A weird fact that I learned researching for this is that taxonoimists used to think Odobenids evolved from bears before later reclassifying them alongside the other pinnipeds. Old-timey taxonomy was wild and came up with some absolutely unhinged ideas. Like they used to think that microbats and megabats weren't related, instead classifying megabats as primates.

(image; a walrus sitting on an ice flow. It is a large, brown mammals with short limbs that end in flippers. Its head has a wide, blunt snout and two long tusks emerging from the upper jaw)

There is one species of walrus, Odobenus rosmarus, divided into two subspecies based on location: the Atlantic walrus (O. r. rosmarus) and Pacific walrus (O. r. divergens). The two subspecies are still very similar and genetic testing indicates they diverged between 750,000 and 500,000 years ago. There used to be a third listed subspecies from the Laptev sea, O. r. laptevi, but they have since been reclassified as a population of the Pacific walrus. Walruses are very large, being the third largest pinnipeds after the two elephant seal species. The Pacific subspecies is larger than their Atlantic brethren with most males reaching an average weight between 800 and 1,700 kg (1,800 to 3,700 lbs). A few males have been known to grow considerably larger than average. Male Atlantic walruses average about 900 kg (2,200 lbs). In both subspecies, females are about 2/3 the size of males and have shorter tusks. a large portion of their weight comes from the thick layer of blubber under their skin that helps them stay warm. Both subspecies have an average length between 2.2 and 3.6 meters (7.4 to 11.8 ft). Walruses have hind flippers that can turn forward to act like feet, letting them crawl on all fours like sea lions. Like true seals, they have no external ears. The skin is very thick and mostly bald. They are born with brown skin that becomes lighter as they age. While swimming, the blood vessels in the skin construct to reduce blood flow and limit heat loss, which makes them considerably lighter, almost white. Males have skin nodules called bossed around the neck and shoulders. Their creepy eyes are the result of eye sockets with no roof and powerful extraocular muscles that let the eyes protrude out of the skull and look both forward and sideways. The famous mustaches are composed of 400-700 thick whiskers. The whiskers are attached to muscles and have both nerve ending and blood supply. They are incredibly sensitive sense organs and a walrus can identify objects as small as 2mm with its whiskers. Their lips are muscular and flexible and aid in creating a large variety of noises.

(image: a close-up of a walrus's face, showing its prominent whiskers and small eyes. Its mouth is open, revealing its tongue)

youtube

How come the walrus can whistle but I can't? (video: a walrus in a zoo being instructed by its handler to make multiple vocalizations)

Of course the most famous features of walruses are their tusks. These two large canines can reach a meter in length and are larger in males than females. The tusks have a number of uses in both sexes, though males use them more. In both sexes, they are used to help dig breathing holes in sea ice, hang onto ice and help the walrus climb out of the water. Males also use their tusks in displays of dominance, especially during mating season. Larger tusks are a sign of dominance and typically the walrus with the largest tusks will win standoffs. If a standoff escalates from posturing to a fight, they will use their tusks as weapons. They tend to strike around the neck and shoulders and the skin nodules in those areas help protect males from each other's tusks. It was formerly believed that walruses would use their tusks to dig for prey on the sea floor, but this is no longer believed to be the case.

(image: a walrus skull showing the tusks)

(image: a walrus using its tusks to hang onto the ice and keep its nostrils above the water)

Walruses spend a lot of their time searching for the food they need to support a body that big. They prefer forging along the continental shelf and spend much more time in shallow water than other pinnipeds. While walruses have been tracked diving 500 meters deep, the majority of dives are much more shallow. The vast majority of a walrus's diet consists of seafloor-dwelling invertebrates including tubeworms, soft corals, tunicates, crabs and shrimp, sea cucumbers, and mollusks. While that's a wide palette, their absolute favorite food is clams. To hunt, walruses drag their noses and the forward surface of their tusks through the sediment and use their whiskers to search for food. This stirs up the sediment and releases nutrients back into the water column, a process balled bioturbation. Many foods can be swallowed whole or chewed, but they have a special feeding style for clams and other bivalves. Walruses will hold the bivalve in their mouths and use their flexible lips to form a water-tight seal around it. It then withdraws its tongue into its mouth to create enough suction to suck the bivalve meat right out of the shell. So important is this strategy to feeding that the shape of their mouths is specially adapted to it. Walruses are also known to feed on seals, though how much of that is due to hunting or scavenging is unknown. Additionally, they will scavenge whales, may hunt walrus trapped under sea ice, and have been seen catching and eating birds.

(image: a walrus foraging for food underwater. It has its snout pressed into the sea floor and is kicking up a large amount of sediment. Still from a National Geographic video)

Walruses are social and migratory, traveling south for the winter and north for the summer in aggregations that can be tens of thousands strong. They will haul out onto land or sea ice in huge numbers, blanketing the landscape in blubber and tusks. While these aggregations are preferred, they are not considered a true social species as they do not aid each other when together. Walruses on land or ice are skittish and will spook easily. Being startled can lead to stampedes while the walruses flee back to sea. Sometimes, walruses will be trampled to death during these stampedes. During mating season, the normally cordial walruses become much less friendly to their neighbors. Breeding seasons lasts from January to March. During this time, males will gather in the water around females in heat and compete for the change to get to that nice walrussy (I will not apologize). This is usually done via bellowing and posturing with the tusks, but may escalate to fights. While males become sexually mature around age 7, they often do not become large and strong enough to secure mates until around age 15. Females become sexually mature between 4 and 6 years old. Curiously, females enter heat twice per year, but males are only fertile once per year. Gestation takes up to 16 months and calves are born able to swim and weighing up to 75 kg (165 lbs). Females with calves move away from the large aggregations, possibly to keep their calves from being crushed in stampedes and possibly to make it harder for predators to detect their scent. Nursing lasts for over a year, longer than in many pinnipeds. Walrus milk is fattier than that of land mammals, but less fatty than that of true seals, forcing walrus mother to nurse longer. Even after being weaned, walruses may spend up to 5 years with their mothers. Females only mate at most every two years, which gives the walrus the lowest reproduction rate of all pinnipeds. Walruses can live up to 30 years in the wild and 40 years in captivity. Male walruses have the largest penis bone of any non-cetacean both in absolute size and proportionately.

(image an aerial shot of a walrus herd on land. There are many walruses and they are so tightly packed together that no ground is visible)

"Don't talk to me or my son ever again" (image: a mother walrus with its calf. The calf is a smaller version of the mother with no tusks. The calf is sittting by its mother's side. Both are looking at the camers)

Walruses have been hunted by humans living in the arctic circle for millennia. Hunting peaked in 18th and 19th centuries when there was a high commercial demand for meat, blubber, skin, and ivory. This almost led to the extirpation of Atlantic walruses. Since then, hunting has been outlawed except by indigenous peoples, allowing the populations to recover. Now, the major threat to walruses is climate change leading to loss of sea ice needed for hauling out and breeding. The IUCN lists both subspecies as Vulnerable. They were an important source of food and other materials to the peoples of the arctic circle and appear frequently in the mythology of said peoples.

(image: a walrus tusk carved with the images of multiple fish, seals, and polar bears)

#wet beast wednesday #walrus #pinniped #marine biology #zoology #ecology #marine mammals #animal facts #biology #Youtube

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the-trinket-witch · 2 months

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TWST Signature Spell Effects on the Body

Because I'm a wordy, purple-prose kinda bish, I thought about what each Unique Magic might actually feel like on the body (at least the ones that affect other mages when cast). (SPOILERS FOR BOOKS 5 ONWARD)

(CW: Loss of motor function, scopophobia, senses being messed with, forceful sleep)

Off With Your Head:

The moment it slaps around your neck and shoulders, there's that deafening rush of blood to one's ears. If you and your magic were lightning, the collar just became your glass bottle. Outside of the momentary dulling of senses, one may have a general difficulty breathing, either from the collar fitting itself or the lack of support without one's magic. Lightheadedness and an internal hollowness make the collar leave you feeling like after a flu.

Bet the Limit:

His magic literally amplifies and pushes back your magic, but to do that he has to rip control of it from you. Bet the Limit gives one that jerking tug on the shoulders, a jab of pain that burns into your neck almost. Sometimes if one resists or tries to wrench control back, they're left feeling like their shoulders have been dislocated. They haven't of course, but the feeling is still enough to keep one from moving them for a while.

Doodle Suit:

There's a metallic, fruity Sichuan peppercorn-like numbing on the senses before it's replaced with what he decides. Pretty straightforward.

(Legit tho: I think his is kinda scary in terms of utility. The possibilities o_o )

King's Roar:

Burning. King's roar doesn't have fire but there's still a dry burn. Rug or rope burn, an allergic reaction, or being splashed with hydrogen peroxide, it all makes the nerves curl away like shriveling plants. Skin on downwards begins flaking like baked mud, falling off into sand like chunks of slate.

Laugh With Me:

Laugh With Me at first feels like the pinch of nerves. But pulling against the bindings is like hyena teeth biting and yanking your muscle and bones; you're not in control. That tugging hurts much less, more of a firm mouthing on your body in whatever direction he wants.

It's A Deal:

Much like his flattering words, his magic leaves one feeling glittery. But there's a cold tentacle-like grip on the heart for a quick moment; a reminder of what lies in the undertow. It's not a memorable sensation, but memorable enough to know what happens when it returns upon failing to fulfill your end of a contract. The resulting Anemone doesn't feel like much until one touches it, like a large zit.)

Shock the Heart:

The sudden wash over you feels like the splash of cold water after getting dumped out of a boat. Pharyngeal jaws scrape and tug on your tongue to reel you in, truth dripping off of you like seawater.

(Truth is a lot of times subjective so why nerf it further? HC he can use it multiple times but lies cause it works on those unaware)

Oasis Maker:

Rain that's always the perfect refreshing temperature. Never frigid but never feeling hot. A relaxing shower of jasmine and chai, without the stifling steam

Snake Whisper:

A burning cobra bite to the skull. It's venom sears every wrinkle in the brain as you feel yourself get pulled along by the collar of proverbial tail coiled around your neck. Resistance feels like hot sand filling your brain cavity. Eventually the oppressive weight of said sand makes one submit.

Sleep Kiss:

Sleep Kiss seems pretty straightforward. It probably feels like sitting in a soundproof glass box, with cold air filtered in. Every chilly inhale acts like anesthesia, or the tug of exhaustion by hypothermia.

Fae of Maleficence:

His 'Blessing' feels like being laid into a patch of semi-prickly twigs; a dragon's nest or roost. It hurts slightly, but the diligence is paid to lay you gently in so they don't prick. Eventually you can somewhat relax, but adjusting or moving reminds one of the thorny poking all around you. It just becomes preferable to sit still, rather than try waking or even attempt at getting comfortable.

Meet in a Dream:

Many mistake Silver to have soft hair, but the only downy lightness about him, I think, is Meet in a Dream. Whatever sensations one feels when dreaming of flying, that fills you to buoyancy as he leads you along the Dream Corridor.

#twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #unique magic #signature spell #twst silver #jamil viper #riddle rosehearts #epel felmier #azul ashengrotto #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #trey clover #deuce spade #jade leech #kalim al asim

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 1 year

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Let Me Take Care of You

Pairing: JoeQuinnxReader

Summary: I couldn't stop thinking about how that man needed someone to take care of him after such a long day. And I know how much he cares about his fans. He was so kind but toward the end, everybody was rushed, and I have no doubt he wished he could have taken more time. So, fic idea popped into my head because...yeah, he looked so damn good on Sunday. You're dating Joe and after the chaos of the day, you just want to help your man.

18+ only

The hotel room door opened and in came Joe, looking absolutely drained and exhausted. It had been a whirlwind of a weekend. The U.S. Embassy had misplaced his passport and he almost missed the con in Philly, disappointing thousands of fans. At the last minute, everything worked out, but he’d had to cram three days worth of autographs and photo ops into one day, showing up early and staying late. You’d offered to tag along but he’d insisted on you relaxing as you’d had a late flight the night before and he had his friend, Ollo, there to be by his side throughout the day. Joe was also nervous how his fans might treat you if they found out he was seeing someone. The two of you had kept it under wraps the last few months when you’d seen how some of the fandom had treated Grace. It was awful that someone so sweet had to deal with that kind of toxicity.

You knew Ollo would take care of Joe, making sure he hydrated, got something to eat, and at least got a couple of smoke breaks to keep his nerves steady. But that didn’t stop you from worrying all day. You’d been checking your phone, seeing all the photos people were posting. It hadn’t gone without notice that as the day wore on, Joe’s smile wasn’t quite as wide, those eyes weren’t quite as soft as usual.

You set your phone down, sitting up as he let out a large sigh, dropping onto the edge of the bed in front of you. You gripped the leather jacket in your hands, sliding it down his arms and tossing it onto the chair in the corner. Using your fingers, you kneaded the tense muscles of his shoulders, relishing the pleased groan he released. Your fingers continued, moving along his back and you rested your chin gently on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. Joe’s hand came to cradle your cheek, his thumb running over your jaw.

“Long day, baby?” you asked.

“The longest,” he answered. “We managed to get everyone done but as the day wore on, they were making me rush. I felt so bad because I couldn’t chat with people or do the poses they wanted. They were telling people no hugs. I feel like they left disappointed.”

“Oh Joe, no,” you assured him, your thumb pressing into a tight knot you felt in his low back. “Your fans understand. I saw so many of the posts today and they were so grateful they had the chance to see you, that you managed to make it even if it was for one day. They understood. None of this was your fault. It sucks that you had to rush people but if you didn’t, everyone might not have gotten their chance to see you.”

“I know, darling. I just hate feeling like I didn’t give them a great experience. And it was such a long day…”

“Did you get a lunch break?”

“Yes, I did,” Joe chuckled, tilting his head, resting it against yours. “I ate, love, no worries. Ollo kept checking in on how much water I was drinking. I got three smoke breaks. It was just a lot. The panel actually felt like a break. I got to sit on a couch and have a good chat. They asked about the Kas theory again.”

You laughed, “Of course they did. Your fans want you back for season five badly. I’m sorry it was such a long day. I know this isn’t how you wanted it, but I am glad Ollo took care of you. Him and I would be having words if not.”

“I have no doubt, my sweet girl. Everyone took very good care of me today.”

“Mmm…well, maybe, but I haven’t had my turn.”

“You’re taking care of me right now,” Joe insisted. “Thank you for the back rub. Standing on that concrete was killer by the end of the day.”

“Oh, I think I can do more than that. My poor boy needs to relax,” you crooned, winding your arms around him, pulling him until he was lying back on the bed. You straddled him, your knees cradling his thighs. “Let me help you relax.”

Joe’s eyebrows raised, a smirk appearing on those sweet, full lips, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, bringing your lips to his.

His arms locked around you, crushing your body against his. Your tongue slid along his bottom lip and he caught it with his lips, gently sucking before slipping his tongue along yours, eliciting a gentle moan. You rocked your hips, rubbing your core along his length, your tongue exploring his mouth, loving the sounds of pleasure that rumbled up from his chest.

“Let’s lose this shirt,” you whispered, sitting up and pulling the plain black tee over his head, tossing it across the room.

“And what about your shirt?”

“This isn’t about me right now,” you grinned, your lips tracing the line of his jaw, down the side of his neck. Jesus, he smelled like heaven. “I'm taking care of you, remember?” Your lips continued their path, over his collarbone, nipping gently, his hips thrusting up into yours, creating delicious friction against your already pulsing center.

“Seeing your tits would take care of me. Nothing makes me happier than your jubblies smothering my face.”

“Uh-uh…not yet, my beautiful boy. You just lay back and relax. Let me do all the work tonight.”

You placed open mouthed kisses over his chest, teeth grazing over his nipples. His hand cradled the back of your neck, a low growl falling from his lips. As your tongue flicked over one nipple and then the other, your fingers worked his belt and then the button on his jeans. You continued to slide down his body, placing your feet on the floor. Your tongue followed a path over his abdomen, following the trail of coarse hairs that led right where you intended to go as you gripped his jeans and boxers at the same time, dragging them down his legs and over his feet until he was completely bare to you, his cock standing at attention, pre-cum glistening along the tip.

Kneeling down in between his legs, you gently raked your nails over his thighs and his hips rolled towards you in response, his body letting you know exactly what he needed. Your tongue darted out, capturing the salty release that had already collected.

“Fuck, darling…” he hissed. “Don’t tease. Please.”

“No worries, baby. I am going to help ease all your stress.”

You wrapped your lips around him, working his length, taking as much of him as your throat would allow. He grunted deeply, one hand tangling in your hair as he thrust up into your mouth, the tip of his cock scratching the back of your throat. Wrapping your hand around the base, you moved along him, using your mouth and hand, pleasure shooting to your core as you listened to this beautiful man coming undone because of what you were doing to him.

Sometimes you pinched yourself because you could not believe he was all yours. But here he was, completely at your mercy, groaning, gasping, writhing, and you were the cause of it. You were the one who could help him, who could ease his stress, who could make him feel good. It was a goddamn high.

“Bloody hell…so sodding good…don’t stop, love…just like that…” he panted.

Your other came up to cradle his balls, rolling them along your palm like a pair of dice. Joe growled low, the hand in your hair tightening, pulling, his other hand slamming down against the mattress. Your tongue ran along each side of his cock before taking him fully in your mouth again as you tugged down gently on his balls, squeezing them gently, applying just the right amount of pressure.

“Fuck!” Joe shrieked, bucking up into your mouth as he held your face tightly against him, his release flooding your mouth. His entire body shook beneath you as he went rigid, helpless grunts and moans rolling out of him.

As he relaxed, you carefully released him from your mouth, swallowing and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Standing, you smiled down at him, holding his eyes with yours as you slowly removed your shirt, followed by your shorts and panties until you were naked in front of him. Joe’s eyes traveled the length of you, devouring you with his gaze, sending a shock of desire straight to your center, pulsing with need.

You crawled over the top of his body and his hands immediately fell upon you, roaming over your sides, your hips, the curves of your breasts. He grabbed your hips, sliding you up his body until your breasts were directly over his face and then he buried himself between them, deeply moaning, his hands pressing them together against his face.

“Fuck, I love these tits,” he sighed, his mouth exploring every inch, tongue and teeth teasing your nipples into hard little buds.

“Joe,” you breathed, sliding your wetness over his cock until it was hard, ready to go once again. The feel of his erection pressing against your clit had you whimpering, eager for him to fill you.

His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb moving over your clit and you gasped, back arching as you pressed your hands against his chest, sitting up. Joe started with slow circles, moving faster and faster until you were gasping for breath.

“So wet already, darling and I barely did anything for you.”

“Taking care of you works me up,” you breathed, struggling to speak against the intense pleasure coursing through your body as his circles grew smaller, focusing right on your pleasure button. “The way you sound…knowing I can do that…it’s so damn hot. Fuck, I need your cock.”

Reaching between you, you grabbed his cock, lowering yourself onto him slowly until your pelvises were flush together. The two of you moaned simultaneously as you began to slowly rotate your hips in a circle, his cock hitting all the right places that had your stomach tensing, already so close as his thumb continued working magic on you.

“Shit, darling…that’s so good,” Joe praised. “I love watching you ride me.” His free hand caressed your face, thumb running over your lower lip and you caught it between your lips, sucking it into your mouth. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

You sighed, releasing his thumb as you rocked back and forth, hands gripping his shoulders for purchase as you picked up the pace. Joe’s chest rose and fell heavily as he quickly raced toward another climax, his cock twitching within you as you rolled over him. His thumb began moving back and forth, faster over your clit, and you knew he was determined to get you to cum before he did.

“Come on, my beautiful girl,” he urged, one hand now gripping your hip as he moved with you. “Cum for me, darling. Let me see how fucking beautiful you are when you let go.”

“Joe…I…fuck!” you cried, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders as you shuddered on him, your climax crashing over you.

“That’s it…yes, love,” he grunted, gripping both of your hips, thrusting up into you hard, taking over as you lost all control, moaning his name over and over. Joe’s fingertips dug into your flesh as he held you against him, filling you with his release. “Jesus Christ, darling…” He sighed, falling back on the bed.

You fell forward onto his chest, nuzzling his neck, “Do you feel more relaxed, beautiful boy?”

“So relaxed,” he murmured sleepily. “Fuck, you took everything out of me, love.” His arms wrapped around you and his lips pressed against your forehead. “I am going to sleep like a goddamn baby.”

“Good,” you replied, kissing his shoulder. “I’ll clean us up and tuck you all in.”

You went into the bathroom, getting a warm washcloth that you used to clean the two of you. Joe laid still, eyes closed, breathing deep as you gently wiped him. You tossed the washcloth back in the bathroom and then had to work to get him turned in the bed the right way as he was not much help. Your poor boy was so damn tired.

Laying down next to him, you pulled the blanket over both of you and he whimpered softly in his sleepy state, hands reaching out for you. Joe was a cuddler, always the big spoon. Smiling, you slid toward him with your back to him, those strong arms encasing you, pressing you against his chest, wrapping himself around your body. You sighed happily, burrowing into his arms, inhaling the soothing scent of your favorite person on this planet.

“I love you,” you whispered. “Good night.”

“Mmm…love you…” he mumbled. “Night love.”

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn stranger things #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn smut #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn x you #joe quinn x fem!reader smut #joseph quinn x fem!reader smut #joseph quinn x you

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padfootdaredmetoo · 10 months

Note

Hi, I love the way you write and wanted to know if you could write something.

The situation would be that Y/N is from the mafia and Tommy and Y/N hate each other. And in a situation (the one you want) they have to work together to get out alive and then in the end something hot happens .... I would really like to read something so peri I have not found something similar on the platform

I would really appreciate it very much and read it a lot... I love your content

Hey Love,

I really tried to make a plot - I think I sucked at it but i still hope you enjoy it! As always I'm very sorry this took so long. I will try to look over this again in the morning as i'm not 100% confident in my sleep deprived editing skills.

Warnings: Peaky themes, murder, smut, sex, enemies to lovers,

Thomas was becoming more and more tired of London. At first he found it calming, the lights and constant flow of chaos was enough to keep his mind off of Grace.

He sat on the edge of his bed, feeling is age and then some. The damp cold air caused his joints to hurt, and his muscles protested another day. He ran his hands over his face and tried to take a deep breath. He had his family, responsibilities, he couldn't give up now.

The phone rang and he moved slowly across the room to pick up the receiver.

“Shelby” He said in a low voice.

“You just waking up now?” A loud voice boomed from the other end. “These Peaky fuckers - I swear-” The man started to grumble and Thomas started to wonder if his responsibilities were really worth all of this.

“What do you want, Alfie?” He kept his voice calm and smooth, not because he felt that way, but because it annoyed the other man.

“No way to talk to a friend, innit?” Something exploded near him and Tommy pulled the phone away from his ear. “Fuck, well don’t mind that. Come down as fast as you can. Pack a trunk with something nice to wear.”

“Why?” Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Need you to bring me back something from Frace.”

“No.” Tommy said flatly. There would never be a good enough reason for him to go anywhere near that place.

“Look, Beaumont’s are closing in on territory. He’s had some choice words about your family, and son. He wants you to meet him and while your there I want you to pop by a friends place and pick up a package for me. Eh? Don't trust it in the post.”

“Meeting him in France to negotiate territory in London is stupid.” Why was everything always stupid and unreachable. His temper was starting to boil over and he lit a cigarette knowing it would do nothing to calm his nerves.

“I don't want you to negotiate with him - if you understand what I’m saying.” Alfie said flatly.

“And if I dont?” Tommy was gripping the edge of the table hoping to steady himself.

“Break our alliance and join up with the Ricci and hope she can get the job done.”

Thomas didn't speak for a moment. He was stuck, give up on months of work in London and hand it all over to the heir of the Ricci family - or go into the depths of hell.

“Though we had an agreement.” Thomas was clenching his jaw tightly.

“That changed when you pissed off the Irish and the Chinese.”

“Fuck” He swore under his breath. “Fine.” He hung up the phone to escape Alfie’s content laugh.

Two train rides. One murder. One package. Then his debt to Alfie was paid and his territory in London was settled.

He survived France once and he could do it again.

______________________________________________

Out of all the preparations he made this was his least favorite task. Charlie clung to him and Thomas fought with himself. Part of him wanted more than anything to stay there, part of him needed to stay composed in front of Charlie to avoid scaring him.

The only consistent part of him was the one that wanted to break down and watch everything burn. He kissed the top of Charlie’s head before gently putting him back on his feet. For a split second he swore there was a look of understanding in Polly’s eyes.

Tommy boarded the train thinking of John and Arthur’s protests to letting him go alone. The invitation was for one, no need to make them relive the past when he could shoulder it alone.

Things seemed normal enough. He was happy to be left alone to rot in his compartment. The motion of the train made him want to throw up, but the silence was nice.

Tap Tap

There was a soft knock at the door and Thomas hoped that they would asume he was a sleep and leave him be.

Tap Tap

As usual he would know no such peace. He opened the sliding door and his stomach gave a hateful lurch.

You were there looking up at him with your big eyes.

“Good evening Mr. Shelby.” He hated the way you said his name.

“Evening.” He said coldly.

“Looks like we were both summoned to this event.” To anyone else this would look like small talk, to him he could see the way your eyes absorbed his every move.

“Looks like it.” He said in the same unimpressed tone. He wondered why you wanted to move in on what he and Alfie had. He’d shut down multiple Italian families over his time in London. No matter how bloody it got you wouldnt relent.

“I’ll be in the next compartment in you want some company.” You winked at him and he watched you move down the corridor and disappear into your compartment.

He shut his door and fixed the curtains back into place. He was going to try and stay sober till he got to his hotel, but seeing your face tore up all his self control. Stupid woman.

He sipped his whiskey and accepted that he would not sleep until he was home. He could feel the chaotic electricity pulsing inside him, nowhere to go, nothing to fight, stuck in this stupid moving box.

The night swallowed up the view replacing the countryside with his sickly reflection. He shut the curtains to avoid the corpse glaring back at him. Anxiety rattled through him at the lack of chaos. Normally Polly was chasing charlie around to get him in the bath. John was yelling at him about something going wrong, the words from his mouth coming from Esme’s mind. Arthur was already sick from drinking trying to hide the kindness in his eyes. Chaos.

His eyes closed. Grace’s face swam into view she was trying to tell him something before she started to scream. His body tensed up and his eyes opened to the yellowing light of the compartment. A loud bang caused him to jump up. He moved into the corridor his feet taking him to your room.

He flug the door open and without surprise found a large mans body on the floor of your compartment. He shut the door and empathized with your far away gaze. He knew that there was a high chance your hands were dirtier than his and despite his loathing, he felt bad for you.

“There are no other people on this train.” Your voice was distant and your glassy eyes snapped to his face.

“Fucking Alfie.” He said under his breath, this was a set up.

“Won't be him. He told us not to bring anyone with us. If he takes us out he knows my brother will take up my place, as would yours.”

“The train is supposed to make a stop, if it doesn't we jump when it slows down through the mountains.” He whispered looking around the compartment as if he could tell if it was bugged.

“Then what?” You whispered.

“We make our way home.” He looked into your eyes and noticed the slightest trace of fear.

“So you and I then?” You cocked your head to the side staring at him suspiciously. He wondered how you managed to stay alive this long when every thought you had was sprawled across your face.

He didn't want to respond so he held his hand out to you and your slender hand fit inside his. He shook on it and wondered how badly you would make him regret this in the future. But that was future Tommy's problem.

You both tore through the train finding nothing suspicious accept for the lack of people. Sitting back in his compartment she turned the radio on and pulled a notebook out of her handbag.

I think we should stay on till Paris

He gave you a curt nod of agreement. Then watched you write out your next message.

Then we kill him

He nodded again before gesturing to the pen. You handed it over to him and in his less elegant writing he wrote out a message.

Call for backup once we stop

There was a strange bit of sparkle in your eye when you looked up at him. You smiled and took the pen back, your warm fingers brushing against his cold hand.

Not enough time. + I like the idea of it being the two of us

He gave a sarcastic smile and looked at the wall. He looked back at you still staring at him, he wanted to know what your game was. There was no need to flirt with him, and yet you always took the time for an extra bit of banter. It had even cost you a couple of times, and yet you always seemed to enjoy bothering him, even when you lost.

He finally gave you a slow nod, not breaking eye contact. He watched your pupils flutter open, the pulse in your neck speed up. He wanted this to aggravate him like everything else you did. Instead his blood seemed warmer under his translucent skin.

Frustrated, he waited for you to break eye contact first. You looked down at your watch, then scribbled down another note.

One hour

It was an hour of silence and he enjoyed your presence in the seat next to him. He focused on your breathing and let time do it’s thing.

Once there everything unraveled very quickly. Antoine Beaumont did not bug the train, nor had he sent more than three men to collect their bodies. They were easy enough to handle.

They showed up at his office. The confusion on his secretaries face was satisfying and Tommy almost jumped as you shot her. His eyes slowly looked to you, your face was dark and set in emotionless mask.

Tommy didn't think the woman needed to die but without time, he moved into the back room and shot the man. He didn't want to hear the saga, the master plan, or what he wanted so badly in London.

He was old and tired. He wanted to go home. As he walked out of the building he had already washed his hands of the situation. He would ring Alfie, have him send his men out to deal with the collateral and get his stupid package.

As he walked down the stairs he heard a pair of heels clattering behind him.

“When is the next train.” You came close enough to his side that you didn't have to raise your voice above a whisper. He looked down at you hiding his surprise. When he shook on it he figured they meant they were agreeing to murdering that bastard. Their alliance was over, and yet you were looking to him.

“Half hour.” He said raising his hand to flag a cab. He opened the door and watched you elegantly slide across the bench seat. He knew that in this moment he was at a crossroads. He had lots of ways of getting home from France. He could close this door and walk away, see you again at the next conflict. Or he could embrace this adventure knowing full well it would probably hurt him just as bad as Grace. Your gloved hand reached out of the cab to grab his, settling his silent debate.

He watched as you navigated this situation. He didn't want to give away his position, he wanted you to make a fool of yourself for him.

You didn't knock on his compartment, you slid the door open and he watched as your eyes analyzed him. He knew from the brightness of your eyes and the glint of pink on your cheeks that you would be the next person to take a piece of his soul. He thought about stopping it. But that sweet comfort only offered by chaos was addictive.

He held out his hand and you smiled at him. Your hand slipped into his once more and he gilded you up onto his lap. Your red lips were curved into a grin, but your deep eyes were holding back. You opened your mouth, either about to tell him what to do, or to ask about what this was. Tommy didn't feel like embarking on either topic, with one hand on your ass he pulled you even closer. His other hand grabbed the back of your neck. Your lips tasted like red wine and drank in the ecstasy that flowed from them.

You tasted like life.

You kissed him back hungrily. You fought him for dominance till he got you desperate enough to submit to him. Your body giving in with a sigh as he gripped one of your breasts. He got your skirt out of the way with little effort and watched as your hands undid his trousers. He moaned as your hands slid along his shaft, your body was so warm. The softness of it was addictive. The weight of you on his lap kept him grounded, he felt held down to the earth. You lined yourself up with the head of his cock. He wasn't ready to let you win.

His fingers brushed past your naval, trailing down to embrace the warmth of your slick folds. You bucked against his hands and he enjoyed the way your back arched for him. He wanted you to be his, he wanted to see you fall apart. He wanted to give you something so good, you would be ruined.

He told himself it was revenge. He would leave you here on this bench and walk off this train with a clear mind and restored purpose to drive you out of London.

When you pressed your forehead against his and let out the softest moan he had ever heard he felt his heart start to thaw. You didn't beg him. You sat on his lap in agony as he pressed into you, savouring the way your body tightened around his fingertips.

He wished you wouldn't have surrendered to him. That you would have kept your guard up. Instead you fell apart for him so beautifully.

He finally couldn't hold back any longer and pushed up into you. The heaviness of the emotion in your cry caused all common sense to leave him. He held your hips tightly and enjoyed the way you bounced on his lap. You swallowed up every bit of pleasure his body could offer. Eventually your release took him under and he watched, he felt you come apart.

You fell against him, resting your head against his shoulder while you caught your breath. He caved and held you against his chest. He had blown his cover. He waited for you to take the upper hand, take the victory and walk out of the compartment.

Instead you stayed there for a long moment.

“Do you like fettuccine?” You whispered and he considered it for a moment.

“Yes.” He wasn't sure he had ever had fettuccine, but he liked the way it sounded as it rolled off your tongue.

“Come home with me and I’ll cook for you.”

He wanted to laugh, for the first time in so long.

“Trying to tie me down?” He said with a faint smile.

“Is it working.” Your eyes were wide and your smile was genuine. He laughed and you kissed his cheek before getting your self straightened out.

He listened to you ramble quietly, enjoying your accent. You spoke to him like he was a friend, not like he was supposed to do something or fix something.

__________________________________________

You have him over for dinner and he actually eats. He enjoys it and you take a lot of pride.

Things are very slow as both of you are secretly waiting for the other to screw the other over, this spans on for months.

After a few weeks without hearing from him you show up at his house with a bunch of food. He opens the door looking beat up with a little boy standing on the stairs behind him.

You start cleaning his cuts shouting at him for not asking you for help. Charlie watches you with your makeup and hair, big fur coat, scolding his father and is very curious about you.

In the kitchen you put the food on the table and find the first aid kit and a fork. You give the fork to Charlie and gesture to the tupperware full of pasta. He snacks while you clean Tommy’s wounds.

Charlie rests his head on the table after eating his body weight in pasta. “I feel so sleepy” He mumbled and you laughed. “That’s the Italian opium hitting.” You smiled at him and he smiled back. “ Don’t worry about your dad. I’ll carry you up to bed later.” He gave you a nod before passing out.

“Is there actually opium in that.” Tommy whispered a sense of genuine anxiety in his tone- you laughed “Just the carbs.”

You called your men in to handle the situation and talked Tommy down everytime he tried to take control of the situation.

“Stop it. I’m handling it.” You snapped at him and you realised that he was never not incharge. “Trust me.” You watched the internal battle in his big blue eyes. Knowing he wouldn't rest, you handed him the phone. His brow furrowed slightly and you told him what to say. He gave the order and you sat on his lap watching the tension leave his body

“You ever going to trust me?” You knew it wasn't fair to ask him this after all the blood he lost.

“I’m trying.” He looked at you through hooded eyes.

“Dont make me wait” You said sternly before picking up Charlie. You felt your heart break a little when his fist clung to the collar of your shirt once you placed him in bed. You tucked him in under Tommy’s watchful eye. Then followed him through to his bedroom.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders request

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loverhymeswith · 9 months

Note

hello🙈 i’ve been thinking about a mini story based on “exile” by taylor swift with one tommy shelby… former lovers. shelby sees her at a party with a new beau and gets jealous (“i can see you starin honey, like he’s just your understudy, like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me”) it’s a back and forth dialogue type song IDK i think it would be slay

Exile

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: A familiar figure stirs up feelings you'd rather not face

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Mention of drugs.

A/N: Thank you Anon! I love this song and it fits Tommy SO well. Also, I wrote this on a beach. No idea how the setting ended up being NYE. Thank you @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta read and the ending ❤️

I've added my existing taglist but please note this is not part of the Let’s Be Alone Together universe.

Him

It's fast approaching midnight at The Savoy Hotel. The dawning of the new year is almost within reach. Tommy Shelby drains his glass of champagne, wishing for whiskey instead as he slowly scans the room.

Tickets for the party tonight had been akin to gold dust, a chance to rub shoulders with the upper echelons of London's elite. But Tommy would rather be anywhere else in the world.

Preferably, Birmingham.

He'd take a bottle of homemade gin, tucked away in the quiet familiarity of Charlie's yard in a heartbeat over this stuffy champagne-fueled ballroom. But no one ever said success was easy.

Tommy had come here tonight for one reason and one reason alone. If his plans to move into the world of politics had any chance of coming to fruition, he would need to mingle with the privileged crowd. To learn their weakness. Their darkest secrets. To take advantage of the liquor loosening their lips.

He's managed to withstand maybe a handful of hours at best before growing tired of all the posturing and arrogance, the not-so-subtle self-aggrandising and the congratulatory back slaps.

Looking for a way out but willing to settle for a distraction, his gaze continues to drift along the sea of tuxedos and expensive dresses.

Unexpectedly, he falters.

These days, it takes a lot to catch Tommy Shelby off guard - between France and his more recent ventures, it would be fair to assume he had developed nerves of steel - but off guard is exactly how he feels when his attention lands on the beautiful woman standing by the bar.

He'd recognise her anywhere. Sometimes, he thinks he searches for her in his dreams.

Tommy feels the muscles in his jaw clench before he's able to compose himself. A foolish sign of weakness that he can’t afford to display. Not here.

But it's difficult. A test of his usually unwavering resolve. Because she's not alone.

There's a man. Younger than Tommy; tall, dark-haired, and slim, the old-money practically oozing off him. Any closer and Tommy would be able to smell it.

Tommy grabs another glass of too-sweet champagne from a passing waiter. Something to occupy his hands, and just in time. Old-Money's arms are wrapped around the woman's body, a possessive gesture and one he recognises well.

Once upon a time, she spent her nights in Tommy’s arms.

Five whole years might have passed - evidently long enough for her tastes to change - but it feels more like five minutes since she walked out of Small Heath and out of his life, a hastily scrawled note declaring she'd had enough.

Three simple sentences. One for each year they had been together. At the time, Tommy had replayed the words over and over until they no longer held any meaning, but liquor and bloodshed had long since turned those memories to slush.

It all boiled down to his plans for the future. Her fear of the potential enemies and danger which those plans might beget.

Whoever said that love would conquer all?

Tommy doesn't taste the sparkling wine as he tips the glass back, draining it in one mouthful.

The champagne just won't do. He needs something stronger to take the edge off, but his path to the bar is blocked.

Biding his time, Tommy watches the couple. In fact, despite the sourness growing in the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to look away.

Old-Money leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispers something that even Tommy’s lip-reading skills cannot decipher.

What is plain to see, however, is her lack of amusement. She tenses, discomfort evident in the clench of her jaw and the tightness of her shoulders. Her laughter, when it comes, is forced, never reaching her eyes.

A lightning bolt of unfiltered rage burns through Tommy’s veins, dulling his remaining senses like Arthur’s cocaine, but he quickly tempers it down. It’s not his problem. She's not his problem.

She's not his to defend.

Not anymore.

Her

It's almost midnight. Ever since your arrival at The Savoy, your attention has been drifting to the clock on the wall. Waiting for the bells to chime and free you from this misery.

The party had been his idea, your date for the evening clearly operating under the assumption that money makes a man more attractive. An assumption which couldn't be further removed from the truth.

Though The Savoy might be the hottest ticket in town, everything about tonight makes you miss Birmingham - Small Heath, to be precise. New Year's Eve at The Garrison. The excitement. The unpredictability.

The Peaky Blinders.

Your stomach involuntarily flips at the intrusive thought. You've come too far now to be thinking about the Shelby brothers. All memories pertaining to your former life belong firmly in the past.

Ignoring another pompous comment from your date, you glance up from your drink, desperate for an escape. Perhaps you can slip away in time to avoid the awkward but obligatory midnight kiss.

That's when you see him.

A ghost - a demon - from your past, seemingly conjured into existence by the power of your thoughts alone.

The very same piercing blue eyes that have long haunted your dreams now stare you down, unblinking, from across the room. His full lips are drawn into a hard line.

Thomas Shelby.

Despite your brain knowing far better, your traitorous heart still flutters.

He looks good. Too good.

Unfairly good.

The expensive dark suit is sinfully cut to his powerful body and his once-severe haircut has been allowed to somewhat grow out.

Clearly, he's come a long way since the days of bruised and bloody knuckles. In the presence of polite society, he looks like he belongs.

The last five years may have been kind to your former fiancé, but with a start, the realisation dawns that the same can't be said of you.

Because five years later you still haven't recovered from the incurable affliction of loving Tommy Shelby.

Despite what some might say, you hadn't walked into the relationship blind. You'd known the head of the Shelby family for long enough to accept that a life together would be full of surprises, and not all of them good. But for love, you'd given him half a dozen chances.

Honesty.

That's all you'd ever wanted. To be treated as his equal. His partner. To not be kept in the dark about decisions which could potentially put you both in harm's way.

Yet still he'd schemed and plotted. Twisted and manipulated. Deceived. He had told you it wasn't lying. That for your own safety, he was simply withholding the truth. As if that somehow made it ok.

Inevitably, after three years together, your patience reached its limit. Making good on a promise to yourself, you'd left, starting a new life for yourself in the capital, far away from the demons of Watery Lane.

But you'd been foolish to believe that any amount of miles could repair the damage done to your heart. Arguably, damage of your own making.

His name has followed you like an ever-present shadow. His handsome picture staring back at you from newspaper articles. Even in black and white, those beautiful eyes just added insult to injury.

And now he's here in the flesh.

Tommy's stare is unwavering, but he makes no move to come over. Still, it's only a matter of time before he seeks you out. After your cowardly way of leaving, it's easy to imagine he has some choice words for you, but you’re not ready to speak to him. Not here, where manners and decorum are all the rage.

Willing yourself to break eye contact, you notice a side door to your left. Relief washes over you. Freedom or at least a small reprieve. Anything is preferable to this form of slow torture.

Him

Tommy watches her leave - a recurring theme, it would seem - her hurried exit presumably on account of his unexpected presence here tonight. She definitely spotted him amidst the crowd and she did not look pleased.

He should let her go. She's not his problem. She's in his past.

Isn't she?

A minute passes before, not entirely of his own accord, Tommy finds himself following in her footsteps. He's always been inexplicably drawn to her. Apparently, even heartbreak isn't enough to change that.

When he finds her in the lobby, her back is turned but she whips around as he murmurs her name.

"Tommy."

The earlier surprise he saw flash across her delicate features has been replaced by a carefully rehearsed indifference. One he recognises all too well.

She's at pains to pretend his presence isn't affecting her. A feeling to which he can certainly relate.

"I didn't expect to see you tonight," she adds when he doesn't immediately respond. "I didn't think this kind of thing was your scene."

He doesn't miss the accusation in her tone.

What she really means is why are you here?

Slowly, Tommy inclines his head, lest she notice the falter in his gaze. Impossibly, she's even more beautiful than he remembers. It's surely a cruel twist of fate that brings her here tonight. Just when things were looking up for him. Just when he thought he'd put the past to rest.

"Likewise," he agrees.

"Business or pleasure?" She wonders aloud before scanning the lobby, keenly on the lookout for another escape route.

The words, driven by a lingering hurt, fly from his lips before he can check himself, his attention not so subtly shifting to the blonde woman entering the lobby. "There's no reason it can't be both."

Her

Of course, he followed you. It's a problem you could really do without. You're walking a thin line just by talking to him. Experience tells you there's only two ways this will play out.

Wondering whether there's any possibility of getting away unscathed, you offer him a polite smile and gesture towards the blonde woman now loitering in the corner. "Well, I'll leave you to your… pleasure."

He studies you carefully, his sharp features set into a cool mask of apathy, but you recognise the hurt hidden behind his icy eyes.

The hurt which you caused.

"I'd tell you the same, except I doubt your friend knows how to pleasure a woman. You looked miserable back there."

Despite the sentiment, there's no trace of concern in his cruel words.

"My choice of date for the evening isn't up for debate, Thomas," you tell him curtly, despite silently agreeing with his observation.

"Nothing ever is with you, is it?" he muses, his lips slightly pursing.

And there it is.

Clearly, he's not going to let you get away until he has aired his grievances.

Perhaps you owe him that courtesy at the very least.

Dropping your own mask of indifference, you take a step towards him and take his warm hand. To your surprise, he doesn't resist.

"I had to leave, Tommy. You were never going to turn things around. You were never going to change. But for what it's worth, I am sorry about leaving the way I did. I should have been better. I should have been braver."

Tommy shakes his head, keeping his tightly guarded emotions at bay. "You left without warning. You never even heard me out."

"Without warning? God, Tommy. How can you stand there and say that? How could you possibly have missed it? I left you so many signs."

Tommy looks away, his eyes rapidly searching for something just out of sight. The only indication he's feeling anything at all. "I guess I never learnt to read your mind."

"You never learnt to listen," you fire back. "Or communicate at all for that matter. Would it have killed you to be honest with me? To tell me what you had planned?"

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "I was trying to keep you safe."

The realisation that he's never going to change his tune stings more than it should. You drop his hand. "I wish I could believe that."

The truth, in your eyes, is that he never trusted you. He's never trusted anyone. How could you be expected to give your heart over to a man who would never let you into his own?

There's a beat of silence. Enough time for you to regret letting this conversation play out for so long. Nothing good can come from digging up the past. You should go your separate ways before any further irreparable damage is done.

"Was it worth it?" Tommy asks finally, a bite of frustration slipping through his calm facade. "Leaving everything behind for this?" He gestures around. "Are you happier now?"

"Yes," you lie, but your resolve is rapidly weakening under the intensity of his blue gaze.

The door to the ballroom swings open and a small gathering of revellers spills into the lobby, saving you from admitting the very thing you've been afraid of.

That leaving Birmingham had been a mistake.

Tommy reaches for your arm, tugging you away from the crowd and into a recess by the cloakroom. As a result, the two of you have infinitely closed the distance.

His chest, broad and still so inviting, is now inches from your own; his calloused hand is still wrapped firmly around your wrist, his thumb pressed against your pulse point.

Can he feel how fast your heart races?

"For all your talk of honesty, you won't face the truth yourself, will you?" He sighs lightly, something like disappointment coating his words.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You scoff, feigning ignorance as a last resort.

Before he can respond, a loud cheer erupts from within the ballroom, saving you once again.

"That's midnight," you murmur just as Tommy glances down at his elegant gold pocket watch.

"Midnight," he agrees, his eyes flicking back up to your own. "Happy New Year."

You stare at him for a long moment, taking stock of his defining features. Long, dark eyelashes, the kind that would ordinarily be wasted on a man - but not Tommy; razor sharp cheekbones and a jawline to match. Crystalline blue eyes you could so easily drown in.

Almost imperceptibly, he shifts closer, large hands finding your waist with ease.

"Do you still believe in tradition?" He wonders, but it's a rhetorical question. You both know he doesn't need an answer.

Your last sensible thought before he leans in to kiss you: God damn Tommy Shelby and those ocean eyes.

Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy

#tommy shelby #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #Thomas shelby

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meshlasolus · 2 months

Text

The Winner Takes It All

Episode 15

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: This one is a little nerve wracking and angsty but there's a lot of fluff, too. ALSO THE BIG REVEAL.

Chapter Summary: The crowning ceremony has begun, but Snow's words drive Finnick to do something he may regret sometime in the near future.

Word Count: 5.0k

Season two is being written rn I'm about halfway through and It will be 20 chapters (I will not be posting them any time soon bc i swore i would finish some other series)

“I think that they were enraptured purely by you, Mercedes.” But your face still did not change, and he didn’t know why. Why were you so completely happy? He had known for certain from watching the games that you did not win them for glory or for stature. You won them to survive, to exact vengeance. So why were you filled with joy? “I suppose it was t-the work of my mentor,” you breathed out, never looking away from him in the crowd. He couldn’t hear a word being said, but he was smiling back at you all the same.

Waking up felt achy the next morning. Like your entire body had been dragged through hell and landed in this bed, surrounded by comforts you’d never seen. It felt like you were slightly dehydrated, and most likely experiencing the strain of tight muscles from the night before. The way you’d cried, your entire body jolting like it was the end of the world, it was now affecting you.

You felt as if you were dying, but then as you came into clearer consciousness, you felt the warmth surrounding you, in the form of two arms that were tightly wound over and under your body, holding you close to his own that practically radiated heat. It was your reminder, that though you felt like dying, there was still something left for you here.

It wasn’t said that you had to be awake by a certain time, nor did anyone go over your schedule for the day ahead of you in any moments prior. It stands to reason that you don’t make any moves to get up. It’s why you don’t even stir past a few blinks of your still sleepy eyes, staring with great interest at Finnick’s resting features. He’s so beautiful and defined, but without those snarky expressions or that dazzling smile, he looks so peaceful and soft. If not for the light shining in gentle beams over his shoulder, you may not have awoken, but you’re glad you did. You find you rather like looking at him, especially so close and personally, in a way that few others have ever seen him.

After a few moments you allowed your eyes to close again, snuggling further into his chest, right between his shoulders. He had nice shoulders, you noted. They were broad and tan and strong.

He stirred not long after, tightening his hold around your body and pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. It was small and he thought that you weren’t even awake to feel it, but every time he did that you were slowly understanding why he did it. It was just a gesture, sweet and endearing, and a reminder. You’re here, you’re alive, and you’re with him.

His fingers found solace in the strands of your hair, the length gliding through and falling over his palms. He came to a conclusion the night before, after the charade with the Flickerman Interview played out. He watched you go through that, alone on a stage, with only gawking capitol members surrounding you. Your trauma didn’t matter to them. To them it was drama, and they loved it… wanted to see more.

He kissed your hairline once more and started to whisper in your ear.

“We have to get up soon,” his voice was low and raspy from sleep.

You groaned in defiance, turning in his arms but not leaving them, instead pulling them closer around your front as you buried your face into his elbow.

“No we d-don’t…”

He sighed. He certainly did not want to get up. He thinks back to every moment during the games when his stomach turned with fear, his jaw staying in a state of constant tightness while watching you in that arena. His belief that you could win was never unbothered by the small voice in his head telling him you were going to die. He remembered the feeling of dread that would fill him to the brim every time he saw you close to death, knowing he’d never hold you like this. Never be able to kiss the crown of your head or pull you closer into the curve of his body where you seemed to fit perfectly.

Eventually, you both got up, because today was the crowning ceremony. The Victor was to accept her title and become the Capitol’s newest darling. You understood what came with it, and despite the horrors you knew you would face, you told yourself you were ready to take it on. This is the cost of escaping the arena with your life, when all others, including your allies, and best friend, did not.

Dalton had left your new dress and necklace in the apartment that morning, unable to stay for an interview he had himself. The stylist of the newest Victor, the current peak of popular fashion. The one who was capable of extenuating even the most desirable of the tributes.

You opened the garment bag that was hanging on a portable rack in the living room, reading the small note that was peaking through the sides.

For the mermaid… knock em’ dead. - D

You smiled and took a look at the dress, your eyes lighting up as you pulled the floor length get up out of the bag. It was a stunning turquoise with an iridescent top layer, pearls and fish beads sewn into the fabric. The edges of the bottom looked like crashing waves, and it flared out in comparison to the tightness of the top.

You took the dress back to your room, starting to get ready, but you realized you weren’t sure what to do with your hair. It was just down and around your shoulders right now, and you wished you’d had your mother’s expert hand in braiding it or twisting it into some sort of crown.

You sighed in frustration after your third failed attempt, and though you hadn’t been paying attention to your groans and noises of annoyance, Mags had, because her door had been open, right across from yours, open as well.

She leaned in the frame, watching you struggle for the last time before you threw the comb in your hand onto the vanity before you, leaning your head into your hands.

Mags stepped in right away, her silent approach calming when she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, reaching in front of you and picking up the comb you dropped. You lifted your head and met her eyes in the vanity mirror before smiling to her in relief.

“T-thank you.”

She made quick and gentle work of pulling the strands in her direction, twisting them together and taking small pins from the vanity to place them down. By the time she was finished, your hair was put into a sweet looking bun, small tendrils framing your face and behind your ears.

“It l-looks beautiful.”

She lightly patted your shoulder, helping you out of your seat and over to the bathroom to change into your dress.

Finnick had been waiting to leave for a few minutes now. He knew Mags had gone to the rescue when you were struggling with your hair, but he wasn’t sure why everything else had taken so long. Dalton didn’t usually take very long preparing any tribute that sat in front of him. He supposed it was because he had a lot more experience.

Dalton was technically not the stylist for the female tributes from four… but he was Finnick’s stylist, and friend, and when Finnick asked for him by name before the games, the man had no qualms about saying yes. He felt he would have to owe Dalton a favor of some sort, because in his mind, having him as your stylist saved your life.

He had gotten caught up in his thoughts, but turned on his heel as soon as he heard the sound of pearlized shoes clicking along the floor behind him. The dim lighting from the barely open shades provided a soft haze over the room, a glowing ambience, the reflection off the black tile allowing a certain allusion of floatation when you entered the room.

You looked beautiful, of course, but he noticed a confidence in your step he hadn’t seen since before the arena. You looked more powerful, more ethereal.

He wanted to say something when he met your eyes, wanted to open his mouth and feel actual words leave his mouth, but the longer he was locked onto you, the less his mind was able to work coherently. Words failed him completely, and rightfully so.

“I t-think Dalton outdid h-himself,” You beamed, giving a small and slightly clumsy twirl in the dress.

The first thing that came to his mind was the conversation Lukas had with Rodey in the arena, how he thought he’d fallen in love with you because of one night when you twirled in a dress, lighting up like a star in a dark sky. He recalled the exact words. Like some crazed wind turbine. You’d only twirled once, but he could only imagine it was the same as all those years ago. You had a spark of happiness in your eyes, even after everything. He caught a glimpse of your whole body before returning to your facial expression again.

“You’re beautiful,” he smiled, finally able to gather the two simple words he’d been searching for this entire time. You’re beautiful, you’re innocent, despite the games. You’re a force to be reckoned with in the best way possible. He wants to preserve this image of you, keep it untarnished, so he tucks it away in the recesses of his mind to return to in the future. “The color suits you.”

Your smile and slight giggle that erupted told him that maybe you were just as nervous as he was, and perhaps you were just more outwardly expressive.

“You look g-good, too.”

He didn’t even think about how he looked, if he was being honest. An older white knit sweater shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and embellished buttons on the side coming directly from both of your district.

“I’ve been known to clean up nice, sometimes,” he laid on the charm, trying his best to wear a facade before he even stepped outside. There was no use in keeping on in his stare like a poor love struck boy. He had a show to put on, today.

He offered his arm, and you took it without hesitation, glancing over at Mags who had only now made her presence known, following you all to the door. Arbin would probably already be at the party, knowing him. He needed to be where the noise was, the drama, and the excitement. A true capitol citizen, except for maybe he had compassion. More than any of the other higher up bloodsuckers did, anyway.

The ride to the center of the capitol was extremely wild, the shouts of fans outside the windows, they were screaming and shouting. You couldn’t bring yourself to dislike it, though you didn’t exactly throw yourself into the adoration, either. This was life, now. You didn’t have a choice or a way to change it, so you might as well just let the world go on around you.

The fanfare of triumphant music began the moment you stepped onto the concrete, the grounds and buildings around you decorated with things reminiscent of four. You were somehow always surprised when the capitol showed a new part of itself to you, as if you expected something different. They strangely romanticized the cultures of the districts, but would never even think about setting foot in any of them except for the ones that are well off.

You allowed yourself to feel important while roaming amongst the citizens. Making your way to the glorious stage, where a throne awaited and President Snow stood by. He seemed much more intimidating now that you were going to have to approach him.

The steps of the platform were steep, so you took your time going up them. You ignored the thought in the back of your brain telling you to stop stalling and to go faster, but by the time you completely shoved it away, you’d reached the top anyways.

You nodded to the man with a smile, forced. He came before you, offering his hand to be shaken. You took it right away, scared to anger him in any capacity. There was a story you’d heard in passing about the girl from last year who refused to shake his hand. She hadn’t had a happy moment since the end of her games.

“Congratulations, my dear. You are a worthy adversary.”

The cold blue of his eyes burned like ice in your veins, and you swallowed back the anxiousness that built up in your throat. You kept a pleasant look on your face but in an instant, you could tell he was reading every single inch of you, and knew what you were thinking. He knew you were afraid of him, and the smirk he wore as you responded was only confirmation.

“Thank you, s-sir.”

“You may be aware, you’ve had an effect on the people in the capitol,” he commented, turning away to take the crown of silver and pearl off of the stand beside him. If this were under different circumstances, you would have taken notice of the beautifully crafted headpiece that was made specifically to suit you. “They find you quite lovely.”

“They must have ap-pprecitated my stylist,” you tried to deflect, feeling even more the prey under a predator than before. The conversations with Finnick, the things he said you were going to be expected to do. It rushed past you, and yet… something felt stuck in your brain, because the weight didn’t hit you yet. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that as you turned, allowing him to place the crown on your head, your eyes met a pair of sea green ones, at the front of the crowd. He looked at you differently than any of these people did, or even had the capacity to. And it made you feel safe. Even in this situation of uncertainty and a path of future turmoil, he was going to be there, so you were going to be okay.

You smiled, genuinely, and for the first time since you arrived, Snow could not read you.

“I suppose it was t-the work of my mentor,” you breathed out, never looking away from him in the crowd. He couldn’t hear a word being said, but he was smiling back at you all the same.

“Well,” Snow turned to catch where your eyes were locked, and now he held an even bigger smirk across his face. The information gained just from a single glance was ever beneficial to a man like President Snow. He hummed when he saw the strand of eye contact, nodding to himself. He didn’t like the way you were suddenly un-bothered by him. Perhaps there was something he could say to change that. “In any case, I hope we can be friends. Perhaps do favors for one another.”

Hearing the word favors made you still for a moment, and Finnick saw it. That was when your skin crawled, and you returned to your previous state of thinking, and feeling.

Something happened, he knew… but he wouldn’t ask. He’d let you tell him.

He just didn’t think you’d tell him so quickly. After coming off the stage, you didn’t even look at the people passing by, reaching for you and calling your name. It was all noise until you reached him. There was another venue to get to, anyway. You didn’t want to stay long in the first place.

“You alright?” He whispered, letting you take his arm once more as you both walked through the noise and back to the vehicle.

“I d-don’t know,” you breathed, trying to keep a neutral expression before anyone noticed. “I need to l-leave.”

“Mags,” Finnick turned to his side, where she stayed right by the both of you. “Help her to the car, I’ll find Arbin.”

“No,” you stopped in your tracks, grabbing a hold of his arm tighter. You were only now thankful for the loud ambience, covering the transparency of this dire situation. “Please, s-stay.”

Mags patted his arm, nodding her head back to the crowd as she dove back into it to retrieve the infamous Capitol rep of district four.

“I’m here,” he soothed, taking your hand and squeezing it as you kept moving to the car. There was a moment of tension when a few nosey Capitol citizens blocked the door he was trying to open.

“The mermaid! Oh darling you are even more stunning in person,” they rambled, reaching out to touch you, as indecent as it was. The woman’s hands found your other hand, squeezing it, but not in a comforting way like the man beside you. The woman’s husband seemed to eye you up and down from the moment you stepped before them. “Isn’t she just gorgeous?”

“Absolutely, she is!” The husband gave you a wink and your stomach turned again, the tightness in your chest was making the world spin. The moment the man placed a hand on your shoulder, you felt it ripped away, as quickly and carefully as possible.

“She’s unfortunately leaving now,” Finnick said flippantly, stepping between them and pulling the door open, making sure they were not going to touch you again. “Thanks for coming out.”

You climbed into the backseat quickly, hearing some gasps of dramatic proportion and words of contempt for Finnick.

When the door closed, you felt safer, but not safe. You weren’t quite able to decipher the quick change in your emotions. You thought you were fine, even with everything around you. Even with the thoughts of what you would have to endure… so what changed? Snow’s words were only those of confirmation to what you already knew was true. It didn’t change anything.

You couldn’t meet Finnick’s eyes anymore, and you had no clue as to what would cause your aversion to him. He’s helping you, he’s protecting you. You have no reason to be afraid of facing him.

“Mercy,” he took hold of your cheek, trying to gently convince you to look his way. “What happened?”

You shook your head. “I’m n-not sure. Snow said some t-things. But I expected it…”

He looked at you with a sadder expression, one of pity and condolences, but that’s not what bothered you. What bothered you now was the thought that he was going to see you differently from how he did before, even how he does now.

If you were shoved into the life that he’d been forced into, would he think of you as tainted? Would he see the marks of capitol citizens and treat you as though you’re a ruined object? Surely, he couldn’t. He’s never looked at you with an ounce of contempt, not even after the arena. So then why do you feel so small and unworthy of his affectionate gaze?

“I know things w-will change,” you kept on, since he didn’t have any words to say. “I just d-don’t want others to look at m-me differently, if they find out.”

“Merc-”

“I don’t w-want you to look at me d-differently.”

Your eyes, lids and under eye coated with a pearly glaze that had been such a struggle for you and Mags earlier… it began to run with the wetness from the bleary corners and over your cheeks.

He let out a deep breath, his heart nearly shattering over how your bottom lip quivered with your stuttered words. He saw in you a person that would soon know exactly what it was like to be him, and he hated it. He tucked you into himself closely, holding onto the back of your head and caressing the exposed skin of your back.

“I know this… feeling. I used to feel it. Nothing ever made it better,” he explained, and as you breathed him in, you waited. Waited for him to tell you that there was no shame in being seen differently, waited for him to say that being seen differently didn’t change the way he would talk to you, or treat you... “But I promise you, none of that could ever make me see you differently.”

You pulled back to meet his gaze, soft and unwavering. You didn’t realize how you trembled in his arms until he ran his hands down the side of your shoulders and down to your elbows. He stilled your movement and leaned his forehead against yours, breathing with you like he did all that time ago before the arena.

“Snow has power over a lot, but he can’t change the way I feel about anyone, most of all you, Mercy.”

You smiled, the way he spoke opened a new trail of thoughts in your mind that were much more pleasant than the ones from before. How he felt about you, how did he feel about you? You assumed fondly, for the way he held you so gently… but there could be something more. Something that you never thought could be there with anyone. Your past experiences were never kind to you, but maybe this time the odds were in your favor.

“Thank y-you,” you sniffed, the smile you’d been wearing earlier in the day finally making a reappearance.

“Don’t thank me.”

“I h-have to. You’re the reason t-that I’m alive at all…”

“S’just my job,” he mumbled, but you both knew it wasn’t true. He’d never saved a tribute before. He never cared this much. And now, you being brought into this world he just escaped from, he knew what he had to do.

The scene started to return to normal when the car pulled up to the second destination.

Time for another show, but maybe this one didn’t need to end in tears.

“Alright,” he wiped under your eyes and readjusted your hair for you, making it look like nothing even happened. “I’ll stay close, make sure they keep their distance. You’re gonna be okay.”

You nodded, looking out the window at the anticipating guests of the large hall. It was like the crowning ceremony, but maybe a bit more rambunctious. The people, however, seemed a bit tipsy and unserious. It was a proper party, a celebration of their yearly tradition.

“It’s not too late t-to have a good t-time, is it?”

He let a genuine laugh escape him, and shook his head. He was still locked onto you, and a part of him didn’t even want to leave the car… but as usual, there were expectations.

“Not at all.”

He walked the halls with a chill down his spine. The last time he’d had a private audience with Snow, his life changed for the worst. This time he’d hoped to feel a bit more power at the prospect that he was the one seeking Snow’s presence. Only time would tell if that feeling of power ever made itself known, because standing before the large and ornate wooden doors, knocking rapidly, it wasn’t anywhere to be found.

The doors were opened by two house staff, and Snow awaited at his desk on the other side.

“Come in, dear boy,” he ushered with a smile, even backed by genuine joy, it looked menacing. “Have a seat.”

He did as he was told, turning and watching as the staff left them alone together, closing the doors as they left the room. The cold air of the night was seeping in through the open window, and it took everything in him not to visibly shiver.

“What can I do for you?” Snow offered, leaning back into his seat, that twisted, gleeful look never washing from his face. “It’s been a long time since we’ve sat down together.”

Finnick nodded, trying to keep the air light, but knowing the second he started in that it would change. He tried not to grimace in the president’s direction, lord knows he wanted to.

“I have a few questions about the new victor,” he began, his shoulders turning slightly inwards and his posture failing him the second he mentioned you. He was terrified to be doing this. Terrified that it might backfire and you would be punished… but he wasn’t going to let what happened to him now befall you. Any means necessary.

“If you are wondering about any favors I may ask from Miss Blythe, I’m afraid it’s none of your concern…” Snow’s voice was solid, but not harsh. He spoke forwardly, as he always did, but he was intrigued in the slightest to hear out one of his most profitable victors. “You’ve helped her win the games and usually it is customary after that happens to forget about her affairs, so I ask, dear boy… What plagues you?”

He didn’t know if he should proceed. He was in the lesser seat, with the lesser circumstances. He always has been, victor or not. How foolish of him to think he had a chance at the upper hand. No power comes to those who sit beneath the Capitol’s boot.

He almost gave up, almost changed the subject… but then he remembered the look you’d given him just moments ago. That sweet, beautiful, shining glance you gave him, wearing a crown of silver and pearl upon your head. He will do whatever it takes to not let that gleam in your eyes be tarnished. It may have survived the hunger games, but he isn’t willing to chance putting it through years of abuse and torment.

“I know what you plan on asking her to do,” he remembers the way he was once asked, the chill again sweeping over his neck and down his back. He remembers the day it happened, at the end of his victory tour. He remembers his dread, but he continues, anyway. “I’ve come to ask if I could take her place.”

Snow tilted his head, a sort of funny expression was worn. He looked, for lack of a better word, puzzled. It was quite hard to surprise the president.

“I see.”

There was a moment where Finnick could see the gears turning inside Snow’s mind. He was curious as to the reasoning behind it, because surely, if he thought about it for this long, he would not deny him his request? Maybe he’d been returned the upper hand after all.

“I find it admirable, that you would do favors for me in place of another tribute. I do think, however, I may need remind you…” Snow leaned forward towards his desk, his eyes opening wider as to show his sincerity. “You are not quite as popular right now as Miss Blythe.”

“I’ve already taken that into consideration. I understand that a mentor’s role in a victory tour is limited, but I can change that.”

Snow’s intrigue did not fall, in fact it increased.

“Do tell, Mr. Odair.”

Finnick almost felt relief. Had the cards finally been stacked in his favor? He doubts it, because he’s not asking for just your freedom, he’s only asking to bear the task of your sexual slavery himself. There’s no such thing as ‘in his favor’ when it concerns Snow.

“I’ve been known to make a spectacle of myself, as you know. Last few years I’ve reigned it in, but I think it might be time for a comeback. Finnick Odair, the mentor who promised himself a victor, and won.”

It was an engaging concept, and a true one at that. Snow thinks he must be telling the truth, but of course, he’s not just one to assume.

“And did you?” His eyebrow raised along with his question, and Finnick got caught up in it… “Did you promise yourself Miss Blythe would win? Or just a district four tribute?”

Finnick doesn’t have an answer to that. Originally, yes, he’d promised himself any district four tribute would become victor… and after meeting the pair from the reaping, he thought it would be Lukas… but then you spoke, stuttering and stumbling through a single sentence, and his world collapsed.

“I promised myself a victor this year, and I kept that promise. Miss Blythe just happened to be the more, as you put it, popular one.”

Snow smirked, not smiled, smirked. He sat back into his chair again, his relaxed position led Finnick to believe that he was in agreement, and he was… but there were always going to be catches.

“If you can somehow outshine Mercedes Blythe on her victory tour, the responsibilities you wish to take on in her stead will resume. If you do not, you must understand it is a task for the most desired of victors to obtain,” he spoke evenly, as if this were some sort of high honor that victors were clawing at one another to have a chance at.

“I understand.”

“Good, that’s good.” There was one thing sitting at the edge of Snow’s mind, a question he was positive he knew the answer to, but wanted to hear it for himself. Words were so much more valuable to him these days. “I have one more curiosity I was hoping you could resolve.”

Finnick looked on, Snow’s position changing one last time. He leaned over the desk, holding a tight contact with Finnick’s eyeline. He was staring so ruthlessly, it didn’t even matter what Snow’s question was, he was already terrified to answer.

“Why would you, after just a year being relieved of your obligations, take up the place of the new victor?”

His stomach turned. There was no right answer here. If he lies, he looks indifferent. If he tells the truth, he’s given Snow information he shouldn’t have.

“I don’t think she can handle what’s expected of her,” he tried to mix the truth and lies. It wasn’t false, but it certainly wasn’t his primary reasoning. Snow knew it immediately.

“Mr. Odair, we’ve been friends a long time, you need not hide the truth from me… so I ask once more, why have you come to make this deal on behalf of Miss Blythe?”

“I want to protect her,” was his next attempt, but still not the answer Snow was looking for. The old man felt the boy was trying his patience, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard what he’d been after.

“Why?”

Finnick looked at the man’s eyes, cold and discomforting, despite the soft smoothness of his voice and tone. He knew that Snow already had the information Finnick tried to keep from him. He knew that there was no use in hiding it, and the only thing Snow wanted was to hear it aloud. Finnick wanted to leave this room, to get back to the celebration and see your gleaming smile again. He wanted to be in your presence and remind himself again why he was doing this. Even now, as he answers Snow by saying the words, he’s reminded.

“Because I love her.”

And Snow smiles again, the devious look and raise of his brow gives him away when he chuckles under his breath.

“Yes, I know you do.”

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn @emma-andrea1 @marvelescvpe

#finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair thg #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick odair x oc #finnick x you #sam claflin x reader #sam claflin

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peppermint-toads · 2 years

Text

𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫

part one

you’re a metal radio show host in small town hawkins, and eddie loves your voice. one night gareth convinces him to call in.

cw: female reader, male masturbation, voice kink

“And that was Hangar 18, Megadeth. Hang on tight for Ram Jam and Whitesnake’s latest coming up within the hour.”

Eddie stared at his ceiling while his fan rattled in uneven circles. He took a long drag from his joint, exhaling and watching the thick smoke swirl around in the air above him.

His radio crackled with static, metal music filling the room.

“I bet she’s smoking hot.” Gareth smirked as your voice came through the speakers.

“Oh, she’s more than that.” Eddie smiled dreamily to himself. “She’s perfect.”

“She’s gotta have a killer rack, probably long legs, too.”

Eddie shot straight up. “No, man. It’s not even about that. It’s her personality. She’s a chick who likes metal for chrissake!” He flopped back down dramatically. “But she probably does have a great rack.”

His muscles relaxed into his mattress as you kept talking, tense shoulder blades soothed by the gentle timbre of your voice.

“Alright, for all you listeners out there who haven’t heard your favorites tonight, our call line will be open for the next half hour.”

“Eddie,” Gareth craned his neck off the floor to get Eddie’s attention. Gareth’s face was bright, as if he’d had some earth shattering epiphany. “You gotta call.”

Eddie laughed a bit, and then his face fell flat. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon man, just call in! It’s not like she can see you or anything! I know how crazy you are about her” Gareth pleaded.

“Yeah man, I just-I just don’t wanna sound stupid I guess.

“Well I wanna hear Ozzy, asshole.”

“Then you call!”

Gareth shrugged and reached for the phone, punching in the first few digits. Eddie watched, biting his lip and shaking his leg. Gareth was about to call when-

“Eddie, what the fuck!” He snatched the phone from Gareth’s grasp.

“I’ll call, fuck you. Fuck you.”

Eddie shook his leg even harder, even taking to biting the ends of his nails as the phone rang.

“Thanks for calling station 103.5 Metal Mania, who am I talking to this evening?”

Eddie’s eyes widened and jaw fell open.

“Ed-uhh-Eddie. Yeah, Eddie.”

He sounded young, a lot younger than your usual callers. You smiled at his obvious nerves, though still careful not to break your smooth facade.

“Well, Eddie, what do you want to hear tonight?”

He nearly melted at the way his name rolled off your tongue so nicely. He could almost imagine your lips wrapping around the word so perfectly.

“Eddie? You still with us?”

Gareth smacked his chest to snap him out of his dreamy trance. “Sabbath, man. Sabbath!” Gareth mouthed.

“Uh, yeah- uhm, Black Sabbath.” Eddie frantically shook his head, holding the phone away from his ear and covering the speaker. “What song!” Eddie whisper-yelled. “The Shining!”

“The Shining! I wanna hear The Shining.”

“Alrighty then. One of Sabbath’s latest hits from their newest album, requested by our very own Eddie. Thanks for calling, Eddie, and have a good night.”

Click.

Eddie panicked. That wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough time. He needed more. Sure, he listened to you all the time. His car radio was always tuned to your show. He listened in the mornings while he waited for his pop tarts in the toaster. He listened on his way home from horrible days at Hawkins High, and you always cheered him up. When he rolled up in the evenings, you were there.

He especially listened when your show ran into the late, late hours of the night. He would settle into his bed and close his eyes, focusing on the sound of your voice. He’d imagine you saying the filthiest things into his ear, telling him how good he feels. His hand would sink beneath the fruit of the loom briefs, over the scratchy patch pubic hair there, and wrap around his hardening cock. He would pump himself into his tightened fist, listening to your voice between songs.

“Right there, Eddie! Right there!”

“Faster, Eddie!”

“You fill me up so good Eddie!”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!”

It’s like he could really hear you in his head, pleading and moaning and begging. He would treat you so good if he only had the chance. He needed to know what you looked like.

part two here

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader

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animasola86 · 11 months

Text

Just another adventure, right?

My interpretation of the infamous Scriptorium scene:

2.2k words

Sebastian x gn!reader/mc (1st person POV)

hurt/comfort/fluff

(Original screenshot by @gamesscreens, this post here)

“Cast it on me,” I said and stared up at him in a determination I didn't know I still had in me.

“What?” Sebastian exclaimed. “No! You can't be serious!”

“What do you expect we do then?” I hissed, looking back to where Ominis was pacing up and down the dark corridor nervously. “Ominis refuses to have anything to do with this and I completely understand it. I don't see how I could ever cast the curse as well, but, since you know it, you should cast it. It's our only way out of this, Sebastian!”

He stared at me with his jaw clenched and his lips tight, his eyes dark and conflicted. Then he shook his head and turned away, staring at the door that kept us from leaving.

I walked up to him and placed a hand on his back, gently curling my fingertips against the fabric of his robes. He slightly stiffened at my touch, but then turned his head towards me.

“You can do this,” I whispered. “I trust you...”

He turned around fully, his height and dark demeanour towering over me like an even darker shadow in our grim surroundings.

“You trust me to hurt you?” He inhaled deeply. “I don't want to hurt you. I... can't do this... to you,” his voice was low, vibrating through my very core. “You realize I have to mean it... for it to work...” He shook his head and turned around again, his profile set. “And I certainly do not mean to hurt you...”

“Then pretend I'm somebody else!” I said with a sudden idea. I saw him frowning at that. “Here, I can even put up my hood and turn around!” I started grabbing my hood, but he quickly got a hold of my wrists. I stared up at him with my mouth open. “Sebastian, please!” I breathed. “I know it's a lot to ask, but... only you can do it.”

He looked at me with an intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribcage, that made my knees weak. A shiver ran down my spine as his fingers let go of my wrists and turned to the hood of my robes instead, as he very carefully pulled it over my head. His hands found my face and while his thumbs gently caressed my cheeks, he leaned down towards me. I could feel his breath on my lips as he brought his face even closer until he pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Just another adventure, right?” I heard him whisper, or rather I felt his voice humming deeply against my skin.

My hands found the front of his robes and I gingerly dug my fingers into them. “Yes,” I breathed.

He inhaled deeply, then leaned back up and pressed his lips quickly on my forehead. I looked up at him unable to say anything else. I couldn't imagine the turmoil (well, a little bit) raging inside of him. Perhaps if I had been forced to do this to him, I would have struggled in the same way, probably even more, considering I still found it hard to fight even the bad guys like goblins or Dark wizards. But to purposefully hurt someone you... loved...

I swallowed hard and turned around, facing the wall, showing him that I was ready (even though I clearly wasn't, I had no idea what to expect). I braced myself, but hearing his equally strained breaths behind me didn't really ease the knot that twisted my stomach. But it was nothing compared to what was to come.

His voice was almost cold, detached, when he shouted: “Crucio!”

The impact was immediate. Like a fiery hot breeze of the sharpest needles imaginable it rushed through me and then it spread. I heard my own screams echoing loudly off the walls as I staggered, sinking to my knees, my muscles tightening painfully. I grasped at my chest as my body convulsed in never ending spasms of agony, like tiny blades piercing my skin, penetrating deeply, twisting around mercilessly, through every fibre of my being. And it was lingering, sinking deeper, corrupting every nerve. I screamed and cried and my tears felt hot and raw on my hurting skin. All I felt was pain, there was nothing else.

Everything hurt.

And it took me the longest moment to realize that I was suddenly no longer alone on the floor. Two arms had wrapped themselves around my writhing form, holding me tightly pressed against a warm chest. And as the worst seemed to be over slowly, though I kept feeling the occasional twitch from my still highly stimulated nerves, I noticed the shaking of another body. Shuddering breaths that were not my own echoed in my ears. Then I felt his voice, puffed against the skin of my neck as he pressed his face against me.

“I'm so sorry,” Sebastian breathed barely audible, his voice shaking badly. “I... I didn't... want this...” He hugged me to his chest, held me as if I was slipping away, squeezed the pain away with every passing heartbeat. And I just lay in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder, trying to fight the urge to just let go and sleep... forever...

When I finally found the strength to move again, I raised my hands gingerly, snaking my arms around him, grabbing at the back of his robes. My movement caused him to hold me tighter, as he inhaled sharply. Then he leaned me back a little and our gazes met. His eyes were dark and clouded, the skin around them red, and his cheeks were wet. He looked at me with his eyebrows knitted and the saddest look I had ever seen on his freckled face. His lips were trembling. I swallowed hard, then winced at the still hurting sensation of it. His gaze immediately grew even darker and I heard him take an unsteady breath.

“Are you...” His voice broke before he could finish his question.

I slowly, weakly raised a hand to touch his face. My fingertips slid over his wet skin and when I did so, I saw a single tear leave the corner of his eye. He tried to blink it away, but I caught it with my thumb and gently caressed his cheek. I raised my other hand and grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull myself up a little. He helped me by pulling his arms tighter around my waist, lifting me onto his lap as he did so.

Now both my hands were holding his face and I held onto it as I pulled myself even closer to him, until his warm, shuddering breath ghosted my lips. “I'm fine,” I whispered, looking into his dark, conflicted eyes. “I'm fine,” I repeated as I caressed his face, my fingertips slipping between his dark, messy locks as my thumbs wiped at his heated skin. “It's alright...”

When he closed his eyes, a few more tears slipped from his lashes and the tension in his face eased a little. His hands clawed at the back of my robes, before they, too, relaxed and started rubbing my back gently. I breathed deeply against his slightly parted lips, my thumbs drawing circles on his cheekbones. The longest moment passed with my heart drumming against my ribs, as the last tremors of the curse slipped from my body.

I leaned in a little more, the tip of my nose nuzzling his skin, before I turned my head and pressed my cheek against his, merging the tears we had cried for and at the hand of each other. I felt him inhale sharply at that and his embrace became even tighter, to the point I had to push my elbows against his chest to not get completely smothered by the immense bear hug he was providing. “Sorry,” he breathed against me and loosened his grip with a tiny snivel.

I grabbed his face again and leaned back, and when he looked at me, his eyes were warm and intense. My thumbs found the corners of his mouth, my gaze wandering over the shape of his lips, and before I knew it, just when my body was finally relaxing again, I had closed my eyes and pressed my lips against his. It was just a short peck, out of instinct, but when I leaned back only the smallest bit, I felt his hand taking hold of my head, his fingers slipping into my hair as he held me close, and then it was him who pressed his lips against mine. It felt ten times more intense as he deepened the kiss, the warm feeling of his breath and the taste of his tears causing me to shiver against him.

His other hand found my face as my own hands wandered up and around his head to get lost in the thickness of his messy hair, my fingertips scraping over his scalp in a desperate attempt to hold onto anything to keep me from falling. But fall I did. Right into the warmth of his mouth, the safety of his embrace, the gentle caresses of his fingers. He tilted his head and adjusted his position beneath me, his lips closing around mine, gently sucking and pressing, tasting every inch of my mouth. I was utterly breathless when he eventually leaned back enough to allow my lips to part slightly, only to dive back in immediately at the sight of it.

I could feel his tongue gingerly pressing against my lower lip and I couldn't help but gasp as he pushed past it and slid into my mouth, my own tongue meeting his like a long awaited friend. (No. Lover.) I smiled at the thought, grabbing his hair tighter as I deepened the kiss by seemingly pressing my entire jaw against his. His hands grabbed my face, holding me in place as he circled his tongue around mine, now really tasting every inch of my mouth, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of my own.

I breathed loudly against him, completely forgetting everything around us, because there didn't seem to be anything else but the mouth and hands and taste and feel of the boy close to me, when a timid voice suddenly broke through the stupor of our kiss.

“Are... are you two alright? Can anyone say anything?” Ominis asked from the other side of the corridor, luckily completely oblivious to what was happening.

I felt Sebastian tense against me, the movement of his lips halted as he withdrew his tongue and leaned back only enough for us to lock eyes. I breathed against his lips, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. He smiled back feebly, his thumbs caressing my cheeks before he reluctantly let go and leaned back even more. I retrieved my hands from his hair, leaving it even messier than it was before. We looked at each other for another second, then I licked my lips and said, with my voice barely audible and slightly strained:

“I'm fine, Ominis, we're fine.”

“Did it work?” he asked and I heard his footsteps coming closer.

Sebastian quickly stood from our weird entanglement on the floor and helped me to my feet as well. I felt my knees shake, but I couldn't be sure if it was the curse or the kiss that had weakened them. While holding me with one arm, I saw him wipe at his eyes with the other, inhaling deeply as he did so. Then his gaze wandered past me towards the now open door and yet another room visible behind it.

“It did,” he said, his voice low and raspy.

I looked up at him, my hand finding his face. He met my gaze when my fingertips brushed his jaw. Before Ominis eventually reached us, Sebastian leaned down once more and gently pressed his lips against mine. I grabbed his face and kept him there just long enough, my lips desperate to feel his, until a deep sigh echoed through the corridor. We broke apart again and straightened up quickly.

“Could we please leave this place now?” Ominis said quietly, the glowing tip of his wand pulsing rhythmically in the air in front of him. For a moment I thought I saw a frown on his pale face and I blushed deeply when I wondered what he might have heard.

Yet as I saw the tiny smile on Sebastian's lips and the warmth inside his eyes, I knew I didn't care.

(Original screenshot by @deathlysallows, this post here)

Bonus:

Dear diary, today I had my first kiss with Sebastian. It was a wet one because we had both cried because, oh right, he had hit me with the Cruciatus Curse just before. I was in so much pain and he had been devastated about it and then it just happened. Hmm, yes, a moment I will never forget!

Bonus 2:

Ominis in the back, while the two of them are tongue deep inside the other's mouth: “You realize you're making out on top of the bones of my dead aunt, right?”

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fixfoxnox · 1 year

Note

I don’t mean to add to your never ending list of drabble requests, but how do you think the NicPrice kiss went down??? I’d like to get a better gauge of papa Price lol

ANON I LOVE YOU FOR ASKING THIS JSBFJFJFNF AH

Setting Us Up For Failure - Price/Nikolai

Description: A young Lieutenant Price meets, befriends, and falls for a Russian pilot

Word Count: 9k (I may have gone a little overboard)

My Masterlist

"Captain MacMillan," Price had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as he trailed behind his Captain, watching him greet the jovial Russian man ahead of them. It was an interesting sight, seeing his Captain wrapping the other man up in a hug, "It has been too long, how is your wife?"

"Still begging me to come home," MacMillan answered with a resounding laugh. The two men exchanged another hug before MacMillan was stepping back and motioning Price forward, "This is my Lieutenant," Price puffed up slightly at the use of his new rank. He'd worked hard for the promotion, sue him for being proud of it, "John Price."

The man held his hand out to him, a bright grin on his face, "Ivan Orlov," his gaze turned back to MacMillan briefly, "I see you've found yourself a protégé." He pulled back, crossing his arms across his chest and smiling in a way that didn't seem fully genuine to Price.

"Yes," MacMillan answered, meeting Price's eyes briefly before continuing, "He's a good lad, rather skilled."

Orlov eyed him up and down for a moment, a smirk on his lips that had Price flushing red in embarrassment and anger. It was clear to see that the other man didn't believe MacMillan's words.

Price knew that he was smaller than a lot of people expected of him. He'd been a skinny, lanky, underweight thing when he'd joined the military, most of that from his time on the streets after he'd run away from home. Over the years he'd managed to put on some weight and muscle, but it didn't come easy to him. It was exactly why he looked how he did. A lieutenant in the military, still a skinny thing with a layer of lean muscle over his body. His clothes hid most of it, making him look weaker than he was. With that and his affinity for random hats that he'd picked up in nearby towns, MacMillan had commented several times that he often looked more like a kid than a lieutenant in the military.

"Right," Orlov said finally, a chuckle pulling from his lips.

Price wanted to say something to the man, prove that he was more than he looked, but he didn't. Instead, he just ground his teeth together and clamped his mouth shut, letting MacMillan change the topic.

"You said you've put together a team for us, but do you have a pilot?" He raised a brow at the man, "No offense, mate, but you seem a bit too out of it to be offering us support these days." The words were a jab, an answer for the clear remark that the other had made about Price.

Price watched Orlov's jaw clench as he forced a smile. He suddenly understood why MacMillan had gruffly commented that he hated working with Orlov. It was clear that the man turned everything into a competition. "Yes," Orlov gave a cynical smile, "I've taken on a protégé as well," he gave a low chuckle, "come, I'll introduce the two of you."

He turned, starting off toward the airfield where several different planes were going through routine checks. As they walked he pointed out various things on the base, pride radiating through his voice as he spoke. Occasionally he would throw in something like "bet you don't have one of those in England, eh?" The patronizing words grated on Price's nerves, but he kept his frustration to himself.

The walk was almost agonizing with his constant speaking, it felt like it took them thirty minutes to finally make it to their destination when, in reality, they'd likely only been walking for five. Orlov had stopped him in front of one of the larger planes, one that would carry an entire platoon if need be.

There was a man standing outside of the plane, a clipboard and pen in his hands. He would call something out in a loud barked Russian and, moments later, a deeper voice from inside the plane would respond, also in Russian. Orlov turned to them as they came to a stop in front of the transport, "I think you will like him," his eyes turned to Price with a smug grin, "He is around your age I believe. Quite accomplished too." He turned then, calling something out in loud Russian. The only thing Price could make out was a name. Nikolai.

The voice responded quickly and there was a brief pause before a man, around Price's age, appeared at the entrance to the plane, quickly dropping down and walking over to meet the group with a smile. Orlov spoke to him in quick Russian, pointing to Price and MacMillan as he spoke before finally turning back, "This is the pilot. Nikolai."

Price tried not to stare, but it was difficult. Nikolai was, well, gorgeous. Black hair that was grown out to his chin, split with a middle part that showed his widows peak. He had to be using some sort of gel in it with the way it was slicked back, all but one loose piece neatly out of his face. Price knew it was likely to hang down at the sides more messily when it wasn't slicked away.

Nikolai had a strong, sharp jaw and defined muscles down his entire body. It wasn't hard to see that he was strong. His shoulders were quite broad with bulging biceps and pecs made only more defined by the tight white shirt that he wore. There were several buttons at the top of the shirt, two undone showing a bit of his chest. Price tried to avoid looking, but the silver of a chain around the man's neck kept drawing his attention back. At least, that was what he told himself.

He ended up having to divert his gaze completely from the other man, trying to avoid being caught ogling him. His face went a bit pink at the thought. He was a Lieutenant in the military! He did not ogle at cute bulky Russian pilots!

"Captain MacMillan," His captain stepped forward, shaking the Russian's hand before motioning for Price to do the same, "This is my Lieutenant, John Price."

Price hesitantly stepped forward, taking the man's large hand in his own and giving it a firm shake. He risked glancing up at the man, his cheeks flushing red when he met the other's eyes. They were a soft brown. He stepped back quickly, moving his hands to fold together behind his back as his gaze fixed itself on the ground.

"Nikolai," he responded. His voice was deep, the Russian accent adding something to it that had Price's ears tingling and his hand clenching tight behind his back. He took a deep breath in, he needed to get ahold of himself. This was work, not some bar where he could openly stare at handsome, muscular, nice-voiced Russian pilots!

"You know the mission?" MacMillan asked the man carefully.

"I do."

"Think you can handle it?" MacMillan crossed his arms, "you'll be leaving the plane and joining us on a raid, not many pilots are up to that."

Price glanced up, watching Nikolai from under his lashes as he puffed up slightly, "I can handle it, sir." Price spotted the way that the man glanced at him, though he couldn't quite understand why, "I've been trained in ground combat just the same as air combat."

MacMillan nodded to him slowly, eyeing him carefully, "Good," he landed on finally, "I'll have Price here run you through some drills," Price's gaze turned to MacMillan then, his face likely showing how startled he was by the assignment. "Not today, 'fraid Price and I could use some rest. Expect to see him tomorrow though. I just want to be sure you can handle it."

Nikolai nodded, his eyes moving over to meet Price's again. Price had to look away quickly, unable to hold the other man's gaze for long. "I understand. I will look for your Lieutenant tomorrow."

"Good lad," MacMillan chimed with a grin. "Well if the two of you don't mind, Price and I are going to get settled. We've a busy few days ahead of us men."

"The pilot, Nikolai, you should try to befriend him." Price whipped around quickly, meeting MacMillan with confusion in his gaze. He'd been unpacking his things, left to it by his Captain while the man went to get himself settled. The Russians had been gracious enough to give them separate rooms.

"What?" Price stood taller, tilting his head at his Captain and crossing his arms over his chest, "Why?" He really hoped that his Captain hadn't picked up on the way that he'd been looking at Nikolai. It was an awkward conversation that he did not want to have with the man who had become something akin to a father figure for him.

MacMillan tilted his head at him, an amused smile tugging at his lips, "It's good for you to make friends. Have an ally with the Russians and it will make dealing with them much easier for you in the future."

"What," Price asked, a lump forming in his throat, "Like you and Orlov?" He could feel nerves racing through his system. He always got nervous when MacMillan started talking about his future. He hadn't even thought he'd ever become a lieutenant, but MacMillan was always aiming higher for him. He had a lot of faith in his abilities and a lot of faith meant that it would be easy to let the older man down if he didn't live up to that potential.

"No," MacMillan gave a chuckle as he stepped further into Price's room. He closed the door behind him, blocking their voices from any nosy people who might pass by. "Orlov and I tolerate each other. We work together when we need to and we pretend to like each other."

"He is a bit of an ass," Price grumbled out, still a bit sore from the way he'd been eyed up and down by the other man earlier.

"More than a bit," MacMillan agreed with a chuckle. "I want you to be different. I want you to actually befriend this Nikolai."

"Why?"

"Because," MacMillan gave him a smile, "It pays to have people you can trust around. If what Orlov says is true, then both you and Nikolai are extremely skilled. He'd be a good ally to have. Someone good to rely on." He stepped forward then, lightly smacking Price's arm before turning to head back to the door, opening it fully before turning to add, "Tomorrow when you're running him through the drills, make a friend, John." With that he stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a thud and leaving Price by himself, silence echoing around him.

Price hesitantly moved into one of the large open garages on base, glancing around himself nervously. He knew that stepping into the garage was more than allowed for him, but it still felt somehow taboo. He figured it was because of the almost personalized nature of the small area. Tools on the walls, little pictures hung about, a jacket slung over a chair. There were little bits of the pilot he'd come to see all around the room. It made it feel almost like he was stepping into someone's home unannounced. Though, if Orlov's words about Nikolai practically living in the small garage because of how much time he spent there were true, then it was to be expected.

After a quick morning check-in with MacMillan and Orlov, Price had set off to retrieve the Russian pilot and take him through the drills his Captain wanted to see. Orlov had given him quick directions of the few places where he'd be most likely to find the man before taking off with MacMillan to start prep for their mission. He had to pretend that he didn't see MacMillan's pointed look toward him as the men were walking away. His words from the previous night about making a friend still echoed around in his mind. He knew it wouldn't be as easy as his Captain made it out to be, making friends could be difficult for him, and, even now, he had no one in his life who he considered a friend.

He'd gone searching for Nikolai, checking every place other than the garage first, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't have to step into a room where he would be completely alone with the other man. Of course, his luck wasn't that good, so he'd found himself marching toward the garage. He'd knocked on the little side door at first, trying to maybe put some separation there. He tried twice, but the sound of tools being used on the other side of the door seemed to swallow the sound of his knocks, even where he stood, so he pushed quietly inside.

He couldn't see Nikolai, but based on the various tools that littered the ground and the sound of the man muttering to himself, he could assume that the Russian was currently underneath the small car that was parked in the garage. It seemed that the Russian was good with things other than planes as well. Price stood still for a moment, just watching and listening as he tried to work up the energy to let himself be known. He really hoped that Nikolai wasn't anything like Orlov.

Finally, he cleared his throat, hearing the man under the car go silent, "Nikolai?" He took another step toward the car, "It's-"

"Price, from yesterday, right?" Nikolai was suddenly pushing himself out from under the vehicle, stopping to sit up on the little roller he'd been laid back on. He gave Price a wide smile, "Here to run me through my drills I'm guessing?" He gave a short chuckle and Price couldn't help but let a smile tug at his lips as well.

"Sorry," Price folded his hands behind his back again, looking down at the other man with a smile of his own, "I know I'm pulling you away from work."

Nikolai waved him off and pushed himself to stand from the ground, taking a confident step toward him as he responded, "Nonsense, this is work too. Besides, I could use the break."

Price was taken aback as he was, once again, faced with all of Nikolai. He could feel his face flush again as his eyes scanned over the man's face and chest, moving all the way down to his hands. They were large, large, and covered in some type of oil or grease that the man was currently trying to wipe off onto a small rag in his hands. That same substance was on the man's shirt and covering bits of his skin, mixing in with a layer of sweat to create a temptingly disheveled look on him. With every slight movement he made, Price found his eyes drawn to something new, whether it be his face, his chest, his arms, or those hands.

"Um," Price tried to refocus his mind, looking back up to meet Nikolai's eyes and noticing the amused smile that now graced his lips. "I don't," he tried to remember what they were talking about, his brows furrowed and he bit his lip for a moment before finally settling on, "I don't plan on going too hard on you."

Nikolai gave a low chuckle in response to that, "We can go as hard as we need to, don't worry, I can keep up." Price flushed red again, mentally cursing himself for the way that his mind had immediately turned to something less than innocent. He didn't trust that his voice wouldn't give him away, so he didn't speak. He just gave the man a quick nod of his head, taking a step back while the other man watched him, that smile still on his lips. "Hmm, cute."

"What?" Price blinked suddenly at the man, unsure if he'd actually heard him speak or not. Certainly, the man hadn't just called him cute?

Nikolai gave a hum in response, turning away from him to walk toward a free-standing sink in the room to begin cleaning up, "What?" The man responded casually.

"Did, did you say something?" Price asked, trailing behind him slightly.

"No," Nikolai responded with a glance over his shoulder. Price opened his mouth to respond to the man, but quickly shut it. He looked away from the other man, embarrassment burning at him. His mind must have been playing tricks on him.

"You're good," Price complimented the taller man with a smile. He'd just watched Nikolai tear apart several different targets on the range, his aim impeccable as he hit every target that he called out for him. Nikolai puffed up with pride at his praise, turning toward him with a bright grin on his face.

Price had learned rather quickly that having a smile plastered on his face seemed to be the man's default setting. It was only a little endearing. Only a little.

"Yeah?" Nikolai leaned toward him, trying to get a peek at the clipboard he held in his hands. Price was quick to tuck it against his chest, leaning away from the man as he received a playful pout in return. "Good enough to join you on a raid?"

Price lifted the clipboard up, just enough to hide his face as he grinned at the papers in front of him. "Hmm," he responded, pretending to look at the paper in front of him harshly, "I don't know," he pulled the clipboard down just enough that he could meet Nikolai's eyes over the top. "You could be cheating."

Nikolai gave a chuckle, seemingly pleased with Price playing along with his teasing. The smile that the man sent his way had Price's chest tightening and his heart squeezing a bit beneath his ribs. It wasn't the most professional reaction to have to someone he'd be working with, but he supposed it was fine so long as the other man didn't notice. "Cheating? Come now, you say that only because I am the best shot you've ever seen."

Price scoffed, lowering his clipboard back to his arms, "I've definitely seen better," he teased.

"Who?"

"Me," Price gave him a smug grin and was pleased to see that Nikolai didn't seem annoyed with his self-confidence, but rather amused at his words.

The man stepped to the side pointing to the base of the shooting range where he'd just been standing, "Care to prove it then?" He held his gun out carefully to Price, a challenging smile on his face.

Price only hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, his chin tilted defiantly up as he set his clipboard face down on the ammo table and took the gun from Nikolai's hands. It was Russian-made, one that he'd never used before, but with quite a few similarities to many of the weapons that he'd used back home.

He checked his ammo quickly, loading in a new mag before stepping up to the little shooting window. "Ah, ah," Nikolai called as he raised his gun, Price turned to look at him with a raised brow. "Ear protection and eye protection, Lieutenant. I'd hate for you to get yourself hurt."

Price rolled his eyes at the man's teasing tone, but listened to his words and grabbed one of the pairs of safety glasses from the table. He tapped the side of his head as he turned toward Nikolai, "I've been wearing ear protection the entire time, you're too loud not to," he was met with another laugh from the other man and he couldn't help but grin at him. He could tell his face was flushed, but this time it seemed to be more from his own enjoyment of the other man's presence rather than his mind running wild while he looked at him. "Call my shots?" He asked after a moment, turning back to the range to lift the weapon up into a ready position.

"Gladly," Nikolai replied, stepping up beside him. "Two by the car," he was starting him off easy, Price wanted to scoff at the man. He took one shot, adjusted for the recoil, then took two more shots, hitting both of the targets by the car with a headshot. Nikolai gave a low whistle before calling, "Three by the shack." Three more headshots. "Two by the wall." These two were fairly far away, still, Price hit his shots. Finally, Nikolai called, "One at the back, by the barrels." This was the farthest target at the little firing range. Price took a moment to aim before he shot and once again hit his target.

He turned back to Nikolai with a grin, already finding the man's eyes on him as he turned. He burned red at the look of amazement that he wore, but managed to stay calm as he smiled at him and teased, "Told you I was better."

"You've really never worked with cars before?" Nikolai tilted his head at him, watching Price with an amused grin as the shorter man peered anxiously under the hood of the car that Nikolai had been working on. They'd returned to the garage together from drills, surprisingly easy conversation flowing between the two.

Price had intended to leave once they'd reached the garage, though the thought did make him feel a tad bit disappointed. He was pleasantly surprised when Nikolai invited him into the garage to look at his latest project. Price had, a little too quickly, taken the man up on his offer. Nikolai hadn't commented on that though, instead, he'd just given him a big smile and guided him inside to look at the car.

He'd been talking about the mechanics of the vehicle for nearly twenty minutes, happily telling Price anything and everything as they walked around the vehicle. It was clear to see how passionate he was about his work, his voice going over every piece of the car excitedly, using words that Price had never heard in his life. He was content to just listen to the other man, even if he didn't understand what he was saying. Something about the happy look on his face and the excitement in his tone had Price's heart beating faster in his chest.

Of course, he'd eventually put his foot in his mouth. He considered himself to be a fairly good bullshitter, he had to be for half of the things that he and MacMillan got up to. Apparently, all of that flew out of the window when he was faced with someone as eye-catching to him as Nikolai. So he'd rather dumbly asked the man a question about something that was apparently common knowledge when it came to cars. Obviously, it wasn't common enough.

He'd felt his face go bright red when the other man had broken into laughs before asking him through his laughter if he actually knew anything about what they'd been discussing. Price had been forced to rather sheepishly admit that he had no idea what the man had been talking about the entire time.

That had led them to where they were now, with Price, rather embarrassingly, standing on a little step stool so that he could lean over the hood of the vehicle Nikolai had been working on. The man was explaining several things to him under the hood, trying to teach him the basics. "I've never had a reason to work with them before," he explained quickly to the taller man, "Nothing's ever fucked up on me before, so no reason to get under the hood."

Nikolai gave a snort, "You've never even changed the oil yourself?"

Price blinked at him for a moment, tilting his head with confusion, "You have to change the oil? How does that work?" Nikolai sputtered at him, a look of absolute horror crossing his face that only disappeared when Price let a playful grin cross his face, letting the other man know that he'd only been joking.

"Not funny," Nikolai muttered, nudging his side, "I was worried for your wellbeing you know."

"If it makes you feel better," Price leaned fully onto the hood, turning to look down at all of the complicated-looking things beneath him, "I don't actually have a personal vehicle, I only have my license for military driving necessities."

"That does certainly make me worry less," Nikolai gave a chuckle, that grin back on his face as he looked up at Price, "Anything you're curious about? I'd be more than happy to explain."

There really wasn't anything that Price was actually curious about, but he'd take any opportunity that he could to listen to Nikolai talk more, especially about something he was interested in. With that thought in mind, he just pointed randomly at something further toward the back of the hood, "What's that thing?"

The car, while likely taller on its own, was also up on jacks, meaning that Nikolai, despite his height, was forced to strain to try to see what Price was pointing at. After a moment, the man gave a sigh and turned, making his way toward him, "Hold on, I can't see it." Price went to step off of the little step stool, only to be instead pushed to the front of the little block, Nikolai stepping up behind him to look over his shoulder.

He could feel his entire face flush red, heat creeping up his spine as he felt the warmth and solidness of Nikolai's chest pressed against his back, his arms caging him in against the vehicle. "What was it you were asking about?" The man asked, his mouth next to Price's ear as he leaned over him.

Price took in a shaky breath, bracing himself against the hood nervously before pointing at the same spot again. "That thing." His voice sounded high and wrecked to his own ears, the sound pulling a wince from him. Thankfully, mercifully, Nikolai didn't mention it, only started explaining the little bit under the hood.

He really didn't mean to, but with Nikolai's chest against his back and his hands caging him against the car, it was no surprise that his mind began to wander. It was a dangerous thing, with the man his mind was focused on being quite literally pressed up behind him. He tried hard to focus on Nikolai's words, but instead, his mind latched on to the feeling of the vibrations of his words against his back.

"Price?" He realized suddenly that he'd definitely zoned out. His mind snapped back into place and he tried to take in a calming breath without the man behind him noticing. "Everything alright?"

"Yup," he responded slowly, "Just thinking. This is all rather complicated, I don't think I'd ever want to mess with any of this."

The words pulled a chuckle from the man behind him, "If you ever get a car, some of these things are important. You should try to learn."

Price wrinkled his nose at the idea, turning so that he could at least halfway look at the other man. He found the usual grin that Nikolai wore waiting on him, "I don't know about that. I think I'll just have someone else fix it up for me." He paused before giving a playful smile, "maybe I'll just have you do it."

He could feel Nikolai's rumbling laugh against his chest as the man responded, "All you'd have to do is ask. I'd be more than happy to help." He didn't quite realize how often he would come to hear those words from the man.

Price hadn't meant to hover around the front of the plane, really, he hadn't. He'd fully intended to board the little vessel with his Captain and take his seat by the man, waiting with the seven Russians, Orlov included, that were joining them on their mission as Nikolai flew them to their drop point. Really, that's what he'd meant to do.

He'd boarded the plane with MacMillan, fully dressed in his gear, one of his favorite beanies firmly in place to keep his hair out of his face. He'd followed MacMillan to his seat, sitting patiently as the back of the plane closed up and they took off into the air. It was a bit awkward, the entire back of the plane was filled only with the sound of loud Russian. Price could have spoken with MacMillan, but the man was chatting tensely with Orlov about business, which meant that Price was left to spend the ride essentially on his own.

Then, a loud voice cut through the noise, calling for Price and making most of the voices in the plane go silent. Price had gone bright red before slipping out of his seat and quickly making his way to the entrance of the small cockpit, leaning in to look at Nikolai. "Nikolai?"

Nikolai had given him a grin, motioning to the empty copilot seat next to him, "Sit with me for the flight?"

Price had blinked at him for a moment, shock sent through his veins. Sure, the copilot didn't have to actually do anything with this type of plane, but Price certainly hadn't expected to be invited to take the seat. He hesitated for a moment, the offer was certainly more appealing than sitting by himself in the back, "Are you sure?"

Nikolai gave a low chuckle, "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure. Come, sit." Price wasn't going to say no to that so, with one last glance back (and choosing to ignore the looks that he was getting from both Orlov and MacMillan), he quickly moved fully into the front area, plopping down in the copilot seat. He was careful to keep his hands folded neatly in his lap, trying to avoid knocking against any of the controls and fucking something up.

"I've never really been at the front of the plane before," he spoke idly, looking around at all of the confusing buttons and switches before teasingly saying, "it seems almost as complicated as a car."

Nikolai gave an amused snort, reaching forward to flip a switch on the dash as he responded, "Trust me, dusha moya, this is far more complicated."

Price tilted his head at the man, watching the way that he so casually flipped switches on the craft, flying the plane as though what he was doing wasn't something unbelievably impressive, at least in Price's mind. The man looked quite good at that moment, his hair slicked back as usual, the headphones that he wore for the plane fit snugly over his ears, and the sunglasses he wore framed his face well. He was wearing another tight shirt, showing off his muscular arms. It was a tempting sight for Price, especially as Nikolai reached up to flip various buttons, his arms flexing with the movement. The man was unbelievably attractive and it was eating its way at Price something fierce.

In any other scenario, Price would have easily considered Nikolai a friend already. Really, they were friends. They'd spent the rest of the day after drills together, they'd been taking their meals together, and Price had taken to joining Nikolai in the garage, chatting idly to the man as he worked on whatever needed to be worked on.

The past week of Price's life had been him befriending the Russian man and, as sad as it sounded, he already felt like Nikolai was probably the best friend that he had. That should have been enough for Price, he should have been happy with the almost natural friendship that had formed between himself and the other man. But he wasn't. He wasn't happy, and the entire reason boiled down to the fact that in the process of befriending Nikolai, Price had also quickly formed a fucking crush on the man.

Sure, it was one thing for him to find Nikolai attractive. He was a gay man with eyes, he wasn't going to not find Nikolai attractive, but to have to admit to himself that he had a crush? It made him feel like a stupid kid in eighth year with a crush on the handsome boy in his maths class. It felt stupid. It felt childish. But fuck, he really wanted to kiss the other man, even though he knew he couldn't.

"It's kinda cool," he muttered lowly, watching Nikolai's hands flex against the steering for the plane, "Seeing you in your element and all."

Nikolai hummed, turning to give him a quick wink that had his face heating up again, "I'm excited to see you in your element," he responded playfully, "Lieutenant Price. I'm quite looking forward to taking orders from you." And fuck, if that didn't make Price squirm in his seat a bit.

"Well," Price turned away from the man, pretending to be interested in something on the dash in front of him, "You may not like it so much when I'm screaming at you to move your ass."

"Oh," Nikolai gave a chuckle, "No, I think I'll still like it just fine." Things were silent between the two for a moment, Nikolai quickly flicked a few more switches as Price tried to get the heat of his face under control and the stupid butterflies in his stomach to stop fluttering. "I like your hat," Nikolai said after a moment.

The comment, though simple, pulled a wide grin from Price, "Yeah? It's one of my favorites!" He reached up to touch the edge of his hat. He had quite an affinity for them and he was more used to people teasing him than complimenting him.

"You wear hats often?" Nikolai questioned, "I noticed the caps that you wore during the week. I was wondering if that was a preference or just because you were having some bad hair."

Price gave a small chuckle, rubbing at the back of his neck. He hadn't expected Nikolai to pick up on something so simple, just the thought that the other man had made his heart flutter again. "Yeah, I have a lot of hats, I usually pick one up every new place that I go. Captain says most of them make me look like a little kid though."

"I don't think so," Nikolai shot a quick glance at him, "I think they make you look cute, dusha moya." Price gripped tight to the fabric of his pants, his face flushing.

"Thank you," he managed to get out, his voice a bit too shaky and high for him to not feel embarrassed.

Nikolai gave a hum, "Have you bought a hat here yet?"

"What?"

"You said you try to pick one up every new place you go. Do you have one from here yet?" Nikolai turned to look at him fully, raising an eyebrow at him above the sunglasses he wore.

Price hesitantly shook his head, "No, not yet. I don't really know my way around the town, so I haven't had a chance yet."

Nikolai's lips curled up slightly at the words. He turned back toward the front of the plane again, casually saying, "Good, I'll take you out to get one when we get back from our mission, yes?"

Price could only agree with the man, those butterflies in his stomach coming back even stronger. He was fucked.

"Nik!" Price turned, watching one of the men who'd been on the mission with them run up to the man next to him, his cheeks tinged red and his breathing heavy as he spoke quick Russian to the man. Nikolai answered in Russian, though based on the way he'd motioned to him while speaking, Price could assume that he was telling the other man that he was taking him out.

The Russian in front of him furrowed his brows, looking Price up and down like he hadn't even realized he was there. It sent a flush of anger down Price's spine. Why were so many of these Russians so damn rude? Luckily the man didn't stay much longer, simply giving Nikolai a friendly slap on the shoulder and a few more words in Russian before turning and heading back to the bar that Price and Nikolai had just left.

Once he was gone, Price turned to Nikolai, his eyebrow raised as his mind turned back to what the man had called him. "Nik?"

Nikolai gave a chuckle, "That's the first time you've heard someone call me that?" He guided Price toward the car they came in, opening the passenger door for him and shutting it once he was inside. Price waited patiently for the man to come around and climb into the driver's seat.

"I like it," he spoke quickly, shooting the man a grin before repeating, "Nik. It's cute." He was surprised to see a bit of red rise to the tops of Nikolai's cheeks at his words.

"Well," Nikolai cleared his throat, "You're free to call me that whenever you want, dusha moya."

"What does that mean?" Price asked quickly. Nikolai had called him that several times now and the almost affectionate-sounding words had been eating at his mind. He'd thought about asking Orlov about it, but the idea of mispronouncing the words to the older man or getting them wrong somehow made him want to jump off a cliff. So he'd decided that was a no.

Nikolai didn't answer him, he just kept his eyes firmly on the road as he drove them into town. "I'm taking you to a clothes shop. I think we'll find you something you'll like there." Price nearly huffed at his question being ignored, but he respected the dismissal for what it was. He wouldn't press, no matter how curious he was.

The ride was short, though not uninteresting. Conversation flowed between the two men naturally, discussions of their mission and the shop they were going to taking up the majority of their conversation. Price also found himself occupied with the sights outside of their small vehicle, admiring the area as they drove through.

They made it to the shop about thirty minutes before they were set to close. It was clear to see that Nikolai was relieved that they'd made it in time, his face fixing into an easy grin as they got out of the car and made their way into the building. Price knew they'd probably stayed a bit longer at the bar than they were meant to, but when Nikolai had jokingly asked if he was able to handle his alcohol, he couldn't help but take the man's offer of a bit of whiskey to wash down a successful mission.

"This place looks nice," Price spoke lowly, trailing through the small clothing shop after Nikolai, "Not sure if it's my style," he wrinkled his nose at an overly flashy top that they passed, "but it's nice."

Nikolai gave a low chuckle, "Luckily for you, their selection of hats is much larger in styles." He motioned Price back to a large wall of hats of any and every kind that he could think of. It was an incredibly impressive sight and one that had Price's heart swelling with excitement. There were so many choices, so many new things that he would be more than willing to add to his growing collection.

"I don't even know where to start," he stepped closer, letting his hand run along the top of several different caps and beanies along the wall, his eyes racing around to try to take in everything. Eventually, he stopped hesitantly at one of the hats, pulling it off to get a closer look at the details.

After a moment, he plopped the hat on his head, turning to look at one of the mirrors along the walls so that he could get a good look at himself. He hummed at the sight. The color wasn't quite working for him and he already had several other caps, so he knew it wouldn't be a winner. Still, he turned to Nikolai with a small smile, "What do you think?"

Nikolai tilted his head at him, his eyes scanning over his face for a moment before saying, "It looks good, though something tells me you don't agree with that?"

Price gave a short chuckle, taking the hat off and returning it to its place on the wall, "I don't like the color," he spoke simply, "And I already have plenty of caps. I'm thinking a different style, like..." he looked over the hats before playfully pulling down one of those gimmicky propellor hats and plopping it on his head. He turned to Nikolai with a grin, already seeing the man trying to contain his laughter, "How about this?"

"Perfect," Nikolai responded, his voice laced with amusement, "Suits you very well I think."

"You don't think it makes me look too childish?" Price stepped closer to Nikolai, a teasing grin still on his face.

"Not in the slightest," the man responded, his lips pressed together tightly to try to hide his smile. After a moment of just looking at one another, Nikolai reached forward, flicking the little propellor on the hat to send it spinning. The two men devolved into laughter only moments after.

They went on that way as Price continued trying on various hats, cracking jokes to one another and delighting in every smile or laugh that the other gave. To Price, this was far more enjoyable than sitting in some Russian bar with MacMillan and a bunch of rude Russian soldiers. Still, they'd gotten to the shop late, which meant that they didn't have much time until a worker was coming up to them to let them know that they were closing in five minutes.

"Well?" Nikolai raised an eyebrow at Price, "Made a decision?"

Price gave a low hum. Normally he would have gone with the soft blue beanie that he had clasped in his hands. It normally would have been his first and only choice, an easy one to make. But there was something else that had caught his attention, though noticeably for a far more selfish reason.

It was a simple hat, something he never would have looked back at twice if it hadn't been for the man standing next to him. It was a brownish-green bucket hat, one that looked more similar to something a fisherman would wear than what he would ever even think of putting on his head. He'd tried it on absentmindedly, not really thinking anything of it. He liked how he looked in it, in an odd way it suited him, but that wasn't the reason why he was thinking about snatching the thing up.

No, the reason behind that was the man standing next to him. He'd turned to Nikolai, prepared with a little quip in mind about the hat. All of his words had failed him when he caught sight of the way the other man was looking at him. His face was soft and there was something that Price would have had to be a fool to miss shining in his eyes. He recognized that look, the pure adoration that the other man was sending his way. It sent a shock of joy through his veins and, just thinking about it had him snatching up the bucket hat.

"I think I'll get both of these actually," He muttered quietly, giving a shy smile to the other man. Though Nikolai only gave him a nod, he could see how pleased his choice made the other man. It pulled a grin to his face, one that didn't leave even as he paid for his hats and walked outside to climb inside the car with Nikolai again. He pulled the tags off and plopped the hat on his head as soon as they were in the car.

He could feel Nikolai's gaze warming him the entire ride back to base. There was something different between them on the ride back, like a shift that filled the air with tension between their light conversation. Maybe it was Nikolai's heated gaze or the flush that sat high on Price's cheeks the entire ride back to base. Maybe it was just that the two were done dancing around one another, bolstered by a successful mission and a week of friendship entwined with flirting.

Price felt closer to Nikolai than he'd ever felt with anyone else and he knew, even when he and MacMillan were forced to leave in the morning, even when he would be so far away from the other man, Price knew that they would stay like that. This friendship, romance, whatever the hell it was...it would just keep growing.

His face was still flushed when they finally arrived back on base, Nikolai pulling the vehicle he'd borrowed back into its space in the garage. Price clambered out, meeting him around the front of the vehicle. They stopped there, watching each other for a moment. Price knew that he needed to get back to his room. It was late and he'd likely missed his check-in with MacMillan, not that he could find it in himself to care. He needed to go inside, but he didn't want to.

"I guess," he cleared his throat, smiling hesitantly up at Nikolai, "I should probably get back to my room. MacMillan and I are supposed to leave tomorrow." He paused, turning his gaze away from Nikolai as he spoke. He wasn't asking anything crazy, and he wasn't making a request that would seem anything but friendly, but still, looking the other man in the eye seemed too intimate. "Please stay in touch and everything, I'd like to say goodbye tomorrow before I leave, but I know you're busy, so-"

There was a hand on his jaw, gently turning his face. Warm soft lips connected with his own, pressing passionately against him and nearly knocking him back with the force. He was pressed back against the vehicle quickly, caged against the metal by Nikolai's strong arms as the man stole the breath from his lungs. Price didn't hesitate to react, his own arms moving to wrap around the man's shoulders, yanking him as close as he physically could.

The feeling of the man's warm body pressed against his own sent shivers down his spine and pulled a satisfied little sigh from his lips. This, Nikolai licking his way into his mouth, his hands gripping tight at his hips to hold him steady, it was so much. It was so much, but it was so perfect.

After a moment, Nikolai pulled back from the kiss, resting his forehead against Price's as they both took in deep breaths. They didn't say anything at first, just looked at one another, occasionally diving down to press another short but passionate kiss against the other's mouth. Finally, after several moments, Nikolai pressed closer to him, slotting their lips together again so that he could mumble through the kiss, "See me tomorrow, before you leave. In the garage."

Price could only nod against him, his mouth far too occupied to respond with words.

Price was still high on Nikolai's kisses when he made his way back to his room. He could still feel the man's touches on his skin, tingling where they'd brushed against his arms or grabbed his hips. He was high on the feeling.

Of course, with every high came a crash. Price's came in the form of his Captain sitting on the bed in his room, a knowing eyebrow raised at him. "Captain," Price tried. MacMillan didn't let him finish.

"I told you to befriend the pilot," he tilted his head at Price, "Not seduce him."

"Sir," Price started, his voice small, "I didn't mean to, it's just he's so," he tried to find the right word, but nothing good enough came to his mind so he lamely settled on, "nice."

MacMillan watched him for a moment. "You like him? Really like him?" Price nodded his head hesitantly. There was a moment of silence before MacMillan gave a heavy sigh and stood up from his bed, "Listen to me, John. I want you to be happy, I do, but I also want you to be successful." Price winced a bit at his words, diverting his eyes to the ground quickly. "This goes beyond what is professional, if this doesn't work out for you? If the two of you only last a month before having a heated break? That's an ally that you've lost." He stepped forward, placing a hand on Price's shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze, "It's your call, lad. Just know what you could be losing."

The man stood for another moment, watching him before giving a quick pat on his shoulder and leaving the room. Price stood silently, his Captain's words eating at his mind. There was a heavy feeling that settled in his chest, a heavy feeling and a pool of dread that rose up his throat, replacing the high of Nikolai with the weight of the crash. It was consuming. It was heartbreaking. But, above all, it was enough to pull Price back to reality, a reality where he knew what he had to do.

Price felt sick stepping into the garage. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, all of his few things packed up. He was ready to leave Russia, but the thought made him feel sick. When Nikolai saw him, fixing him with that bright grin that made his heart stutter in his chest, he wondered if the sting in his chest was what a gunshot felt like. He was sure he'd find out eventually, sometime in his career.

Nikolai seemed to pick up on his less-than-stellar attitude, his smile falling into something more concerned as he stepped closer. He came closer, reaching out for him, but Price stepped back. He gripped tight at his bag, avoiding the look of confusion that the other man sent him. He looked like a kicked puppy. It broke his heart, the splinters of it piercing into his chest harder.

"John?" Nikolai's voice was soft, laced with concern, "Is everything alright?"

"I," Price bit his lips, trying to find his words. This was better for both of them, in the long run. It was right. "About last night. I think we should try to keep things professional."

"What?" Price winced at the sound of Nikolai's voice. He could feel tears threatening to rise to his eyes, but he pushed them down. He couldn't fucking cry over this.

"We're going to be working together for a long time," Price cleared his throat, "I think it would be better if we didn't complicate that. If we just stayed as friends and coworkers."

"Friends?"

Price winced again, bringing a hand up to readjust the hat on his head. It was the bucket hat, the one he'd picked last night. There was a bit of comfort that he took in the material, in the memories that it carried with it. "If you want to stay friends," he replied, "I understand if, with all of this, you'd prefer it if we just were coworkers. Nothing else."

He jolted back when hands grabbed his own, pulling them up and drawing his attention back to Nikolai's face. Price could feel his eyes going glassy as he looked at the other man, recognizing the confusion, dread, and heartbreak that was building there. "John," Nikolai shook his head at him, stepping closer, "Tell me that you don't want this."

Price shook his head, looking away from the man as he slowly pulled his hands away and responded, "It isn't about what I want. It's about what is going to be better for both of us in the long run." He took a step away from the man, feeling like he was fighting against his own body to actually move away. He didn't want this. He didn't want to pull away from the man in front of him. He did though. He did because it was going to be better for both of them. "I'm sorry," he muttered to the other man.

Nikolai didn't respond to him, his face frozen into a picture of devastation. Price wondered briefly if a lie would have been better. If telling Nikolai that he didn't want him would have saved them both the heartache of knowing what they wanted, but couldn't have. It was too late for that though. He readjusted his bag on his shoulder, "I'm sorry. I," he paused, taking a deep breath, "I have to go. I'm sorry."

He hesitated for one more moment before turning, slowly making his way to the garage door. It felt like one of the hardest things that he'd ever done. Walking away. It wasn't until he got to the door, pushing it open to step out, that he finally heard Nikolai's voice. "John." Price hesitated for a moment. He prayed that Nikolai wouldn't ask him to stay, he didn't know that he'd be able to say no if he did. He turned to look at the man. Nikolai took a moment, steeling his face before saying, "If you need anything, just ask. I would be more than happy to help."

Price understood the weight of the words. He understood what the other man was telling him. He could feel his heart stuttering in his chest and he could certainly feel tears rushing to his eyes now. He didn't let them fall yet, he just nodded his head to the man before weakly replying, "Thank you, Nik."

He left the garage without another word, making his way toward the plane that would take himself and MacMillan back to their base. If his Captain noticed him wiping tears from his face he didn't say anything. Price felt sick. He could feel regret bubbling up in his chest. He'd done the right thing, but he knew that he'd also set himself up for a lifetime of wanting. A lifetime of looking, but never touching. A lifetime of pain when the other man eventually moved on. He knew, beyond anything, that he'd set himself up for failure.

Masterlist

#captain price #captain john price #john price #price x nikolai #nikprice #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2 fanfic #cod #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #captain price fanfiction #cod nikolai #cod price

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 10 months

Text

| BENEATH A WANING MOON | part of the A Savage Place collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║

| PAIRING(s): sub!Joel Miller x dom!fem!OC | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 7k | CONTENT: typical canon violence, exploration of power dynamics, submissive and domination practices, dirty talk, rewards and punishments, Joel learns to be a good boy

| SYNOPSIS: You’re patrol partners with Joel, and that’s where you first noticed just how tightly wound the man is. His unrelenting need to be in control of any given situation or interaction is more irritating than anything. That is, until it actually becomes dangerous during one fateful patrol shift together.

Jesus Christ you think to yourself. This man is so tightly wound it’s a wonder he hasn’t spontaneously combusted yet.

“Don’t exactly have a world-class dentistry outfit in Jackson, Joel,” you mutter.

Your ever snippy and disagreeable patrol partner whips his head around to meet you with narrowed eyes. Your comment is the first thing to break the silence in almost an hour. It would’ve been a peaceful quiet, too, if it weren’t for Joel’s nonstop teeth grinding. His jaw muscles were working his teeth so feverishly he would only have smooth, rounded nubs left in their place soon enough.

“The fuck you on about now?” he gripes.

Charming, as always.

“Might wanna cool it on gnawing your fucking teeth. You’re grinding your jaw so fucking loud, Miller. I know you have to have a headache. When you crack one of those puppies there isn’t gonna be much to do for you except take you out back and put you outta your misery,” you drawl.

You turn your attention back out the window of the small patrol station that once upon a time was a hunting blind box for Jackson resort-goers. The recreational function of it had long passed. No deer or duck hunting here. Just hunting clickers or tracking raiders, or any of the other millions of threats that presented themselves to the safety of Jackson.

Maybe that’s what had Joel worked up all the time. It was hard to say. He was never an easygoing person, but you’d think getting a good night’s rest, on a comfortable mattress, inside a heated house, inside a walled off city would be enough to get him to relax a little. No such luck. He only seemed to get worse the longer you knew him.

It was your fourth month of being his patrol partner. You had almost laughed when Tommy approached you to take up the task after all of Joel’s other assigned partners had asked to be grouped with somebody else.

Turns out Joel had quite the nasty streak that didn’t take much to get directed at whatever poor bastard had said the wrong thing or breathed the wrong way or moved too abruptly. You weren’t afraid of some giant manbaby, and Tommy seemed at his wit’s end. So, you agreed to the pairing.

“Yeah, I gotta fuckin’ headache alright. Sittin’ right next to it,” Joel snaps in a huff.

You smirk at the unsurprising retort. Should’ve seen it coming.

“Set myself up for that one,” you chuckle lowly.

Joel only offers a derisive exhale through his nose at you and settles back into his cranky silence.

You were nearing the end of your shift, and boredom had set in. You decide to pass the rest of the time by getting on Joel’s nerves. You were good at it, too. His acrid demeanor didn’t faze you one bit, and that only seemed to annoy him more. His usual tricks that sent just about everybody else running for the hills wasn’t going to cut it with you. He’d have to try a lot harder if he wanted to ruffle your feathers.

Plus, there was something about him that made you want to break him down and see what was inside. He had a hell of a guard up, you’d give him that much.

“You think Ellie likes you enough to spoonfeed you applesauce once you grind your teeth to marbles and can’t handle solids?” you ask with an airy, casual tone.

“Shut–the fuck–up,” Joel grunts.

“Hm, I’ll take that as a no. I might be up for it, but only if you ask real nice,” you needle.

“Can’t believe you’re this much of a pain in the ass, but I’m the one who scares everybody off,” he huffs with an annoyed shake of his head.

You let out a genuine laugh at that, and Joel rolls his eyes.

“Imagine if you hadn’t been such a nasty grouch to any and everybody that was assigned to you before me. You could be up here with Phillip right now instead,” you chortle.

“Sounds fuckin’ worse, somehow. I hated bein’ assigned with him. God, he’s such a little fuckin’ bitch,” he snorts.

“He is. He really is,” you laugh in amused agreement.

You settle back into a comfortable silence now that Joel is aware of his teeth grinding and has stopped. For now. He’d be right back to it and whatever other shitty coping mechanisms he had to work out his stress. Although it sometimes made for an irritating shift, Joel’s high strung disposition presented a greater risk. It was inevitable that it would get in the way of his ability to keep a level head during patrol, maybe even making a grave mistake. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Turns out, it was the former. As in, right after you both called it a day and climbed down from the lookout.

You and Joel rounded the corner to the small alcove where your horses were tethered. You stopped Joel in his tracks when you noticed muddy footprints leading to and from the spot. They weren’t yours or Joel’s, and they were fresh. You were both immediately on guard, weapons raised. You and Joel wordlessly went back to back as you started to scan the area for the owner of the footprints.

Before you could determine their location, a lone raider jumped out and kicked Joel’s knees out from under him. It was a flurry of scrambling and shouting after that. The raider had correctly determined the biggest threat as Joel, but he’d incorrectly calculated just how much of a threat you were. You unsheathed your knife with stealth accuracy, but the raider had a foot over you and at least 70 pounds. You only got a single jab into his side before he knocked the weapon out of your hand. “JOEL!” you yell, wildly searching for where the hell your backup was.

Your single stab on the raider had at least been straight into his gut where a number of vital organs were. He swung on you, but his stilted movements allowed you to dodge it quickly. You yank a serrated blade from your bootstrap and drive it into his calf. He shrieked in anger and pain, and you locked his neck into your elbow when he dipped down from the impact of his injury. You apply as much pressure as you can around his neck to cut off bloodflow and hopefully force him to lose consciousness. He struggled against your headlock, and one forceful buck from him made your balance teeter.

A loud whistling sound whizzed by your ear, startling you enough to lose your grip entirely and fly backwards to the ground. When you look up again, Joel is driving your serrated blade into the raider’s skull repeatedly. You scramble up from the ground and pull for Joel to get on his horse. You needed to get the hell out of there. Raiders weren’t lone creatures, and you had no doubt there were others nearby.

Joel wore a shocked expression when he turned to see you above him. He stared back at you like he’d seen a ghost. Like you being in front of him and snapping at him to leave it and go didn’t make sense somehow. The ride back to Jackson was a blur, and you didn’t have time to process what the look meant until after you and Joel gave Tommy the full rundown of events.

With a new group of patrollers gearing up and heading out to assess the area you and Joel had just left, Tommy sent you both on your way to head home and get rest.

Joel was acting almost shy, and that more than anything was what made it click. You dragged Joel into the stables away from prying eyes and ears. His remorseful expression confirmed what you already knew.

“You almost fucking killed me. You fucking idiot. You really almost KILLED ME,” you snap, shoving at Joel angrily.

“I had him in range, but then you moved. It was stupid, I know. I fuckin’ know it was stupid. I wasn’t thinkin’. I’m … fuck, I’m sorry, alright?” he bit out.

“Oh, you’re sorry? You’re sorry for almost shooting me in the fucking head? Sorry because you can’t aim for shit and missed the goddamn raider that was trying to murder me?” you bark. “You almost cost me my life, Joel!”

He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. “I-I .. fuck, I know. FUCK.”

“You being trigger-happy almost cost me my life.” The statement had started out acidic but ended in a strangled whisper as the reality of how close you had come to dying sunk in. Joel’s high-strung, jumpy inclinations had almost been the end of you.

“Hey, I-I’m sorry…” his voice trailed. It was the softest you had ever heard him. When you looked up at him, his eyes were misted over. It was enough to make your decision of what needed to happen next an easy one.

“You’re coming with me. Now. To my house. No fucking questions,” you growl. You ignore the confused look he gives you and march off. You hear his footsteps behind you because of course he’s not going to argue when he almost killed you today. Whatever you had in mind was clearly warranted after his almost fatal error.

You stomped all the way to your house, angry and sad at what almost happened. You felt that familiar creep in your chest, the one where you needed to be in control for a little while. Be in control of a situation after feeling so helpless. And Joel? Joel needed to decompress. Immediately. Before his clouded mind and judgment actually did cause something horrific to happen.

You lock your front door to your single story home once you both make it inside, and you waste no time in laying the groundwork.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, Joel. You’re gonna do what I say, when I say it. Your pent up bullshit almost got me killed, and you need to fucking let go of it,” you instruct in a dangerously low tone.

Joel raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Alright. I, uh, I know you’re right. I’m in my fuckin’ head. I know I am. I didn’t think it’d end up … I didn’t think it’d get that far.”

He cast his eyes downward and rubbed the back of his neck. He was genuinely remorseful, but that wasn’t going to cover his transgressions.

“Get naked and get on the bed,” you order. You start removing your shoes and jacket but pause when Joel hasn't moved.

“M’sorry, what the fuck did you just say?” he gasps with an incredulous laugh.

“You fucking heard me, and unless you want to make it worse for yourself I suggest you do as your told,” you shoot back coldly.

Joel looked bewildered and concerned. “You havin’ a fuckin’ mental break or somethin’?”

“You just added five onto your total,” you reply coolly, not bothering to look his way as you undo your shoelaces.

“Huh? Five? Five what?” he asks with a shake of his head. “Did you hit your fuckin’ head on the ground or somethin’?”

When you turn to him with a stern glare, he decides it’s probably not worth it to ask again and starts off towards your bedroom just visible through the living room. You are down to your bra and panties when you make your way to your bedroom. Joel is laying on your sheets completely stripped down, looking uncertain but curious.

“This is the fuckin’ weirdest way somebody’s asked to fuck me,” he admits with a hesitant chuckle.

You chuckle back, but it lacks the warmth and levity of his. “Oh, Joel. That’s not what’s going on here. I need you to pick a word, by the way.”

“It’s not? What? Why the fuck am I naked then? And what’d’ya mean ‘pick a word’?” He was starting to sound irritated, as if he had any right after what he did today.

When you make quick work of crawling across the bed and hovering over him in a straddle position, he loses the next remark on the tip of his tongue.

“Word. Now,” you command.

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Any word? Uh - christ, I dunno,” he falters. He’s rounding back to bewilderment.

“How about ‘trigger-happy’?” you suggest pointedly. Joel swallows, back to being remorseful, and nods.

“So if you need to stop, that’s what you’re going to say. Understand?”

“If I need to stop? Stop what?” he asks, somehow careening right back into confusion.

“Anything that you don’t want to happen. You’ll say ‘trigger-happy’, and whatever is happening will stop,” you explain calmly.

“Uh, alright?”

“I need to hear you say it, Joel. I need to know you understand,” you prod.

You get why Joel is confused as to what it is that he’d have to ask you to stop. He’s bigger than you. He’s stronger than you. He could overpower you easily. There’s not really a scenario where he’d be at a disadvantage. All things considered, it makes a lot more sense that you’d be the one who should be picking a safe word to use if you wanted him to stop something.

“Alright. I understand. Say ‘trigger-happy’ and whatever’s goin’ on will stop,” he repeats dutifully.

“Good boy,” you say with a small smile. Joel’s eyebrows pinch together, but you can see your words had the intended effect when you feel his cock twitch under your thigh.

“Now, your smart mouth earned you an additional five, isn’t that right?” you ask.

“Yeah, whatever the fuck that’s supp-”

“You will answer my question with respect, and you do not speak unless I tell you to. Now say ‘yes, ma’am’ and behave,” you growl.

“This is … jesus, alright. Okay. Yes, ma’am, it was five more,” he drones.

His Southern twang added a sweet little twist to the words, and the sound of it shot straight into your panties.

You trail your hands down his chest and you lift yourself away from him. He hums in response to your touch, and you finally take a moment to appreciate his naked form. A hot thrill spreads in between your thighs when your gaze settles on his half-hard cock. It’s already a delicious length, and the circumference makes the ache in your pussy even worse.

“Like what you see, huh?” Joel chuckles when he catches you staring.

Without missing a beat, you snap your eyes up to his through your brows and inform him he’s added another three to his total for mouthing off. He smirks but doesn’t say anything else.

“On your belly,” you command.

Joel obliges with a nonchalant roll, clearly enjoying what he thinks is nothing more than a strange response to a near-death experience on your part. He’s cooperative with your apparent power trip and need for release.

His bare ass is nicely rounded with decent musculature, but you can see it’s soft enough that your teeth would sink right into the flesh and leave beautiful little marks. However, you have to hold off on that for now as there are more pressing issues at hand.

“You are going to count all EIGHTEEN out loud. If you don’t, they won’t go towards your total. Understand?”

Joel’s head is resting lazily to the side atop his folded arms. “Yes, ma’am. Count ‘em out. Got it,” he hums, almost sounding bored at whatever this strange form of foreplay is that you’re clearly into.

Your smile grows devious as you draw your arm back and strike the tender flesh of his backside. Joel jumps and lets out a noise of disbelief and annoyance.

“What the fuck?!” he snaps.

When you land another slap onto the already reddening patch, he jerks again. “Shame none of these count towards your total. Disobedience gets you nowhere, baby boy.”

“Agh, two! TWO! What the fuck is this sh-”

“No. Not two. You didn’t count them. You have to listen to what I tell you to do, and then do it. So shut the fuck up and count. You’ve got a long way to go.” You cock your head to the side as if you’re daring him to act defiant.

Joel grumbles but repositions himself. You peek a tinge of pink across his chest, neck, and cheeks before he settles back down. The sight of it makes your thighs rub together without thought.

“Now, let’s try this again and see if you can be a good boy,” you say softly. A small choking noise catches in the back of his throat. Fuck. You were going to have to concentrate harder if he was going to start making sounds like that.

You land another swat across his backside and savor the way his skin prickles up in goosebumps.

“One.” His grunt was audible, but his enthusiasm and deference weren’t quite where you wanted them. Another seventeen swats should help get him there. You swat him a second and third time and watch how his thighs constrict and bunch together.

“Tell me how that feels,” you instruct.

Joel shifts and makes a feigned dissenting noise, but you need more than that for this dynamic to work like it should. You crawl back onto the bed and straddle one of his thighs. He makes a much less ambiguous noise when your damp panties meet his bare skin. You smooth a hand over the irritated splotches on his backside. His body relaxes under the palliative motion. A small sigh slips from his mouth.

“Joel, tell me. How does it make you feel when I’m giving you your punishment?” you ask.

He turns his head slightly to look over his shoulder at you. “Dunno.” His eyes flutter for a moment when you start squeezing his smarted flesh.

“Do you want me to stop?” The corner of your lip twitches up when his body tenses at the suggestion.

“No. Not when you’re gettin’ that fuckin’ wet from it,” he snorts.

You smile a little and crawl forward until you’re on all fours above his back. You sink down until your chest is flush with his back.

“You like doing a good job for me?” you purl.

Joel rolls his eyes and grins away from you.

“Mmmm, I like that. I like how you wanna do a good job for me. You do, don’t you?” you prod.

“Hmmpphhh, s’pose I do,” he agrees quietly.

“And that’s what makes you my special boy, Joel,” you coo. His eyes flicker to you with an expression like he’d been found out. Like he wasn’t sure how you were able to have this sort of effect on him all the while him not even being aware of this side to himself. This need. This empty space that you knew about before he did. This empty space that you knew just how to find and fill. This empty space he was now dying for you to take from him and pour yourself into it so he could be whole again.

You had many a time suspected it was in him, somewhere buried deep, but to see it confirmed by the source himself made you all the more resolute to tap into it and show him what else was there.

You smile warmly at him, earnest in the affection it holds. You nuzzle your noses together in a few passes and let him press a small kiss against your lips before sitting up again.

“This is how it works, Joel. You do a good job for me, and you get rewarded.” You emphasize the concept by gently scratching his scalp. He groans contentedly. “But if you fuck up, that’s when I have to punish you,” you add, grabbing a fistful of his hair where you’d just been tenderly minding him.

Joel winced at the pull, but you didn’t miss the pleasured hitch in his breath.

“So are you ready to get back to your punishment, Joel? So that you can try to do a good enough job that I can reward you?” You roll your hips against the small of his back and are amused when he involuntarily raises his hips to meet your movement.

“Yes. M’ready,” he grunts.

“Good. Because I like it when you’re a good enough boy that I can reward you,” you muse. The muscles in his broad back swell and contract with a deep pull of air. He was finally starting to give in a little to the blissful feeling of letting go.

You slink back down to your previous stance, rubbing one more soothing circle against his ass with your open hand.

“Remember to count, baby.”

With that, you resume doling out the punishment Joel had earned himself. Again and again you leave your mark against his tender skin. Your own hand was beginning to tingle from the impact, but the stinging on your palm only made your cunt clench tighter around nothing.

“NGghhh. Goddammit. Seven. FUCK.”

You want to lick the sheen of sweat that was starting to glisten across his back, but you contain yourself. You scoot up to straddle him and lean close to his ear.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Being such a good boy for me. Think I wanna show you what being a good boy gets you, before we work our way to eighteen. What’dya think? Want me to show you?” you murmur into his ear.

He pauses for a moment, groaning slightly in thought and arousal, before nodding.

“I know it’s your first time, so I’m gonna be nice and remind you to use your words.”

Joel swallows deeply. “Yes, ma’am. Wan’you to show me. Please.”

“Ooohh, yes, I like it when you use your manners,” you breathe into his ear.

You trail a hand down to his thigh and nudge him to bend and extend his leg out to the side. The angle lifts his hips slightly off the bed and sideways, and when you sit up behind him you can see his weeping cock, stiff and red at the tip.

“Makin’ a mess, baby,” you tease. You spit into your hand and wrap your fingers gently around his base. He groans at the contact, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Now now, don’t get jumpy. Too much of that today already,” you warn.

Joel stills at your words but looks down where your hand wraps around his length. You lean your chest against his side and back as you talk into his ear again.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby. Knew you could listen.” You slowly drag your fist along his length in steady passes, placing little appreciative kisses on the back of his neck.

The whimper of a sigh he lets out is almost heart-wrenching in its surrender. You realize just how badly he needed this. Not just the release, but handing himself over to someone else and letting them make the decisions. Letting go. Letting himself fall into you, trusting you with it. You swallow back a lump threatening to form in your throat at the thought of it.

“Good boy. Such a good boy for me,” you praise, working him faster.

When he chokes out a needy moan, it makes you want to forget about the rest of his 18 and ride him right then and there. “You sound so good for me. Singing out for me. You like how you get rewarded, huh? For being good for me? I’ll take care of you, baby. You’re safe with me. You just have to let go and give yourself to me, baby. I’ve got you.”

Joel lets out a little strangled whimper, and you have to work to collect yourself.

“Tell me how pretty your cock looks with my hand on it.”

“Ahff-fuck. It’s-god-yes, i-it’s pretty,” he rasps.

“Words,” you scold with a gentle slap to his balls. He jerks backwards with a hiss before rolling his hips forward again, his chest rumbling with a groan.

“My fuckin’ cock looks pretty with your hands on it,” he grits.

“Now was that so hard to do?” you tut. “All you have to do is listen and obey.”

You slowly massage his balls for a moment before getting things back on track.

“Think that’s enough for now,” you whisper, letting him drop from your hold. Joel’s annoyed grunt makes you smile and is amusing enough that you won’t punish him for it. Not this time, at least. “On your back, all the way.”

Joel rolls onto his back and shows a small twinge of discomfort in his expression when his tender backside meets the sheets.

“Sore already, baby? We haven’t even made it halfway to eighteen,” you taunt.

His tongue darts across his lower lip hungrily. He’s closer to where you want him now. You eye the dribbles of precome trickling from his tip. His cock is standing at attention, desperate for any sort of contact.

“Open your mouth.”

When Joel doesn’t follow your command, your temple twitches in irritation.

“Is this gonna be a fuckin’ problem, Joel?” you snap.

You grab roughly at his length, sinking your nails into the sensitive flesh just enough to leave crescent marks.

Joel emits a whinging groan and levels an annoyed glare at you. His breaths are coming in heaves. You give him a moment - it was his first time, after all - and eventually his stony scowl wanes into a yielding frown.

He barely opens his mouth. You tsk tsk with a derisive laugh at his lackluster effort.

“Tongue OUT.” You cock your head sideways for emphasis.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he juts his tongue out, flat and wide. Heat pools in your lower belly at the thought of all the ways it could be put to use.

You had to touch it. See how it felt. Get a better idea of how it would feel running up and down your folds and tonguing your asshole. You snake your pointer finger into his mouth and rub it back and forth against his tongue. You scissor your index and middle fingers underneath it, enjoying the way his mouth looks wide open for you to use however you see fit.

“Suck.”

Joel closes his lips around your two digits and keeps his eyes locked on yours. You pull away from his mouth and admire the covering of slobber he’s worked up. You run the wet digits along the underside of his cock. It jumps at your merciful touch. Joel fists the sheets on either side of him.

“There’s just something about the way you get so pathetic for me that makes me so fucking wet,” you moan.

Joel’s throat bobs with a swallow. It’s as if he thinks making any move too quickly will snip the wrong wire and detonate all his restraint.

“I didn’t tell you that you could close that pretty mouth,” you warn. It falls back open, tongue out and waiting for you to use.

“Good boy,” you praise with a smile.

You lean forward with a soft touch grazing his chest. His eyes flutter at the sensation. You stroke him once without warning, just to see his body snap up to attention. His mouth is opened wide, and you curl your fingers into a tight grasp around his chin before spitting in his mouth.

“Swallow.”

Joel’s cock twitched. He obliged to your request.

“Mmmmhhhmmmmm, you like that, huh, baby? Like when I treat you that way?”

Joel didn’t reply, but his eyes wandered down your body to where you straddled his. You give a slow, teasing roll of your hips, and Joel’s buck up into you. His eyes snap shut tight, and a strained noise gathers in his throat.

“Answer me, Joel. Now.” You land a harsh swat to his inner thigh. He flinches and draws a rough, tight gulp of air between his teeth.

“YES. I like it. Like this. ‘N I like yo-” he cuts himself off.

You catch yourself smiling with tenderness at the slip. You grind firmly into him, and his back arches off the bed.

“Finish that thought, honey. Wanna hear what you were gonna say,” you coax.

“You fuckin’ know what I was gonna say,” he grumbles.

He won’t look at you, and that bothers you. You need him to feel safe enough and comfortable enough to look you in the eye, especially if he’s actually sharing something intimate. But, maybe that would be too much, too fast for Joel. You’ll just have to find a way to work it out of him next time. A boundary was a boundary, after all.

“Tell you what,” you playfully muse. “If you can’t say it, I’ll let you show it instead. Sound good?”

Joel’s eyes snap back to yours immediately with this offer. His expression quickly shifted from guarded to hungry. He nods with unabashed enthusiasm. You smile down at the perfect little pliant mess he’s become for you.

“I think there’s something that needs attention before we get back to counting all those yummy little slaps on your ass,” you purr. “Hands above your head.”

Joel obliges and rests his arms above his head.

“I know that pretty little mouth of yours can do a whole lot of talking and smarting off, but I’m interested to see if it can do anything else.” You unclasp your bra and throw it to the floor. You follow the bob of Joel’s adams apple when he gulps at the sight of your bare breasts.

“Something you wanna say?” you ask sweetly.

“Bring those here, sweetheart. Fuck, you look so good,” he mutters almost to himself. His eyes are locked onto your chest.

“You’re not the one giving orders,” you remind him pointedly.

“I. Uh. I’m not. You’re right, baby, but- fuck you look so good. Can I? Can I please?”

His big brown eyes are watery and earnest, and you have to get your pussy in check yet again.

“Not very convincing. What’s in it for me?” you challenge. You toy with your nipple and watch it harden

under your ministrations. The choked noise from Joel tells you he’s very intent on saying whatever configuration of words will bring your body closer to him.

“I-I wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. After today. Let me, please? Just for a minute. Won’t touch ‘em with my hands. I’ll be good. I’ll keep my hands up like you said,” he promises.

You have to pretend with painstaking effort that you’re indifferent to his pleas. You can feel yourself completely soaking through your panties at this point. You straddle him again, rocking your hips against his cock for good measure, before leaning your torso over his mouth.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

When Joel feverishly takes your entire nipple into his hot, wet mouth, you can’t help the pitched moan that comes out of you. Joel is so worked up that he doesn’t even get cocky like before at your responsiveness to him and instead releases one side and heads straight for the other. He skillfully rolls his tongue around and grazes his teeth in all the right spots.

“Hnngggggg. Fuck, oh fuck. Such a good fucking boy for me. Yes, baby. Use your mouth. Show me how bad you were today. Make it up to me,” you pant.

Joel is a noisy, ardent mess underneath you, devouring and nipping and kissing and sucking at whatever he can, like a man starved of touch for too long. And he probably was. Truth be told, you had gone far too long without the touch of someone else. You were both going to end up a mess if you didn’t slow this down.

You pull back abruptly and slam your mouth onto his in a rough kiss. You don’t stop or reprimand Joel when he removes his hands from above his head and wraps them around you, pulling you closer. It’s a mess of tongues and teeth and saliva as you both desperately taste one another. Your aching pussy is screaming to be touched, and you clamber to hoist yourself over his face. Joel doesn’t need to be told what comes next. He yanks the fabric over your lips aside and delves his tongue into your throbbing wet entrance.

You cry out and grab at his sweaty curls as you start to ride his face. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Joel. You’re gonna fuck me with your tongue until I come,” you snarl as you set a furious pace rocking your hips against his face.

His large, angled nose grinds delightfully against your clit with each pass, and you feel your orgasm building rapidly. His greedy moans and grunts vibrate against your pussy as you make a drenching mess of his face.

“That’s it–right there, right there,” you rasp. “Hhhmmggg you’re such a fuckin’ pleasure to use, baby.”

By the sound of the noise Joel makes, you think he really must’ve liked what you just said. Fortunately for you, he’s eager to show you through his actions as well. When he pulls you down to anchor you into his mouth and sucks hard on your clit, your orgasm barrels through your gut and legs. You’re a shaking, moaning mess, crying out Joel’s name and grabbing at the headboard in vain for support. He’s pushing and pulling your hips to help you keep the tempo of your grind as you fuck his face.

“GAHDD-Gaah-JOEL!” you shout. “GOOD BOY. FUCK.”

His tongue laves and slurps every drip you give him as he greedily swallows your climax. The rush of pleasure goes straight to your head, and you zero in on your control over Joel with renewed zeal.

“THAT’S MY G-GOOD BOY, BABY. Yes, right there, baby,” you shakily exhale.

You indulge in a few more slowing passes before pushing off his face. You groan at the sloppy mess you’ve left it. Fuck, he looked so good with your wet slick smeared across it. His entire face glistens with a mixture of sweat and your come. You chuckle darkly when you notice he’s breathing primarily through his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” you taunt as you try to hide how out of breath you are from your climax. You swipe across his cheek and pinch down along his nose to remove the accumulation of your spend blocking his nostrils. “Can’t fucking breathe, huh? Got my come up your nose, baby? You’re so nasty. My pussy made a mess of that face, huh? So messy for me, baby boy.”

“More,” he growls, licking at the glistening arousal you’ve left dripping on his face.

You shake your head and smile. “Hm, that’s right. We do have more left, don’t we? On your belly.”

Joel slams his head against the pillow in frustration. That clearly isn’t what he meant when he begged for more. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, and right before you can discipline him for not answering, he responds, “Yes, ma’am. We finished seven.” He rolls with a sigh onto his stomach and settles into position again, but not before you catch a glimpse of his aching cock.

You land five smacks in quick succession and nearly salivate at the recoil of his plump flesh against your strikes. You smooth your hand across the tender skin beneath. Joel grunts and counts out “eight.” His resignation to only count it as one makes your core tingle.

“You’ve done so good, I’ll let you count them individually,” you graciously offer.

“Yes, ma’am. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twel-”

Joel actually counting out each single slap had your folds slipping against each other with every movement, and you can’t resist landing a firm smack on the part of his ass you hadn’t smarted yet.

“NNGGGHHhhhh. THIRTEEN,” he barks into the pillow.

“That’s it. Doin’ so good. I know you can take more. I know you can take all of them for me, isn’t that right?”

His sharp exhales punctuate the little bubble you’ve created for the two of you. “Yes. Can take ‘em all for you, sweetheart,” he affirms.

“Your body was made for me to break down,” you assert. His breathing picks up with excitement and anticipation. “And, once I break you, Joel, I’m gonna put you back together how I want,” you purr in a muted lilt right next to his ear.

His broken whimper floats through the room like the white tufts of a dandelion in a calm breeze. “I-I want that, too,” he admits.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, completely losing all sense of focus when he’s so eager to please you and follow your rules.

“Doing so good, baby. Keep counting,” you soothe as you dole out the rest of his allotted swats.

He’s panting and sweating by the time you make it to eighteen, and you don’t have much more restraint left.

“Hands and knees,” you grit out. You controlled yourself from shoving your fingers inside your pussy at the sight of his red, welting flesh. He slowly pushes himself off the bed and rests on his palms and knees as you instructed.

You brush soft, wet kisses across the tender flesh of his ass, sucking and licking gently at the harsher marks. Your eyes roll back at the soft sigh he lets out. You let your wet tongue pad across his skin and dip against his hole. He jerks at the unexpected sensation, and you quickly swipe the slick between your folds and use it to glide your hand quickly up and down his cock. The sputtering gasp and moan he lets out almost breaks your resolve to not fuck him senseless.

You dart your tongue in and out of him as you feverishly work his aching cock, turning your wrist at the tip where you apply more pressure on each pass.

He’s trying to fuck himself into your fist with small movements, as though he’s trying not to get caught for doing so. That sort of behavior would land him in trouble in the future, but for today you are benevolent. He’s getting close, you can feel his body starting to shake and tremble more, and you want to see his face when he comes undone.

“On your back now,” you clip out. You shove him onto his back as he starts to turn around and obey your command. He thuds gently against the headboard and eagerly spreads his legs. You take him into your mouth with one motion, cradling and massaging his balls while your thumb works firm circles against his asshole.

He’s a whining, whimpering mess. You release him from your mouth only long enough to say, “You’ve been a good boy for me, Joel. You’re gonna come for me now. Come for me, baby. Let me have it.”

His scrunched brow and frown of overwhelming pleasure is something you wish you could remember in perfect detail for the rest of your life. He’s so beautiful like this, completely obliging to your every whim, sweaty curls sticking to his forehead, a total surrender of control to you.

You lock eyes and take him into your throat. A guttural moan shakes from his chest as he comes into your throat and mouth. You slowly work him up and down through his release. Little tears prickling at the edge of his eyes start to slither down his temples and cheeks. His devastating, euphoric release is all too much to hold anything back anymore.

You swallow some of his come as it shoots down your throat. The rest of it gets spit out in messy, frothy bubbles down his spent cock. You stroke his length a few times as he starts to soften, unable to resist your curiosity of what Joel looks like when you overstimulate him. His strained expression and high pitched moan are delicious.

“AGGHH. T-TOO MUCH. Fuck. Fuck. STOP. FUCK. TRIGGER. SOMETHING,” he rambles in a frenzy.

You released him halfway through his plea, picking up on his threshold being passed before he could verbalize it. He sighs and slumps against the headboard, shutting his eyes in a pained look of relief.

You scoot up and straddle him, wiping the mixture of all your fluids against the sheets, before drawing him into your arms. You gently comb your fingers through his hair and place a lazy trail of kisses along his forehead.

“You did so good, baby. How do you feel?” you ask softly.

He grabs you into a tight embrace, rolling you both sideways onto the bed. He nuzzles against your neck contentedly and mumbles, “Good. Feel good. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Anything for you, baby. Anything,” you whisper into his sweaty scalp.

After a few moments of holding each other and lazy kisses, you get up and find some towels, cleaning Joel off and then yourself. You bring him a small snack and a glass of water, and he makes short work of them both. He lets out a big exhale as he sinks back down into the mattress.

You sit between his legs, facing away from him, and his hands automatically rest on your waist in a feeling of comfortable, safe companionship. Joel’s breathing is beginning to slow into that telltale hazy thrum of dozing off.

When you start pressing firm, circular movements against his knee, he seems to stir again.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart?” Joel mumbles in a half-sleep state.

“Massaging your knee where that asshole kicked you,” you grumble in irritation at the memory of raider fucking up Joel’s already fucked up knees.

You focus on smoothing across the muscle in even passes, pressing your thumb in small circular motions. Joel had trusted you with the gift of breaking him down, and you were going to show him the other side of that agreement where you built him back up again. Put the pieces back together so that it’s cohesive and strong and tended to. No fragments. No splintering. Just making him whole again.

“Mmmmm, feels s’good,” he slurs.

You methodically massage Joel’s entire body well past the point where he lay peacefully snoring, spread out across your bed in complete bliss.

Me, the entire time I was writing this:

plz lmk if there's anything in particular you'd like to see sub!Joel *~*~learn~*~*

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

#fic: a savage place #asp #sub!joel #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic

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glystenangel · 2 years

Text

Comfort for Two

Soft&NB!Kurapika x Afab!Reader (Canonverse)

summary: kurapika comforts you when you're on your period and you return the favor

tags/warnings: 18+ blog but this story is 100% floof, reiterating that kp is nonbinary here bc i like it, period comfort, mentions of not eating and pain, general comfort with slight angst, cuddling and kissing, kinda corny, kurapika LOVES you like really loves you

~1.7k words

thank you for reading and enjoy <3

_________________

“Is it okay if I come in?”

You can hear Kurapika’s hopeful voice accompany light knocks on your door.

“Yeah. It’s open.” You groan, flipping over the heat pad on your stomach.

The muscles of your stomach remain twisted in pain, and you barely notice when your bedroom door swings open.

“Hey.” Kurapika leans against the doorframe, their gaze fanning over your curled up body with sympathy.

Their posture is perfect and upright, with their arms crossed over their chest and not one blond hair out of place. Kurapika always looked pretty and presentable, in crisp clothing and a rigid sense of duty that kept their jaw and shoulders tense. You remember that the first time you had met, you were so nervous that you could hardly speak. Even after all this time, looking at them makes your heart swell with a combination of nerves and affection.

“Hey.” You deadpan, the greeting is hollow and miserable as your voice crackles at the end.

They make their way over to you, shaking their head and laying a gentle hand on your head once the plush space beside you sinks underneath their weight.

“Have you eaten anything today?” They start stroking the space behind your ear, frowning when your scowl deepens and you close your eyes.

“No, I don’t feel good. Sorry. I know you hate it when I do this.” You mumble the last part, knowing your low energy always makes your normally calm and cool partner fret. Even when you know you’ll recover in a couple of days and feel good enough to eat then, Kurapika works themselves into a frenzy, sometimes coaxing you for hours to at least eat a cup of brothy soup. It’s a bit funny, because they remain as stoic as ever, but check in with you every ten minutes. All furrowed brows and careful hands overlooking your condition.

You couldn’t help your sickly state whenever you were on your period, and you felt bad that they had to attend to you while juggling being a professional hunter.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s okay if you don’t want to as long as you eventually eat. And, I still like you.” A bemused tone decorates their reassurance, and you afford them a small smile as you lean into them.

“I know, I just don’t like making you worried over me. You already have a lot going on, so I don’t want to add more to your plate.” You sigh, fiddling with the buttons of the heating pad controls.

Kurapika is silent for a moment, and you cautiously peer up at them.

They’re looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place, and you wonder if you should ask them what they’re thinking about when they pat your side.

“Can you move over a little? I want to lay with you.”

The ask makes your heart flutter.

Kurapika then pats you again in epiphany, “Ah wait, don’t move. Here, I’ll move you.”

They move to stand, kneeling beside the bed and holding their arms out. The chains around their fingers sway in waiting.

You wordlessly allow them to carry you, wrapping your arms around their neck and trying not to wince when they easily tuck their arms underneath you to lift you up.

“Alright,” They kiss the top of your head before settling back down onto the bed, holding you close.

You end up laid on their chest, your cheek resting in the nape of their neck as they rub your lower back. They knew that was where you usually hurt the most.

Kurapika’s long exhales brush across the top of your head, “How are you feeling now?”

“Definitely more comfortable. Thank you, you’re so good to me.” You reach out to kiss the side of their chin, the closest area to their lips that you can muster the strength for.

A grin forms across their features, subdued at first, and then their entire face surrenders. The happy sight is something you never hesitate to cherish, the rarity of being witness to it never lost on you. Your favorite part of their smile was how wide it could get, and how it always reached the shine of their eyes. It was like watching the clouds part to reveal the sun. Dreary gray splitting into shimmering ribbons of gold.

“What about you? How are you feeling?” You tuck your chin back into the curve of their neck.

A drawn out sigh leaves them and their expression instantly neutralizes. Kurapika pinches the high bridge of their nose with more frustration than you thought they could possess at the moment.

The shift in mood hurries apprehension into your throat, “What is it?”

They shake their head, but you place a placating hand on their cheek, turning their face to meet your gaze. Their skin is pale underneath your fingertips, much colder compared to the warmth nestled between your entangled bodies.

“It’s just been one of those weeks.” They dejectedly admit, looking down and then flitting their vision back up to your concerned face. Conviction lies in the stern lines of their face, but every edge seems weaker than before.

The most heartfelt wish you have is reserved for them. Impossible as it is, you wish that tragedy had never placed its burdensome hand on their life or their family. They were too honest, too infallibly sweet in spite of their cool demeanor to have suffered so greatly.

Understanding crosses your features and you hug them tightly. The smell of clean shampoo and fresh linen fills your lungs as they wrap their arms around you, burying their face into your shoulder. They always hugged you as if they needed it more than you.

Their lips move across the surface of your shoulder, “I’ll be okay. I’ve lived with this resentment for a long time. It’s part of me at this point. I’d rather make sure you’re taken care of right now than talk about it even more than I already do. You don’t deserve that.”

You minutely shake your head, “I don’t mind.”

Kurapika is silent for a contemplative moment, though you know to be patient.

Finally, they speak again.

“It’s just been difficult lately. I don’t like how it feels, but I don’t want the trail to get cold,” They mutter, “It can’t get cold.”

Their tone is determined and filled with that desperate grief they’ve clung to since you’ve known them, but their grip on you remains gentle and secure.

You pat their head, hoping to comfort them, “It will get better. There’s no one more capable than you. I know it gets to be too much sometimes, but you’re not alone anymore. Remember that, and in the meantime…treat yourself kindly and trust that the timing will be right.”

They don’t attempt to reply, simply letting out a deep breath and easing further into your embrace. You simply breathe with each other, cheeks pressed together and resting in the quiet of the bedroom.

When you think your partner may have fallen asleep, suddenly their cadence washes over you again.

“You are one of the only few people that still make me feel human. That I still have the potential for goodness even after killing day in and day out. Even if it’s for a cruel reason like revenge, you stay with me. Think highly of me.”

They loosen their hold on you, drawing back to vigilantly examine your expression.

“I know I overthink, especially when you’re suffering like this. But…I’m just afraid of losing you.”

It is a fear Kurapika expresses to you often, especially in the vulnerable moments after you’ve been caught in the crossfire of a hunt or when they were seriously injured and unable to keep you safe until they were fully healed.

“That won’t happen.” The truth of it sits solidly on your tongue.

Separation is inconceivable, so much so that you are convinced that even if you died you would find some way back to Kurapika.

“Oh? So sure?” Kurapika questions as they lean forward into your space, and heat rises in your cheeks at their teasing lilt.

“Very. I’m afraid of a world without you too, so we have to protect each other, right?”

The sentiment makes them find your hand to lace your fingers together.

“I’ll always protect you. You are part of my family now. I adore you more than you’ll ever know.”

The famed red glow of their eyes ignites around usually dark irises, scarlet intensifying their stare and filling you with mutual emotion. Their eyes looked just like they had when Kurapika first confessed to you, and when you first told them that you loved them and they said it back right away.

You can hardly resist kissing them, so you give in. Kurapika returns it without hesitation, petal soft lips on yours and their hand warm against your palm. The rapid beat of their heart can be felt where their wrist presses against yours, and it’s so endearing you have to keep kissing them until your mind dissolves on their lips.

You pull away, seeing your shared bliss in the ruby of their eyes. Words will never be enough to explain how you feel about them, but you keep trying regardless.

“You are all I have ever hoped for. I would never want to be anywhere else, but here with you, Kurapika.” The confession from you is so sincere it makes your heart ache in your chest.

Seeing Kurapika soften as you speak makes you realize that any kind word from you is enough for Kurapika. More than enough even.

They lift your hand to their lips and kiss each knuckle. The honey color of their eyelashes nearly touches the tops of their cheeks when they close their eyes, and you can’t help but be in awe of such beauty. Once they finish their devoted administrations, they peek at you over the shape of your hand and you move to touch the outer corner of their eye.

“Your eyes won’t stop glowing. You must really love me, huh?”

They shrug, blond hair brushing the top of their shoulders and nonchalance overtaking their cadence.

“Maybe.”

The crimson radiance of their eyes never dims.

You beam at their obvious inability to hide how much love they have for you, and you close the gap between you two with another fond kiss.

After you move apart, you stroke a tender line across their cheek.

“Thank you, I’m feeling much better now.”

Kurapika nods, and then blesses you with another smile.

“So am I.”

_________________

End Notes:

LET THEM BE LOVED AND HAPPY I BEG OF YOU TOGASHI😭😭🙏

#kurapika #hxh kurapika #kurapika x reader #kurapika x you #kurapika x y/n #kurapika fluff #kurapika imagines #kurapika headcanons #kurapika hxh #kurapika x reader fluff #hxh imagines #kurapika kurta x reader #myfics #kurapika kurta #kurapika hunter x hunter #i wrote this bc i'm on my period and i needed it

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