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thexsilentxwordsmith · 3 months

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: While on deployment far away, Simon takes a little time one night to video call you and talk you through you touching yourself to the sound of his voice.

***I'm giving something new a go. This is strictly through Simon's point of view as if he is directly talking to you; he is the only one speaking***

Word Count: 5.6 k

Warnings:

The jingle plays repeatedly until the video call connects and the image of you pops up the screen, laying on your side propped on your elbow as you seem to be just waking up for the day. A few stray rays of sunshine creep in from the side of the picture and shimmer through the strands of your hair so that even in your sleepy, disheveled state you still look like a painting. Simon keeps his camera off for the moment, but his voice comes through clear as day over the speakers; the connection is actually decent this time around.

“Well ‘ello there gorgeous. Surprised to hear from me? It’s been a fuckin’ minute, hasn’t it? I know it’s pretty early there, but I finally have a bit of time now that everyone’s asleep and I wanted to see ya.”

Simon keeps his voice low and hushed, trying not to draw attention to himself as he lays in his cot in the dark, the only light coming from the screen of his phone. His earbuds are plugged in so that he can hear everything with keen precision while keeping the others in his team from listening, just in case.

“You been doin’ alright there, luv? Keepin’ it all togetha for me till I get back? I know this time it’s been a bit longer, but it ain’t gonna be forever. I’ll be back before ya know it and then you’ll have me all to yourself.”

There’s a look on your face, something he immediately notices. A glint in your eye, a twitch of the corner of your mouth, a shift of your body as you adjust yourself under the sheets. Your texts to him over the past week, wondering when he would have time to actually call, were getting more and more desperate sounding and now reading your body language through the camera he is able to put it all together.

“Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart? Care ta tell me what it is? Or should I guess? Cause I think I ‘ave a pretty good idea ‘a what’s goin’ on.”

He watches you bite your lip as you look away, a heat blossoming in your cheeks that flushes throughout your face. There it is, the sign he’s looking for. There’s only two reasons why your cheeks flush like that and you aren’t known to be drinking this early in the morning.

“Are ya missin’ me real fuckin’ bad, is that it?”

You look back up into the camera and give a distinct nod. He understands it well, as he has been pining for you since the day he left. That’s the other reason he has been trying to find time to make this call: he’s been missing his girl real fucking bad and needs some special time with you and only you, even if it’s just for a short video chat now that he is on the tail end of his assignment and he doesn’t have to put as much focus into his work.

“Trust me, you ain’t the only one, sweetheart. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to fuckin’ see ya and there’s things I’ve been missin’ too: that pretty face a yours, wakin’ up next to ya layin’ in bed, the sound of your hummin’ comin’ from the kitchen as ya make breakfast…”

He trails off a moment with his thoughts as he lowers his voice until it’s barely above a whisper, leaning his lips into the microphone built into his headphones just in case any stray ears are listening in. Simon thought he’d be able to get through a bit of small talk before starting in on this stuff, but it seems like your need for each other cannot be contained once you’re in proximity.

You get him riled up without even trying. He clears his throat and continues the thought.

“...and if I’m real honest, I’ve been missin’ other things too. The more intimate things like you naked underneath me, the sensation of your legs wrapped ‘round my waist, makin’ those sweet little sounds whenever I hit the right spot. It’s been fuckin’ eatin’ me alive out here, not been able to take care of it. I swear every goddamn time I’m away from ya it’s like I can’t help thinkin’ about ya nonstop. Can ya blame me? I mean, look at ya, luv. You’re a goddamn dream. Christ, I’ve been gettin’ hard just thinkin’ ‘bout what I’m gonna do to all those gorgeous curves the fuckin’ minute I get back.”

He can hear your already staggered breathing hitch and it makes him smile; it’s cute the way you are always so down bad for him. Just bringing up a few stray thoughts and a mention of his cock and you are already burning. But maybe you were burning a little before that too.

“That’s what you’re missin’ too, yeah? Havin’ me there with ya, doin’ what we do best? Ya don’t have to tell me, I know my sweet girl gets fuckin’ needy when I’m not ‘round to keep her satisfied. From the way you keep messaging me, trust me I know. Bet it’s been fuckin’ lonely there all by yourself; betcha been achin’ for somethin’ to help ya get some relief. I know ya don’t like usin’ your toy all the time…Is that why ya wanted me to call?”

You stutter out some objections, hoping not to sound too desperate as you don’t want him to think that’s the only reason to answer his call. Simon isn’t bothered by it one bit; he can tell you need something to take the edge off. He can always tell… and he wants to help.

“Ya don’t have to hide it from me, luv. It’s clear as fuckin’ day; I’m already makin’ ya flustered, I can hear it as ya talk. Don’t think I forgot whatcha told me a while back. How ya like the sound ‘a my voice. Ya said it makes ya wet. Is that what ya need now, baby? Need me to talk ya through it and help ya get off?”

You squirm again under the covers, clearly trying not to make it obvious that you are rubbing your thighs together. Simon has barely started the dirty talk and already your body is responding to him in that most primal way. Who is he to deny his sweet thing of what she needs?

“Yeah, that’s what ya want, isn’t it? To listen to my voice while ya touch yourself? Cause I really fuckin’ wanna give my pretty girl some extra attention right now. Make sure she doesn’t go without me even when I’m away. And if this is the only way I can do it, I wanna make sure ya come. I need to hear it again ‘fore I forget what it sounds like when ya orgasm ‘cause of me.”

Goddammit, Simon’s getting worked up just from talking about helping you get off, so much so that his cock begins to twitch in his pants and he has to adjust himself in the bed with a deep, muted grunt, pulling at the fabric at his crotch to give him more room to grow. He watches you get more excited at the prospect of having his attention, even if it’s only for as long as it takes for you to climax. Any bit of his attention makes you feel like the most gorgeous thing in the entire fucking world and that’s why he gives it all to you.

“But I need ya to do somethin’ for me in return. Somethin’ to help me help you. Can ya do that for me, baby?”

He watches as you nod your head up and down into the camera with enthusiasm, not even waiting to hear what it is he is going to ask you to do. Clearly, you would do anything for him, all he has to do is name it. God, he loves you needy for him, let’s him know that he is treating you right.

“I need ya ta sit up, push your computer to the edge of the bed, and angle the camera down for me. Lower. A little more, that’s it. Good girl. Now, take off the blanket and let me see whatcha got hidin’ under there.”

The computer is pushed further away so that your body is in full view and the camera is now pointed directly into your lap as you remove the blanket hiding your lower half, complying without a single word. Once free, your tank top catches his eyes as it hugs tightly to your breasts while your tiny, cotton sleep shorts leave almost all of your thighs exposed; Simon is eating up every last pixel that he can see.

Those thick, juicy lower limbs of yours are his absolute favorite and if he could be there now he would already be between them. This is definitely a good idea.

“Wanna be able to see that you’re enjoyin’ listenin’ to me. Ya want me to see it, yeah? Wanna show me how much ya miss me, don’t ya? Course ya do, sweetheart. You’re too fuckin’ good to me. Always makin’ sure I get my fuckin’ fill of such ya; my pretty girl.”

Simon puts a little extra breathiness into his voice, accentuating his gravelly tone to make you blush like crazy as that wetness gathers at your core. He’s gonna pull out all the stops tonight to make sure that you will be content… at least for the next few days.

“I think we need a bit more, yeah. Get a real good view. Take off your pants and spread your legs nice and wide for me. Let me see that beautiful little pussy that I’ve been dreamin’ of. Just like that. Little wider; there ya fuckin’ go. O-oh fuck, looks like you’re already drippin’ for me.”

The light catches a faint glistening from the slit between your satiny petals and he can hardly find the air to fill his lungs as his mouth begins to salivate. Acting off of pure instinct, your hand travels down between your legs and almost reaches your cunt before he comes to his senses and scolds the action by snapping his fingers into the mic.

“Ah, ah, I know you’re achin’ bad, but no touchin’, not till I fuckin’ say. Does my voice turn ya on that much ya can’t even wait for me to really get it goin’? I’ve barely even started and you’re already unable to stop yourself. I wanna make this good for the both of us, but I can’t do that if ya get ahead of yourself. Just breathe a minute.”

An idea pops into his head, fueled by the intense throbbing in the crotch of his pants. He hadn’t thought that he would be getting involved like this, it is risky given his current situation, but his body is saying otherwise. There’s no stopping him when you are giving him such a feast for his eyes to devour.

“Maybe ya just need an incentive to take it slow. Somethin’ to keep your ass in line. I got somethin’ for that, baby.”

The metallic sound of a zipper being undone and a sharp hiss of air between his teeth is heard over the call before the camera is turned on. Simon points the phone at his face for a moment and pulls up his mask slightly to give you a quick smirk before bringing it down to rest on his thighs as he points it straight at his lap. Through the dimness that surrounds him, the focus adjusts and through the opening created at the top of his pants that big fucking dick comes into full view on screen.

A rush of adrenaline floods his limbs as he hears you inhale sharply, a stray ‘fuck’ escaping your lips at the sight of it throbbing into the palm of his hand. It is swollen at the tip and jumps with his pulse.

“This is all for ya, darlin’; no one else gets to have this fat fuckin’ cock all to themselves, ‘cept you. Have ya missed it? Missed seein’ how fuckin’ big I am? Yeah ya have; I bet your droolin’ over yourself, aren’t ya? Mmm… my horny little princess, always so hungry for me. Are your lips itchin’ to wrap themselves ‘round it now that ya see it after all this time? You remember how well ya gag on it, yeah? My hand on the back of your head, pushin’ ya down as far as ya can go, your spit dribblin’ from the corners of your mouth, can hardly catch a breath as ya choke...”

Simon has to stop and reel himself back in or risk getting too worked up and he can’t take care of you if he’s out of his goddamn mind. That imagery has you quaking and he can see your body vibrating as you are itching to touch yourself and that’s when he knows exactly what he is going to do to get you off. Taking a deep breath he clears his throat, putting the control over himself to the forefront of his thoughts and starts again.

“Well, if ya wanna keep seein’ it, I need ya to behave for me and follow my direction. You and I are gonna play pretend for a bit.”

Now more settled he gives his length a stiff stroke up and down slowly, making sure that the camera is glued to his movements. You can’t look away; those big doe-eyes are locked on as if you are wishing you could reach through the screen and touch him with any part of you that you could get to it first. It takes you a couple of minutes to notice anything other than the object of your desire, but as you look up Simon’s dark gaze meets yours through the shadow.

“Ya like this, yeah? Me strokin’ my cock like this for you to watch? Ya know what’s gonna be even better? How fuckin’ good it’ll feel havin’ it buried deep inside ya again, fillin’ ya to the brim. Ya wanna be full of me again, don’tcha sweetheart? Come on, show me, use your fingers and let me see how much ya miss this fat fuckin’ cock stretchin’ ya out.”

You insert a finger through the lips of your pussy, thrust it inside your entrance, and begin rhythmically stroking against that sensitive bundle as you keep your eyes fixated on the screen to watch Simon stroking it right along with you. He gives you a minute to get started before he speaks again.

“That’s not enough if ya wanna pretend it’s me, pretty girl, I think ya need another two fingers in there at least.”

Simon is trying to stay calm, but it is taking every ounce of his willpower to watch you touch yourself and not immediately blow his load while grunting loudly at the feeling of coming so fast; still, he tries to keep his voice down so no one near can hear him. Slowly you insert another digit and then another so that your first three fingers are now resting just inside your hole, but again that isn’t enough for him. He wants to make this as real as he can.

“Ya need to go deeper, all the way to the knuckles. Ya know I like to fuckin’ have it down to the base until ya can’t take another inch. Need this to be accurate, like I’m really there with ya.”

You comply, pushing up inside you until the entirety of your fingers are gone and you cannot get anymore in. Simon moans deep in his chest, pleased at how well you are following his orders. It takes some force, but the stroking of his hand sticks to a steady rhythm as he sets the speed for what’s to come.

“Good girl, that’s it. Now slow it down, keep it steady, and listen to my voice, ya got it? We are gonna do this together. I want ya ta picture me crawling into bed and movin’ right up against ya. My hand turns your head towards me so I can start kissin’ those fuckin’ sweet lips of yours. So warm, so soft, the longer I kiss ya the more I need until I run my fingers through your hair so that I’m holdin’ the back of your head in my grip as I shove my tongue nearly down your throat. I’ve been starvin’ baby and soon I have our mouths pressed so tight together ya can hardly breathe. Just eyes closed, tongues tasting each other, gettin’ absorbed in the way they feel until our mouth’s are fuckin’ raw and burnin’. Only then do I start goin’ down your jawline and neck, so much deliciously smooth skin for me to taste.”

The sound of tiny, breathy moans hits his ears and his heart thumps heavily in his chest. He hadn’t lied when he spoke about how he misses your music and the sound of it now has him in a goddamn stranglehold. Mix that with the live feed of you thrusting your fingers in and out of your tight hole as the natural lubrication starts to drip down your fingers with each stroke and he has to bite the inside of his cheek hard to keep himself sane.

“Gotta make sure you’re whinin’ and beggin’ me to give ya more before I move on. I’ll pull your top over your head so I can get at those gorgeous tits of yours. Fuck… gonna smother my face between them as I give them the care they need, kissin’ and bitin’ all that soft flesh to leave marks where I’ve been. Each one is gonna be in my mouth so I can use my tongue to flick ‘round your nipple as ya run your fingers through my hair to egg me on until ya can feel it in your clit.”

As he speaks he watches you fall back against the pillows and lift up your t-shirt to expose half of your chest. From this angle he catches a glimpse of the underside of one of your breasts, the edge of your nipple just within view before you cup it in your hand to massage the tissue against your palm and pinch the nipples as if you are trying to make his words come to life.

“Can ya feel it baby? Can ya feel my hot fuckin’ mouth all over your tits? Christ, I swear I can taste them now; I want ‘em in my goddamn mouth so fuckin’ bad. Got my mouth waterin’.”

He has to swallow hard to stop himself from choking on his own saliva as his lips tingle, recalling the sensation of them against your skin as his hips begin to snap his cock up into his palm harder.

“Ya know I’m gonna be so worked up that your not even gonna know what’s happening as I shove ya onto your back so that I can move down the bed and rip ya outta your fuckin’ pants. I need ya completely fuckin’ naked so that I can spread your thighs wide open. Gotta make sure I can get between them; wanna have plenty of space to play.”

Again you mimic his words, opening your already spread legs even wider the same way you’d have to do if he were to get in between them. If Simon’s heart thumps any faster it’s going to burst out of his chest; watching you act out this made up scenario is more erotic than he could have dreamed it would be.

“Imagine the feelin’ of my lips kissin’ up the length of those gorgeous thighs. With how much ya been missin’ me they’d already be so fuckin’ sensative that you’d be squirmin’ as soon as I make contact with my mouth. Maybe I’ll even give them a nibble, just for good measure. Ya always do look best wearin’ all my marks everywhere.”

His grip around his cock tightens as he listens close and catches your hummed reply before it sounds like your mouth falls open so that you moan a bit louder as your movements on screen begin to quicken and your hand switches positions to your other breast. Your fingers are starting to furiously pound into you, the pace picking up with each passing second as your desperation spills over at the sound of his voice describing all that fucking pleasure. But Simon is there to reel it all back in.

“Ah, ah, look up at me princess. Slow it back down there. That’s it, nice and steady for me. Don’t want this to be over too soon. Keep your eyes on my hand and follow my pace. We’re gonna get there together, alright?”

Picking your head up so that you can see the screen, your eyes focus on his hand and your strokes settle back to match his, though it does not go unnoticed how you do that little whimper of protest. It’s not easy being the bad guy in this situation, but Simon knows the more denial now, the harder you’ll come and the longer you’ll stay satisfied. And if there is one thing he will never stop doing is making sure his baby is satisfied.

“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, sweet thing. I promise we are almost there, just a bit more. Now, where was I? Oh yes, teasin’ those gorgeous thighs of yours. See I can’t move on until I’m happy with my work and I want those little red and purple blotches to be coverin’ all that pretty skin. Ya like when I claim ya like that? Makin’ it obvious that you’re mine? Anyone who sees that is gonna know that you’re bein’ taken care of.”

An open-mouthed moan and a nod of your head is all he’s getting now as you are too out of your mind to form words anymore at this point. Your half-lidded eyes gaze back at him as if you are trying to will him to come through the screen and pound you into the mattress; goddamn he’s going to fuck you so good when he gets back.

“Since I’ve decorated those beauties, I think they’ll need to be displayed and I can’t think of a fuckin’ better place than perched right on my shoulders. Besides, ya know what’s comin’ dontcha? That goddamn sweet little pussy has been callin’ to me since I got down there and now it’s finally time to give it the attention it deserves. Such a pretty thing, those soft petals of yours. You know I’m gonna have to give them a few kisses for good measure.”

Fuck, he wants to taste you so bad now the tastebuds along his tongue prickle as tries to capture that specific sweet, tangy taste in his memory. Why in the hell do you have to be so goddamn perfect?

“You will be pleadin’ with me, callin’ my name over and over until ya feel it. My warm tongue pushin’ itself against your lips and spreading them apart to move in between them. God, that first fuckin’ taste of ya is always my favorite, sweetheart…like goddamn honey. Gonna drag my tongue up the entire length of your cunt to make sure I get as much of ya in my mouth that I can. Then I reach your clit and that’s where I stay. I’ll be suckin’ and lickin’ to my hearts content while you buck against my face all you want; I like it when ya get rough with me. Nothin’ is gonna get me off of ya though, I got ya fuckin’ secured to my face with a tight grip that isn’t gonna let up no matter how ya move.”

The sound of you whimpering fills his ears and it makes his head feel like he’s floating. Your hips are bucking against your hand desperately and he knows you want to go a bit faster, but you are sticking to his set speed like a champ. He takes a couple of minutes to just watch you, wanting to etch this moment permanently in his brain, before he continues.

“I’m waitin’ for it, that moment ya go silent. That’s when I know it’s about to happen and I brace myself to feel your thighs crush against my head and block in my ears like a vice as ya come on my tongue. Do ya know how much I fuckin’ love when ya do that? Bein’ locked to your pussy like that, I would fuckin’ suffocate on ya and not even think twice. Keep me strapped to ya as long as ya want, baby, I’m gonna sit through it all until ya have nothin’ more to give to me. My tongue don’t tire easily, as ya already know.”

Your head falls back, but Simon can still hear you clearly repeating mindlessly your enjoyment of everything that he is talking about with moaned ‘yes’s and whined pleas to Jesus.

“Can ya picture it? Me sittin’ back up, your cum all across my face? I will probably look like a wild beast with my mouth shimmerin’ and sticky, but I don’t fuckin’ care. Ya make me feral, so deranged that nothin’ else matters ‘cept you. Everything will go faster then: me gettin’ to my knees, pullin’ your hips onto my thighs as your legs still sit on my shoulders, my tip pressin’ against those damp petals covered in my spit and your cum. Eatin’ ya out gets me hard enough there’s no need to wait. Imagine the way it’ll feel when I’m pushing my tip through the threshold and stretching ya out completely. You’ll be cryin’ out as I help ya fit me all in…right down, all the way, fillin’ that cunt.”

He’s panting now, the vision created in his mind so vivid that as he stimulates himself it feels too real. Of course his hand would never compare to your pussy, but with everything happening it is as if his brain is being tricked into believing that he is fucking you.

“Ya know I ain’t gonna waste anytime, not when I get ya wrapped ‘round me. It’ll be so wet and tight that I just begin poundin’ and poundin’ so hard that it has our bed squeakin’ underneath us from the fuckin’ force, slammin’ into the wall, makin’ your tits bouncing up and down as I go all in, your eyes waterin’ as get so fuckin’ deep it’s almost painful. Goddammit, baby, I want to see your eyes roll back in your head as it overwhelms ya.”

His abs are clenching, simulating the act in real time as his limbs begin to feel heavy and the coil inside his stomach tightens. Heat is now rushing through his veins like hot water, making him warm from the inside out and it only fuels his imagination more.

“Or maybe I flip ya over and help ya up onto your knees, pullin’ outta only long enough to get ya situated holding onto the wall. Visualize me tuggin’ your hair in my fist to make your back arch so I can thrust right back in. Ya better make sure ya got a steady brace cause I’m gonna reach ‘cross your body and down the front of ya to that swollen clit, strokin’ it with my fingers as I thrust into ya from behind and I need ya to push back onto me. I wanna be able to whisper in your ear all them filthy things like how no one else can make my cock feel this good and how this pussy belongs to only me.”

It’s too much, too much buildup that he is not going to be able to hold off for very much longer. This is going to have to end one way or another and soon it is not going to be a choice anymore. His hand picks up the pace.

“Go a little faster. That’s it, faster, baby, faster. I’m about to fuckin’ blow and your gonna come with me. Come on, come on… f-fuck… you’re so beautiful like this. No one looks better a fuckin’ mess than you do. And I wanna make ya so goddamn filthy baby. Where ya gonna want me to come, hmm? On your face, on your tits, your stomach… or maybe I won’t pull out at all. Stuff ya full until it’s drippin’ outta ya and I can watch once I’m done. You just imagine it where ya want it most, sweetheart.”

His hand is furiously stroking around his cock with an iron tight grip, running from tip to base, coating his hand in precum so that the next stroke is even smoother than the last. Faint whines escape his closed lips as he tries to stifle the sound by clamping his mouth shut. The entirety of his chest feels like it’s on fire and setting the phone down a second he rips the damned t-shirt he still has on up off his torso and over his head, only releasing his cock for the split second it takes to throw it off that arm and onto the floor. Quickly he grabs the phone and sets it back up.

“You’re close, yeah? Ya got this, just keep lookin’ at me with those pretty eyes and stay with it. All ya gotta do now is just let go. Good girl, that’s it, let go for me. Come for me, baby, let me hear it.”

Simon watches your thighs shaking and toes curling into the mattress as you call out his name in a pitiful cry and your entire body vibrates, nearly shooting off the bed as you come and come hard. The welling of pressure deep inside him reaches its peak and with the sound of your cry it causes his body to clench, sending him rocketing over the edge violently as a muted grunt echoes in his chest. He angles is cock upward towards his stomach as the warm ejaculate pumps out of his tip, coating the muscles and hair along his abdomen as he milks himself through it until he has no more cum left to release.

Vision hazy, legs vibrating, cock still twitching as his grip loosens, Simon takes a few minutes to simply breathe. The phone gets ignored for a moment as it lays resting on his thigh. Once he is able to calm enough to function, he picks back up the device and stares into the screen. You are laying flat on the mattress now, chest heaving up and down. Your legs are still splayed open and he can see the glorious product that he helped create catching the light as it coats the outside of your lips.

“Fuck, ya did so well for me, sweetheart. God, that was fuckin’ fantastic.”

You roll to your side and look into the camera with a crooked, sleepy smile and he mimics it with one of his own. That should be all, everything that he had wanted to happen had in the best way, but there’s one thing he has left to do, one thing he wants to see before he lets you go. One last thing to replay in his mind to give him something to daydream about along with the rest.

“Bring the camera up closer, wanna see your beautiful face all flushed. There’s my sweet girl. Looks like I’ve made a mess of things for ya, but I don’t think ya mind much. I do want ya to do one more thing for me, though. I need ya ta clean up since I ain’t there to do it myself. Nothin’ too strenuous, just take your fingers and stick ‘em in your mouth; get all those juices off with your tongue. There ya go, lick ‘em clean, don’t ya waste any of that fuckin’ goodness.”

You do exactly as he says, using your tongue to pull your fingers between your lips where you suck and lick with gusto until they come back out completely clean and you show them to him with a smile. In that moment you are a goddess, the most gorgeous being he has ever laid his eyes upon, and Simon can only stare on at you in awe that he is so fucking lucky to have such a creature all to himself.

“Fuck, I’m one lucky bastard,” he says, barely audible.

There’s a bit of rustling that he can hear now coming from somewhere close and he knows his time is up. At least he got to finish what he started giving you everything that he can, though he does desperately wish he could stay on the call with you a bit longer, but he knows if he doesn’t end it now he might never do it and he doesn’t want to risk anyone seeing you like this. Gotta pull the bandaid off quick or else.

“Hate to end this here, but it seems like our time is up. Wish I could stay, but ya know how it is. If I don’t go now I ain’t ever gonna do it. We’ll talk again soon, promise. You have a good day, pretty girl, alright? Dream of me later tonight, yeah? Cause I’m fixin’ to be dreamin’ of you.”

You blow him a kiss and with that the call ends; he is left back alone in the silence of the night in his bunk- alone. He grins to himself as he puts his phone away and cleans himself up, thinking about you laying back in bed exhausted, but content, all because of him and his efforts. And he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’ll get the chance to get you off like this again before his deployment ends.

God he fucking hopes so.

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astarionslittletreat · 7 months

Text

Sunrise

Astarion x female reader/Tav

Rating: Explicit

You must be 18 years or older to interact with this post in any way

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: smut, slight end game spoilers, Astarion good ending spoilers, mentions of past abuse/abuser, sex, piv sex, oral sex, cuteness, fangs, biting, over-stimulation, bleeding, blood, blood drinking

Summary: Astarion and the reader share an intimate morning together as they contemplate their past, present, and future together.

Read on AO3

It's the early hours of dawn, just before sunrise. The sky was deep purple just an hour ago, but now it’s transforming into shades of indigo and blue. A faint glow threatens to spill over the city walls, to wash away the final vestiges of night. It's been a while since you've greeted the sun like this, not that you never see her at all anymore. After all, if something needs done during the daylight, you take care of it without issue. But that's all business. Just fleeting glances as you move through the crowded streets of Baldur's Gate. This right now, during the quiet hours of dawn, this is pleasure. This is you waking, nude, on the forest floor after your first night with Astarion. This is the sun’s rays warming your bodies before the two of you sneak back into camp. This is Astarion’s eyes glinting in the light, like that shared goblet of Arabella Dry at the Tiefling party.

Your heart yearns for the sun like you yearn for the past. You see your small smile reflected in the window as you continue to watch the sky change. A dozen-dozen heartbeats pass, and then the soft golden honey of the morning sun caresses the rooftops of the city, before spilling down onto the streets below. The heartache in your chest fades to nothing as the sun fully crests the horizon to kiss your face, a mere phantom in comparison to what you have now. The moment is over for you. You’ve had your fill and you begin to feel the fingers of sleep coaxing you to rest.

“Do you miss it, darling?" Astarion calls out to you from your bed, well out of view from the sun. "The daylight that is.”

Untying your silk robe, you let the soft fabric slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet. Both the sun and your lover lovingly gaze at your sun dappled curves. "It's strange," you muse, holding your hand up as if to catch the morning light. "I have so many memories of you in the sun, but no. You're the only thing I ever miss." You take a few moments, eyes squinting through the brightness to watch the people begin to fill the streets before pulling the heavy curtain firmly close. “And besides–” You turn to your love. He’s artfully draped himself, nude, across the plush pillows that adorn your bed. A deliberate attempt at making himself look all the more enticing. “How could the sun ever hope to compete with my dear Astarion’s beauty?”

He beams at your compliment, practically preening at the attention. Reaching out, he proffers his hand for you to take. It fits neatly in his as you let him pull you, gently leading you back to bed, back to him. It's a gallant gesture as your eyes readjust to the darkness of the room. A yawn begins to creep its way up and you only just manage to stifle it as Astarion draws your back to his chest. His pale, strong arms wrap around you as he presses you close, holding you tight. There weren't any cuddles the first night, or in the weeks that followed as you let him feed on you, but back then there wasn't anything real between you at all. Just lies and illusions and unending uncertainty. But somehow, by some miraculous blessing, you were able to earn his trust, just as he earned yours.

“Now you know that’s not what I meant, darling.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Though, please continue to remind me of how beautiful I am. Your words almost make up for how useless mirrors are to me.” You hear the smirk in his tone alongside the underlying truth. Uncertainty. As much as Astarion tries to hide his past pain, to pretend he’s fine and not hurting, you know the scars will never truly leave. Even after death, Cazador still manages to find a way to torture Astarion, and it drives you fucking insane with rage. It takes you a moment to collect your feelings. There’s no room for this in the bedchamber, or in your heart. Anger and sorrow will do nothing but more harm and that’s the last thing you wish to bestow upon Astarion. All he wants–all he needs is an answer to the question he left unasked. It's not difficult for you to understand. He wants to make sure you don’t regret your decision to stay with him–worried that he’s not enough. He’s worried if this is what you truly want. That he’s not trapped you, or worse, that you’re staying with him out of some fucked up feeling of guilt or pity. He won’t admit that he’s terrified of hearing your answer even if he knows in his heart what it’ll be. That’s why he doesn’t ask what he really wants to know. That’s why he wears his mask of smiles as he plays with your hair between his dexterous fingers. He’s content to pretend, but there’s no way you can leave him like this. Just floundering inside his heart while he holds you in his arms. For the briefest moment you’re almost tempted to fall asleep like this. Wrapped in Astarion’s embrace, snuggled peacefully in your bed together, but you know that after all this time, a part of Astarion still seeks your assurance.

“I miss it, the sun, the people, our friends–” Astarion freezes, as still as a statue, and suddenly the room feels cold. His muscles jerk in a way that alludes to him not knowing whether or not to pull away or hold you tighter. Reluctant to let you slip away from him, he’s afraid that this will be the last time he has to hold you. Silly elf. “But it’s not in the way you think, my love. It’s purely nostalgia. I was just reminiscing about our early days. When we first met, when we first had sex, traveling together, and unsure which day was going to be our last." Your mind drifts, gravitating to fonder memories. “The first time we made love. Your grave. I–,” The threat of tears begins to rise in your throat so you cut yourself off. Again, there is no sadness in you. Just the overwhelming feeling of love for Astarion. Of feeling like you’ve found the place you both belong.

"I wouldn’t stop you, darling. I won’t keep you here, all for myself, if that is something you no longer wished for. If you ever–do decide you've had enough of me. Or even if you could no longer stand to spend your waking hours in the cold night. I would understand."

"Astarion!" The incredulity in your tone is a good mockery of Astarion’s own frequent ostentatiousness. He’s gone too far. This line of teasing isn’t any fun and, truthfully, it hurts to imagine leaving after striving so hard to live your life together. After ensuring your love is real, and strong, and brighter than any sunrise you could imagine. You move to chastise him quickly, turning in his arms as best you can to face him. Pressing your palms to his chest, you glower, face set into an angry scowl before you realize. His red eyes are overflowing with sorrow and self-loathing. And all at once, your anger melts into nothing. “My love,” you whisper as you press chaste kisses to the shadows under his eyes, and even though you’re the one being held, you wrap your arms around Astarion’s neck to bring him close. Your bodies move instinctually, the embrace being frequent and familiar as Astarion rests his lips against your neck. You card your fingers through his silky curls. There’s no intention of feeding at the moment, though. It’s just the two of you basking in your gentle love, relaxing into the moment.

“Do you remember, before making it back to Baldur’s Gate together, that godforsaken shadow cursed land we had to traverse?”

“Shit, don’t remind me.” Astarion scoffs, pulling back to look at you. His eyes roll in mirth, fangs flashing from behind his lips. “I know our dear Shadowheart was right at home with all the doom and gloom, and while I too am a fan of darkness and the macabre–I prefer to be the only creature lurking in the night, hunting for their next meal. That entire place was far too crowded for my tastes.”

“Not to mention Raphael, or the horrors of the Cult of the Absolute,” you trivialize in jest.

Astarion leans in close. His soft lips brush over the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks. “Or that vile drow who sought to use me because of what I am.” The venom in his voice is dampened by the reverence in the kiss he places on your neck. “There is only one person I feed on and I have her right–here.”His hand is in your hair, his breath is hot on your neck, and your heart is suddenly choking you, pounding in your throat. His fangs barely scrape your skin and you know that you only have to say the word–.

“Yes,” you breathe. There’s never any pain. Just a light pressure as Astarion’s fangs sink softly into your flesh, and then a swooping sensation as your blood is being pulled to his lips. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness begins to return. It’s nothing light that first night. No, this is controlled, worshipful even as he savors your blood on his lips and tongue. You don’t need to tell him to stop before your fingers go numb and your heart flutters in protest. He’ll stop long before there’s any danger, no matter how much he may tease otherwise. It’s easy to relax and go limp, trusting Astarion fully as he cradles your body reverently.

Far too soon Astarion stops feeding from you. “Delicious,” his moan makes you shiver. Blood begins to slowly trail from your twin puncture wounds, painting your neck crimson. Astarion isn’t one to waste a precious gift that you offer so freely to him, however. He makes quick work of the mess. Devouring it all until it’s just his tongue on your skin, traveling the length of your neck, chasing the way your body shivers. Overwhelmed from the unique mixture of pleasure and pain that makes your head spin and your body hot. Gods, you love this man. He’s so, he’s just so, so–

“W–wait. Astarion, wait,” you weakly plead for his attention, grabbing at his shoulder. You feel him smile before scraping his teeth on your skin, refusing to stop. The devious vampire did this on purpose and he knows he’s been caught red-handed, or well, rather red-lipped as he continues to playfully bite at you. Astarion just hums into the curve of your neck, refusing to acknowledge that he’s been found out. “Hey!” You laugh defeatedly as Astarion kisses the shell of your ear. “Stop trying to distract me!”

Astarion’s lips find your jaw before traveling over your cheekbones. You close your eyes and he places kisses there as well before finding your mouth. Trying his very best to lure you into parting your lips for him. “I rather think you’re the distracting one, my dear.”

“I’m trying to tell you something and I want you to listen, please.” Glaring, you hold his red gaze in yours and his perfect, bloodstained lips fall into a pout that’s just a little too perfect. Another ploy. Your head is still slightly spinning, but through sheer force of will you begin to collect your thoughts. The need to kiss away his frown, however sly it might be, is strong, but he needs to hear what you have to tell him. “As sad and as miserable as that entire place was–if for some reason that’s where you were, where Astarion decided to be, I would also–”

“You mustn't worry about that, darling. I wouldn’t be caught dead, or rather, undead in a place like that ever again.”

“Hush,” You try to quiet him by pressing your fingers to his lips. A poor decision in hindsight as Astarion instantly kisses them. Running his tongue along your fingertips, trying his hardest to distract you once more. “Stop! Listen–just wait a second. I’m trying to be sweet to you.”

“Oh, I know exactly just how sweet you are.” Astarion’s voice drops as he slips into seducing you. “So much so that I rather think I’d like another bite.”

“Yes, yes. I know. Your “little treat”.” Reclaiming your fingers from Astarion’s greedy mouth, you cup his too handsome face. Willing him to listen to you. “The only thing I wish for in life, in death, in whatever time I’m given, is to be with you. Wherever and however I can. I love you and never once have I regretted my love or wished it away.” You’ll tell him of your love every second of every day if that’s what it takes. If that’s what makes him smile like this, dazzling and warmer than anything the sun has ever graced you with. You stretch your head up and kiss him. You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. You kiss him until the need for air demands your attention and you break free to refill your lungs.

Astarion rests his forehead to yours, curly locks obscuring his hungry gaze underneath, as he catches his breath. Your chests heave in unison, breathing life into the fiery tension blazing between your bodies. One moment you’re both still, wrapped in each other's embrace, and the next the room spins as Astarion wraps a leg around your hip, rolling you until you lay on your back. He’s straddled your hip, pinning you underneath. His eyes are hungry as he looms over you, his disheveled curls haloing him in the dim light. Astarion drags a hand down your collarbone, delicately tracing the veins under your skin before gently cupping your breast. A flick of his wrist has you gasping as he plays with your nipple. You can’t help but thrust your hips up, seeking the attention that Astarion is teasing. He ignores your silent plea, stilling his hand until you follow suit.

“You’re not playing fair.” You halfheartedly complain, willing your body to calm.

“I never promised that I would, my sweet.” You don’t know what god or goddess you should pray to to thank them for bringing you Astarion, but you’re a devout believer. “Now stay still, or I might bite.” He flashes his fangs at you. It’s not a real threat. He’d never actually bite you without your consent, but the tease still sends shivers down your spine. Coursing through your body until they land, pulsing deeply in your cunt. Astarion leans forward, an illusion of a predator cornering their prey. His soft cock begins to harden as he cups your face in both of his hands. Cradling you as if you’re something breakable, something precious. Astarion swipes his thumb across your cheek as he stares into your eyes–as if it’s the first time he’s seen the sunrise. “I love you.”

Astarion pounces, taking you down with a devastatingly deep kiss. If kisses were ambrosia you’d have been drunk ages ago. And still you want more. You need more of him. His heart, his touch, gods above, you need his cock that’s pressed between your thigh and his abdomen, but Astarion refuses to stop kissing you or to move into a more accessible position. He slides his tongue into your mouth, licking you open until you writhe and squirm with a need that burns so hot it overpowers your senses. But even still, Astarion doesn’t relent. He presses on, moving from your mouth back down to your throat where he begins to suck bruises to your sensitive skin. Out of pure desperation, you grasp at his back until your fingers graze his scars before moving to grip his shoulders. You clutch him to you just as passionately as he kisses you. It takes everything inside of you not to bust and fade away into the Weave as Astarion uses his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. His lips move from your throat and for one solitary second you think he might give you what you need, but no. Instead, he works his way along your jaw, tracing you with his mouth until he finds the place under your ear that drives you wild.

“Fuck–please! Astarion—” His cock, hard and weeping now, rests on your stomach. Pressed between your bodies as Astarion rolls his hips. Clenching, you feel your arousal dripping out to stain the sheets below. You’re wet, so unbearably wet and empty and aching for him to fill you. You’re pleading and your moans do nothing to sway the elf, though you know the bastard hears you. His pointed ears twitch as you cry out for him, but he continues to hold you down. Unwilling to pull back even an inch to separate himself from you. You manage to angle your arm just enough to get a solid handful of his hair, and begin to pull. Slowly but firmly enough that his head raises just enough to make eye contact, and as you do, you feel his cock throb with need. He likes this.

“Oh fu–ck!” Astarion’s shameless cry comes out sticky sweet from his throat, Adam’s apple quivering prominently. He sounds drunk. He looks it too. The expression on his face is close to ecstasy before you accidentally lose your hold on his hair. Too turned on and thoroughly debauched to be able to concentrate on keeping your grip. Not when he shifts his hips to create a delicious friction between your slick pussy and his engorged cock. You chase the feeling, grinding against him as best you can, but to no avail. You’re still pinned beneath him. Hips and thighs locked. Both you and Astarion are reduced to base instincts as his rigid cock slides over your clit once more before contact is lost. This isn’t fucking working. You’re only briefly aware of the pillows being pushed to the floor, shoved away by Astarion to make better room for your head, before his hand reaches down. He shifts and forces your leg over his hip. He’s a man consumed by desire. His need for you.

Astarion hovers over you, his crimson eyes piercing you through your heart as you reach for him, aiming to pull him back down for another taste of his ambrosia lips. Instead he captures your hand in his and pulls it to his bloodstained mouth. He sweeps gentle kisses over your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours and pins it to the mattress. His other hand finds your thigh, grasping tightly before guiding your knee to your chest. Opening and exposing your pussy for him to slide his cock against your entrance. “That’s it darling,” he encourages you. Praising you as he slides against you, slowly dragging his cock along your wet slit. The head of his cock catches, and without hesitation, Astarion presses in. It’s blissful and devastating as Astarion finally fucking fills you. Sliding in on one long stroke to fully seat you on his cock. He doesn’t pull out, just gently grinds against you. His smooth skin and throbbing cock caressing you until your breath leaves. Whisked away by your lover, leaving you with blurry vision and a spinning room. “Now, now. We can’t have that.” Astarion rolls his hips, wonderfully grinding against your folds and bringing friction that your clit so desperately desires. The sensation makes you gasp, forcing you to gulp down air, reminding you that you’re here–now. Very much alive and not in heaven, no matter how much it feels like you are.

“Astarion–”

You’re not sure if he’s listening. Flaming eyes and a silent snarl are all that he gives you besides a deep guttural moan as he continues to fuck you. It’s slow and brutal and entirely different from any performance he puts on. This isn’t Astarion trying to pretend to be anything other than the vampire–the man that he is. Desperate and extraordinarily dangerous as he claims you for himself. Your orgasm taunts you. Haunting you from the edges, and you want it so fucking bad, but you also couldn’t care any less. It’s now, it’s this moment, it’s Astarion who holds your attention in his iron grasp. Ruining you with his love. You hear the wet sounds of your pussy as he fucks into you. Pushing more of your arousal out of your cunt with his cock. He lets go of your hand and leans in close, snaking his arm under the small of your back. Using his vampiric strength, Astarion pulls on you, just enough that your hips shift to a new glorious angle. One that has him hitting a spot that makes you go feral underneath him as his pelvis grinds against your clit on every stroke. He keeps his other hand firmly under your knee, pushing your leg into a position that stretches your hips. It all feels so fucking good.

Astarion’s taut, muscular body moves over you. He’s graceful even now as he holds you, fucking you rhythmically. You clench around him, wordlessly asking him for more, and he raises his head. Fangs snapping in the air, muscles tensing in his neck as Astarion tries hopelessly to hold on to his senses. A half-baked idea forms in your dazed brain. You don’t stop to think it through, you can’t. You just act, throwing your arm around Astarion’s neck, pulling him close until you have him right where you want him. You sink your blunt teeth into the side of his neck. Your vampiric imitation pales in comparison to the true thing. Only biting hard enough to bruise his delicate moonlight skin. The moment you bite down on Astarion’s neck, you feel his cock throbbing inside of you. His breath hitches in your ear as you press your tongue against his skin and a soft moan escapes his lips.

“Fuck–” he growls through gritted fangs. Dropping your leg, Astarion moves his hands to the curve of your hips. Holding on tight, and pinning you down as you continue your mock feeding. “Fancy yourself a vampire now, darling?” You bite down harder in agreement and Astarion melts in your arms. Moaning as you claim him as yours in return. “I think not,” he protests, and for a second you think it’s an empty threat. It feels like he’s close, like he’s struggling to keep from falling over the edge. That is until he starts to move again, fucking your pussy like a goddamn promise. “I’m the only blood sucker you’ll find in this bed, darling, and I’m going to eat you right up.” Before you know what’s happened, Astarion has hold of both your legs, knees propped over his strong shoulders. He circles your aching clit with his thumb as he savagely fucks you. Tits bouncing from the force, sliding you up the bed on every thrust. You feel the spit that streaks your lips as you gasp out for him. It’s too intense–too much all at once. You try to hold on, to stop your orgasm from slamming into. Astarion gives you a saccharine smile. "You sound so adorable when you're trying not to come."

You beg.

You curse.

You come.

Gushing on his cock, your body is electrified, and you fall. Blood rushes in your ears so loudly you can’t hear anything. Your senses thrust you into a burning pit of pleasure as Astarion forces you down further. Spiraling until you find yourself caught, supported in Astarion’s arms. An uncomfortable wetness coats your legs and part or Astarion’s stomach but you can’t find the motivation to care because somehow, he’s still moving. He's held on long enough to fuck you through you orgasm. Giving your pussy long, even strokes as he chases his high. His ethereal face is close and so you take him with your lips. Kissing him, licking his fangs, until you feel his cock pulsing, overfilling you until his spend leaks out from around his cock. Adding to the mess.You feel like you’re floating. Exhausted, yes, but happy and ready to sleep. The mess will keep till nightfall when it’s time to wake, but Astarion shows no sign of slowing.

“No, my love. You're doing so well for me, but I’m not done with you yet.” Grabbing a pillow from the floor, Astarion cups your head, lifting it for you to place the cushion underneath before tenderly laying you back down. He slides down your body, lavishing you with attention. Forcing you to stay in the present with him by kissing your dips and curves. Any place he finds on your body he marks it for himself. Kneeling between your legs he softly coaxes you open. His spent cock rests half hard but bobs in excitement as he spreads the lips of your soaked pussy, licking his lips like he's being presented with a feast in his honor. The air from the room feels cold and uncomfortable on your wet entrance, covered in the sticky slick remnants of your lovemaking. It makes you clench involuntarily and more of Astarion leaks out of you. Astarion looks ruined at the sight of you. His perfect features contort into agonized lust before he leans in.

“Wait! No I’m too–” He doesn’t listen. Astarion leans down and wraps his lips around your mound. You can’t help the way your body jerks at the first swipe of his tongue on your oversensitive pussy. He’s cleaning the mess he's made of you. His sharp fangs are hot pinpricks on your skin that further blur the line of pleasure and pain you’re walking down. Another swipe of Astarion’s tongue has you twisting, kicking your legs to pull away. You move higher up on the bed, willing space for your body to recover. “Please, I need a minute. ”

Astarion reaches up, catches your ankle in his firm grasp, and pulls. His strength makes it look easy as he drags you, clutching at the traitorous bed sheets in desperation, to his parted lips. “I said I’d eat you up darling, and frankly, I’m still absolutely famished.” His voice is gravel but yours is fire as he begins to eat his fill of you. This time you’re unable to pull away. He’s wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking your cunt to his mouth so he can eat you like a piece of fruit that drips down his lips and chin. Saccharine sweet and delicious as Astarion consumes you. Fucking you with his tongue. Licking your nectar coated skin and sucking you between his teeth.

You lack any leverage to fight back, to twist away. Your entire lower half is being held up off the bed by the vampire feasting on your pussy. If you sincerely asked for him to let you go, to set you back down you know he would, but you can’t force yourself to say the words. You don’t want to. You want this. Astarion knows you want this as you gasp, muscles clenching while he sucks your clit between his lips. His breath is hot flames that lick along your scorched nerves. “That’s it, love. You can give me one more, can’t you darling.”

Yes, you think, or maybe you agree out loud because you hear Astarion chuckle before kissing his praise into cunt. For a second you’re confused as he pulls back again, wondering why he’s stopped. But then Astarion adjusts his grip on you, making sure your leg is solidly hooked over his shoulder, before he slides two fingers into your pussy. “Ah! P-please,” you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Astarion gives it to you all the same. Scissoring his fingers, he strokes your cunt. Gently trying to coax out your pleasure, caressing your insides until you sing. his lips find your folds once more. His devastating accuracy brings you over the edge in moments. You’re left gasping, head spinning as the position Astarion holds you in makes it hard to breathe. It takes him a few moments, his lips busy kissing your pussy, his tongue lapping your mess, before he eases you back down into the ruined silk sheets. His mouth finds yours and you taste yourself on his lips, bitter in comparison to how thoroughly sweet he’s being.

You feel dazed–and elated. Your body floats somewhere between the heavens and the earth. Entwined together with Astarion who holds you close, refusing to let you go, but you don’t mind. His skin, though warm, is still much cooler than yours. It feels wonderful as your heartbeat begins to slow, your breathing returning to normal. Turning your head just so brings Astarion’s lips back to yours and the easy kisses you share almost bring tears to your eyes. Blinking them away is easy though as Astarion deepens the kiss, parting your lips so gently you don’t realize what’s happening at first. Not until you feel Astarion shifting his hips to slide his engorged cock along your entrance once more. You part easily for him, sending shivers of over-stimulation mixed with desire through every limb. There is no rush this time. Just a few languid strokes that have you gasping into Astarion’s mouth before he stills. Even while kissing you, you can see the smirk on his face as he allows you to adjust to holding him inside. Laying there together, connected in the deepest sense. Warming each other with limbs and lips entangled. “What the hell has gotten into you?” You don’t really expect an answer from Astarion as he seems to be preoccupied with lavishing attention across your collarbone.

“I’ve decided to reclaim the day for myself. It’s what I’m owed,” he sulks, looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes, but you can hear the sincerity behind his words. Yes. Yes, Astarion is owed the day. The sun. That and so much more, but not all of it is within your power to give. But this–this you can do. His ruby eyes sparkle in the candlelight as they dance along your face. Your answering smile stuns him into silence.

*************************

The sun has long since set as you stifle a yawn. Nostalgia returns once more. It’s been ages since the night meant it was time to rest, but the elf who’s at fault for keeping you up all day looks positively happy. So you let your complaints remain silent as you gaze at your lover. A heavy tomb rests in his lap and a gold chalice clutched in his delicate hand is filled with either wine or blood. You can’t tell from your position across the room. Reluctantly, you glance back down to the delicately looping script on the thick parchment in front of you. The letter is from Gale, back in his tower in Waterdeep. You’ve been trying to read it for the last half hour, but Astarion is just, so distracting. Honestly, anything could distract you from Gale going on about his Tressym, but Astarion seems to be especially good at it. That is until your eyes catch a few words that make you excited.

“Astarion.”

“Yes, darling?” He answers, eyes slow to leave the pages of his book.

“How would you feel about visiting with Gale for a bit?”

Astarion doesn’t try to hide the disinterest on his face at all as he turns his attention back to his reading. “No.”

“It’s just that–wait. No?” His answer takes you completely off guard. “What do you mean no?”

He heaves a sigh into his book. “I suppose if he were to come here that would be fine with me, but I’m far too busy this evening to travel all the way down to the Lower City just to visit with Gale.”

“Busy?” you laugh. “What do you have planned that makes you “too busy” to see a friend?”

“First of all,” he interjects. Head raising until he adopts a pose of self-importance. “‘Friend’ is much too strong of a descriptor for my relationship with that wizard. At most we are merely,” his graceful fingers swirl about until he finds the words he’s searching for, “–former work associates at best.”

“Oh is that so?” you say, smiling up at the hill you know Astarion is about to come down from.

“And besides, what if I get a bit peckish later tonight?” He pouts, coyly looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Neither one of us would like Gale around for that.”

“Well you’re being very greedy tonight, and I can’t say I don’t like it either,” you shoot him a look before unburying the lead. “But Gale isn’t in Baldur’s Gate, love. He’s invited us to his tower in Waterdeep.”

“Why would we travel all the way to Waterdeep just to see Gale fawn over his cat?”

You hold out the thick parchment letter with Gale’s elegant handwriting for him to look over. “Apparently, Gale and Tara have a lead on a cure for your sun sensitivity–” Astarion is out of his seat, book falling heavily to the floor, and by your side in an instant. He snatches the letter from your hand, reading Gale’s words for himself. You put on an air of indifference. “But if you really don’t want to go visit an old ‘work associate’, I understand.”

“Now now now, my love. Let’s not be hasty.” You roll your eyes. “Gale is a dear friend of ours! And I hear that Waterdeep is beautiful this time of year, not as beautiful as I am, of course, but that would be expecting far too much I suppose.” You let Astarion read on, absorbing the message for himself. “Well,” he says as he reaches the end, signed with your friend’s love. “It seems our wizard has been busy. Very busy, if he has a possible solution for you too.”

“I’m not worried about that just yet, but it’s nice to know I might be able to stick around longer than I thought possible.” Astarion caresses your cheek, allowing you space in the same way you provide for him. “I think I’m ready for another adventure though. It’s been a while since anyone’s tried to murder us. What do you think, love?”

He bends down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m ready to have some fun,” he smiles. Fangs and all.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #reader insert #fanfic #astarionslittletreat #astarion ancunin

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imthebadguyyy · 7 months

Text

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

pairing : charles leclerc x reader

fandom : f1

synopsis : you're the only female driver on the f1 grid, and have a secret relationship with ferrari's golden boy.

warnings : smut, sexual innunedo, comments made about body weight.

a/n : multi part series!! basically will be a slow build up to how their relationship gets exposed lol I hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

the soft rustle of the white linen under your skin lulled you into sleep, eyes heavy with exhaustion and hours of activity, the drawn curtains protecting your eyes from the harsh rays of sunlight that just moments ago had you whining to Charles to draw them.

Speaking of, Charles was bustling around, oddly energetic, considering the strenuous activities the both of you had engaged in hours ago.

groaning softly, you stretched like a cat, sighing in contentment as your muscles awoke. charles approached you mid stretch, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, your cheeks, your chin, and finally your lips.

the onslaught of affection made you giggle, and you tugged him down for a morning cuddle. charles laughed, giving in to you, wrapping his arms around you. the spanish sun streamed in, coating the both of you in a warm glow that had you snuggling closer to him, inhaling the deep scent of the sauvage perfume he had sprayed to the red and black ferrari team shirt he had changed into.

he sighed in contentment too, fingers gently stroking your hair, working through the tangles and knots, probably a result of his own hands laced through your hair, guiding you down when you had gone down on him.

"you slept well?" he enquired, fingers gently stroking your hair. "mmhmm" you mumbled, your own fingers dancing across his clad chest, slowly tracing up to his arms and drawing little flowers and shapes.

charles shivered at the feeling, heart fluttering in his chest as he took in the sight of you in his arms.

the ringing of your alarm broke the sweet silence and tranquility of the room, and you sighed, moving out of the warm embrace to turn off the alarm and drag your body out of bed.

"gotta get ready" you mumbled, still rubbing sleep from your eyes, yawning as you made your way to the bathroom.

"i hope I didn't tire you out before media day, cherie" charles teased, combing his hair in front of the mirror.

"oh shush" you mumbled through a mouth full of mint toothpaste.

"no but really cherie, i hope you slept well?" he asked, genuine concern laced in his voice.

you felt your heart melt, still getting used to how sweet and endearing your boyfriend was. "I promise im okay charles, besides, there is no way i would say no to a night like last night" you said, throwing him a smirk.

he laughed, taking out your McLaren t shirt and keeping it on the bed for you.

oh yeah, you happened to be the second driver for McLaren, and the only female driver on the grid.

being on opposing teams did little to stop you and charles from getting together, albeit in secret because you wanted to be discreet, and keep your relationship to yourself.

you looked at yourself at the mirror, rolling your eyes at the dark hickeys littered across your neck and collarbone, biting back a smile as you recalled the night before, charles hot lips pressing to your delicate skin, sucking harshly to create dark marks on your skin.

"charles marc herve perceval leclerc! look what you've done to me! i look like a fucking giraffe!" you whined and charles burst into giggles.

"desole, mon amour, i just lost control, you looked absolutely gorgeous, you still do" he said and you mentally awed at how sincere he was.

"thats alright, fenty beauty is the best match and wham! all gone" you said, concealing the marks to the best of your ability.

you walked back out, pulling on your jeans and your team t shirt, spraying yourself liberally in perfume. it was something you'd decide to start doing ever since becoming an f1 driver and having immensely long days.

just as you pulled on your sneakers, charles pulled you into his chest, earning a squeal of laughter from you.

"charles! what are you doing?" you laughed, letting your arms wrap around his torso, leaning your head back on his shoulder as he pressed the gentlest kiss to your neck.

"im just enjoying my girlfriend for as long as I can before I must hide my love for her from the world" he said dramatically, littering your neck with even more kisses, but each time he pressed more force to your neck, tongue darting out to lick each kiss, before gently letting his teeth sink into your neck.

you felt your heartbeat rise, and a second heartbeat arise between your legs, a warmth spreading through your body as a soft moan left your lips.

"charlie, not now.. we'll get late and my press officers will kill me if I'm late again" you whimpered, making absolutely no effort to pull away from him.

"just give me ten minutes amour, thats all i need" he whispered and you found yourself giving in, knowing that he was more than capable of making you cum in the limited time.

you let your head fall back as he sunk down to his knees, spinning you around and hoisting you up onto the table in your room.

his hands made their way to your jeans, unbuttoning them in a haste, letting them pool around your ankles.

your hands found home in his hair, tugging it harshly, not caring about the fact that he would not have time to fix it before you both had to rush.

charles looked up at you, green eyes flashing at you, before he gave you a little wink.

"such a cassanova" you moaned out, sarcastic even as charles tongue licked up your thighs, hand reaching for your underwear.

"behave cerise" he warned and you shut up, head leaning back in pleasure when his tongue finally made contact with your pussy.

you were definitely going to be late.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

charles jogged into the paddock, hair mussed up and eyes slightly dazed as he made his way to the ferrari garage. he had decided that you would go first, since he was less likely to get in trouble for being late.

he brushed his hands through his hair, although the poor attempt did little to tame the wild mess of hair.

"finally, where were you?" carlos asked, the spaniard throwing his teammate a charming smile.

"my alarm didn't go off and I slept in" charles said, the little white lie rolling off his tongue in all its practised perfection.

"mm sure" carlos replied. he had long suspected that charles had a secret girlfriend, but being the gentleman that he was, had decided better than to prod. if charles wanted him to know, he would tell him.

"who are we paired with for media?" he asked, putting on a cap to hopefully calm down his wild hair.

"alex, lewis, pierre, checo, valterri, y/n and you are together, im with max, fernando, lando, yuki, george and zhou" he said, pulling on a cap of his own.

charles hid a smile, happy at the prospect of getting to spend time with you.

"so you had sex" carlos said matter of factly as the two of them made their way to the press rooms, both waving at tifosi as they went. the cheers for carlos were extra loud since it was his home race.

"um i didn't say that" charles chuckled, waving as he saw a little girl with a teddy wearing a ferrari shirt.

"you don't have to mate, i can see a scratch on the back of your neck and your hair is a mess, you also look a little drunk but not from alcohol" carlos stated non-chalantly, making his way up the stairs.

"alright fine but I'm not saying who" charles said. he trusted carlos but he couldn't risk the paddock finding it because he knew it would be you facing the repercussions and not him. he had heard lots of stories from you on how you had to endure all sorts of stories and questions on how you had managed to sleep your way to f1, and how you had special connections with people, and he did not want the headlines to be accusing you of getting a seat by sleeping with him, when in reality you had met each other after you joined formula 1 in williams.

"thats okay you don't have to. but you look like you had a wild night" the spaniard laughed as charles blushed, his cheeks staining a soft cherry rouge.

"yes I did now please don't talk about my sex life in front of so many cameras" he begged, as they split up to go their different rooms.

making his way, he found you seated next to lewis, an empty spot right beside you, at the very end of the couch.

lewis smiled at charles, beckoning him to come and join the both of you.

when lewis turned to valterri who was on his left, charles threw you a subtle wink, which had you holding back an eye roll and biting your cheek to keep yourself from giggling.

alex turned to chat with the three of you for a while and valterri joined in too. you were interrupted by your press officers telling you they'd be staring the questions soon and you all settled in, and you prayed you'd get decent questions this time.

"so welcome everyone to the circuit de barcelona catalunya, for the spanish grand prix. we are joined by lewis hamilton, sergio perez, alex albon, pierre gasly, valterri bottas, charles leclerc and y/n l/n" and the questions started, with the first one going to lewis.

you found yourself zoning out a little, while the others answered questions about race conditions and alex's experience with a fan who tried to steal his M and M's.

you found yourself laughing at the story, unable to suppress giggles at alex's animated story telling.

"right, well the next question is for y/n" said another reporter, a young man with blonde hair in a sharp suit offered you a smile and you smiled back.

"y/n, there's been some talk about your weight and how it might affect your performance on the track, since you seemed to have put on a little after the winter break and testing. can you comment on that?" he said, completely calmly.

you were stunned.

you weren't quite sure if you had heard it correctly. around you, you could hear the reporters murmuring, and see the obvious anger and discomfort on everyone's faces around you. lewis gave you a look that said "should I speak up for you?" but you shook your head a little.

before you could answer, an angry voice filled the room.

"how dare you ask her a question like that? enough with these ridiculous questions about her weight! we're here to race, and her skills behind the wheel are what matter. if anyone doubts her abilities, they're in for a surprise on the track. it's time to move past these stereotypes and give credit where it's due – y/n is a fierce competitor and belongs here just as much as any of us. she has already done podiums and could do a win soon too with how quick she has been. all you do is ask stupid questions to a woman who has paved the way for others and I find it ridiculous, c'est très irrespectueux." charles spoke up, his usually calm demeanor ruffled.

you felt tears rise to your eyes, not expecting him to speak up, and you swore you'd never been more in love with charles.

distinctly, you heard lewis chime in, a deep frown in his forehead as he reprimanded the reporter for asking such a question.

"seriously? we're in a room full of talented racers, and you choose to ask a question like that? y/n is here because of her skill, determination, and hard work, not her weight. it's about time we focus on the racing, where she's more than capable of holding her own. let's leave these outdated notions behind and give credit where it's deserved." lewis said calmly, not showing how angry he was.

valterri and pierre spoke up as well, but you found your eyes drawn to charles, watching how his eyes, usually sparkly and bright held anger in them, a fire burning behind them. his fists were balled up, nostrils flaring as he tried to calm down.

charles knew that sylvia would be mad at him and his press officers would have to do some damage control but he hated how the reporters diminished the talent of the love of his life.

the both of you looked at each other, love and gratitude in yours and love and apologies in his.

as soon as it was over, you walked off, not wanting to talk to anyone else.

you decided to make your way over to your drivers room and almost successfully made it there, when you felt charles grab you as you walked past the ferrari hospitality.

he dragged you to his own room, eyes still filled with rage and hurt.

the moment it was the two of you inside the room, charles turned to you, one hand gently stroking your cheek while the other rested on your wait, and then he started talking, "mon coeur, i just want to apologise to you for having to deal with these insensitive questions. it's frustrating to see you continually face these when we should all be celebrating your talent and achievements. you're an incredible driver and an even better person, and i love you so much. im so proud to stand beside you and be by your side and-"

you cut him off with a kiss, pulling him down by the neck to meet your lips. he pulled you impossibly closer to him, hands grippin you so tight you knew it would leave a soft mark.

his tongue pushed against yours urgently, but you broke apart, panting heavily, to kiss his cheek and whisper a soft "thank you"

charles guided the both of you to the door to make sure it was locked, before lifting you up to rest you against the wall.

before you knew it his lips were on yours again, pressing against them, hot and needy, and you kissed him back with an urgency, a need to thank him for sticking up for you.

"do you think I'm... im too big?" you murmured against his lips.

your words had him stopping, forehead resting against yours as he sighed.

"mon amour, ma chérie, ma douce fille, tu es parfaite telle que tu es. j'adore tout en toi et personnellement, je trouve ton corps parfait. je veux que tu saches que tu es absolument incroyable et parfaite à tous égards, et je t'aimerai toujours." my love, my darling, my sweet girl, you are perfect as you are. I adore everything about you and personally I find your body to be perfect. I want you to know you are absolutely amazing and perfect in every way and I will always love you.

your eyes filled with tears as his fingers gently caressed your tummy, before he started peppering kisses all over you.

"i love you charles" you whispered, voice breaking a little and he noticed, pressing a kiss to your nose.

"i love you too my love" he whispered back.

"let me show you how perfect you are ma jolie, ma tournesol" he whispered, carrying you back to his bed to lay you down with such gentility, as if you were going to smash into a thousand pieces if he was rough with you.

"please let me show you how perfect you are, comment puis-je te résister quand je te vois, à quel point tu es magnifique et comment tu es une déesse absolue sur terre. laisse-moi t'aimer et te montrer ma gratitude pour toi, mon amour." how I cannot resist you when I see you, how gorgeous you are and how you are an absolute goddess on earth. let me love you, and show you my appreciation for you my love he whispered and you gasped softly.

how you loved it when he sweet talked you in french.

you couldn't wait for the dirty talk to start.

"so fucking beautiful" he groans, admiring your body, as he drags your shirt off your body, followed by the jeans, tracing each and every one of your curves, your heart warming up at his tender touch as his gaze stares fervently into yours, with nothing but love and admiration in his eyes for you

his lips instantly reconnect with yours, finding home on your lips. his kiss is demanding, and just the right amount of rough, and when he slaps your ass softly, you moan giving his tongue an opening, allowing him to slowly slide into your mouth, tongue exploring every crevice.

"be quiet for me cherie, can't have everyone hearing my beautiful girl's sweet moans hmm?" he whispered against your ears, biting along the lobe.

his hand grabs a hold of your chin, holding you in place as your legs start to wrap around his waist, your fingers digging into his skin.

"charles" you moan breathlessly between his lips, and he begins to unclasp your bra, his fingers intertwining with both straps as pulls it down your arms, failing to break the kiss.

he leans down to take a nipple in his mouth, licking around the bud before sucking on it. the simple motion was enough to have you moaning and whining against him, as his fingers teased the other nipple, flicking it repeatedly, and running the rough pad of his thumb over the pert nipple.

his name left your lips like a chant as your hips rutted against him of their own accord.

his right hand moving to play with your right nipple, twisting it, flicking it, pinching it before soothing it with a gentle motion of his thumb. he switched, mouthing and sucking your other nipple, instead, while his hand moved to your left, pulling harshly as he rolled the sensitive bud in between his fingers. you tried your best to stifle your moans, taking slight respite in the fact that the ferrari drivers rooms were a little soundproofed, your panties no longer damp but practically wet, threatening to drip down your legs as you clenched again, the arousal becoming painful. after finishing with your chest, charles kissed downwards, to your stomach, licking his way down to your hips. his green eyes met your own, as he moved his hand in between your thighs, feeling how wet you were, even when you weren't even fully exposed to him. he gently pushed your panties against your cunt, watching your pussy lips swallow the material and soak it with your arousal, the friction from the material making you gasp.

before you could grind against it, he pulled it off of you, letting it drop to the floor. he moved lower, arms trailing down your thoughts almost kneeling in front of you, "you look so good baby, all spread out for me. i love everything about your body mon amour.

i love these marks, i love your scars, i love every freckle and dot on your body," he murmured, fingers gently tracing the stretch marks on your tummy and thighs.

"do you want my tongue in your pretty pussy hmm?" he asked, as you nodded fervently. "words, cerise" he said, fingers gently tracing circles on your clit from outside your panties. "yes, yes I do please!" you whined, grinding against his finger.

and with that he moved in between your thighs.

with both hands, he pulled your knees even more apart, so he could fully face your quivering pussy watching as you pink hole repeatedly clenched and un clenched around nothing, shimmering with your own juices.

licking his lips, he leaned forward, feeling a carnal desire burst open within him. he kissed both your thighs, before looking up at you again. then he moved forward, pushing his pointer finger into you, swearing when your walls enveloped him. he pushed in till his knuckles, pumping up and down as your moans and groans of pleasure rang out above him, before shoving in a second finger, and then a third, the stretch making you throw your head back, you hair fanning out.

"so beautiful mon ange, all spread out like this. i can see all of you and you're the most beautiful person ive ever laid my eyes on" he groaned and you found yourself moaning event louder, till he brought one hand up to let you suck his fingers.

then he licked broad stripe up your pussy, still fingering you, before running his tongue up your slit repeatedly. using two fingers he spread you open, latching onto your clit, as you let out a scream of pleasure above him, arching your back even further. charles let out a choked groan at how good you tasted, almost as sweet and sour as a cherry, his favourite nickname for you, as he flicked the sensitive bud back and forth before sucking hard on it. his tongue repeatedly rolled your clit, before he took it into his mouth, lips enclosing around the bud. while his fingers continued thrusting into you, the band in your stomach threatening to snap, when his nose pressed against your clit, and when it nudged the sensitive button repeatedly, and he continued sucking your clit till you had tears streaming down your face from the ache of the pleasure.

his fingers and tongue worked in tandem, as you tightened above him, your thighs wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer to you as you let out a strangled moan of "oh god, oh my god, charles!", and before you knew it you had cum on his tongue, his tongue and fingers working you through your orgasm, licking up every last drop as you continued to quiver above him, body rocking out your orgasm.

you expected him to pull away, but he stayed, fingers still in you, looking up at you, and the sight of his nose and mouth, shimmering with your juices, was enough to nearly make you cum again, but as you tried to pull him up, he pushed your body back down, looking at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "no no no, mon coeur. i need to show you how much i love you and one orgasm won't do that" he said,and with that, he moved back down between your thighs, licking your pussy languidly a few times, before shoving his tongue back into you, this time, pulling your hips closer so you were nearly dangling off the edge of the bed, almost balancing on his face, your hands reaching down to pull his dark locks, legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer as he went back to sucking your clit again, the lewd sounds echoing in the room, as desperate moans of "charles! charles! oh my god, fuck, fuck, amour" left your lips, like a prayer, your head thrown back and chest heaving, nipples hardened against the cold air in the room. as if on cue, charles let his hand reach up to gently fiddle with your nipples, as your hips began to rut on his face, his nose deliciously nudging your clit again, and his fingers soon replaced it, flicking your clit with his finger and licking around it, till you were cumming again, with broken screams of his name leaving your lips.

he stood up, climbing up onto the bed to kiss you, and you tasted yourself on his lips.

"my beautiful girl. the most beautiful girl" he mumbled repeatedly against your lips.

climbing over you, he caressed your cheek softly, before pulling you in for a gentle kiss, which quickly became teeth and tongue, as he brought his cock closer to your entrance. he swiped it through your folds, running the tip over your clit continuously till you felt like you were gonna pass out from the combination of feelings you were experiencing. "please mon ange, please just fuck me, please!" you finally cried out, gasping when he pushed himself into you, finally filling you with what you always craved.

"my gorgeous girl has the most gorgeous pussy ever, so soft and pink" he groaned, slotting himself into you, thrusting his hips till he was in so deep it was as though he belonged there. as though he belonged inside you, as if he belonged with you forever.

he continued to snap his hips against yours, burying himself in you, mouth leaning down to suck your nipples again.

"m-more" you managed to stutter out. "can you handle more, mon bebe?" he asked, his gentility and sweetness peeking through. "yes, fuck yes, i can" you moaned, too drunk on the feeling of cock sliding in and out of your pussy. "d'accord cherie" he murmured.

without stopping the movement of his hips, he flipped you over onto your front, as you landed ungracefully on your front. "hands and knees" he commanded, still fucking you

the new angle was making stars burst forth in your vision.quivering, you moved onto your shaky knees and hands, as he gripped your waist from behind, pulling you back to meet his cock.

your incoherent moans of his name were fuel to his fire, and he reached around you to rub your clit roughly, collecting your arousal on his fingers, before stuffing his fingers in your mouth, prompting you to suck on them. you swirled your tongue around them, tasting yourself on his fingers again, as he moved your fingers in deeper, almost making you choke.

the feeling of him nearly fucking you in two was clouding your senses, the band in your tummy ready to snap again. behind you, increased the pace of his thrusts, using his other hand to pinch and rub your clit again, a high pitched groan leaving his lips as his orgasm rode up on him, but, being the gentleman that he was, he wanted you to cum first.

the harsh rubbing of his fingers on your clit and his cock ramming into your pussy, the squelch of sounds and your moans and groans filled the room, sweat dripping down your bodies and the smell of sex penetrating your nose.

when charles suddenly picked up the paxe and wrapped a hand around your neck, squeezing just enough to restrict your airflow ever so slightly, you let out a high pitched moan, the feeling sending you into euphoria as your pussy gushed around him, charles hissed when you clenched on his sensitive cock, finally spurting his cum into you as well.

panting, you pulled apart, both of you collapsing on his bed.

"fuck that was-"

"insanely hot, insanely good, insanely perfect" you said, curling up into his side.

"thank you for supporting me my love" you whispered again, surprised at the tears filling your eyes.

"aw mon cherie, don't cry" he whispered, hands gently pushing your hair out of your face.

"i won't" you sniffled softly, letting out a watery laugh at the concern in his face.

"i love you so much" you mumbled, letting his soft humming lull you to sleep, not giving a damn about the fact that literally any moment McLaren would have a breakdown when they saw their star talent was missing.

but all you cared about in that moment was getting some time with the man you loved.

charles sighed in contentment as he looked down at you, dozing off in his arms.

in his daze he missed the footsteps making their way to the door.

neither of you missed the sharp rap of knocked against the door, making you jump out of your skin as carlos' voice came from the other end.

"cabron, we are needed for a meeting. can you open your door so i can get my extra shoes? i left them there by accident" he said and you froze.

"don't say a word" charles mumbled to you, gently getting up.

god, you were so fucked.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n - will definitely make this a multi part series!! any comments feedback reblogs idea etc are always appreciated!! much love always 🩷

TAGS -

f1 : @ivegotparticulartaste @moon-enthusiast @superlegend216 @theonly1outof-a-billion

charles leclerc : @dark-night-sky-99

everything : @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove @bluesongbird

to be added to the taglist send me an ask or a dm specifying which fandom 🩷

#charles leclerc #cl #cl16 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 drivers x reader #f1 drivers x reader smut #f1 drivers #f1 #formula 1

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softlyspector · 10 months

Text

Honeyed

Summary: You hate being touched, but you might be willing to put aside your discomfort for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~11.7k

Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse, tattoos and getting tattooed (the reader only has one tattoo that is described in any detail), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, implied undefined past trauma with men, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: We're ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. I love this fic with everything I am and hope you all like it too. I'm trying something new with this header because none of the gif were giving me what I wanted, so I hope its not too cringe as I am not an aesthetic girlie. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Summer is at its peak when you first happen by Joel Miller's tattoo studio.

The sky is a jewel bright, cerulean blue, the shining yellow saturation of the sun blurring the air around you in a washed out haze that reminds you of childhood summers past.

Main Street’s sidewalk is hot enough to fry an egg, hot enough to boil soup. It sends shimmering waves up from the asphalt. Blinding sunshine pierces through the tired trees that line the road, undulating waves of emerald green and twinkling golden light shifting over the pavement. The leaves wilt in the heat. A single cloud floats on the sky’s horizon.

The sun feels nice, maybe a little like you’re baking alive, but you don’t mind it. When you suck in a deep breath of that sun warmed air, you feel at home—it tastes like dust and heat and the slightly floral desert bloom.

The town, just a couple hours outside Austin, already feels more like home to you than the city ever did. It’s idyllic, lush with shaded parks, an ice cream parlor and a coffee shop, plenty of restaurants and food trucks, a walkable little main thoroughfare not far from your apartment above a bookstore.

It’s more than idyllic; it feels like a town straight out of a novel. Quiet and quaint and safe.

And, apparently, it has a tiny tattoo studio that you’d somehow missed on all your walks through town.

The shop looks a bit rustic—all raw wood tones and metal—but the art that hangs in the front windows is beautiful. Paintings that seem to be for sale hang next to artfully taken photos of healed tattoos.

You step closer, pressing a hand over your brow to block out part of the glare that rains down from the sky in glimmering waves.

The lone cloud in the sky slides over the sun in what feels like a moment of divine intervention, just for you, so you can see the displayed art properly.

It’s lovely, and your skin begins to itch and tingle with a need you know well. You know exactly what you’d ask for, from the hand of the person who’d created that which hangs in the front window.

You want—need—another tattoo. You need this person’s art to live on your skin, to make a home there.

You step back from the glass as the cloud drifts on and the sun reveals itself again, perfect golden rays slipping over your exposed skin. The world seems to filter back in to you then. The heat of the day, the hush of the breeze that does nothing to cool the air, the sweat gathering at the base of your throat.

Children shriek at the park a block over, splashing in the fountain at the center of it all, parents reclined on benches in the sun, cold lemonade close at hand. The scent of sugar and sun and fried food burns through the air.

The buzzing need only increases as you note the name of the shop and move on to the record store and then the clothing boutique, your mind still hovering in front of the studio.

As much as you would have liked to just burst in, you want more than what a walk-in appointment could probably get you. That, and you needed to do some research about the place before you decided, no matter how much your skin itched with want.

To your dismay, the tattoo shop seems to only have one artist, though it shouldn’t have surprised you, considering the size of the shop. It’s tiny and you doubt there was room for more than one artist to comfortably work there.

A fairly new instagram account lists his name as Joel Miller, owner of, and soul artist at, the studio you had passed. The shop doesn’t seem to have a website, but the few google reviews that it does have are all glowingly positive.

Bookings appear to be wide open according to the instagram bio, but a different kind of itch crawls under your skin at the thought of being tattooed by another man. Your stomach goes foamy, gives an uncomfortable lurch, at the thought of any man at all having to touch you.

You scroll through the few posts that have made their way onto the account, the last dated two days ago. And, for the first time in years, you feel the need for this person’s art on your skin begin to outweigh your aversion to touch.

There are no pictures of Joel Miller, just his art, though some of the posts give glimpses of strong hands and thick forearms. Despite yourself, arousal pools in your belly at the sight. A few scars run beneath the wiry black hair on his arms, thick veins snake beneath his skin to collect in rough, strong hands that speak to hard labor. It makes you wonder if he’d always been a tattoo artist or if he’d made a career change at some point.

Some of the captions on the posts make you snort and you have to wonder if he runs the account himself. You somehow can’t picture the owner of those hands typing out the cheesy, often pun filled, lines.

You ruminate on it for weeks, passing by the shop anytime you have to walk through town to admire the ever changing line up of photos and art pieces hung in the windows. The second week a drawing of a doe appears among the photos and paintings—big eyes wide, ears alert as she looks over her shoulder, surrounded by a thick forest bright with sun and shadow. Bumblebees hover around her alert ears.

She looks familiar but you can’t quite place why.

Sometimes you go out of your way to pass by, just to check out the new photos, even making a day of it, buying yourself an expensive iced coffee and lingering far too long in front of the window, just looking, pretending like the small shop doesn’t take up your every thought.

You spend each evening hoping for a new post to the shop’s instagram page, hoping, too, that the new post contains glimpses of more than Joel Miller’s hands.

The man remains an enigma, a mystery, and if he’s ever in the shop when you stand in the window, you never see him. You convince yourself that if you could just get a glance at him, you’d know. You’d know if you could handle being tattooed by him.

You find yourself rolling your eyes at yourself often. You avoid hugs with friends, cringe your way through having anyone unfamiliar do your hair, tense at casual accidental touch. Phantom echoes of pain and want twin themselves around your heart, slide thick and cloying around your chest, breaking your breath from your body.

It’s inexplicable, how much you crave touch and fear it. It’s terrifying, how you wonder what Joel’s hands would feel like.

Probably it would feel like everyone else’s touch always has. Like your skin is too tight, like your heart might stop beating, like there’s something wrong with you for feeling like prey near capture, like the soft press of another person's hand might start burning.

One hot afternoon, you finally find out what Joel looks like.

The heat is relentless that day as it has been for weeks, the ice cream you’d stopped for at the local parlor rapidly melting as you completed your, now weekly, routine of stopping by the tattoo studio. As unbearable as the heat is, you somehow still find it blissful. On this day, a young woman stands outside the shop cleaning the front window. The door is propped open, frigidly cold air swirling out onto the street.

“Sarah?” A voice calls from within, graveled and gruff and warm. “You ‘bout finished up out there? We need to get goin’. Tommy’s waitin’.”

The girl, who could only be Sarah, turns away from the window, swiping a few errant strands of her hair away from her forehead, her opposite hand anchoring on her hip as she answers back.

You don’t catch her response, too distracted trying to glimpse the man just inside the door.

All you’re able to see for a moment is a crop of dark hair laced with a fine sprinkling of gray before his broad shoulders that test the strength of the t-shirt he wears comes into view. Dark wash jeans fit snugly around his thighs and narrow hips, worn but well kept boots on his feet. He’s certainly handsome and looks rugged, and that both scares you and thrills you.

When you glance back up to his face, you meet his eyes. The slash of sun, a spinning shard of light falls over his gaze when he pokes his head out the door. In the warmth of the Texas sun, his eyes are cast in honeyed tones. The man you know must be Joel Miller smiles at you, one forearm lifting to brace against the doorway, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. His beard is threaded with that attractive gray too.

“Howdy,” he says and he looks like he means to say more, but something seizes your throat and you avert your eyes and keep walking, barely managing to nod back politely. You don’t dare to breathe until you’re well past his shop.

It takes you two blocks to realize the ice cream in your fist had melted over the edge of the cup and dripped over your fingers and that the man whose art you’ve been lusting over for weeks is just as pretty as his hands.

Joel noticed you the first day you lingered outside his studio.

He’d watched you cup a hand over your eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun. Your nose had scrunched up too as you gazed in at what was hung in the window.

A curl of nervousness that he couldn’t exactly place had settled hard in his gut. But you just looked, eyes filled with wonder as honeyed sunshine fell in drafts around you. He half expected a colony of bees to buzz around you, like some long forgotten god.

You’d reminded him then of a deer caught by surprise, big eyes and searching gaze pulling him in, something skittish and troublesome looming around you.

It wasn’t in Joel’s nature to bother folks on the street anyway, but he suspected if he even cracked the door open you’d go flying down the street in a cloud of warmed sun, just like a deer that hears the first snap of a branch under a hunter’s foot.

Eventually you’d moved on, and he’d tried not to feel too bad about it, not that he had any real reason to.

His hand had itched as you walked away, to pick up a paint brush or a pencil or a whittling knife.

To his surprise, you start coming back all the time. A least once a week, and sometimes it seemed like you came by just to come by, like you didn’t have any other reason to be out.

His girls notice, too, when they visit because of course they do.

Sarah is kinder about it than Ellie who tells him to man up and talk to you.

He just tells her to mind her own business, watching you look at the things he’d created with wonder and reverence. It flatters him, really, makes an embarrassing blush he’ll never admit to heat his chest. He considers himself a pretty average artist.

But each time he thinks about following Ellie’s advice, he sees your doe eyes and knows he’d frighten you.

There’s a drawing that hangs in the window now—several actually—of a doe with wide, curious eyes, not necessarily afraid but cautious. He can’t seem to stop painting, drawing, whittling deer.

One deer really, a very particular doe that bees seemed to want to follow.

He wonders if you know that that painting in the front window is of you, if you recognize yourself. You surely don’t, because you keep coming by.

“Since when are you so obsessed with deer?” Sarah asks one evening. The light has faded from the sky in an orange and red blaze, the close blanket of night wreathing the street outside, street lamps buzzing haloing yellow light in patches down the sidewalk.

“Always liked deer,” he comments, mumbling it more than anything.

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

He’s right not to disturb you though. The day he finally gets the chance to say hello to you, when Sarah had insisted on washing the front window free of the accumulated summer dust despite his protests that he would do it, fear darts behind your eyes, nervousness seizing your shoulders. You don’t so much as look at him, head ducked, feet carrying you swiftly down the road away from him.

A thread of worry that you’d stop coming by wrapped around his chest until the next week when you’d again lodged yourself in the window, peering in at the ever rotating catalog of his work.

He figures that’s fine for now.

He’d rather you be there, unreachable on the other side of the glass, than have you disappear entirely.

You are a creature of distrust. Of longing and starved skin, of loneliness and want. You aren’t sure where those things begin and you end, you aren’t sure where it started. Maybe you had been born that way, shoved onto the Earth and into existence with a mistrust of the world that shaped you into an infinitely lonely thing, an incredibly wary thing.

There’s always been something missing inside you, that might let you bridge that chasm inside you, climb to the other side and put yourself in someone else’s hands and hope they didn’t burn the path behind you.

Maybe you are skittish and adverse to touch by nature. Maybe it started when you were a kid, with your parents who have never been tactile, not even when you were a child, not even when you were hurt or in pain.

But you aren’t sure, you have never been sure.

What you do know is that it's left behind a raw hole, aching with a loneliness you can't figure out how to battle.

The times you had slipped your heart into someone else’s palm, wet and sticky with blood, the viscera of who you are, admitting to the pain that vibrated always at a low level frequency below your skin, you regretted it.

Mostly because you’re never able to explain it. It just is. You just are.

It’s who you’ve always been, and sometimes one step forward necessitated two steps back with how much you could handle.

Touch wasn’t even always bad, sometimes it was just too much. And no one wanted or tried to understand that sometimes it just felt too good, overwhelmed you to the point of exhaustion, and sometimes to pain.

You’ve always wondered if there would ever be anyone who’s touch felt safe, felt like it belonged.

The aversion you have to touch and the deepening trust issues that grew wilder every year were only solidified by your last boyfriend, by the tattoo he carved into your skin. He confirmed everything you ever needed to know about yourself, that you were not worth cracking the code on, that no one would ever be willing to try to handle you with care, to expose you slowly, to meet you halfway. To know when you asked not to be touched that you weren’t mad or punishing them.

If he wasn’t willing to put up with you, he’d said, to figure it out, then no one else would be.

You swore off having a relationship, content in the loneliness that you were destined to have claw at your heart, at least in that way.

But with that tattoo came too a deep mistrust, an aversion to anyone getting too close to you, a swearing off, a final nail in the coffin of trying for things to be thrown back in your face. He’s the reason you moved to this tiny town, away from Austin and all the memories that he’d left in you like jagged shards of mirror, reflecting everything you didn’t want to see.

Before he tattooed you, you’d been tattooed several times before. The experience had always been good, one of the few ways you didn’t mind being touched. It had always been the making of a happy memory for you. And he had taken that from you.

He hadn’t just stolen something you loved from you, but shut the door on vulnerability or intimacy with almost anyone.

Joel Miller’s tattoo studio, his stupidly attractive hands, the deep drawl of his howdy, and most of all the beauty of his art in the front window of the shop, captures your mind, ensnares your every thought. It’s woven a net around all the thoughts and worries that normally flutter around your head and calls for them to be silent.

“All I do is think about this damn tattoo,” you say to a friend back in Austin one evening, phone squished between your shoulder and your face as you cook dinner. “Is that normal? Like, I can’t just go get one somewhere else, by anyone else.”

No one knew about the sharp fanged demons that lingered in your past. The distrust and loneliness that ate out parts of your heart, bite by bite, year by year. But Leah does know about your ex, about the tattoo on your shoulder that still aches with long healed pain.

“You said it looks like he does walk-ins, right?” She asks, not unkindly. “Why not just go talk to him for a bit,” she eases you into it. “See if it might be the right fit. I know. . .things in your past haven’t been easy. But he might be alright. I can go with you, if you think that might help.”

And that doesn’t seem so bad. Just talking to him doesn’t seem so bad. You find that you want to. Then you would know if you couldn’t be tattooed by him, no matter how much you admired his art. Leah reminds you again of the nice google reviews, the funny little captions on his instagram posts, that he is not your ex even if he is a stranger.

“He’s running a business,” she says gently. “It isn’t like then.”

She’s right, you know she is, and you miss the experience, you miss getting tattooed.

So, the next morning you brace yourself and make the now familiar walk to the little studio, picking up an iced coffee to sip on the way so you hopefully won’t be too sweaty in the early morning sun that blooms rose pink on the horizon. It gives your hands something to do too, and you fidget with the rim of the plastic lid as you walk.

When you push the door open, Joel is standing at the counter. He has glasses perched on the end of his nose and is paging through a leather bound appointment book that sits next to an ancient computer that looks as though it hasn’t been switched on in a decade.

Something about the sight makes your shoulders loosen just a bit. You certainly hadn’t expected him to look like that, domestic and relaxed and calm. His pen scratches across the paper, a landline phone slotted against his ear.

He glances up at you in the still open doorway, surprise pulling over his features for a brief moment before he makes a hasty end to the call. It makes heat crawl up your body, the way his attention latches onto you and sticks. “Hey,” he greets when he sits the phone back into the cradle, sliding the glasses off. “I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d finally come in.”

There’s something light in the rough, drawling timber of his voice, like he’s trying not to startle you, like he’s inexplicably glad you’re there.

You stiffen and he chuckles, cold air pulsing around you in the doorway before you finally step fully into the shop and let it swing closed behind you. You remain there, just inside the door, trying not to feel like a fish in a barrel, easily caught, even more easily killed. “Caught me, huh?” You try to keep your voice light, waiting for a striking arrow that would never come.

“S’alright. Thought maybe you just walked this way a lot but you always stop to look,” he gestures at the front window. “My daughter is the one that’s always changin’ it around.”

“I appreciate her efforts,” you say, taking a hesitant step forward. “I look forward to seeing the changes. Best part of my week.”

He nods, looking just a tad embarrassed, and then closes the appointment book, giving you his undivided attention. “Lookin’ to get tattooed?” His eyes trace over your exposed skin, noting the few you already have.

“Maybe,” you answer, giving a half-shrug that you hope comes across as nonchalant. “I saw on instagram that you’re, uh, taking appointments.”

“That I am,” he answers easily.

You swallow and glance around the studio. It’s as tiny as it seemed from the outside, but homely and comfortable. The walls are a deep green that remind you of forests you’ve never seen. The walls are covered in photos and art, both created and bought, the styles too different to have been made by the same person.

When you squint closer, you see that a few of them have tiny plaques beneath them, etched with names and dates. Shelves line the walls filled with knick knacks and children’s drawings in frames, and what appear to be family photos. One shelf is stacked with records and coffee table books, an ancient turntable perched precariously on top. A door is propped open behind the dark wooden counter, through which you can see the actual tattooing space, clean and sterile looking.

A lone guitar is hung on the wall, and you wonder if he plays. Your imagination conjures up hands that you’ve been studying for weeks softly plucking at the strings, curling around the bridge.

It’s shameful, the way your body flushes at the thought, the ghost of strummed notes floating in the air around you.

“Darlin’?”

Joel’s voice pulls your eyes away from the guitar and back to his face. Embarrassment drops like hot coal into the pit of your belly. You like the shape of that word in his mouth.

“I just wanted to stop in and see if maybe we’d be a good fit,” you explain hastily, not thinking about the words before they fall like broken promises from your lips. “If you’d be interested in tattooing me.” Before he can open his mouth to respond, you continue, “That wasn’t what I—I don’t mean to take up any of your time. Just if you have a moment. I should have messaged maybe—”

Joel waves you down and gestures around at the empty space. “No, it’s alright, hardly got anyone comin’ through here. Next appointment ain’t ‘til this afternoon.” He reaches below the counter, callused fingers catching on another notebook which he sets on the counter with care.

You follow the motion of his hands, your eyes snapping back to his when he continues, “What are you lookin’ to get done?” The knot of anxiety in your chest loosens a little when he seems to take your nerves for concern over the piece you want done.

Joel’s hands are ones that are familiar to you now after all the times you’d spent looking at the spare pictures of them online. That want, the heat, crawls back up inside your lungs and curls up to stay, making a home among the throbbing tendon and muscle. Though you’d glimpsed him that day on the street, it's a very different experience to stand for an extended period in front of him. His voice paired with the broad set of his shoulders, the cut of his brown eyes focused on you, all adds up to something devastating.

Another vinegary squirm of nerves in your gut is accompanied by your treacherous heart squeezing tight in your chest, battering something long abused, long closed off.

“You can show me reference pictures if you’ve got ‘em,” he offers when you don’t respond again, instead just looking at him, his presence calming in a way you can’t really explain. You blink and pull out your phone, approaching the counter slowly. The ice in your half finished coffee rattles as you set it on the counter, away from the appointment book so the condensation won’t accidentally get on it.

Joel unsettles you, but not in a way that people usually unsettle you. Not in the way your ex-boyfriend had from the very beginning. Instead of feeling the need to flee, you feel the urge to stay.

You show Joel the inspiration pictures you’ve been collecting the last few weeks, swiping slowly through what you have saved in your camera roll and describing what you imagine as best you can. When you lean closer to show him, the scent of clove and cinnamon and leather washes over you. The smell makes you a little dizzy, runs circles around your head.

His brow is furrowed, concentration etched into his features. “I’ll need some time to work out some designs for ya.”

“That’s alright,” you nod, watching those rough fingers sketch broad lines in the notebook he’d pulled out.

“Sorry, sweetheart, don’t know where my manners went. I didn’t get your name,” he says, and glances up at you. “I’m Joel,” he holds out a hand.

Sweetheart. You’ll be hearing the low timber of his voice whispering that and darlin’ in your dreams, you’re sure of it.

You find yourself smiling, your mouth involuntarily pulling up at the corners. You take his hand without thinking. His hand is warm and firm; his fingers engulf yours.

He hums as he takes his hand back, pencil already between his fingers again, and you’re left feeling chilled, like there’s an empty space in the middle of your hand that needs filled. “Real pretty name y’got.”

Oh. You like the hum of pleasure in your chest that chases the nerves below your skin. It’s a pleasant kind of warm.

“You can send ‘em on to me on that. . .app,” he grumbles. And you have to laugh. Between the landline phone, the physical calendar book, and that app he sounds just like the kind of cranky that you find endearing. “Uh, just so you know if you get a reply that don’t sound like me, it’s because my daughter runs it for me.”

“Sarah,” you guess, thinking of the young woman you’d seen cleaning the window.

“Ellie, actually. She thinks she’s a goddamn comedian.” He rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the affection lodged in his gaze. He gestures at one of the pictures framed on a shelf where two teenage girls are slotted on either side of him. “Got two of ‘em,” he clarifies. “Sarah—she does the window. You saw her that day you passed by, the taller one there in the picture.”

You tilt your head, Joel’s eyes following the motion. “They help you run this place.”

“They’re my marketing team,” he grumbles. “Self-appointed, if you couldn’t guess.”

You find yourself leaning on the counter, watching Joel’s pretty hands sketch absentmindedly. “That actually sounds like fun.”

“They seem to think so,” he agrees, glancing up at the same time you do. A touch of pink colors the high points of his cheeks. The delicate little shading makes something warm curl into your gut. “Anyway,” he clears his throat. “We don’t get a lot of foot traffic around here, you might have noticed. Ellie’s thinkin’ that account might lure people up from Austin.”

You nod. “It’s a good idea. People have traveled further for tattoos. And we aren’t too out of the way up here.”

“I take it you live around here,” he glances down again, like he finds looking at you hard.

“Not far,” you confirm. “That’s how I found you.”

He goes silent for a moment, fingers continuing to twitch around the pencil before he looks back at you. “I’ll, uh, have somethin’ to ya in a couple a’ days. You can let me know if you want any changes and we’ll set a date.”

You straighten, feeling only slightly dismissed. “Oh, yeah, sure. Thank you.” You start to turn when you remember yourself. That’s not really what you came here for. “Actually, listen, I don’t want to waste your time. You don’t need to start on anything. Not yet. I’m not sure just yet, I just wanted to meet you. I really admire your art.”

You leave it at that. Pouring out all your other issues would just make you look insane.

Joel raises a curious brow at you, waiting, a question in his eyes that he doesn’t ask as you take a step back. “Alright,” he agrees. “I won’t start on anythin’ just yet.”

“Okay,” you back further away, trying desperately not to turn and run, aware you must look odd. “I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so, honey.”

Though the tattoo shop is cold, heat that rivals the temperature outside dissolves the bones in your chest from the way his eyes linger on you.

But that want—need—is within reach now, and something tells you that you can trust him.

At least with this.

Joel sees you more often after the first day you actually come into the shop.

Well—

He supposes he sees you about the same amount, but now you actually come inside. You always pause in the doorway for half a second, those watchful doe eyes going wide, like your instincts always kick in a second too late.

But once you make it inside, you talk to him, share snippets of your life as you watch him draw, eyes focused on his hands.

You breakup the monotony of his days, those times between appointments and the few walk-ins that he does see.

Sometimes, most times, you bring him coffee from the shop at the end of the road, and he hates that you feel obligated to bring something for him. “For letting me hang around,” you always say.

Most times he feels like he’s trying not to scare you away, like one wrong move will send you bolting right back out the door. But he comes to rely on your presence, the sunshine earthy smell you bring inside with you, the cautious questions and wide eyes, the way you dart to your feet and disappear the second a sign of work for him appears, even if he wouldn’t mind you waiting, taking up room in the tiny front room.

Joel has to wonder what happened to you, if anything, or if you’re just a nervous person. Maybe it’s just in your nature to be distrustful. He doesn’t mind you coming in all the time, in fact he likes it, hates the empty spaces you now leave behind. The studio seems impossibly empty and cavernous without you around now, asking about the guitar on the wall, about where he learned to draw, about his girls.

Still, summer passes by slowly, like a jar of molasses catching sun in a window. He watches you come and go, watches you get to know him through tiny encounters that loosen your shoulders more each time you stop in.

He doesn’t tell you that he spends most evenings working on a design for that tattoo you may or may not get, that he has a dozen different versions of it clogging up his notebook.

He figures if you don’t end up getting it tattooed then he can just give you some of the sketches to keep.

Like he’d ever find a damn way to do that without feeling like a fool.

Toward the end of summer, with heat still burning up all the air in Texas and showing no signs of abating, you push the door open with your chin lifted and a smile on your face. Heat, like the rush of burning air from an oven, whips around you and into the shop.

He tells himself the heat is why his mouth suddenly feels dry. He tells himself it has nothing to do with how your ass looks in those jeans you always wear or the curve of your hips in the snug fit or the tank top that shows off your shoulders and arms and chest. All topped off with you smiling at him.

“Hey Joel,” you greet, crossing the studio in a couple strides where you deposit a cup of coffee onto the counter next to his hand. He likes the way you say his name, breathy and quick. “I think I’m ready.”

“Ready?” He questions, bewildered.

His mind takes a moment to catch up to what you mean. The tattoo. You’re ready to get your tattoo.

And Joel becomes aware that he is distinctly not ready for that. Because then what excuse will you have to stop by so often? “Right now?” He asks.

You smile. “Not at this exact moment, obviously,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Just…generally. Whenever you have time for me. I know you’ll need time to work on a design. I’ll send the inspiration photos to the instagram account so you can look at them again.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, the notebook with your designs tucked under the counter burning a hole in the corner of his vision. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

Your smile widens. “Thanks. I can’t hang around today.” You wave a hand back in the direction of the front window, “Errands to run. I just wanted to say that I really love the new painting.”

“The—”

“The new deer. She’s beautiful. More confident than the other ones. I think, or maybe it’s the same. I really like the new one though. You’ve been doing a lot of deer lately.”

He swallows and nods. “Yep.”

Your head tilts to the side before you take a step back, anxiety pulling at your face. “Okay,” you say, your voice noticeably smaller. “Well, I’ll see you around. I’ll message Ellie.”

Before he can stop you, you’ve bolted out the door.

He sighs and rolls his shoulders back as he watches you walk down the street in the honeyed sunshine. When you’re finally out of sight, he pulls the sketchpad out and starts on yet another design.

“Dude, you’ve got it baaaaaad,” Ellie accuses as she sets a platter of fried chicken on the dining room table. “He didn’t even ask for a fucking deposit!”

“No deposit?” Sarah asks, adding a bowl of salad next to the plate. “That’s just bad business practice, dad.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Not everyone takes deposits.”

The girls glance at each other. “Yeah, but you usually do. You told me not to ask for one!”

He grumbles under his breath, settling at the table, just glad that his girls were there at all. He’d half expected the standing weekly dinner to fizzle out once he moved out of Austin, but they always made the drive up, or he went down to them each Friday.

His girls had their own lives, Sarah still in college, Ellie still trying to find her footing as an apprentice at a tattoo studio in the city.

“Did she seem interested?”

Joel assumes Sarah is asking about the tattoo.

You seemed exactly as he’d thought. A little nervous and wary, but mostly curious and eager. He’d been blushing like a kid, the warmth you always tugged along with you into the shop no match for the air conditioning.

“Yeah,” he answers, shrugging. “Ellie’d know more than me—”

“I mean does she seem interested in you?”

Joel glances sharply up to find both his kids grinning at him. “I’m talkin’ about the damn tattoo,” he says, exhaling sharply through his nose before he reaches for a plate.

“Well, that’s obvious,” Sarah mutters with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, c’mon, man,” Ellie leans back in her chair. “Isn’t she there, like, every fucking day?”

Joel frowns at her. “Manners,” he reminds her.

He gets an eye roll from her too, before she tilts her chair back down onto all four legs.

“Watch it,” he says, “Your eyes are gonna get stuck like that.”

“Joel—”

“She’s nervous enough as it is,” he grumbles. “Never met someone s’damn skittish.”

“What, like a horse?”

“Like a deer,” he corrects. “She don’t need me makin’ passes at her. I think she’s just now comin’ around to the idea of trustin’ me so don’t say something stupid to her.” He directs the last bit to Ellie. “Clear?”

She spears a piece of chicken. “Clear,” she grumbles.

“I think she likes you dad,” Sarah says, primly cutting into the chicken on her own plate. “I don’t think she’d mind it.”

Ellie sends you scans of a couple designs two days after you abruptly tell Joel you’re ready to get tattooed. It’s accompanied by a message that makes something in you squirm in such a pleasant way that you worry there might be wrong with you.

the old man told me you know i manage the account for him. he’s really excited about this one and can’t wait to tattoo you. he worked on the design for weeks - ellie

Another message pops up almost immediately after the first.

don’t tell him i told you that

A warmth that has nothing to do with your open balcony door and the heat pouring into your apartment floods your veins. He’d said he’d need to work something out for you.

The two designs she sends are beautiful, and it's easy to see not only the talent but the time he put into them. Clearly he’d been working on a design since you first talked to him all those weeks ago.

Your whole body goes awash with heat, warming you pleasantly from the inside out.

You message her back to figure out the day and time, before flopping your phone face down on the couch, a nervous thrumming centering in your body. It folds your veins up into anxious little knots. The phantom echo of his low, drawling voice reverberates around your brain, the casual little sweethearts and darlin’s he throws your way kicking your heart into overdrive, a skittering pounding knocking against your ribs.

A thrill goes up your spine. At the prospect of a new tattoo, at the thought of spending so much uninterrupted time with Joel, of his hands on you.

The last thought jolts you a little.

That that’s something you’re looking forward to.

You aren’t expecting another message, not after finalizing a date only a few days in the future. But your phone buzzes again, yet another message waiting for you.

just a heads up - joel said you’ll have to sit for two or three sessions. he doesn’t want to wear you out.

Well, at the very least he was more considerate than the last man to tattoo you.

A rare rain splashes down the morning of your appointment, driving away the humidity that had curled in the air like a choking wraith the last few days and cooling the temperature down to something mild. It’s the first false start of what will always turn out to be a warm fall.

You take your time getting ready just to ease your nerves, hydrating and eating a bigger breakfast than you normally do.

In the afternoon, the walk to the studio is dreary. The street smells like petrichor and summers long gone. The gloom only makes the interior of the shop feel more cozy.

And more intimate.

When you push the door open, Joel’s daughter, Ellie, is standing at the counter complaining loudly about how old fashioned Joel is as she slowly pages through the leather bound appointment book that seems to never leave the side of the ancient computer you suspect is rarely, if ever, switched on. She seems to be logging appointments from her phone into the book.

Her eyes snap to you the moment the door swings shut, then glances at the clock. “Early,” she says. “Joel is still setting up.”

“That’s okay,” you say, pointedly sitting down on the leather sofa that takes up most of the floor space of the front room. “I can wait.”

You snap your mouth shut to avoid the waterfall of words that want to cascade from your lips. Nerves tingle under your skin, buzz lowly just beneath the surface.

Waiting makes you hot, makes heat rise from your skin in painful waves, as your anxiety continues to crest.

At the counter Ellie snaps the appointment book shut, now grumbling about Joel’s chicken scratch, when you peel off your sweatshirt. “Oh,” she says, surprised. “I didn’t know you had tattoos already.”

You jump a little, eyes flashing to the woman leaning on the dark wooden counter. Her chin is propped in her hand. You aren’t quite sure what to make of that, that she thought you didn’t have any.

“Yeah,” you stand and move closer to the counter. Maybe she’s just trying to distract you. “Why is that such a surprise?” You smile and offer her your arm. “I not look like the type?”

“Joel just said you were nervous,” she says, turning your arm in her hand, inspecting the tattoo on the top of your shoulder, and then the one that wraps around your bicep. “So I figured it was your first.”

Joel had talked to his daughter about you.

Maybe he talked to her about all his clients; she did manage the instagram account for the shop after all.

“I’m always a little uneasy beforehand.”

Your excuse is weak but Ellie doesn’t call you on it. Her eyes are latched onto the tattoo over your shoulder, the one your ex had done. You know what she’s seeing, how a few of the lines are blown out, how it healed badly.

She releases your wrist with a nod, her eyes more knowing than you would like. “Scared of the pain?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It doesn't hurt much, usually. It's relaxing more than anything.” You nod to the tattoo on your shoulder. “But, that one was the last and it did hurt and, uh, it put me off getting more for awhile.”

She looks it over for a minute, brows furrowing at what you know is shoddy work. Your gaze slides to the tattoo on Ellie’s forearm. “You don’t have to worry about that with the old man,” she informs you and releases your arm, her tone serious. “He might not look it, but he’s got a light touch.”

Before you can respond, Joel emerges from the back, rubbing his hands together as he glances between the two of you, his eyes wary. “Ellie,” he says, his voice that low gravel. “You stickin’ around, kiddo?”

“Nope.” She stabs a finger into the top of the appointment book, “Get fucking rid of this.” She grabs her jacket and hops up onto the counter, swinging herself over it, as Joel snaps at her not to. “Too late,” she chirps already out the door. “See you Friday.”

When you turn back to Joel, those splotches of pink and cresting red are back in his cheeks and neck and you have to wonder if he heard what Ellie had said. “That girl,” he grumbles. “Come on around here, darlin’,” he gestures with a roll of his eyes. “You don’t have to climb over the counter like a wild animal.”

You round the end of the counter and follow Joel into the back room where he’s already meticulously prepped everything. He sits on a rolling stool and gestures you in front of him. “I take it you already know the drill?” He asks.

You hum in affirmation and try not to jump when his hand brushes yours. “Easy,” he mumbles, almost to himself. It doesn’t stop a flare of heat from spiking in your blood. “You already decided on your left forearm, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer, holding your arm out to him.

You wonder what it is about Joel that makes him so magnetic, that makes him feel so safe. His hand, already in a sterile glove, slides around your wrist to hold you steady while he cleans your skin thoroughly. The sharp scent of antiseptic blooms around you, chasing away the clove and leather scent that usually lingers around Joel. “You alright?” He asks, glancing up at you to watch your face.

“Yep,” you answer tightly.

“Alright,” he agrees warily, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I’m gonna haveta shave the area.”

You nod, you already knew that, and watch him pick up a disposable pink bic razor from the tray to his left. Despite having gone through this whole thing more than a few times before, this feels different, it feels more intimate and reserved.

He drags the razor over your skin slowly, carefully, then sanitizes your skin again when he’s finished, the cool flush of the moisture against your skin almost shocking. You go back and forth about the placement of the stencil. Your body tenses when you waffle for what feels like too long. You expect him to get frustrated with you but he doesn’t. His voice remains unbothered and patient.

Maybe your standards are in hell, maybe he’s just being a proper tattoo artist like all the others that had tattooed you before your ex, but it still makes a knot form in the back of your throat.

Eventually Joel presses the stencil into your skin when you give the go ahead. He rubs at it gently, warming your chilled skin, before he peels it away. The warmth of his touch is surprisingly soothing, the loss of it leaving you cold. “If it ain’t right, we can do it again,” he says, jerking his chin at the mirror in the corner, the picture of calm. “Go on and take a look and let me know.”

You both agree the placement looks good, and then comes the moment when you have to climb onto the table and put yourself in his hands. You will have to lie there and let another person touch you, albeit professionally. It doesn’t make it any better, any easier.

Your skin is so empty, so hungry, and Joel’s attention makes you feel like wax held too close to heat.

It already feels like too much and he’s barely touched you.

A cold prickle of fear slides down your spine too, pulling your shoulders in tight. The last time you did this you—

“You comfortable?” Joel is watching you, his eyes shaded and attentive.

You nod, aware that you are the picture of uncomfortable as Joel changes his gloves. Your hands are in fists, your spine hard and tense. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the room, cold and sterile and icy in your lungs.

“I ain’t touchin’ you until you relax,” he says when he turns back to you, settling next to you on a stool, hand hovering over the tattoo gun on the tray by his elbow. “You don’t gotta—”

“I am relaxed,” you interrupt in a bite, harsher than you mean to. You grit your teeth, your hand only curling into a tighter fist.

“Sweetheart you’re as taut as a bowstring,” he says gently. “Take a couple breaths.”

You do and your heart rate slows. Now isn’t like then. Now is different. “Good,” he says and the praise slides warm against you. “I’m gonna touch you now.”

You nod and the buzz of the tattoo gun starts, his free hand curls over your fist, warm and reassuring and so present it makes tears sting at the backs of your eyes. You realize then that Joel has been touching you quite a lot, and that you haven’t exactly minded.

“Relax, I got you,” he reassures. “You’ll tell me if you need a break,” he says and it’s not a question.

You nod anyway, not sure which part you’re agreeing with.

Joel talks while he tattoos you, mainly about his kids, his two daughters who are clearly his entire world, the point that his life hinges on.

The pride in his voice, the love there, makes you smile.

Joel is much chattier than usual.

Normally you talk his ear off while he works as he silently listens and nods along. Joel is the gruff quiet type, not that you much mind. You’d expected to sit in relative silence, to listen to the rain still drumming against the roof and the low hum of the tattoo gun.

Listening to his voice is a welcome change. You would listen to him read from a dictionary.

Sarah is from his first marriage, Ellie adopted. Sarah is going to college— “Gonna be a doctor someday,” he says proudly. “For kids. Pediatrician.” Ellie is following in Joel’s footsteps, apprenticing as a tattoo artist. “Hope it's what she wants to do,” he says, equally as proud. “She’s got some art out there on the wall—well, I’ll point it out later, much better than mine—it took me long enough to make this switch.”

“What did you do before?” You ask as Joel swipes a damp paper towel across your skin. Ellie had been right, he does have a light touch, a gentle touch.

“Carpenter,” he answers, and you can’t decide if the way he squeezes your wrist is conscious or not. “Long hours, hard work.”

So you’d been right about the look of his hands. Hands that so carefully held yours as his other drew over your skin. “Mm,” you hum distractedly. “What convinced you to take the jump?”

“My girls convinced me. Gettin’ outta Austin helped. Havin’ the money to finally slow down.” He chuckles to himself. “That’s why the marketin’ is a little ridiculous. Moved all the way out here just to complain about the foot traffic.”

You find yourself smiling, watching the flex of tendon in his forearms as he works. His mouth is set in a concentrated line, a divot between his brows. “Looks like you’re doing alright.”

“We manage,” he says with a groan, straightening from his position hunched over your arm. Something in his back creaks and then cracks before he goes back to work. “Although I regret not startin’ a little younger. My brother, Tommy, manages our business now.”

“Carpentry business?”

“That’s right,” he hums, leaning in closer to your arm, his breath ghosts over your arm, goosebumps racing across your skin. You swallow and your hand clenches reflexively beneath his. “You doin’ alright?”

You wonder if he knows his hand is still cupped over yours, if he can feel the racing of your heart beneath his fingers. Maybe he did that with all his clients, just a way to steady himself and you.

You don’t expect him to be looking at you when you lift your eyes back to his face.

Heat blooms in your chest, the flutter of wings beating against your ribs. “Mhm,” you give a nervous hum, trying not to show the feathering thoughts that float like down through your mind, swirling and impossible to bat down.

“Y’have to tell me if you need to take a break.”

“I don’t,” you say quickly, wondering if you should explain yourself a little, if it would be better or worse for Joel to know exactly how fucking nerotic you are.

It shouldn’t matter if he thinks you’re crazy or not.

But it does.

“Just…I’m not so good with touch,” you admit. “I never have been and my last tattoo was…”

You aren’t sure how to phrase it, so you stop and look at his hands again. His hand swallows yours, barely any of your skin visible beneath his touch. You wait for your skin to prickle, for the urge to rip your hand away to swim up the back of your throat, but it never comes. “I’m fine, really. I’d tell you if I needed to stop.”

“I know it,” he says, not blinking, watching you carefully. “I’m just checkin’.” He looks back down, adjusting his grip before he continues, his thumb sweeping over your wrist. “Was it the one on your shoulder?”

“What?”

“The tattoo that was a bad experience?”

You suck in a deep breath through your nose and look away from the top of his head, away from the graying brown that makes your belly clench and the butterflies that live permanently in your chest swing back to life.

The breath you pull in does nothing to steady you, instead flooding your senses with the clean woodsy smell of him. It’s dizzying. “That easy to tell?” You sigh.

“Just a few of the lines are blown out,” he says, not unkindly. “Thought maybe an apprentice did it or somethin’.” Joel’s voice is mild, only lightly prying, an extended hand that you could lie a pearl truth in if you wanted to.

The nerves subside a little. “Apprentices aren’t usually that bad,” you joke.

“No,” he agrees. “Ellie’d never get ya like that. Shouldn’t be tattooing on people yet if you’re gettin’ ‘em like that.”

He doesn’t ask what actually happened, but you find yourself answering anyway. You find that his hand still securely over yours acts like an anchor rather than a weight.

“I had bruises for a couple weeks after,” you admit. “It hurt. He wanted it to hurt. And it healed really badly.”

Joel’s hand pauses, the needle lifting away from your skin, but he doesn’t look up. A long moment passes, and his voice comes out in a forced calm. “Who wanted it to hurt, honey?”

“My ex,” you say and Joel leans back, dark eyes flashing to yours. “He wasn’t my ex then, obviously. He wanted to tattoo me, but he wanted it to be his name. I wasn’t going to do that. He wanted to compromise for initials but I just…couldn’t. Something about it felt wrong. I let him—” you wave your free hand at your shoulder. “—do that. And…I don’t know what happened,” you say. “I think he wanted to brand me. He wanted to leave a piece of himself on me, whether I wanted it or not.”

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while, just blinks away from you and slowly leans over your arm again to continue working.

The tattoo your ex did is the only one that ever hurt, but Joel is gentler than you remember. Or, maybe you simply can’t remember the other times as well, pain of the most recent one blotting out the memory.

“I don’t want you to think about this like that,” Joel says eventually, not looking up. “I don’t.”

“What do you mean, Joel?”

His hand stills, his fingers flexing around your wrist, thumb subconsciously sliding against the side of your wrist. “I mean—I’m not puttin’ something of mine on you,” he says. You frown and open your mouth to protest. “I made it for you. This is yours,” he says adamantly.

You watch him for a long moment, not sure what to say, an emotion you can’t name welling up into the back of your mouth, swollen and trembling.

“I want you to think about it like that,” he says, looking up at you from beneath his lashes, his mouth a hard line. “I’m not markin’ you, because it's not mine. It’s yours. It’s for you.”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

You avert your eyes, blinking away the water that crests against the edges of your lash line.

Though you’ve been bothering Joel for the better part of the summer, you don’t really know much about him. Today is the most he’s talked, about himself or otherwise. All you know is that he makes you feel oddly safe, that he has gone out of his way to try to make you feel comfortable. You can hear the words he doesn’t say, the quiet anger that vibrates under the surface of it. What happened to you was wrong, I would not do that to you.

He wants you to believe he’s gifting you something, and you suppose he is.

You remember Ellie’s message, how she’d said he’d been working on the design for weeks. You think of every moment you spent hanging around his shop for the last few weeks while he worked on a design for you, never saying a word about it, knowing you might decide not to get tattooed.

“Joel,” you murmur, carefully lying your free hand on his shoulder. Muscle flexes beneath your hand, thick and warm. “I know you wouldn’t do that. And you know I wanted to do this, right?”

Joel’s hand squeezes yours again. “I know it,” he shrugs and leaves it at that.

Something unspoken passes between you though. He would not do that to you, but you also sense he would never let anyone else hurt you like that again either.

You watch the feathering of his lashes against his cheeks, the firm set of his mouth, the way he keeps sliding his thumb over your wrist. You study his nose, the line of scar on the bridge, the hard ridge of his brow, the wrinkle that pulls at the skin of his forehead.

“You don’t have to be mad about it,” you say. “I already have that covered. I think I’ve been angry for a long time.”

The room is quiet, the sound of rain on the roof having abated in the hours you’d been there. Joel doesn’t say anything for another long moment, the only sound his breathing and yours, the sound of the tattoo gun buzzing its familiar tune. “I could, uh, fix some of it for ya,” he offers, eventually, leaning back to study the progress he’s made on your arm. “The lines where they’re blown out, we could think of somethin’ to blend it into.”

You look away again, not able to answer around the thick knot braided into your chest. You try swallowing around it, trying desperately to think of something to say. His hand is starting to feel a little heavy on yours. The aching clawing that is two steps back begins to threaten you.

This time, unlike the others, you aren’t quite sure if you want him to stop touching you or for the feeling of his hand to melt into yours, if you’d just rather he became a part of you instead.

You decide to try to ignore it, to focus on the nice parts of it all — how warm his skin is, the calluses you can feel, the scent of his skin and hair, so close you could press your nose into him if you leaned forward a little.

“You have really nice hands,” you comment, entranced by the flex of muscle and vein and sinew even through the black nitrile gloves.

Joel glances up, his face close to yours. You can see the threads of honeyed gold and warm hazel in his eyes, almost sun-spotted “That so?” He asks with a quirk of his brow, fingers tightening over your hand.

You swallow, glancing away from his eyes to focus on anything else, and give a nervous hum.

“You still alright?” He asks, his thumb slipping back and forth over the back of your hand. “Still comfortable?” When you just nod, suddenly too anxious and warm to do anything else, he leans back and releases your hand to strip off his gloves. “Let’s take a break.”

The loss of his touch is—you aren’t sure what it is.

You just know you hate it, and that has never happened before.

“I’m alright,” you protest.

“You’re startin’ to shake, which means you’re goin’ into shock. I’m sure Ellie told you this’d take more than one session,” he says, matter of fact about it.

“She did,” you breathe.

He grunts and offers you a hand down from the table. “Let’s get you wrapped up and then I’ll take you to get somethin’ to eat.”

“Oh,” you say, surprise and that spark of warmth flooding you again. “And you do that for all your clients?”

“Just the ones I like,” he deadpans, fitting a second skin over your tattoo before giving you the usual spiel about how to care for it once the second skin was removed. You hardly listen, thinking only about how Joel said he likes you. “But I assume you know all a’ that,” he says, twisting your arm. “And ya know where to find me if somethin’ ain’t right.”

“Mhm,” you hum, trying not to let the disappointment show when he releases you again. “I’m something of an expert with tattoo care, I think.”

“Three tattoos makes you an expert?” He asks, not looking at you as he meticulously cleans up.

“Well, three that you can see.”

He turns, eyes sliding over you. You’re awash in that warm feeling again, the one that is an anchor and not a weight. “You got more than three, honey?”

You just smile and make a show of looking over the work he’d done on your arm, ignoring his question.

Joel chuckles, “What else do you have?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

He laughs again and herds you out the back room when he’s finished cleaning up, keys jangling in his fist. “Shouldn’t I pay—”

“Nope. You’ll do that when it’s done. Should just need one more session.”

“Joel really—”

But you’re already out on the street, the door firmly closed behind you. You watch him lock up and then gesture you down the street with a jerk of his head. It’s dark outside, the sky still tinged with dark blue on the horizon. The road smells like heat and rain, like damp dust and lightning.

“You really ain’t gonna tell me what other tattoos you got?”

“You really ain’t gonna let me pay?” You ask, imitating the gruff cut of his voice.

He rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine.” He walks away, leading you down the street, light from the streetlamps cartwheeling over his face, throwing his jaw and eyes into sharp relief and then plunging him into shadow. “C’mon now. You need somethin’ in you.”

You’ve never ventured into the center of town after dark. You’re always at home long before that, curled on your balcony with something to read.

Cicadas light the air with sound, the crisscross of wired lights spear butter yellow onto the pavement below where a bar is serving drinks and a local food truck still idles.

Someone has set up a speaker that folks twirl each other around to, old country music, the good kind. Others park themselves on benches, chatting and eating. It’s nice.

It makes you feel incredibly lonely, reminded of all the gaps in your life, all the places people should be, all the places love and familiarity should be.

Before you can sink into that mire, Joel’s guiding you into line with a careful hand against your back.

His palm is broad and warm, heating you from the inside out. It rivals the warmth pulsing around you, the leftover heat of the day leaching into you.

“What d’ya want?”

“Shouldn’t I get you something?” You offer. “You worked all day, I just laid there.”

“I drew a nice picture,” he retorts. “You lost blood. Pick somethin’ sugary.”

“Bossy,” you comment, feeling alight with nerves as his fingers flex against your spine.

“Mhm, that’s what Sarah and Ellie are always sayin’.”

You glance at him—at the rough cut of his jaw, the thick tendon in his throat—and swallow, nerves pinching at your belly in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time. You press back, so his hand rests more firmly against your back and hope he doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, just humors you by tracing his hand up and down your spine. “Maybe they’re onto something then.”

“Definitely are.” He glances back down at you, “Pick somethin’ yet?”

You look over the menu as the line inches forward, and pick something to drink. Something sugary, as Joel had demanded.

But when he orders he makes a show of not letting you pay and ordering something for you to eat too.

“You should after sittin’ for as long as you did,” he argues when you settle at one of the picnic tables. “You don’t gotta, just thought I’d offer it.”

You and Joel face each other, one leg on either side of the bench, knees brushing. With each tiny touch, lightning zings up your spine, settles in amongst your bones and blood. You have a feeling you could lie all the bones and blood and viscera of yourself right at Joel’s feet and he wouldn’t so much as flinch.

“Right,” you say, picking at one of the tacos he’d ordered. “I can see why you have such nice reviews on google if you’re taking your clients out on your dime after tattooing them.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re that,” he scoffs.

“Mm,” you nod, not sure exactly what he means by that. “What does that make me then?”

You glance up at him and Joel just stares at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. “You really not gonna tell me about your other tattoos?” He ignores your question to go back to his own.

“Nope,” you take a sip of the lemonade you’d ordered. Despite what you said to Joel, you are exhausted, muscles still trembling in little starts, and the sugar does help. “But you can guess.”

You know he won’t try to guess. He’s too gentlemanly, too mindful of his manners to go around pointing at body parts and guessing if there might be something inked there.

Joel raises a brow, taking a bite of his own taco. “Are you using my manners against me?”

You shrug, smiling. “Maybe.”

“That ain’t playin’ fair,” he accuses, leaning in, the inside of his jean clad thigh brushing against the outside of yours. Your belly clenches, the center of you suddenly aching.

“Who said anything about fair?” You manage. “Do you have any hidden tattoos?”

He shakes his head and glances briefly up, like he’s asking for patience from the stars. But he doesn’t answer your question.

It makes you smile. “Fine, you can keep yours a secret. I won’t pry,” you tease.

“Mhm,” he grumbles again, ignoring your jibe. “You’re mighty brave tonight.”

And suddenly your teasing feels dangerous, falls flat against the stone shore of Joel. The air seems to go frosty, a shiver raking down your spine as you shuffle back a little, suddenly aware of how close you are, how very brave you’ve been. You aren’t sure when Joel started to feel familiar to you.

Since you first met him, you suppose. You’ve carved out a place on that rocky shore whether he wanted you to or not.

“Sorry,” you say, starting to stand, thinking of how annoying you must have been all evening, all day, every single day you’ve taken up his time. You let him comfort you, plied him with trauma you’ve barely touched yourself, let him buy you something to eat against your better judgment when clearly it’s his manners that made him do so. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ll message Ellie to figure out the second session. Thanks for everything. You didn’t have to—”

“Your hip,” Joel says, curling his hand around your wrist so you can’t move any further away than you already have. You pause, your mind spinning as he clutches you gently.

His voice is steady, like you’re a spooked animal that might dart away at any moment.

“What?”

“I bet you one of your other tattoos is on your hip,” he drawls.

He squeezes your wrist again, now familiar and comforting. You fight the urge to pull your hand away, and instead let the feeling of his skin sink into yours, no cheap plastic gloves separating you now. You can properly feel the calluses on his fingertips, the catch of them against your skin, the soft center of his palm and the lines carved into his skin.

“No,” you lower yourself to the bench again, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “None on my hip.”

“How many other one’s you got?” His hand stays around yours.

“Two, not including my new one,” you say, laying a hand over the ink, your skin warm under your hand. “That’s my prettiest one, for sure. And it’s not even done.”

Joel ignores your compliment entirely, like he always seems to. His eyes rove over you, trying to guess the places you were inked, trying to picture it you would guess. It makes you squirm, the thought of him trying to imagine your bare skin, all the hidden places you might be tattooed.

He nods, his gaze heavy on you.

“I’ll just have to keep guessin’ then,” he says, taking a long sip from your cup of lemonade.

You glance away and bite the inside of your cheek. “You’ll be guessing a long time, I think.”

“I’ve got time.” He releases your arm when you start to squirm under his attention, chest burning, lungs compressed into too small a space. Your chest doesn’t seem large enough to contain the feelings beating to life in your heart. “So long as you keep comin’ by.”

A smile pulls at your mouth again, feeling unreasonably charmed. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you what they are, but not where they are.”

“I ain’t askin’ you to,” he says, even as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, mustache twitching, like this concession is the only thing he’s ever wanted for.

“One is a honeybee,” you answer. “The other is antlers.”

Joel goes still and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “A bee?” He asks, like he’s never heard of the creature before. “And…antlers. Like a deer?”

“Yeah, like a deer. With flowers and vines and moss all tangled around it.”

“Huh.”

“What? Don’t like deer?” You smile. “Funny isn't it? You’ve been drawing them a lot the past few months.”

He eyes you and then shakes his head, “Don’t like ‘em? Jesus Christ, no. I think I’m gettin’ to be real partial to deer.”

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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httpiastri · 9 months

Text

beautiful – op81

genre: sweet sweet smut

pairing: female reader x oscar piastri

warnings: wellll it's smut so..... not much else, it's pretty soft so nothing rlly in need of a warning i think. almost a liiittle praise kink hiding in there but not exactly a warning ahah

requested?: um no not really BUT this ask from when this blog was still new has been on my mind ever since i got it....

author's note: this fic is basically just me calling oscar beautiful a thousand times..... second time ever writing smut and it's just as weird as the first time lmao! but i did enjoy writing it. this is protected sex because !! don't forget to be safe when yall have sex !!! and consent is sexy. hope you enjoy this <3 (and again, it's 5am so yes it was proofread but i probably missed something... soz)

f1 masterlist

18+ content below! minors, do not interact!! thanks

oscar is always beautiful.

when he stood on the podium yesterday, for the first time in his formula one career, he was gorgeous. when he came down to hug his family, you included, the smile on his lips was irresistible. and when he danced with you in some random club, his features reminded you of the ones of a god.

he had been teasing you all night. the fleeting touches and quick kisses he gave you held a promise; you would be back in your hotel room soon, just you and him, and he would take good care of you.

you had helped each other get undressed, drunken giggles shared between you as it had taken him a few moments to figure out the zipper of your dress. but the exact moment his head had hit the pillows, he had been out like a light. you swore you had only turned away for a second to take off your earrings, but when you had looked back at him, he had already been snoring.

even then, he was beautiful. but the maybe one moment you enjoy watching him the most is times like these. when the rays of the soft morning sun light up his features, his face basking in the rays. his chest rises and sinks in a steady rhythm, mouth barely open as he takes his sleepy breaths. with his messy, long fringe spread over his forehead, strands of hair tickling his round cheeks.

when he looks so pure, innocent, untouched, like he’s never had a worry in his entire life. so far away in dreamland, this world long forgotten.

but he loves coming back to this world. dreaming is nice, but when he opens his eyes and they land on the beautiful angel next to him, he feels like he has stepped into yet another dream.

his arms are draped around your waist, keeping you close as one of your hands land on his cheek. you smile when his eyes flutter closed again. “morning,” you hum, letting your thumb stroke across his skin. your finger follows his birth marks, the ones you could draw out blindfolded, the ones you know like the constellations you memorized in fifth grade.

oscar is always beautiful, but like this, he's perfect.

he doesn't answer, instead opting to trail one of his hands along the side of your body. the hand finds the hem of your thin shirt and dips inside it, letting the tips of his fingers swipe up and down your skin, against the sensitive area right below your chest, further down to your hips. he notices now that you aren't wearing any underwear, and the realization brings a grin to his lips.

he leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek as he drags his thumb along the inside of your thigh. his mouth moves down to your neck, trailing pecks and licks and bites on it's journey across your body. no piece of skin remains untouched or unkissed; oscar would kiss every inch of your soul if he could.

his head ducks under the blanket to reach your stomach, his hand coming up to push your hip softly. you take the hint and lie down fully on your back, a low sigh leaving your lips as he climbs on top of you. he's still hiding under the blanket so you're surprised when his lips meet the front of your thigh, your legs squeezing together in reaction. his voice is raspy when it leaves his throat, vocal cords still cold after a long night's sleep. "i want to taste you. open up, please."

your legs fall open easily; you're always open to letting oscar do what he wants. a jolt of electricity shoots through your body as he presses his lips to your clit. one of your hands come down to rake through his hair as his tongue drags along your folds and you feel way too sensitive already. his name falls from your lips when he starts sucking on your clit, but it's the feeling of his fingers entering you that takes over your mind completely. you can't think of anything other than how his digits are pumping you, how his tongue works wonders against you, and how you're so close already.

your hand in his hair tightens when you reach your high, your legs shaking and your heart hammering in your chest. he lets you try to catch your breath for a few moments, but then he pulls the covers down his body, appearing from below them as if in a round of peek-a-boo. even as you're breathless, coming down from an orgasm after being eaten out, you somehow have the energy to laugh at your lover. he's so dorky, so darling,

so beautiful.

even when his hair is a mess, even when he's newly awake, even with traces of you on his lips.

the hand leaves his hair, coming down to cup his cheek and pull him up towards your face. he hovers above you, bringing his fingers up to let his tongue clean them from your juices. you usher him down to you, desperate to let your lips meet his for the first time in so many hours. when his lips finally lock with yours, a pleasured sound escapes your mouth. you don't even mind the taste of yourself on his lips, because the taste of him takes over, flooding your senses.

it's hungry, but not at all rushed; it's sensual in a way that only mornings with him can be.

oscar doesn't break the kiss when his hand rummages over the bedside table, desperately searching for something. he lets out a frustrated groan when he has to pull away because he can't find it, and you giggle at the sound. in just a moment, he has leaned back down to capture your lips again, this time with a condom in his hand. he wants, needs, to be connected to you constantly, so his lips are still attached to yours as he pulls off the wrapper and rolls the condom down his length. he positions himself by your entrance and unwillingly pulls away. "are you okay with this?" he asks, letting one hand hold your waist as the other smooths down your arm. when it reaches your hand, he takes it in his, intertwining his fingers with yours.

you nod, giving his hand a squeeze. "it's more than okay."

he pushes into you and your eyes roll back as your hand squeezes his again, this time involuntarily. he fills you up to the brim, a perfect fit; the stretch is just right, not too much and not too little. he gives you some time to get used to it before he starts to move, the strength in his thrusts rising bit for bit. a moan escapes your mouth when he hits one specific spot and he grins, leaning down to press his lips right below your ear. "my sweet girl," he whispers, tracing his kisses down the side of your neck.

his thumb strokes against the back of your hand as his other hand moves down between your legs. two of his fingers come to rub your clit as he continues pushing into you. "oscar..." you sigh, instantly becoming overwhelmed with the sensations. "it's... god, it's too much..."

he slows his actions, though he doesn't entirely stop, as he speaks up. "i know you can take it." he pulls his head away from your neck to look at you, and-

oscar thinks you look so beautiful.

with your hair splayed over your pillow, with your flushed cheeks, with your rosy lips slightly parted and gasping for air as you chase your high. he can't think of anything more perfect than you, and sharing this moment with you is a true blessing to him.

your breath grows heavier as you get closer, and you hang your free arm around his neck, helping him kiss you yet again. he swallows your sweet sounds that become more frequent as you approach your climax, picking up the speed of his fingers again. "that's my girl," he mumbles against your lips. "taking me so well... you're so good."

your sweet noises fill the room as you both come undone together, bodies vibrating against each other's as he rides out your highs. he collapses right next to you, one hand still holding onto your hand as the other drags you into his side. you both take a few moments to breathe, before oscar pushes a few strands of hair away behind your ear. he can't help but smile again. "you're beautiful."

"so are you."

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pupkashi · 13 days

Text

volvi a nacer

gojo feels life start anew now that you’re by his side

a/n: hi hi friends ! this is heavily inspired by this song !! i think it’s so sweet and yeah <3 (unrelated but my bf sent me it i was geeking out for a week ok) ALSO GIGI (@4sat0ruu) I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS SO MUCH MY FELLOW LATINA 🙏🙏🙏; slightly latinx coded reader bc i can !

wordcount - 2,737

masterlist

translations: mi amor // my love, hermoso(a) // beautiful, mi corazon // my heart, cariño // sweetheart

there was time in gojo satoru’s life that he felt his life had essentially ended. he felt isolated, like no one would ever fill the void he felt in his chest.

he didn’t think he had anyone to lean on when he needed it, opting for a façade of cockiness and jokes when anyone asked if he was alright.

you saw through it all. with a concerned frown on your face as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could and squeezing him.

“i don’t need your hugs, y/n,” he scoffed, hoping you didn’t hear the wobble in his voice, “I’m the strongest, i can take on anything by myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but you don’t have to,” you whispered, not letting go for a second. you heard the tremble in his breath, the hitch in his throat when he heard your next words, “I’m right here, you’ll be okay.”

for a split second satoru saw the world for all its warmth and love rather than its faults and challenges. he felt the love and support he’d only ever imagined, the suns warm rays hitting his skin as you held him tightly.

it faded as you pulled away, and he could hear nobara and yuji yelling in the distance, toge and yuta laughing at something.

“I’ll be here if you need me, okay?” you reassure him, your hand lingers on his shoulder for a bit before you walk away.

you’re only two steps away when you feel satoru gently grab your wrist, letting go not even a second after he did. when you turn to face him he looks shocked, as if he didn’t have control of his own body for a second.

“uh- can-” he stumbles over his words, not knowing exactly what to say and not exactly having the courage to say whatever they were.

“yeah, i can,” you smile softly, taking his hand in yours, “how about we get some food, when’s the last time you had actual food and not take out or sweets?” you question.

satoru rolls his eyes, scoffing before counting the days on his fingers, “it hasn’t been that long,” he mumbles, smiling a bit when you shake your head and laugh at him.

it’s been three years since then, somewhere along the way the line of caring friend and something more had been crossed, pinkies interlinking during movie night, a stolen kiss in a maintenance closet when hiding from an upset yaga.

he’s not exactly sure what’s making him reminisce on that day. maybe he’s recalling the way the sunshine felt on his skin, the way it does now as it pours in through the blinds, landing on his bare chest.

“you didn’t snore this time” you mumble, voice a bit hoarse as you wake up.

satoru grins, “I told you I’d stop,” you can’t help but half laugh, cuddling up to him more, “I’d do anything you ask of me sweets.”

“it’s 9 in the morning and you’re already professing your undying love?” you tease, just barely opening your eyes to look at your lover, who’s already staring right back at you, soft smile adorning his beautiful face.

“would do it all hours of the day if you’d let me,” he replies, not missing a beat. you can only chuckle softly, letting your head rest on his chest. your hair tickles him a bit but he ignores it, focusing on the way your index fingers draws random patterns on his abdomen.

satoru lets his mind wander, he thinks how lucky he is.

how lucky he was to be given a second chance at life, to be able to come back from a place so dark, to now be able to quite literally be bathed in sunlight and tender touches.

“where’d you go?” you whisper, adjusting yourself on your side and letting your arm prop you up. satoru is reeled back in, snowy lashes kissing his cheeks gently as he lays on his side to face you.

“thinking ‘bout how lucky i am,” he mumbles, staring at you for a second before a soft smile overtakes his lips, “I love you.” the words never fail to make you smile, you never miss a beat to respond, “i love you more, angel boy.”

“there isn’t anything i wouldn’t do for you, you know that right?” he’s focusing on the fuzz of the blanket rather than your eyes, looking up only when you hum in response.

“what if you have to fight off the most talented swordsman in the world for me?” you tease, he’s smiling at you as he sits up.

“then I’ll get a sword and do what i have to do to not lose you,” he answers like it’s the most simple thing in the world, “I’ve fought off worse haven’t i?” his cockiness makes you roll your eyes and chuckle, sitting up and kissing his cheek before stretching and finally getting out of bed.

“i guess so, you’re too strong for any of my hypotheticals,” you mumble, the taller man following you into the restroom, brushing your teeth together before heading into the living room.

“what do you want for breakfast?” satoru asks, his hands are already reaching for the ingredients for an omelette, recalling how you’d been craving one since last night but fell asleep as soon as you’d gotten home.

“what’s on the menu today, chef gojo?” you smile, moving from the couch to the kitchen bar, watching as he took out four eggs and various veggies and meats.

“how ‘bout that omelette you were dreaming of yesterday, sweetheart?” he’s grinning as he cracked an egg open with one hand over the bowl, a trick you’d taught him that took him the course of two cartons of eggs.

“you’re too perfect mi amor,” the words make his ears turn bright red, face flushed as he continues his fluid movements in the kitchen.

three years ago had someone told you the satoru gojo could make omelettes and crack eggs with one hand you would’ve laughed in their face, betting your life savings and then some against the snowy haired sorcerer.

yet here you are; three years, lots of broken eggs, burnt food and nights in the restroom later- you watch the love of your life make you an omelette.

the two of you eat breakfast over small talk, telling him of your plans for the day.

“I’ve gotta run some errands today, i hope traffic isn’t too bad” you trail off, mentally checking all the things you had to do.

“i can drive if you want,” he shrugs, chugging down the last bit of orange juice in his cup before grabbing your plate and placing them in the sink. “i don’t have anything else going on.”

you smile at your lover, “you don’t have to drive me around everywhere, you know that right?” satoru knew your distaste for being behind the wheel, he only saw it as an opportunity to pamper you and treat you like the royalty you were.

“i know, but i love driving you everywhere,” he grins, walking next to where you were seated and bending over to kiss your temple, “I’ll be your loyal chauffeur for as long as you’ll have me, hermosa.” the word is foreign on his tongue, it slips past his lips naturally, just the way you’d been teaching him common phrases.

“hermosa? who’d you learn that one from?” fighting the smile off your face was a predestined loss, barely hiding how over the moon you were at the new pet name. your words are teasing as you stand from the kitchen bar, stopping right in front of your lover, looking up at him.

“duolingo was hitting on me, actually,” satoru replies, a dimpled smile on his face when your arms snake around his neck, pulling him downwards so his lips met yours.

“can duo fight?” you laugh between kisses, pressing a softer kiss to the tip of his nose before detaching yourself from him.

satoru is ready before you, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching- no admiring, your every move as you get ready. his mind is filled with a whirlwind of compliments he can’t seem to get out, overcome with an overwhelming sense of love for you.

you’re an aura of warmth, kindness and love, and angel sent for him. a caring soul, who nurtured him back to health; through late night calls that ended with you in his apartment or vice versa, gentle reminders and tight hugs helping him through his toughest nights. through forced outings to fairs and arcades, despite his protests that he has been doing things other than working with his students and going on missions (he hadn’t).

it had taken time, but satoru had healed.

your love had healed him.

“oh i can’t do movie night Friday” you frowned, watching as the second and first years trained.

“oh? why’s that” satoru was caught off guard, you’d never been one to cancel on him.

“i- uh- I’ve got a date, actually” you chuckle, staring at your finger nails before looking at the man next to you.

“a date?” he repeated, heart sinking and stomach falling as you nodded with a smile.

“nanami set me up with them, didn’t know he actually had friends besides us,” you smiled, trying your best to ease the palpable tension.

you’d gotten up and left shortly after that, some lame excuse he can’t remember now. he did remember angrily walking into nanami’s office, accusing him of hating satoru and wanting to see him suffer.

“have you thought of- i don’t know, maybe telling y/n how you feel?” kento sighs, trying his best to focus on the report he was filling out before satoru had barged in.

satoru hadn’t thought of that, but he took his friends advice and marched up to you three hours later, confessing his feelings upfront.

“don’t go on that date, they don’t deserve you,” he began, immediately taking you back, “and maybe i don’t either but just give me one chance and i swear you won’t regret it.”

“what’s up with you today? maybe you shouldn’t drive” your words pull him out of his memory, blinking once, then twice before fully coming back to his senses.

“do you remember when you told me you had that date?” he asks, watching as you furrows your brows, the corners of your lips turning upwards as you recall the memory.

“oh yeah! then you confessed like an hour later” satoru nods, blushing a bit. “what about it?” you ask, moving to sit next to him, taking his larger hand in yours, tracing soothing circles into his skin with your thumb.

“i didn’t even know i liked you then,” he admits, “i just felt this terrible feeling in my stomach and yelled at nanami for wanting to ruin my life.” the revelation makes you smile a bit, “he told me to tell you that i liked you and only then did it dawn upon me that i had romantic feelings for you.” satoru laughs at himself now, looking at you with sparkling blue eyes.

“well, you were- and still are a bit of a dummy” you mumble, pulling his arm so satoru can lean against you, letting you rest your head atop his. “my silly angel boy.”

angel boy.

the first time he heard you say that he quite literally stopped in his tracks, smiling from ear to ear before picking you up and spinning you around. ‘say it again!’ he kept asking, blushing just as hard every time the pet name left your mouth.

satoru loves grocery shopping with you, checking off things as you put them in the cart. he thinks you look angelic against the backdrop of produce, heart fluttering as you look for the best bunch of cilantro.

he could do this for the rest of his life, he thinks to himself. the realization makes him bump against the display, thankful nothing fell over.

satoru gojo wants to marry you.

he wants nothing more in his life than to be with you for as long as he could. he wants to spend his mornings and nights besides you, he wants to make you breakfast and help you cook dinner, he wants to wash the dishes because you hate washing them, he wants to wake up to Cumbia and bachata on Sunday mornings as you clean, joining you and singing in broken Spanish as you serenade him with a broom.

it’s not as romantic as he’d once imagined, he thought the realization would come to him as the wind blew through your hair, or the golden rays of the sun kissed your cheeks.

instead he’s watching you pick out a two pack of steak, looking at him with a wide smile, “the prices dropped!” you grin, giddy as you happily put the meat into the cart, practically skipping down the line of raw meats.

he can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he wonder what to do next, mindlessly following you around the grocery store with the cart, every aisle affirming the fact that you’re the only one for him, especially as you tell him to get one sweet treat for the week as you go and get the milk.

he’s staring lovingly at you as you wait in line at the register, watching with interest as your eyes light up, “cariño can you get the eggs? i completely forgot,” he nods immediately, placing a chaste kiss to your cheek before turning on his heel and heading towards the eggs.

satoru lets the thought of marriage ruminate in his mind, recalling the times you’d talked about marriage, agreeing that you’d want to marry him. what if you’d changed your mind since then?

later that week as satoru is passing you the salt, he asks you the question that’s been eating at his mind. “do you still wanna get married?”

you chalk it up to his usual insecurities, turning around and kissing the tip of his nose and both his dimples. “‘course i do, angel boy” you reply, not missing a beat, “why? everything okay?”

satoru nods, eyes fluttering shut when your lips are pressing against his. “everything’s perfect,” he mumbles against you, smiling and chasing your lips for one more kiss before he passes you the butter.

one month later satoru is under the shade the cherry blossom trees give him, with you staring down at him, mouth still agape from seeing him get down on one knee.

“mi corazon, I’ve loved you more than i thought possible, you’ve breathed life into me when i thought there was no reason to keep living, you bring out the best in me everyday,” he begins, hands shaking slightly as you stare back at him, tears welling in your eyes.

“i want to be by your side for the rest of my life, i want to find you in every crowd, save you a seat next to mine and end my days with you in my arms,” satoru tried to ignore the thumping of his heart in his ears, “i want to be the only one lucky enough to be loved by you, will you marry me?”

you’re nodding quickly, mouth still covered before you’re throwing your arms around the snowy haired man- your now fiancé. “of course, yes!” you laugh, sniffling and wiping the tears that had fallen as you squeeze him tightly. “i love you cariño, i love you so so much” you grin, pressing your lips harshly against his, not caring when your teeth bump against his as you both smile, the spring wind causing pink petals to fall around the two of you.

there was a time in gojo’s life when he thought his life was over. he looks back and smiles, how was he supposed to know the best part of his life was only starting?

the void he once felt in his chest was now overflowing with the love and patience you poured into him; sickeningly sweet pet names and tender touches to ease his mind.

satoru can’t help but smile when he wakes up next to you everyday, grateful beyond belief he decided to be vulnerable that day in the courtyard.

“already staring at me lovingly?” you teased, making satoru grin, dimples on his cheeks as he hummed.

“something like that.”

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