#i love his wayward curls

[hier--soir]

bite the bullet

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: two idiots finally bite the bullet and admit how they feel. warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] fwb!joel, age gap [20 years], angst, miscommunication, a meddling Tommy Miller, soft sleepy sex, oral [f], unprotected piv, masturbation [f], rimming, sixty-nine, both of them are assholes for a minute, resolved emotional tension. word count: 9.4k [i got carried away sorry!] series masterlist | masterlist this is part four of my fwb!joel series. you can find the other parts here: one, two, three.

Everything was wet.

Your feet squelched against the ground as you moved, little flicks of water splashing up against your shins with every step. Inside waterlogged shoes your socks clung uncomfortably to your skin.

Tommy was crouched underneath your sink, inspecting the u-bend of the pipe there, his lower half damp from the water that covered the floor of your kitchen.

“It’s definitely comin’ from in here,” his muffled voice came, and you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face in exasperation. “I can stop it, but it’s gonna take some time for the place to dry out. I’d say you’d better clear out for a few days, leave a few windows open.”

You’d had a nice day. A lovely day, even. And you’d been looking forward to curling up with a whiskey and a good book before bed. But upon returning home from the greenhouse, you’d been horrified to find the entrance of your home covered in a thin layer of water. Splashing down the hall, you’d discovered that the entire place was wet; a shiny film of liquid coating anything that touched the ground. The wooden floorboards were soaked to the bone with cold water. A fucking flood. Thankfully Tommy was right, and you trusted that the August humidity would naturally dry it out with enough time.

“I can’t just stay here? I didn’t think it was too bad,” you lied. “Could lay down some towels.”

Tommy laughed under the sink. “You know you’ll get sick if you’re sleeping around all this water – towels or no towels.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, gazing at the floor glumly. “Okay, yeah, I suppose I’ll uh… I’ll get some stuff together.”

“Joel would take you,” his said, and you snapped back to reality, staring at his back while he worked. You could practically hear the grin in his voice. When you didn’t respond, his head reappeared, and he looked at you curiously, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. “You and Joel are pals, right? Pals help each other out.”

Pals, you thought cynically. That’s one word for it.

Two weeks had slowly passed since the Peterson incident, and you’d only seen Tommy’s older brother a handful of times. There was still a tense energy between the two of you, so you’d been keeping your distance a little, allowing things to cool off. Bumping into each other here and there, dinner on the same table at the hall… but no alone time. No real time that would leave you two open to actually talking about it. That didn’t mean it didn’t play on your mind, though. Oh boy did it. In fact, most days you’d catch yourself gazing into a pot plant, thinking about that night. The way he’d taken you, made you tell him the details about Peterson, the way he’d showed you he fucking owned you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the way it had made you feel, and so you avoided it, even though your chest ached with the Joel-sized hole his absence had left in it. At least you weren’t so stubborn that you couldn’t admit to yourself how much you missed him.   

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Tommy gave a polite shrug, smirking at you. Testing you. A huff escaped your lips, and you broke eye contact, stretching out your shoulder. “Yeah, alright, I’ll ask him,” you agreed begrudgingly, brain whirring trying to come up with excuses. “It’s late though, and he might not want me there.”

“It’s not that late, but sure,” he chuckled knowingly, going back to work on the pipe. “When hell freezes over and Joel says no to you, you let me know.”  

An hour later, you were on your best friend’s porch, a bag slung over your arm, hesitating with your knuckle raised in the air. Taking a deep breath and running through what you were going to say, you finally willed yourself to rap your fist twice against the wood.

After a moment, the door swung open to reveal Joel, in a soft wrinkled t-shirt.

An easy, involuntary smile spread across your face upon seeing him. His beard was a little longer than he usually kept it, greys sparkling through the dark hair that framed his mouth so handsomely. He had clearly been settling down for the night, and he looked oh so cosy dressed in his sleep clothes.

“Hey man,” you offered up a sheepish smile.

He looked appropriately surprised to see you, considering you certainly hadn’t been knocking on his door at any point in the past fortnight. One of his eyebrows hitched upward, and he eyed the bag over your shoulder warily. “You skippin’ town or something? Who’d you piss off this time?”

You rolled your eyes and readjusted the duffel. “You gonna let me inside? This thing’s kind of heavy.”

He stepped back into the entryway with a grunt, allowing you to breeze past him and dump the bag onto the ground with a low thud. “Pipe under my sink is busted. Flooded the whole place today – Tommy said I should clear out for a day or two.”

He hummed, narrowed eyes raking over your face. “Oh yeah? So where you gonna go?” he teased, and relief rushed through your veins like warm water as you recognised the smirk threatening to take over his face.  

You gave him a small laugh and sighed, holding your arms out in mock surrender. “Come on, Miller,” you said. “Let me crash here – I’ll owe you one.”

“Owe me one, huh?” his eyes shone with mischief. “Well I like the sound of that.” An odd, twisting sensation rippled through your stomach and you sucked your lips into your mouth, nodding slowly.

“Sure,” you retorted. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.” When the words left your lips you both stilled, staring at each other warily.

He hummed, eyes darkening a fraction. “You’re playin’ with fire,” is all he said, before bending down to pick the bag up off the ground and ushering you towards the stairs.

You wondered off ahead of him, and when you reached the landing you veered right, pushing open the door to the spare room. He didn’t follow you in immediately, instead pausing in the doorway with a frown plastered across his face. You hadn’t thought about where you’d be sleeping until the second you reached the top of the stairs, but you knew this was the right decision. Sharing a bed with Joel for a few days? Probably not a good idea. Unless of course, that was going to be how you repaid your debt…Thankfully, or unfortunately, he didn’t push it, dropping the bag gently in the corner of the room.

“Hope Ellie won’t be bothered I’m here for a few days,” you thought aloud. The tone noticeably shifted, and you almost at how Joel seemed to deflate.  

He leant an arm against the doorframe and sighed. “She ain’t spendin’ much time in the house these days,” he admitted quietly. “Stays in the bungalow or goes out. I doubt you’ll even see her.”

You hesitated for a second before asking, “Have you two spoken much lately?”

He scratched his chin for a moment. “You know the kid,” he shrugged. “She’s stubborn. M’tryin’ not to push it.” 

“It’ll be okay, Joel,” you offered softly. “She’ll come around.”

He assessed you silently, eyes flitting down your body before resting on your face once again, and then he stepped back into the hall. Coughing awkwardly, he raised a hand in a sort of farewell, and said, “Well, uh, you know where everything is. I’m gonna… I was gonna head to bed, I guess.”

“Okay,” you nodded, watching as he turned to head toward his room.

“Hey, Joel, wait,” you called, and he turned, eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite place. I miss you, you wanted to say. I miss you, and I’m sorry things are off between us, and I wish we could forget it all and go back to normal, and I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. “Thank you,” you said instead, voice soft. “I really appreciate this.”

The look in his eyes dimmed a little but he offered up a smile. He nodded once, said, “Glad to have you here,” and then closed his bedroom door, and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

After showering and unpacking the few things you brought along, you curled up in the foreign bed. The mattress was soft enough though, and the sheets smelled like the soap Joel used. Your body ached from a long day of work, muscles tense and wired from hauling heavy pots around under the sun. Soon enough, you began to relax enough to drift off to sleep. Only a few hours into the night though, your dreams were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps padding across the landing. A beam of soft yellow light was shone into the room, painting the inside of your eyelids orange. Cracking an eye open, you saw that the door was ajar, and a tall figure was peering in.

“Joel?” you asked groggily, dragging a knuckle over your eyes.

“Yeah, it’s just me,” his deep voice came, but he made no move to enter the room. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Can’t sleep,” he said softly, and your heart clenched.

Pulling the blankets open on the empty side of the bed, you didn’t even think before you said, “Get in.”

Your head fell heavily into the pillows, and sleep tried to pull you back under as you listened to Joel shuffle across the room and slide into the bed beside you. For a moment, he just laid there, a sizeable gap between you on the mattress. And then his warm, firm body was pressing up against your back, his large palm sliding over your hip to rest on your stomach and guide you back against his chest. His scent overwhelmed you, hints of mint and soap and pine tickling your nose, and fuck you had missed him. it was so familiar, and yet your body tingled as if it was the first time he’d ever laid a hand on you. Through the haze that settled over your sleep addled brain, you could feel him, stiff against your thigh.

“Jesus,” you teased drowsily, throwing caution to the wind by rubbing yourself back against him. “Were you having a dream about me or something?”

His nose traced a long down the back of your neck and you fought off a shiver. “Always dream about you.” If you weren’t so tired, that probably would’ve garnered a bigger reaction from you. But as it were, you just brought a hand down to rest over his on your stomach and gripped his fingers softly. “Was thinkin’ bout you being so close, yet still so far. Just down the hall, sleepin’ in my sheets…”

You hummed, warmth flooding your abdomen as he nudged his hips forward, rutting himself against you. His hand drifted out from under yours to slide up underneath your shirt, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your breast.

“Joel,” you murmured, eyelids heavy.

He hummed eagerly, planting a soft kiss underneath your ear.

“I‘m so tired,” you said regretfully. “It’s been a long day – can hardly keep m’eyes open.”

“Let me help you fall asleep,” is all he said, hand now freely roaming over your chest. His thumb lightly brushed the firm peak of your nipple and your whole body shuddered. “Just relax.”

You were vaguely aware of him pulling the covers off you and moving down the bed, dragging soft kisses down your stomach, before dragging your underwear down your legs. Slumping into the soft bed, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed.

Gentle, reverent kisses were pressed over your hip bones as he settled between your legs, pulling one of your thighs up to rest over his shoulder. His long fingers rubbed over the muscles in your leg, pressing down gently when he found knots, pulling deep sighs of contentment out of you.  

“That feels nice,” you whispered into the darkness, and you could’ve sworn you felt him grin against your hip.

When his nose dragged through the dark hair on your mound you twitched slightly, body waking up a little at the sensation. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and you relaxed again, humming lowly as his pressed a kiss against the inner most point of your thigh.

It felt like hours passed with him between your legs. At first you allowed yourself to slip in and out of near sleep, eyes closed as lax puffs of air escaped your mouth while his tongue dipped gently between your folds, giving you soft lazy strokes that warmed your insides. When the first bit of slick began to seep out of you, he groaned gratefully, licking and sucking at your entrance, exulting in your taste.  

It felt like you were dreaming. Laying pliant on the bed, you were fully at his mercy, allowing him to move your legs anyway he wanted to give himself better access. You could vaguely hear him murmuring against your skin, but couldn’t make out the words over your own sighs, smiling sleepily as his tongue lapped against you. He worked slowly, and you realised that it was as much for his enjoyment as it was for your own. You knew by that point how much Joel enjoyed going down on you. He had told you as much on multiple occasions; how he’d love to spend hours with his face trapped between your thighs. But he’d never had the chance, or the patience, to really do it.

The sounds of his enjoyment vibrated against your core, echoing through the room around you. The way he fucking moaned into your cunt never failed to drive you crazy, but in that moment you just smiled at the sound, enjoying how peaceful it was, how sweet.

Every now and then you’d lazily blink your eyes open and look down, expecting that at any moment he’d pull away, be over it. But he never did. Every time you looked his eyes were closed, hands gripping your thighs softly, thumbs stroking rhythmically against your skin as content breaths rushed out of his nose, and you’d close your eyes again, the dark image of him scorched into the inside of your eyelids, never to be forgotten.

You started to feel more awake when he finally gave his undivided attention to the achingly sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your core. Moving painfully slow, he glided his firm tongue across your clit, switching it up between swiping back and forth across it and then circling it.

“Oh,” you murmured lowly, voice hoarse from lack of use, but you couldn’t help the soft exclamation as your hips shifted upwards, suddenly searching for more. He didn’t change a thing, pace never increasing or slowing down, and it was perfect.

Your orgasm washed over you in gentle waves. Joel’s tongue swirled slow, gentle circles around your clit and your thighs tensed around his head, fingers reaching down to softly rake through his curls. He hummed happily, tongue lathing against you, enjoying every second of your release. Only pausing once your body stopped twitching and the muscles in your thighs relaxed against him, before kissing way up your stomach, your neck, under he was holding himself over you.

Eyes still closed, your hands drifted to the back of his neck and you pulled him down, his weight crushing against you but you didn’t care. Yours lips met tentatively, and for a moment that was all it was. A soft, gentle kiss. And then you felt him, straining against his briefs, pressed between your thighs, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth. It was messy and slow, tongues tangling together, teeth knocking awkwardly, and you found yourself smiling into his mouth. It should have unnerved you. Should’ve been enough to make you stop, turn your head away and make him fuck you rough so you would forget how intensely intimate the moment felt. But you didn’t.

“You should sleep,” he murmured against your lips, pulling his hips back a little so his erection wasn’t so obvious.

“You should come inside me,” you whispered back, reaching down to grip the band of his underwear and tug them down over his hips. He groaned and kissed you again before reaching down to free himself from the confines of his underwear.  

No other words were exchanged as he adjusted himself, and then he was pressing into you, his needy moans spilling out against your neck while your hand snuck underneath his shirt, fingernails gliding down his back as he filled you completely.

“God, I missed you,” he choked out, voice cracking. You whimpered softly. “You’re so wet.”

“Made me feel so good, Joel,” you preened, kissing the side of his head.

“Yeah?” he pulled his face out of your neck to look at you, and you nodded, staring at him through bleary eyes. Joel kissed you again. A long, yearning kiss that made your heart throb, and it didn’t take long until he was falling apart on top of you, shaking against your arms that wrapped around him, held him against your chest. You whispered praises in his ear as he came, hips grinding into yours, pushing himself so deep inside that it had you gasping into his mouth. It was so unlike any other time you’d ever slept with him, and alarm bells rang somewhere far in the deep recess of your brain, but you ignored them. You’d missed each other, and you’d both earned a little softness after the time apart. And so the two of you fell asleep like that; tangled in each other’s arms, with him still inside you.

You woke up to the sun streaming in through the window. The light was harsh, and you cursed yourself for going to sleep without drawing the curtains. You went to sit up in the bed but stopped suddenly, realising how hot you were. With a soft start, you glanced down and understanding jolted through you like a flash of lightning. Joel’s house, you remembered; you were at Joel’s house. But what you hadn’t expected to find was Joel still in the bed, arms coiled around you like wire while he snored quietly in your ear. For as many times the two of you had slept together, neither of you had ever slept over. It was an unspoken rule, and one that had never been difficult to follow. But he’d broken it… or you’d both broken it, maybe. Keeping your body as still as possible, you found yourself breathing deeply, trying to maintain the allusion of still being asleep to avoid rousing him from his slumber. Frustratingly, your heart pounded in your chest, brain zeroing in on every part of your body that touched his.

His soft lips brushed the back of your neck, heavy breaths puffing against your skin. A solid knee was wedged between your legs, one hand lazily gripping your breast. The insides of your thighs were sticky where his come had leaked out of you overnight, and your eyes widened at the sensation. 

What surprised you the most wasn’t that you didn’t hate waking up with him beside you. No, what surprised you most was that you did like it. In fact, you found yourself longing to relax into his arms and go back to sleep. But common sense reared its head, and you slowly slipped out of his grasp, moving slowly so as not to wake him while you dragged yourself out of the bed. Staring down at Joel, a pang of fondness rush through your chest. Messy curls were strewn across his forehead, plump lips pushed out into a pout as he breathed deeply, hand resting on the empty bed where you had just laid. His breathing hitched momentarily, and you froze, realising how odd it would be for him to wake up and catch you standing there naked, staring. Trying not to give it another thought, you quietly collected some clothes from your bag, and slipped out of the room to start your day.

Hours passed in the greenhouse. You distracted yourself with cucumber seeds and tomato plants, pushing Joel out of your mind as you worked under the sweltering sun. Underneath the glass roof of the nursery, the heat multiplied, and by the time your shift was over you were covered in sweat, shirt ticking uncomfortably tight to your back. You stopped by at the community hall for dinner and ate alone, your brain a whirlwind of thoughts of Joel, Joel, Joel. You couldn’t shake the feeling that had lingered in your bones all day; the aching desire to have stayed in bed with him, to have relaxed into his arms and cuddled him for the rest of the morning. Your best friend, for fuck’s sake.

“Christ,” you mumbled aloud through a mouthful of food, rolling your eyes at yourself.

It felt like you were going crazy, but the worst part was understanding that this must’ve been how he’d been feeling for weeks already.

I’ve never asked you for anything. Not for anything more than what we’ve been doin’, never pushed you for more.

That’s what he’d said, two weeks ago, the day he found out about Peterson. The words played in your head like a mantra. Words that you had firmly avoided bringing up, ones you’d never pushed for an explanation about. You’d chosen to sweep them under the rug, and yet, as hard as you tried, you couldn’t fucking forget them.

By the time you returned to his house you discovered him sitting on the couch downstairs, engrossed in a book. It was the picture of domesticity. The sweet scent of vanilla floated through the air towards you, and you noted the small candle burning on the table beside him.

Staying in Joel’s home, even for just one night, you’d noticed so much more about it than ever before. There was something interesting to look at everywhere you turned, and sweet-scented candles were just the tip of the iceberg. He left random objects littered across countertops, like little treasures for you to stop and inspect during your travels throughout the house. Wood that he’d whittled into interesting shapes, books that he’d read the first few pages of and then abandoned, countless mugs in odd places with dark brown coffee stains at the bottom of them. It was homey, and warm, and subconsciously you found yourself enjoying the insight into his most private space – into the things he did when he was truly alone.

Joel hadn’t noticed you come in, so you seized the opportunity to watch him from the doorway for a moment. He was wearing his comfortable clothes again, and a thin set of reading glasses were perched on the scarred bridge of his nose. A quick flash of heat tore through your stomach. You’d never seen him wear those before, and it had you stumped. The glasses, paired with the salt and pepper through his beard and hair, reminded you of his age. Twenty years older than you, and still the most handsome man you knew.

You finally broke the silence, announcing yourself by asking, “What’re you reading?”

Joel’s head snapped up, and he stared at you over the top of his glasses. Shutting the book quickly, he straightened up on the couch. “Uh, Brave New World,” he lied, flipping the book so you couldn’t see the cover.

You hummed, unconvinced, and bit down on your bottom lip to hide a smirk. Tommy had told you once before that Joel was a sucker for gothic romance novels, but you’d never truly believed him until that moment. From where you stood, you recognised the tattered copy of Wuthering Heights that had gone missing from your bedroom a few months prior.

A flush rose in his cheeks and he coughed awkwardly, picking up a mug that you hadn’t noticed on the floor by his feet. It was cute; a little beige ceramic thing, with an owl painted on it.

“You see the patrol roster for tomorrow?” he spoke into the mug, swiftly changing the subject.

“I did,” you murmured. What you didn’t acknowledge, was that you’d also seen Peterson and Davis’ names on the list for the morning patrol. “Should be nice. We haven’t gone to the ski lodge in a while.”

A vivid memory of you two fucking up there raced through your mind, and a low heat simmered across your face as you remembered Jesse and Dina almost catching you once. Shaking the thought from your mind, you looked at him again to find him gripping the mug tightly, lips pursed in thought.

“We haven’t,” he agreed lowly, and the corner of his mouth twitched a little. “You haven’t been gettin’ called outside the gates much at all these days.”

This is it, you thought hungrily. This is the moment he tells you how he can’t wait to fuck you there tomorrow while you’re supposed to be patrolling. This is the moment he tells you he can’t even wait until tomorrow, and he drags you upstairs to his bed. Warmth flooded through your thighs, and you held your breath, staring at him.

But Joel didn’t say that. Instead, you watched dejectedly from the doorway as he rose slowly from the couch and tucked the tattered book underneath his arm. “Well,” he coughed, turning towards the stairs. “I’m gonna get some shut eye. It’ll be a warm day, and I’d better get some rest before we head out.”

You watched him move towards the stairs, heart beating painfully fast against your ribs.

“I’m actually not tired,” you blurted out. Joel paused. His left hand gripped the banister, and you could’ve sworn it might break in half based on the way his knuckles went white.

“Well, I am,” he said over his shoulder, before padding up towards his room , not even turning to give you a second look.

You tossed and turned for an hour, staring at the ceiling wide awake. The linen sheets stuck to your sweaty skin, making you feel claustrophobic enough to kick them to the end of the bed. You waited for him. Every creak and groan the old house made had your ears twitching, eyes glancing eagerly toward the door, expecting it to creak open and reveal him sneaking in through the darkness.

And when it became clear that he wasn’t coming, you pushed away the uncomfortable feeling it brought, and snaked a hand past the band of your underwear. Your fingers raked over the coarse hair there, teasing yourself for a moment, before you slid a finger through your damp folds. Collecting your slick, you dragged it up to coat your throbbing nerves and sighed in relief.

Your middle finger dragged quick circles over your clit, and all you could picture was Joel above you, fucking you while wearing those stupid fucking glasses. Cursing him in your mind, you pressed a finger past your entrance, and huffed in frustration at how it paled in comparison to the thickness of his digits. You imagined the way the glasses would fall to the tip of his nose, almost falling off his face while he fucked you so hard you saw stars. In an attempt to stifle the soft moans trying to escape your mouth, you bit down on your bottom lip, fingers moving quicker against yourself. And you came like that; hand down your underwear, rubbing yourself frantically, thinking about nothing but him.

It was hot, and the skin of your thighs chafed painfully as you and Joel ambled silently through the stables, getting your horses from their stalls to saddle up. He hadn’t said much to you all morning and you were trying not to read into it, but the fraught silence had you on edge.  

You winced upon spotting Davis and Peterson standing by the gate, chatting while they loaded their rifles. Lloyd caught your eye and smiled, offering a short nod in your direction. You returned the nod before looking back down and fiddling with Japan’s saddle, hoping Joel hadn’t noticed.

“Gimme a sec,” he muttered. “Gotta go pick Jesse’s brain.”

You hummed in acknowledgement and continued tugging on the straps of the saddle, until your skin prickled, a presence looming over your shoulder.

“Should we see if we can swap partners?” that voice sounded, and you turned to see Lloyd smirking suggestively at you. “Send Davis and Miller out East together, and you and me could head to the ski lodge?”

Your palms dampened a little and your eyes darted around the stables. There was no denying that Lloyd Peterson was a handsome guy. He was young, somewhere in his early-twenties. He had bright green eyes that shone in contrast against the dark brown hue of his skin. Straight, bright white teeth almost blinded you whenever he smiled, and you’d have to be a robot not to be effected by it. Past his shoulder, you spotted Joel hovering at the mouth of the stables, gaze trained on the pair of you. Caught, he turned quickly, muttering under his breath as he stalked off toward Jesse.

You looked back to Lloyd and shook your head once. “I don’t think so,” you said. “Gonna stick with Miller today.”

Not giving him much chance to respond, you gripped Japan’s reigns and led her out of the building. Joel and Jesse were talking in hushed tones by the gate, and you walked in their direction, pausing a few metres away when you noticed how tense the conversation seemed to be. Jesse was frowning at the older man, shaking his head slowly.

“Hey,” Lloyd’s voice came again, and you turned with a sigh, raising a hand to block out the sun as you stared up at him. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” you rushed out, glancing to the side just as Joel appeared beside you, holding out a rifle. You shouldered it quickly, noticing the way Lloyd seemed to balk at the older man’s presence. “Peterson,” you urged, eager to get it over with. “Get on with it.”

He spared another awkward glance at Joel before speaking in a lowered voice. “Did I do something wrong?” You cringed, knowing Joel could hear every word, and yet he didn’t move a muscle. It seemed he wasn’t going anywhere, eyes trained on the man, uninterested in offering the pair of you any privacy to finish your conversation. “I thought we had a good time, y’know? But you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you replied plainly, even as the thought of him telling Davis about fucking you flashed through your mind. Joel was deadly quiet, eyes flicking between the pair of you like he was watching a game of tennis. You sighed deeply, wishing this wasn’t happening in front of him. In a moment of almost… shame, you realised that you didn’t want Joel to get the wrong idea. Didn’t want him to think that anything else had happened, or would ever happen, between you and Peterson.

“Then why won’t yo-“

“Why don’t you back off kid,” Joel interrupted suddenly, and your shoulders tensed, skin prickling at his harsh tone. “She’s not interested.”

Lloyd flinched at the words, and he looked to you, waiting for you to say something, to refute Joel’s claim. But you were distracted by the sudden warmth in your abdomen, and when you didn’t react quick enough he scoffed quietly, spinning on his heel and walking back where Davis was waiting with their horses. When you looked at Joel, he had a pleased smirk on his face, and you felt your stomach fall somewhat, guilt spreading through you at the way Lloyd rode out of the settlement without looking back.

The ride to the ski lodge was long. For the most part of the three hour trek, you rode alongside each other in silence, until finally you couldn’t help yourself, thoughts tumbling from your mouth.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said quietly.

Joel looked at you out of the corner of his eye, and didn’t say a word.

“He was already embarrassed,” you added. His top lip curled up into a mean smirk.

“Peterson’s an ass. He should be embarrassed.”

A huff escaped your mouth and then he was turning, looking at you fully now with his eyebrows pinched together.

“What, your little boyfriend can’t handle some friendly teasin’?” he sneered, the change in mood so sudden you almost fell off your horse. And all the warmth you’d felt, every soft yearning part inside of you toward him, you pushed it to the side and focused on the confusion instead, allowing it to morph into pure anger. You were seeing red; furious with him for never being able to just see reason.

“Oh, fuck off Joel,” you scowled. “I’m not doing this with you today.” You kicked your heel against Japan’s hide and rode ahead, not listening for a reaction.

The higher the pair of you rode up the mountain, the hotter it got. By the time the horses were tied up by a trough of water and the pair of you were walking into the lodge, sweat was rolling down your skin in rivulets. A headache brewed in your temples, and frustration weighed heavily on your chest as Joel huffed and puffed around the room. Even being able to hear his breathing across the room while he scrawled in the logbook was enough to set your skin on edge. Eager to get some space from the tense atmosphere, you gruffly told him that you were taking first patrol, before shouldering your rifle and stalking back outside into the heat.

“You idiot,” you scowled to yourself, storming through the trees. Shame burned in your chest like a wildfire as you thought back to the night before. Touching yourself in his house, making yourself come thinking about him, wondering if he’d fuck you at the ski lodge. God, you felt like a teenager with a hopeless crush.

Your feet planted in the dirt, the word ringing in your head like an alarm. Eyes wide, you gazed into the trees.

“Nope,” you mumbled, starting to walk again slowly. “No, no, no.”

“Y’know they say talkin’ to yourself is the first sign of madness.”

Fuck.

“What are you doing?” you turned quickly, staring him down from through the thick trees. “I told you I’d take first patrol.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Saw you storm off too,” Joel rolled his eyes, propping his hands against his hips. “What’s your problem?”

“Jesus,” you grinned sarcastically. “I should be the one asking that question.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he frowned, stepping forward. The tan skin of his neck glistened in the sunlight, and you hated yourself for wanting to know how it tasted. Thankfully, hatred and anger were easier emotions to tap into than whatever the fuck you had been feeling about him for the past few weeks.  

“It means,” you ground out. “That you’re a nasty old bastard.” His face darkened, lips twisted into an angry snarl, but you continued. “Peterson’s not my fucking boyfriend, so you can give it a rest okay? I had it handled.”

“Sure,” he laughed bitterly. “Don’t act like you didn’t love it, havin’ him hit on you right in front of me. You get off on the attention, from him and from me. I bet you loved havin’ me step in, tell him to fuck off.”

Your face was on fire as you glared at him, acutely aware of how the tension had spiked between the pair of you. Entire body tensed, you squared your shoulders and stared him down. “Are you fucking serious, Joel?” you asked lowly, eyebrows raising.

“Deadly,” he grit his teeth. “Don’t forget that I know you, baby, better than anyone.”

“No, you fucking don’t,” you spat desperately, turning around and walking quickly in the opposite direction.

“Oh yeah,” he called, the sound of his footsteps following closely behind you making your stomach drop. “Walk away, sunshine. Let’s just not talk about it, right? I know that’s your favourite thing to do. Walk away, and act like nothing happened.”

“Oh my god!” you shouted. “Grow up, you fucking assho-“ But as you spoke, your foot landed awkwardly on a patch of moss. You heard a low popping sound before you shrieked as your legs flew out from underneath you. You hit the ground awkwardly, ass slamming into the ground, and dirt sprayed into the air around you.

“Shit,” you hissed, moving to get up but cringing as a sharp pain shot through your ankle. The flesh around your shin was already swelling, and you cursed audibly, reaching down to rest your hand against it only to wince at the dull pain spreading through your entire foot.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard him say, and then his warm hands were on your shoulders, and he was crouching beside you. Breathing heavily, you stared as your ankle swelled to the size of a golf ball. “Come on, let’s get you back,” Joel said, gripping your elbow to lift you up.

“Get off,” you snapped, shoving him back. He stumbled a little and then stood, glaring down at you. “I can do it myself.”

“Clearly you fuckin’ can’t.”

Eager to prove a point, you dug your fingers into the dirt and pushed yourself up, and then began limping back towards the ski lodge.

You moved slowly with Joel trailing just a few steps behind, close enough that you could hear his breathing, and the way he muttered inaudibly whenever you stumbled. When you almost tripped trying to step over a tree branch, he snapped, appearing at your side in an instant and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Joel,” you warned lowly, but he interrupted.

“Would you stop bein’ such a brat,” he snarled. “You might’ve broken your fuckin’ ankle, just let me help you god damnit.”

You grumbled under your breath but didn’t fight him again, silently grateful to lean on him and get some weight off the injury. His chest rose and fell quickly as he led you back to the lodge, and you could practically feel the anxiety radiating from him.

“It’s not broken,” you muttered. “Probably just a sprain.”

“Good,” he grunted, helping you up the steps and into the building. “Idiot.”

“Jeez, thanks, Joel,” you said bitterly. “You’re a real pal.”

His hand gripped your waist tighter, before lowering you onto the couch. “Any time, bud.”

Joel stormed into the kitchen and returned moments later with a bottle of water, tossing it at you before slamming down onto the sofa beside you. “Jesse and Dina will be here in a few hours, just keep it elevated until then.”

“You got it doc,” you rolled your eyes, eagerly gulping down the water even though it had gotten uncomfortably warm in his pack.

The pair of you sat in silence for a while, your ankle throbbing where it rested atop the coffee table.  

“I don’t fuckin’ get you,” Joel finally breathed, and you looked to him with a raised eyebrow and a snarky comment on your lips, only to find him with his head tilted back against the couch, eyes closed.

“What?” you asked dumbly.

“You heard me,” he said. “I don’t fuckin’ get you. You go two weeks avoidin’ me, I hardly see you, then you’re knocking on my door, askin’ to stay? And then today you’re cursin’ my goddamn name. Throw me a fuckin’ bone, darlin’, cause I got no idea where I stand with you.”

Your lips parted, all the breath in your lungs rushing out of you in one fell swoop. His eyebrows were furrowed, a deep frown settled across his face, and his arms crossed against his chest. He didn’t look angry, you realised. He looked confused; he looked hurt. Your stomach rolled.

“I could say the same,” you started pathetically, and then his eyes flashed open and he was staring back at you with those dark brown eyes that fucking killed you.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” he said blankly, eyes darting around your face.

Your lips felt numb as you slowly asked, “What?”

“You left,” he said quietly. “You fuckin’ left me, and I just don’t know if I can keep pretendin’ anymore. Pretend that this doesn’t… mean anything to me. Pretend that I’m fine with… this. Don’t know if I can keep doing it if you’re just gonna leave. My heart can’t take it.”

It felt like time stood still for a moment. Outside one of the open windows, you could hear the trees rustling in the hot summer wind. Your ankle ached. Joel kept staring at you.

“You know that’s the best I’ve slept in years?” he asked softly, licking his lips. “Slept so fuckin’ sound with you next to me. No nightmares – hell, I didn’t even dream. And then I woke up, and you were gone, and I almost wished it had never happened. So that I wouldn’t have to know how good it felt to have you, wouldn’t have to try and sleep without you every night after, knowing exactly what I was missing.”

“Joel,” you tried again but he shook his head, raising a hand in the air to stop you.

“Just let me,” he took a deep breath, his shoulders shaking. “Let me say this. Just once, and then I’ll let it be, okay? I won’t bring it up again, and we can go back to the way things were befo-“

“Stop,” you croaked out, tears swimming in your eyes. “Shut up for a second. I,” you paused, eyes darting over his face, searching for understanding. “I didn’t want to leave, okay? But I’m scared Joel. Jesus, I’m so scared of this.”

“Scared?”

“Of this feeling that won’t go away. Of wanting to stay. I’ve been trying to push it down, to ignore it, and it doesn’t fucking work, no matter what I do. I’m so scared that I’ve fucked up our friendship, that I’m going to lose yo-“

“Never,” he shook his head firmly, hand reaching out to squeeze your knee. “Listen, you’re not losin’ me, okay? That's never gonna happen.”

“But Joel,” you sighed shakily. “If we push things further, there’s no going back. Don’t you understand?”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he admitted quietly. “I think it’s been too late for me for a while now.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, and when you spoke again you could hear the fear in your voice. “I don’t know if I can be what you want.”

Joel chuckled humourlessly and sighed, squeezing your thigh again.

“It’s you,” he said. “That’s what I want. You don’t have to do anythin’, don’t have to change or be anythin’ else. I just want you.” His eyes shone in earnest, and you couldn’t help but surge forward, planting your lips against his. He returned the kiss with fervour, parting your lips with his tongue and gripping the sides of your face in a searing grip.

He tasted like salt and mint and your head was swimming, consumed by him. Your fingertips were numb as they raced over his body, desperate to touch him everywhere all at once. You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until his hands joined yours, carefully undoing them all until you could pry it off him.

Pulling back from the kiss, you allowed your eyes to rake over his exposed chest, taking in the sight of his tanned, hairy chest, littered with scars and freckles and you felt the urge to kiss every single one of them. So you did. You pushed him back into the couch and straddled him, ignoring the way your ankle cried out at the movement, and attached your lips to his collarbone, licking and sucking your way across his torso. Showing reverence to every imperfection on his skin. Your tongue swiped past one of his nipples and he jolted beneath you, hands dragging under the fabric of your shirt to rest on your back. You could feel him growing hard beneath you and you smiled against his skin before rolling your hips down against his. He was murmuring your name in between sighs, scratching at your skin, revelling in the kisses you sponged across his chest.

Your eyes trailed upwards to meet his. “Want your cock in my mouth,” you whispered, and his face crumpled in on itself, eyes rolling back into his head.

“Fuck,” he sighed, gripping your hands tightly before pushing you off him. He stood up and in one quick movement he knocked the coffee table over, before he was undoing his belt and stripping his pants off. He helped you off the couch slowly, before lowering you down onto the carpet, crouching down to rest beside you. His large hands roamed across your chest, gripping the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward to expose your breasts, your aching nipples peaked and begging to be touched.

“Fuck,” he repeated, harsher this time, leaning over you to plant his mouth on your chest. His teeth scraped across your sensitive skin and you whined, gripping the nape of his neck as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked gently.

“Joel,” you mewled, tugging his face back up to yours for a brief kiss. “I mean it,” you breathed into his mouth. “Need you in my mouth so bad. M’gonna make you feel so good, I swear.” Within a second, he flipped the two of you over so his back was against the ground and you were straddling his hips. You grinned triumphantly, shifting your hips back as you kissed down his chest, moving your body down until you were straddling his shins, and pulling his briefs down with you.

His cock rested proudly against his stomach, thick and swollen and begging to be touched. The head was a deep shade of red, small beads of precum weeping out of his tip as he stared at you, patiently waiting for you to make a move. You didn’t waste a second before leaning down and gliding your tongue softly over the tip, swiping up his salt and humming at the taste. A sharp inhale whistled past his teeth, and you watched his eyes clamp shut at the sensation, hand forming a fist at his side. Gently, you took his hand and raised it to your head, encouraging him to touch you. He obliged, fisting your hair in his hand, grip tightening as you parted your lips around him and let him sink into your warm mouth. A long, drawn-out moan left his mouth and your cunt pulsed in response, the warmth between your thighs suddenly impossible to ignore.

“S-so good for me,” he groaned, pulling your hair tighter. “Love your mouth, I love it. That’s it, baby, open up a little more for me, show me how much you can take.”

The sharp sting on your scalp made you moan around him, and he cursed, undoubtedly feeling the vibration. The weight of him against your tongue was intoxicating, and you bobbed your head up and down slowly, his cock gliding in and out of your mouth easily, slick with your spit. You’d missed the taste of him, missed the sensation of him filling you up to the point where it was hard to breathe, and yet you still wanted more. You pressed forward, eager to feel him fill you up, but when his cock brushed the back of your throat he was gripping your hair and pulling you off him.

“Turn around,” he ordered, and you looked up in confusion. His bottom lip was bitten raw, and his eyes were a darker brown than normal as he gazed at you. When you didn’t move, he was pulling you up and turning your body so your back was to him, and only then did you realise what he meant. He pulled your shorts down your legs, dragging your underwear with them, and then he carefully tugged one of your knees up and over his shoulder, so you were straddling his chest. Slowly, you shuffled back on your knees until your wet heat was hovering over his face, and you leaned down to let your chest rest against his.

“Baby,” Joel sighed. “So fuckin’ perfect. Such a pretty pussy. Can never get enough of you.”

You clenched around nothing, and heard him groan, signalling that he’d seen it. Without warning, his tongue dipped between your folds and you gasped, pushing your hips back to give him a better angle, before taking him back into your mouth. And it was nothing like it had been two nights before. He wasn’t gentle, or slow, or relaxed. No, Joel was relentless.

His tongue moved rhythmically against you, and you tried desperately to focus, harsh breaths leaving your nose as you moved your mouth lazily along his length. You pulled back and lathed your tongue around the head of him, tasting the salt that dripped out of him. He grunted into you and you smiled, stroking him slowly as you sucked the tip, grinding your tongue into the sensitive skin just underneath his head. Joel’s hips bucked up off the ground, and your hand left his length, gripping his waist firmly to hold him down while you took him into your mouth again. You pushed yourself as far as you could, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed as he brushed the back of your throat. His beard scratched against your inner thighs deliciously, and you decided you loved it a little longer. And then suddenly, his tongue moved away from your clit and he was licking broad strokes along the entirety of your core, and then over your entrance, and then… his tongue flicked all the way back and into new territory.

You flinched forward, his cock surging deeper into your throat and you gagged around him as you explored the new feeling. You moaned, eyes screwing shut at the foreign sensation, and you felt your legs begin to shake against his sides. His hands gripped your hips and pulled you down harder against his face, ruthlessly dragging his tongue back and forth from your clit to your hole, until you were tearing your mouth away him and sitting up, grinding yourself down desperately against his face. Arching your back, you writhed on top of him, crying out hoarsely. Every strong flick of his tongue felt like an electric shock jolting through your body, and he continued until you were panting and twitching on top of him, and then you let go. The orgasm tore through you, a shout falling from your lips as you rode his face, gripping his thighs for leverage as your entire body shuddered with the intensity. He didn’t let up; licking and sucking and kissing, his moans vibrating through your core until you were whimpering and dragging yourself off him, clit aching from the pressure.

You were still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm when Joel pressed your back down onto the carpet, nudged your knees apart so he could fit between them, and pushed himself inside you. A sweet, low burn blazed in your abdomen with every inch he gave to you. The wet sound of you sucking him in might have embarrassed you, but the look of awe on his face as he stared down at where you were connected just made you feel powerful.

His thrusts were strong, the sweaty skin of your thighs smacking against each other noisily filling the air, mixing with your breathless moans of his name.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he was saying, but you weren’t listening, eyes rolling back in your head as he played with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers.

“Fuck, Joel,” you cried out at a particularly hard thrust, stomach tensing as the head of his cock grinded against your g-spot.

“There?” he panted, and you nodded frantically, mouth hanging open as he pressed against it over and over again, groaning at the way you tensed around him.

Urgent sounds left your lips as you felt yourself nearing the edge again, and you watched with wide eyes as his hand trailed down your chest to rest over your mound, his thumb slipping between your folds to press gently against your throbbing clit. Your back arched up from the ground and you choked out a moan as he rubbed you in slow circles, a stark contrast to the way he drilled into you with his cock.  

“Come,” Joel encouraged and you whimpered, eyes screwing shut as the overwhelming feeling soared through you. His free hand landed over your throat and your eyes flew open, looking up at him as he applied soft pressure to the sides of your neck. “C’mon baby, let me have it. I can feel you, you’re so fuckin’ close, give it to me, please, I want it.”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you gasped against his hold, bucking up into him as he fucked you roughly. You twitched and writhed on the ground, his thumb never stopping its movements against your clit as you cried out his name.

And somewhere amidst it all, his movements slowed. His hands turned soft on your body, head dropping down to drag gentle wet kisses along the skin of your neck.  

“So good,” he praised lowly. “So beautiful.” Your heart soared in your chest, and you smiled drowsily, body tingling as he continued to give you gentle thrusts.  

“Kiss me,” you said shyly, and Joel smiled, leaning down to press his lips to yours. You sighed into his mouth, gliding the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip as you draped your heavy arms around his neck, pinning his torso down against yours. “Fuck me like this,” you told him. “Want to feel you close to me.”

He nodded, starting up a slow rhythm, only ever pulling out halfway before pressing back into you. You were both slick with sweat, and you wiped his forehead gently before raking your fingers through his thick messy curls. His face was red from exertion, and you thumbed his cheekbones gently. A heavy sigh fell from your mouth. Still recovering from your previous orgasm, you knew it wouldn’t be hard for him to build you up for another one.

“Give me one more,” he begged, sponging feather light kisses over your eyelids, your cheeks, down your neck. “Want to feel you come with me, baby, please. Just one more, I know you can.”

You gripped his hair and kissed him deeply, your tongues tangling together as he moved his hips slowly, cock dragging in and out of you at a devastating pace. Joel pulled back to watch you, eyes gazing down with adoration as he moved above you. That familiar liquid heat began to burn in your stomach, curling through every fibre of your being, and you could see in his face that he was close. And there was something else there too. Something you couldn’t place; simmering in his eyes, lingering on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said. His hips began to stutter against yours, a choked gasp of your name falling from his lips as he quickened his pace until you were coming together, holding each other tightly on the ground of the ski lodge. He moaned heavily against your mouth, and you throbbed around him as his spend coated your walls, warm and slick, squeezing out around his cock as he moved.

As a low, warm silence filled the room, you worked to control your breathing, body shaking against his as he pulled out of you. You whimpered at the empty feeling, missing the weight of him already. But he didn’t go far.

Joel laid down on the carpet beside you, draping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you into his chest. Your fingers trailed over the skin of his stomach, smiling at the goosebumps that developed in your wake. Mine.

His hand caught yours and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing the back of it gently. You leaned forward to rest your face in the rook of his neck, and he sighed in contentment, trailing his fingers down your back.

“Hey Joel?” you murmured against his skin.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I called you a nasty old bastard.”

Joel laughed and tightened his grip around your back, tugging you closer to his chest. “I forgive you.”

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

[ddejavvu]

hi! I have a request for Criminal Minds…

It’s Dom!Spencer x fem or afab reader where they’re fucking and reader is sooooo gone that she’s not even catching Spencer’s degradations and praises anymore and just says stuff like ,,you’re so pretty,, or sucks his fingers without a single CARE in the world.

IM GOING TO HELL IM SORRY 😭 also, if you happen to do this, can I be “🏹” anon? apologies if you don’t do emoji anons, ignore this if you don’t. Thanks anyway! Love your writing I’m your biggest fan <3

this post is 18+, minors dni.

warning for ooc spence: i get you dom!spencer fans and this one's for you <3 but the man had to ashamedly whisper the word 'bitch' while reading it off of evidence from a crime scene so i don't think this one is really in character 💔💔💔 hopefully it's good though <3

Everything about Spencer is divine. The hair that hands in caramel-colored waves around your face, tips tickling your skin and only offering more stimulation to an already overwhelming experience. His lips, pink and plump that suckle ravenously at your neck, leaving stinging patches in their wake that won't heal for days. His cock, impressively thick and moderately long, stretching your drooling cunt and bumping rapidly against a spot so deep inside of you you're not sure you knew it existed. His fingers, long, slender, and veined, laying heavy on your tongue and putting pressure on its base so that you gag. Drool spills out around his digits as your body shakes from the force of his thrusts, and the gentle, soothing hum of his voice is with you only in sound, not in meaning.

You're too far gone to recognize the words spilling from his lips as he fucks you, terms like 'slut', 'dirty', 'filthy', and 'dumb' that, on a normal day, would send you into a stammering, blushing mess of denial and excuses. But now you're basking in his saccharine tone, letting his words wash over you and evaporate before your fucked-out brain has time to process them.

"Everyone thinks you're a genius," Spencer croons, sucking hard at a spot against your throat as he jams his fingers onto your tongue, "They say I'm lucky to have found you, 'cause you can keep up with me. But I know the truth, angel." He holds your hip in place with a single calloused hand, "You go dumb on my cock. That's all it takes, isn't it? Just a few. short. minutes." He punctuates his accusations with particularly rough thrusts, "And I've got you braindead on my dick."

"Is that true, baby?" He asks, kissing his way up your jaw and tracing the curve with the stiff tip of his tongue. You're whimpering around the three fingers he's stuffed in your mouth, lips desperately milking them like you would his cock. He curls them on your tongue, pressing down so your speech is garbled, "Answer me, honey. You go stupid for me, don't you?"

"Love you," You manage to blabber, drool spilling from your lips as you speak around his fingers. You're a spluttering mess, spit pooled in your mouth that coats Spencer's digits and seeps down your chin. You suckle at him like a man starved, and the pressure actually starts to hurt between the wayward lapping of your tongue at the pads of his fingers, "Love you- Spence, love you."

He feels your cunt clench around his dick, your body seemingly in tune with the single goal of sucking him dry. He muffles a groan into the crook of your neck, wondering if you'll ever remember the filthy way he's speaking to you now.

The words are harsh, but they're used endearingly, and he hums them into your neck with a kiss, like it's a compliment, "Dumb slut."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

[moonstruckme]

hello! I spent a whole day reading your marauder fics and I am obsessed with them and your writing. I was wondering (if you’re still taking requests) if you could write one with poly!marauders with a slytherin!reader where she acts cold and tough with everyone else but turns soft for the boys and they tease her about it but only because they LOVE it.

hope that’s enough! ❤️

Thank you lovely!!

cw: takes place in the infirmary, our poor lovely Jamie is hurt </3

poly!marauders x slytherin!reader ♡ 931 words

“I’m fine.” You stalk down the hallway, batting away the hands of your friends like mosquitos. “I’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt. Sod off.” 

The door to the infirmary opens, a familiar head of black hair peeking out. He says your name. 

Something in you slackens reflexively. “I’ll meet up with you later,” you tell your pursuers, darting inside. 

You find yourself pressed against Sirius’ chest, his hand covering the back of your head protectively. You don’t try to free yourself from the embrace, but you do angle your head on his shoulder, trying to see the bed behind him. 

“Is James okay?” 

“He is,” comes James’ overly upbeat voice, and you finally get a view of him. He’s sitting upright in bed, his right arm in a sling, looking a bit bedraggled but not much worse for wear. You were terrified he’d be all bloody and broken. Remus sits next to him. His brow is all sewn together, worry flying off him in every direction, and you know he’d be right there with Sirius if his hand weren’t so thoroughly attached to James’ knee. You don’t blame him; you’d only been hit, whereas James had been hit and then fallen thirty feet. 

You’d been watching the Slytherin versus Gryffindor quidditch match from the stands when a wayward bludger had flown toward you, catching you in the shoulder and knocking you clean over. You’d been too busy getting your bearings to see what happened next, but reportedly a Slytherin beater (who you will be having some heated words with in the common room later) took advantage of James’ distraction to send another bludger his way. He came completely off his broom, and though Sirius had been quick with a spell to slow his descent, you can’t imagine the impact with the pitch was pleasant.

“Are you okay?” Remus turns your question back around on you. 

You nod your head into Sirius’ shoulder, giving him a fierce squeeze around the middle before wriggling out of his grasp. 

“You didn’t hit your head?” you ask James, stealing a chair from another bed and sitting beside him. You burrow your fingers into his curls to feel for yourself. 

“Nope,” he says, catching your wrist with his uninjured hand and kissing the inside. “I’m good, sweetheart. Just dislocated my shoulder s’all.” 

“S’all?” Your voice is incredulous. You feel your face scrunch woefully as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Jamie, I’m so sorry.” 

His eyebrows fly up. “I don’t see what you’d be apologizing for.” 

You grimace, your good shoulder coming up sheepishly. “I distracted you…” 

“You didn’t ask to take a crack from a bludger,” Remus says, quiet but stern. His eyes dip to your shoulder, where the cursed thing had struck. “Let’s see it.” 

You sigh and pull down the sleeve of your jumper. You hadn’t been expecting it to bruise yet, but the red mark is already starting to darken around the edges. James hisses through his teeth as Sirius rounds you, crouching beside your chair to get a better look. 

“Shit,” he says, frowning as he touches the mark gingerly with the tip of his thumb, “are you sure you haven’t knocked your shoulder out too?” 

“I don’t think so,” you say, somewhat quietly. Being at the center of your boyfriends’ combined concern is a disaster for your nerves; it makes you as timid as a first year. 

James pouts at you, taking the hand closest to him and pressing a wet smooch to your palm. 

“I heard you sniping at your friends in the hallway,” Sirius says. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt, doll.”

You look at him through your lashes, sheepish. “It does,” you admit. 

He and James coo, and you roll your eyes, turning away from them both. 

Remus’ eyebrows pull up in the middle, his gaze gentle on yours. It softens you considerably. “Think you ought to have it looked at?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” James says brightly, “we could match.” 

Remus’ frown deepens at the reminder, his hand rubbing sympathetically at James’ knee. 

“Thanks, but I’m okay.” You give James a weary smile, but his eyes narrow behind his glasses. 

“You want something,” he says. 

You blink. “No, I don’t.” 

He studies you a second longer, then nods. “Yeah you do,” he decides. “Out with it.” 

You blow out a breath, rolling your eyes, but he waits. You can’t quite look at any of them as you say, “I just sort of want a hug.” 

“Aww,” Sirius croons, all but pushing himself into you as he engulfs you in his arms. “The ice queen melts at last, huh?” 

“Don’t tell anyone,” you mumble wryly, and James laughs, giving your fingers a loving squeeze. “Anyway, I’m not the one who wound up in the infirmary.” 

“Only because Jamie’s smart enough to go.” Remus gives you a meaningful look, but there’s enough softness in it to let you know he’s not really cross with you. Still, you muffle your apology into Sirius’ shoulder. 

He holds you tighter. Digs his fingertips greedily into the material of your jumper. 

“Don’t hurt her shoulder,” James says fretfully. 

“I’m not,” Sirius replies, but he loosens his grip a bit. “I’m not, right?” You hum your agreement, and he’s pressing in on you again, biceps flexing. “You’re our lovebug,” he tells you, teasing undercut by an uncharacteristic firmness. “You know you don’t have to be tough around us, yeah?” 

You grasp the tops of his shoulders in response, an affection so huge it pains you rising in your throat. “Yeah,” you say. 

#poly!marauders #slytherin!reader #poly!marauders x slytherin!reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x fem!reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders x y/n #poly!marauders x self insert #poly!marauders fanfiction #poly!marauders fanfic #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders hurt/comfort #poly!marauders drabble #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders blurb #poly!marauders scenario #poly!marauders one shot #poly!marauders oneshot #james potter #james potter x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #marauders x reader

[petcr3]

don't shed no tears | bradley bradshaw x reader

summary: you have a terrible day. bradley has a plan.

word count: 845

warnings: bradley calls the reader my girl, this one is very short lol!

You almost hold it together. 

Really, you almost do.

But your work day seemed determined never to end. Each time you thought you’d gotten on top of what you needed to do, there was a new fire to put out. It was as if everything that could have gone wrong did, and just about everyone you encountered during your day was in a foul mood. 

Even so, you had pushed through frustration after frustration, and finally made it home. It’s your day off tomorrow and you get to spend the rest of your night with your boyfriend. Things are looking up.

Any other day, you would have laughed it off. But when you finally let yourself plop down on the couch that’s flush with your living room wall and bang your head, the dam just breaks. 

The sound of a particularly forceful “motherfucker!” sends Bradley bolting downstairs, and when he sees you crouched forward, your face in your hands, he’s on his knees in front of you in seconds.

“Honey? What happened, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you say miserably.

“You don’t sound fine.” You don’t respond for a moment. The rough pad of his thumb wipes a wayward tear from your cheek. “You’re crying, hun.”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, voice wavering, “I just hit my head.”

“You hit your head?” You want to curl up and wither away. This is so embarrassing. It’s only the worry in his voice that makes you look up.

“Not hard. I just clonked it when I sat down. I’m… I had a really bad day. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” he says softly, “don’t apologize. Not your fault you had a bad day. C’mere.” Bradley leans forward, still kneeling in front of you, and wraps you in his arms. You sag into his embrace, and tears begin to darken the fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks. A little sob works its way out of your chest.

“Not–– not really.” You feel Bradley’s mustache before his lips as he turns to press a kiss to your temple.

“That’s okay,” he coos, “It’s okay.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then: “I have an idea.” 

You aren’t particularly pleased when he gets up, but you don’t have it in you to complain. His footfalls are quiet on the carpet as he pads over to the record player and starts fiddling around.

“What are you doing?” you hazard after a moment.

“I can’t tell you,” he says. “Just hang on a second–– this is gonna be romantic as shit.” You let out a little giggle through your tears, and he grins over his shoulder at you. Leave it to Bradley to make you laugh when all you want to do is crawl into a hole and never come out.

A little flash of blue catches your eye as he finds whatever album he’s been searching for, but you don’t get a good enough look to suss out what it is. Finally, he drops the needle, and you hear the opening notes of No Woman No Cry. The organ plays softly, and you sniffle as a fresh wave of tears hits you. Bradley holds out his hand. 

“Dance with me?” You wipe your eyes and nod, shuffling into his arms. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and draws you in, settling you against his chest with a hand at the nape of your neck. Relief floods through you at the warmth of his touch, the slow and comforting beat of the music, the sway of your bodies.

“I love you,” you mumble into his chest.

“I love you too, baby. I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

“It’s much better now.” That makes him smile. The rest of the song plays out to comfortable silence as you rock back and forth together. It’s a longer cut–– the live version Bradley is playing is a little more than seven minutes–– and eventually, you find that you’re cried out. As the song ends and the crowd on the recording begins to cheer, you tilt your chin up to look at him.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Hey, anything to see my girl smile.” And you do, tilting your head down bashfully. 

As the cheers fade, the next song on the record begins to play and the plucky guitar of Could You Be Loved fills the room. Unable to help himself, Bradley begins to bob along with the rhythm. He withdraws a little from the embrace and takes your hands, bouncing your arms back and forth. You feign a pout, but it’s useless. As usual, Bradley Bradshaw is sunshine, fending off the gathering clouds until all you can see is him. You relent and begin to match his movements and he breaks into a beautiful, enormous grin.

As you dance late into the night, you remember that this is what it’s all about. That no matter how awful your day is, you have someone to come home to that knows, without fail, how to lift you up.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun maverick imagine #tgm imagine #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x you

[doc-pickles]

puck bunny | quinn hughes

summary: you have the perfect halloween costume and Quinn seems to agree

warnings: sexual references

a/n: just a silly little blurb based on the costume I wore this year 😂

enjoy!

xoxo nina

“What the hell are you wearing?”

You grinned as you turned around and took in Quinn’s confused look. He was wearing the other half of your planned couples costume, sporting a pair of overalls and a red cap atop his wayward curls.

“My costume?” You feigned confusion as Quinn stepped toward you.

“That’s not the costume you said you were wearing,” Quinn’s fingers hooked on the bottom of the jersey you wore. “This is… What the fuck are you?”

You giggled as you looked up at Quinn with a mischievous grin, “I’m a puck bunny, duh.”

“A- Oh my god,” Quinn groaned as he smirked at you. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

You toyed with the hem of Quinn’s jersey that you’d paired with black fishnets, a garter belt, and black bunny ears.

“I can change if you want?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Quinn grinned as he stepped toward you. “But I think we might be late for the party…”

“And why’s that?” you chuckled as his hands came to your waist, sliding up the jersey to reveal your lacy panties.

“Because I have a new affinity for puck bunnies,” Quinn groaned against your neck as his lips nipped at the skin there. “I love when you wear my name.”

“Never thought I’d be seduced by someone dressed as Mario,” you giggled as Quinn’s hands ran further up your body. “I guess there’s first time for everything.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #Quinn hughes imagine #nina writes

[zepskies]

Hello! I was wondering... kinda cringy but can I request comparing hand sizes with Soldier boy headcanons

Hey love!! ❤️

Aw, it's not cringey. That's actually really cute! Let me see what I can do for you...

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female Reader Word Count: 500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only on this one, folks! For some smutty musings on those talented fingers.

Headcanon: The way you love Ben's hands.

You love playing with his hair, slipping your fingers through the soft strands.

But you also love his hands.

Despite the pampered lifestyle he led growing up, Ben is a very tactile person. He likes working with his hands.

You like to catch him when he's cleaning his weapons. He takes them apart and puts them back together expertly. His smooth hands and long fingers glide as they polish metal with a small rag.

You like to watch him try and fail to cook, ultimately burning the eggs. You like the way his hands move quick yet awkward with the wooden spoon scraping across the pan.

(He burns the bacon too. "It's better that way, extra fucking crispy," he grumbles, when you tease him.)

You like the strength in his hands, tempered just for you.

When his fingers brush across your cheek. When they graze your arm absently while something plays on TV. When he comes up behind you and rests a heavy hand at the small of your back. Or when they grip your hips and thighs and ass hard enough to bruise.

When those talented fingers tease you, slipping between your legs and finding the source of your pleasure with ease.

Long fingers slowly dipping inside your wet heat, exploring your inner walls with the practiced patience of a man fully familiar with every part of you.

They know where and how and when to twist and curl, making you utter broken gasps of his name and shudder from deep within.

And Ben gets something he loves: the sound of your voice as you come hard on his fingers, and make it known in his ear...

But sometimes, it's just as simple as laying with him in bed, afterwards, holding one of his hands in yours.

Your fingers trace over each and every one of his, noting the differences of his larger hand in your smaller one. You compare them in your mind: both different versions of smooth, his masculine to your slender. His blunt nails to your longer ones.

One night, you even line up your hand against his, like Tarzan and Jane.

His brows furrow. "The hell're you doing?"

A smile tugs at your lips. "Nothing. You've just got huge hands."

He snorts. "I have a man's hands."

You roll your eyes. Right. But your smile deepens when you bring the back of his hand to your lips. You turn it over and press a sweet kiss into his palm, closing your eyes.

Ben tolerates it.

Or so he'd have you believe.

Really, he just watches you as a tendril of warmth plumes in his chest. His lips hint at a smile.

There are wordless moments when he knows you love him.

He'll probably never tell you out right, but times like these are some of the ones he likes most with you.

They stay in his memory long afterwards. And when the darker ones threaten to cloud his day, he pulls these moments out like old photographs, imprinted on his mind.

AN: Hehe, hope you guys like this one! ❤️

Just so you know, there's a longer SB imagine coming soon (either this coming week or next), and it is ✨Angsty.✨ 😅

I'll probably release an interesting one next. Though the request was a bit niche, I really got into it! So I'm hoping you all will enjoy. It includes reactions from Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, and Soldier Boy (Ben)...

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List:

@melancholictearz @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman

@iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore

@agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @solo-pitstop-vibes @dope-trope-105 @liuope @beautyvaliant @xxlaynaxx @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @tmb510 @iamsapphine @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @lacilou

#ask me stuff #soldier boy #the way you love his hands #comparing hand sizes #soldier boy headcanon #smuttish #fluff #Soldier Boy imagine #soft!Ben #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #zepskies answers

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : Diasomnia

Gender Neutral Reader x Diasomnia vs. Prince Stefan Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Diasomnia Version

ie. Wherein Malleus invites you along to Briar Valley's Festival of Roses and Sebek drives you to near insanity. Thankfully (?) getting lost in the chaos means you meet another wayward soul.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

“I don’t think Sebek likes me very much,” you sighed.

“Oh?” Malleus blinked, clearly a bit thrown by the sudden accusation. “What would make you think that?”

Your glare swiveled pointedly to a sharp bolt of green just barely poking out from behind one of the many dilapidated pillars. Sebek’s yellow eyes slowly rose up with the rest of him, and the half-fae glowered at you like a pissy tomcat.

Malleus’s brilliant, neon, gaze slowly tracked yours, and when it met with his Knight’s startled gaping, his brow furrowed in annoyance. His irritated scowl was always a bit hard to read. Was he being pouty? Murderous? Both? Hell if you knew.

“I see,” he sighed after a moment, long suffering.

You just hummed in grumpy agreement as Sebek tried to duck back down behind the debris.

You and Malleus had clicked from the get-go. Perhaps it was because he’d never really had a friend before, and you were far too stupid and naïve about the rules of this new world to understand anything about the implications behind that. The Fae Prince was easy company—he was smart, with a dry, oblivious sort of humor that could leave you in stitches. His ensuing confusion about why you were laughing was always a surefire way to get you laughing harder. You enjoyed his company immensely, and you liked to think that he enjoyed yours enough in turn that perhaps your fleeting humanity had left at least a teensy impression on his near-immortal soul. Or, you know, whatever. At the very least, you were a semi willing student for his nightly architecture lectures, and you knew that at least put you in better standing than, say, Leona.

So when you received a personal summons to the Briar Valley’s Festival of Roses—hand delivered by the Crown Prince himself—you were over the moon.

“You seemed interested in our customs,” Malleus had explained. “And seeing as I invaded your home over the Halloween festivities, it only seems right that this time I extend you the invitation into mine.”

You agreed enthusiastically, because hell-fucking-yes you wanted to see all the mystical, magical, mumbo-jumbo that this world had to offer. Sure, you were trapped here for an indefinite amount of time, but you would be damned if you let the only cool part of any of that miserable uncertainty go to waste.

“Is there anything I should know?” you asked, fighting the urge to bop around the carriage like a toddler on a sugar high. Because that’s how you were travelling. In an honest-to-goodness horse drawn carriage. (Or, well, magic drawn or something.) “So that I don’t embarrass any of you or anything, I mean.”

Lilia was smirking over at you with a kind of fond amusement that you assumed meant he’d picked up on your rabid excitement from a mile away. Your vibrating was probably shaking his seat. Occasionally his wine-red irises would flick to Malleus, and that smirk would curl into something sharper, something mischievous.

“Humans aren’t too common to see,” Malleus said, with the same, odd sort of tension about him that had rocketed through his too-tall frame the moment you’d climbed into the seat beside him. “But they are not entirely unfamiliar either. You should be treated fairly.”

Your horned friend had been strangely silent throughout most of this journey. The weirdest part was that he seemed absolutely determined to stare out the window—head turned at a sharp angle, his hands clasped neatly in his lap and shoulders pulled so stiff and straight that he could have been one of the gargoyles that he so loved. And for someone who usually made far too much eye contact, the lack of acknowledgement was a bit unnerving.

“You’ll be more than fine as you are,” Lilia translated, the points of his fangs peeking out from behind his grin. “And I can promise you that any guest of Malleus’s will be welcomed with open arms.”

Malleus continued his resolute stare down with the glass and Lilia snickered into his palm. Sebek made a strangled noise from his seat across from you. He hadn’t been particularly vocal thus far about his disapproval of your inclusion (you doubted Sebek had it in him to openly question any decision of Malleus’s), but the look of complete and utter dismay twisting his face was telling enough.

You leaned in and prodded Malleus gently in the side.

“I won’t be, like, executed or something if someone hears me call you ‘Tsunotarou,’ will I?”

Sebek squawked and there was a sudden strike of lightning just outside the carriage window that rattled the entire coach with an echoing boom.

“No,” Malleus said emphatically, his lime-green glower zeroing in on you for the first time since this entire venture began. “No one will touch you, no matter what indiscretions they may think to assume you guilty of.”

“But, young master!—” Sebek started to argue. “The impropriety of—” he spluttered. “To even think thatyou could be addressed as—as that is—"

“No,” Malleus repeated, nearly a growl, and another bolt of bright static lit the window. The electricity seemed to linger in the air long after the flash had faded, like a little, rippling, current running the edge of its teeth along your skin. “And this will be the last it is discussed.”

The terrible, quiet, tension that followed was broken by a snuffling snore as Silver shifted, his head flopping from where it’d been pressed against the wooden paneling to instead land with a heavy thwump against Lilia’s shoulder.

“How… How did he sleep through all that?” you asked in awe.

Lilia sighed, affectionate, and reached out to ruffle a clawed hand through Silver’s hair. “He’s so special~”

.

.

You knew that Malleus was royalty and blablabla, but you hadn’t really anticipated all the things that came with that. The castle? Yes. Totally made sense. The entire entourage of servants that appeared to whisk away your bags? Also rational. Sorta cool, and definitely made you feel a bit too much like a celebrity, even if you understood the need for such protocol.

Malleus also immediately being whisked away?

Now that… That you hadn’t really considered.

“I’ll meet back with you as soon as I can,” he promised. Lilia and Silver had already vanished down a separate winding hallway, and the prospect of being left all alone in this gargantuan foyer was just short of terrifying. “There are some final preparations for the Festival that I am required to oversee personally.” And then there was another moment where Malleus resolutely refused to meet your gaze, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say it was almost like he was being coy. But it passed quickly enough and instead he cast a pointed glare towards his subordinate. “Sebek can show you around in the meantime. He’s a more than capable guard.”

You looked at Sebek and Sebek looked at you.

Uh-oh.

“How long will that take?” you asked, hoping it didn’t sound as whiny as it felt. But, like, come on. This was basically the human equivalent of your friend inviting you to come visit for the holidays and then immediately dumping you with their weird aunt and the dog that never really learned not to pee on the carpet.

“Only until the evening,” he assured, like it wasn’t just barely past ten in the morning—like eight-plus whole ass hours was really no time at all. And to be fair, for him it probably really wasn’t. But for you and your very mortal panic, it immediately felt like you were facing down eternity. You didn’t know what your face was doing, but whatever it was, it made Malleus’s brow scrunch up in concern. “Will that be alright?”

“Of course,” you lied, like a good guest. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

He smiled that small, slanted, smile of his that always looked just a touch too sharp at the corners. And then he was gone, and it was just you and Sebek.

“So,” you tried. “Do you know what any of that was about?”

“LORD MALLEUS’S PRINCELY RESPONSIBILITIES ARE NONE OF YOUR CONCERN, HUMAN!” Sebek barked, crossing his arms sternly across his chest. “IF THE YOUNG MASTER DID NOT SEE FIT TO INFORM YOU, THEN I SEE NO REASON WHY I SHOULD EITHER!”

You groaned and valiantly fought the urge to drop your head into your hands.

.

.

“Don’t touch that, human!”

“How dare you—you’re going to embarrass the young master!”

“Human! Don’t you dare!”

“Human!”

“HUMAN!”

You were going insane. You couldn’t blink without Sebek snarling at you about impropriety, and the fact that your very presence in this castle was a failing of tradition itself. You tried to ask about the Festival and were immediately shut down. You inquired politely if there was anything you could do to help, only to be told firmly that silly little humans weren’t good for anything and to keep your nose out of it. You asked to use the bathroom and your stupid, mortal, bladder was cursed within an inch of its life.

“It would have been easier not to bring you at all,” Sebek grumbled for the thousandth time as he grouchily led you through rows of decorative stalls.

“I am aware,” you grit out, grinding your molars.

“I still can’t understand it,” he rambled. “No matter how many times Master Lilia explains it to me, you—this—it defies all logic!”

“Friendship isn’t always logical,” you bit back, firm. Because that is what you were, right? Friends? And then, because you were angry and wanted to hit him where it hurt— “You know, if Malleus is so willing to sully himself by keeping someone as lowly and stupid as me as his friend, maybe that’s a sign that the other company he’s forced to keep is less than ideal.”

Sebek puffed up like a rooster in a cock fight and turned on you with a snarl.

“How dare you presume to call yourself the Young Master’s friend!” The corners of his lips curled down over jagged canines. “At best you’re a pet—something that’ll long outlast its welcome before you eventually wither away and die.”

Annnnd you had officially reached your allocated tolerance of Anti-Human-Bullshit for the day.

So when Sebek was caught up in another one of his longwinded tirades, you slipped into the gap between two of the Festival stalls and out the other side. The silence was immediate and like a balm against your sore hide.

There was something about Sebek that made you think he didn’t really mean all those things he spouted. Occasionally there was a kind of disquiet in his yellow gaze, especially when he ranted angrily about the shortcomings of his very human father. The green-haired fae was far from subtle, and you had a feeling that all his huffing and puffing was probably to hide something… else. Something more uncertain and small that he downright refused to address. Because humans were weak, and short-lived, and chaotic. And he would have to face that sooner or later. With Silver. With his own parent. And hating that humanity was no doubt easier than loving and losing it.

That being said, his prickly behavior still made you want to punt his head like a spiky, green, football. So.

You wandered around aimlessly through the intricate maze of market stalls and booths. Despite the perpetually grey cloud cover, everyone here was so cheerful. And Lilia was right—no one seemed to give two shits about your very human eyes, and face, and stature. It was really nice. You spent so long strolling through the rows that you barely even noticed when the sky began to darken and the crowds thinned as you approached the outskirts. There was an ominous roll of thunder in the distance, but you didn’t think too much of it. The clouds looked ready to open up any second. It was probably just a bit of rain.   

There was a little, makeshift, dirt pit at the edge of the stalls, and you observed it curiously. It was ringed with colorful, triangular, flags, and the inner crater was lined with archery targets and wooden sparring dummies. It reminded you a bit of those competition fields in Renaissance Fairs.

However, so enraptured by these painted planks were you that you wound up crashing headfirst into a wall of crimson, and immediately plummeted towards the ground. But then a strong arm was around your waist, twirling you back to your feet. And boy was it a twirl—like you were being swung around into an entire waltz. It left your head spinning worse than if whoever-it-was had just let you faceplant into the dirt.  

“Wow, ow. Your head is way harder than it looks. Ouch. My poor ribs.”

You immediately moved to apologize, but were caught off guard by a pair of softly rounded ears peeking out from beneath mused, brown, hair. Another human. Like you. You blinked a few times, not entirely sure why the idea of another mortal gallivanting around the Festival was so surprising. You fought what would no doubt look like an insanely creepy urge to lean closer and get a better look at his face, just to make sure—to check if his canines were blunted, if his pupils were round and soft rather than narrow slashes of black. There was another low rumbling of thunder, closer this time. It was followed by a sharp crack of lightning that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“Sorry about that,” you finally managed to eke out, vision still a bit swirly.

“It’s alright. It didn’t actually hurt that badly,” your victim chuckled, cordial, and set you back on your feet. It was a very lovely chuckle—deep and warm, like melting, dark, chocolate. “Are you alright? You look a little dazed.”

“I think so—” you began, before accidentally putting a bit too much weight onto your left ankle. It twinged painfully and you winced. Immediately that hand was back at your shoulder, keeping you balanced. “Or maybe not.”

“I guess my head is still harder than yours after all,” Mister Brunette mused to himself.

“I don’t think your head twisted my ankle,” you mumbled, confused.

He tossed his head back with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but notice that he had very lovely cheekbones. Not as sharp as Malleus’s maybe, but still perfectly proportioned to the rest of his very well-cut face.

“What are you doing all the way out here? Are you lost too?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you hummed, glancing around at the semi-familiar layout. You couldn’t really tell if you recognized the little stalls because you’d seen them before, or if it was just because they were standard make and all looked more or less the same. “…Probably.”

“We can be allies in idiocy then,” he snorted pleasantly, and reached out with his other hand to double up on helping you better maintain the balance that you so clearly did not possess.

“Does this new ally have a name?” you asked, still a bit dizzy.

“Stefan,” he grinned—all white teeth and charisma. “After my great-great-great—” He paused for a moment, as if considering, “great-great-grandfather.”

He laughed merrily at whatever disgruntled face you were pulling.

“Yeah. I guess it is all a bit pretentious,” he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But that’s just the way it is back home—for my family, at the very least. Lots of tradition this, and lineage that.”

“Oh?” you hummed. “Sounds stifling.”

“It is! I mean, it’s practically the 14th century now,” he laughed, and you genuinely could not tell if he was being serious. “I’m always telling my father it’s time to get with the times, you know?”

For a moment, you were reminded so strongly of Malleus and his general dissociation with the modern world that it was almost startling.

“And you?”

“Me?” you blinked.

He laughed. “Your name? If you don’t mind me inquiring, of course.”

You gave it freely. Lilia had cautioned you once upon a time about something-something-power-in-a-name, but Lilia wasn’t here right now. And it’s not like you were anyone special enough that your name could mean much of anything to begin with. Maybe, if they were lucky enough, someone could use it as an incantation to summon a hungry racoon from the sewers.

Stefan repeated it merrily, with the same inflection one may use when telling a fantastical tale to friends in a tavern. No ravenous racoons spawned from the trees when he said it, so you assumed the whole ‘power’ thing was probably safe.

Another flash of emerald lit the sky—this strike was larger, louder. Like dozens of branches unfurling from a rotting tree, or clawed fingers digging their way through the clouds. The roar of thunder that followed almost seemed to shake the ground. Stefan frowned up at the black clouds.

“It was already starting to get late anyways, but the weather is really starting to turn, huh?” he hummed and tapped at his chin, pensive. “And I can’t just leave you all the way out here—especially knowing that you’ve got a bum ankle. Hmm…” More tapping. And then his hazel eyes lit up like firebugs. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

“A horse?” you repeated, confused.

“Helios,” he smiled, bright as the sun. “He’s my best friend. And, well, also my trusty steed. He’s just over in the contestant’s stables. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind giving you a lift.”

Riding back into the heart of the Festival on horseback sounded like something that would absolutely give Sebek at least two separate heart attacks. But before you could voice your skepticism, Stefan was rushing off—his crimson cape swirling behind him in the wind.

“I’ll be right back!”

You slouched against a pillar with a sigh, shifting as much of your weight off your ankle as you could manage. You wondered if Malleus had finished his Pre-Festival duties. You wondered if Sebek had realized you’d disappeared yet. Surely even he wasn’t that oblivious. You wondered if he was panicked at all—if not for you, then for his Lord’s inevitable wrath at the misplacement of a favored ‘pet.’

“Well, well. There you are, little one.”

You jolted in surprise and immediately curled back into yourself with a pained hiss. Goddamned ankle—

“Lilia,” you gaped. “Jesus fucking—don’t dothat.”

The Fae shot you a wicked grin from his place floating overhead, angled just-so so that it looked like he was dangling upside-down from the wooden signage across the top of an empty stall. But you knew better. He was bouncing around on his magic and his magic alone.

“How did you end up all the way out here?” Lilia hummed, slipping from his ‘perch’ to land gracefully at your side. His wine-red eyes roved over you from head to toe. It felt like you were being filleted. “And you’ve gone and hurt yourself on top of everything. Goodness,” he sighed, bone-deep and weary. “I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to deal with another one of Malleus’s tantrums this evening. And yet, here you are. Being so careless.” Another sigh, nearly a groan. “What am I going to do with you, hmm?”

“It’s not like it was my fault!” you spluttered, even though it had definitely been your fault.

Lilia gave you a look.

“Either way,” he continued, voice lilted in that indulgent way that reminded you far too much of a parent trying and failing to discipline a wayward child, “let’s get you back before he blows the entire market away.”

Then, Stefan called your name and the fond expression on Lilia’s face immediately flattened into something so pointedly blank it was almost unsettling. Your new friend came trotting forward, a lovely and large silver dun horse at his side. Helios, you assumed. The gigantic beast caught sight of Lilia and slid to a standstill, rearing up with a panicked whinny as he backpedaled. Stefan twisted his hands into the reins and ran a hand along the horse’s neck—shushing and placating the startled animal. After a moment, Stefan managed to calm Helios enough to keep him from bolting, and he turned on Lilia with wide eyes.

“Lord Vanrouge,” Stefan said, angling his head in what you assumed was deference. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.”

“Nor I you,” Lilia hummed, that impassive expression remaining firmly in place. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Prince Stefan? We were informed that you and your family wouldn’t be arriving until the day after next.” A pause. The silence felt louder than anything Lilia had said up to that point. “If at all.”

“Prince?” you choked, turning on the brunette with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Whoops?” Stefan shrugged, looking sheepish. “And I—well… I just wanted to get a look at everything. Beforehand.”

“Of course,” Lilia droned. “Either way. You’ll have to excuse us.” The Fae slide one hand beneath your knees and the other around the small of your back, and hauled you into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. “We have a pressing appointment to keep.”

With that, the world seemed to tilt on its axis as the environment melted together like splotches of watercolor paint all running together at the bottom of a page. You’d never been teleported before. You’d seen Malleus and Lilia pop in and out of existence plenty of times, but being dragged through the fabric of time and space alongside him was jarring, and the journey left you feeling nauseous and loopy all over again.

It took you a moment to realize that the universe had stopped spinning, and that the plush material beneath your palms felt an awful lot like the duvet on the bed in your guestroom. You opened your eyes slowly, cautiously, to see Lilia had placed you neatly by your pillows and had already moved away to start fretting over your swollen ankle instead.

“I never thought I would have to lecture you on the dangers of talking to strangers,” he tutted, though it wasn’t entirely playful.

“I didn’t know he was a Prince,” you complained, wincing when he prodded clinically at your stinging flesh. “I just thought he was, I don’t know, some guy.” You fought and failed the urge to fidget—fingers nervously meshing together in your lap. “…I didn’t cause an international incident or anything, did I…?” You had no idea how any of this royalty stuff worked. But you could put two-and-two together well enough to understand that the personal guest of one crowned prince mowing down a different prince was probably not looked upon very highly.

Lilia leaned forward to pat your head, some of his usual mischief working its way back into his expression.

“Not to worry, Prefect,” he smiled. “I doubt any wars have been declared over your transgressions.”

There was another roar of thunder and the castle itself seemed to tremble. The bay windows lining the wall opposite you were lit entirely in a sharp flash of lime green. Once the wicked brightness of the lightning had faded into something less blinding, you could make out dozens of hairline cracks racing up the glass panes.

Lilia sighed, looking for the first time like someone who was very acutely feeling the weariness of his hundreds upon hundreds of lifespans. “Well, not yet, at least.”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #Heroes vs. Villains #twisted wonderland OCs #twst ocs #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Silver twst #Sebek Zigvolt #Lilia Vanrouge #Diasomnia x Reader #Malleus x Yuu #Heroes vs Villains Diasomnia Part 1

[redrose10]

Here is Chapter 13! Yoongi gets in his feelings. Comedic Yoongi also makes an appearance. I was struggling with the ending of this chapter so I don’t know what happened there. As always comments and messages are appreciated, even if I don’t answer. Next chapter will hopefully be out some time early next week.

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word count: 3,268

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Tag list: @gimeow @kam9404 @viankiss @baechugff @gaby-93 @kayleefriedchicken @igot7fairlyoddparents @jalexad @drrookie

Once back inside you kicked off your shoes and walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a quick snack. You wanted to discuss more of his plan, but Yoongi told you that it was late and you were both exhausted and should get some sleep. You agreed and decided to talk it out in the morning instead.

Making the walk back to your room you stopped when you heard someone clear their throat. When you turned around Yoongi was standing there awkwardly shifting from side to side.

“Can I help you?”, you asked with a smirk.

“Um well uh yeah I was wondering if you wanted to come sleep in my room with me. Only if you want to. You don’t have to. I’d understand if you didn’t I just thought maybe you-.”

You had heard enough and began walking towards his room letting yourself in. He followed closely behind feeling like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Lying in his bed with the faint scent of his familiar cologne still lingering within the bedding made your skin tingle. You thought back to the only times the two of you shared a bed together. Your honeymoon and the cabin and it hadn’t ended well either time. You hoped that things would be different this time.

Once he finished up his nighttime routine Yoongi joined you in bed shortly after. He seemed nervous which you decided was the perfect time for a little payback before going to sleep. Turning over to face him you quickly wrapped your arms around his midsection pulling yourself as close to him as you could possibly get. You had to stifle a giggle when you felt his entire body tense up.

“What Mr. Womanizer Cheating Asshole is suddenly nervous?”, you jokingly asked while toying with the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Come on Yoongi. It’s just little ol’ me.”, you continued while running your hand up and down his thigh. You inched your hand closer and closer between placing kisses on his neck. The spot just below his ear elicited a moan on his part which he quickly tried to cover up with a cough, but you knew what you heard.

You could tell he was starting to get worked up just like you wanted. As his body started to relax a little he got a little braver and slowly reached up through your shirt. His hand started on your lower back before moving around inching closer and closer to your chest.

You continued to lightly tease him a little watching as his chest began to to rise and fall rapidly in anticipation. You knew he was reaching the point of no return when he grabbed onto your hips trying to pull you on top of him. As much as you wanted to let him and continue this you opted to instead move forward with your initial intentions. Swiftly you pulled away and turned the opposite direction stretching and faking a long yawn, “Wow suddenly I am just so tired. It was a really long day. Don’t you agree? I think we should just go to sleep.”

Curled up in a ball you smiled to yourself as you heard Yoongi shift uncomfortably next to you. You gasped in surprise when you felt two hands grip your hips quickly pulling you across the bed. You were lying flush against him when he placed a kiss to the back of your neck before snuggling his face into you.

“Well played Y/N. Well played.”

You chuckled before allowing yourself to fall into a deep sleep.

The next morning you woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon. Yoongi greeted you in the kitchen placing a mug of tea in front of you before turning back to the stove and finishing up the omelette he was working on. After all the food was set down on the table you began eating enjoying the meal in front of you.

A knock at the door interrupted you two and Yoongi went to see who was there. You were pleased to see Jimin walking in with Jin and Yoongi following not far behind.

“I missed you. I have so much to tell you.”, Jimin said giving you a hug.

“Oh not as much as I do I bet.”, you quipped in return.

Yoongi poured two more cups of coffee and the four of you sat at the table to come up with a plan.

Yoongi began, “The only way to handle Suri is to beat her at her own game. That means lying and deceiving.” Everyone nodded in agreement.

He continued, “So we are all going to continue as if we have no idea that she is lying. I’m going to tell Suri that Y/N knows about the baby and is moving out. She will go live with Jimin for the time being. Suri will move in here.”

This must’ve been what Yoongi meant by you’re not going to like his plan you thought. You could feel your blood already begin to boil, “What the hell? Absolutely not. I can’t believe you Yoongi. If you want to keep sleeping with her then just say so. There’s no need to go through all this trouble then, but I’m not going to sit around any more and pretend like it’s okay.” You weren’t expecting to have an outburst like that first thing in the morning.

Yoongi reached out across the table taking your hand in his, “Y/N, I promise nothing will happen with her. You are right. If I wanted to I could just keep sleeping with her and not put any of us through this, but I don’t want that. I want this to be over and finally be behind me. I know it’s tough and I deserve your anger and uncertainty, but you need to trust me on this.”

You stared at him afraid you might say something you’ll regret later. You wanted to believe him and he made a valid point, but there was still that tiny part of you that was struggling with whether or not you could fully trust him.

Thankfully Jin spoke next to move the conversation along.

“It’s a known fact that Suri has a thing for handsome rich idiots as in exhibit A.”, he said pointing at Yoongi who rolled his eyes at his friend cracking jokes at his expense. “So luckily I happen to know quite a few of them and have managed to persuade one to come along with our plan.”

Jin placed a photo on the table and you immediately recognized the person staring back at you.

“How do you know Kim Woo-Sung?”, you asked hoping your voice didn’t shake.

“I’ve represented him a few times. We needed someone we could trust, but not someone so close to our usual friends circle that Suri would be suspicious. I think Woo-Sung will be a perfect fit for the job.”, Jin replied.

Yoongi cleared his throat, “Try not to get any drool on the table Y/N.”

You realized you’d been staring at the photo just a little too long which caused Yoongi to be a little jealous. He was now second guessing their choice in accomplice.

Yoongi took control of the conversation once more.

“So I’ll ask Suri to come over saying that I just told Y/N about the baby and that she’s currently packing and moving out. When Suri gets here Y/N and I will get in an argument again so that it’s believable and Suri can here us with her own ears. Then Y/N will storm off and go to Jimin’s. Suri can move in shortly after.”

Yoongi started to shift uneasily which meant something was about to happen that you wouldn’t like.

Jin took control of the meeting and began, “Now we can’t just immediately plant Woo-Sung because Suri will get suspicious if things move too quickly. So for the time being until we get Woo-Sung involved Yoongi will have to act normal. Meaning he’ll have to talk to Suri like nothing is wrong and spend time with her alone. I’m thinking we should wait about a month to bring in Woo-Sung.”

The thought of Yoongi sleeping in the same home as Suri made your skin crawl. You still didn’t 100% trust him and you didn’t trust her as far as you could throw her.

“Y/N I promise nothing will happen between her and I. I am only going to see her as much as I absolutely have to. Please you have to trust me.”, Yoongi begged.

Jin hurried and changed the subject, “So I’ve already contacted Namjoon and made him aware as well. He’s agreed to play along and not say anything. Now as far as the Woo-Sung situation, we’ll have him and Y/N come over one night while Yoongi isn’t here under the guise that Y/N needs to grab a few of her things. Woo-Sung and Y/N will pretend to be having some sort of a relationship which will surely peak the interest of Suri. He will be wearing a hidden recorder while he tries to coax as much information out of Suri as he can while Y/N is in her room packing. Now hopefully we can get what we need in one shot, but this might take more than one meeting and we can’t rush it.”

“Okay and what are we going to do with this recording once we have it?”, you asked.

“We threaten exactly what she did. We’ll go to the media.” Yoongi advised.

“Okay and how would that hurt her other than some embarrassment? I mean it’s not like she own me a company or anything like Yoongi. There’s not much for her to lose.”, you asked.

“Well Suri doesn’t, but the rest of her family does. Her dad owns Bangtan Records. Her brother owns BigHit Realtors which is one of the top realtor companies in the country, and her mom is co-founder of Suga Sweets , a very popular bakery chain. Her grandparents and cousins all own various businesses and are prominent people. Suri has always kind of been the black sheep of her family. She never did much other than get by on her looks and her ability to scam people. Her parents are already pretty embarrassed of her. If it gets out that she’s lying and deceiving people like this, black mailing Yoongi all these years and even using her own unborn baby as a means of blackmail then her family’s businesses would suffer and she’ll finally be blacklisted from her family for sure. She won’t want to do that especially since I have cut her off so she’ll need daddy’s money to survive. Once she knows that we have evidence that could ruin her she’ll backdown.”, Yoongi said. You were still suspicious, but decided to trust the process.

After hashing out a few more of the smaller details you felt like you had a solid plan. You and Yoongi said your goodbyes and returned back to the living room plopping down on the couch.

“You know, I really don’t like this plan of yours. Things are just starting to work between us and I’m really worried this is gonna mess everything up.”

Yoongi turned slightly so he could face you.

“Y/N, I know I messed up a lot in the past. I promise you that I am no longer that person. Especially not with someone like Suri. We’re not even going to sleep in the same room. I have to go out of town for like a week anyways go we have that factor too. Just please give me a chance.”

You nodded before resting back against the couch with your head on his shoulder.

He continued, “And do you think I like the idea of you pretending to have a thing going on with Woo-Sung? I saw the way you looked at him.”

“I mean he is really really beautiful.”, you said playfully.

You heard Yoongi scoff before he turned his head to look out the window. His face turning slight shade of red. He began bouncing his knee signaling his agitation.

“Hey are you okay? I was only kidding about Woo-Sung.”, you asked.

When you didn’t get a response you gently pulled his face to look at you and that’s when you noticed the tears in his waterline threatening to spill.

“Yoongi why are you so upset? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Wiping away at the tears that broke free he took a deep breath.

“I know. It’s just I know you could do 100 times better than me. I feel so guilty for everything I put you through because I didn’t want to grow up and face my demons. I can’t help but think about how much happier you’d be with someone like Woo-Sung or Taehyung or even Jimin. I know we’re working on things and this is all my fault anyways, but I’m so afraid to lose this. For the first time in a long time I wake up happy and excited for the day. I go to sleep relaxed and peaceful. I don’t feel as angry or depressed any more. And that’s all because of you and I’m so scared I’m going to mess it up. For once in my life I just want to feel like something other than a failure.”

You sat there watching him wipe away the tears. It pained you to see him breakdown like this.

Leaning over you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him to lie down on your chest as he continued to sniffle.

You placed a kiss to the top of his head and softly rubbed his back in circles.

“Yoongi, I don’t 100% trust you and you can’t blame me for feeling that way, but I do see everything you’re doing. I just need time to make sure that you’ve changed before I fully let my guard down. But that doesn’t mean that I’m just going to up and leave at the tiniest thing. I mean I’ve stuck around this long.”

His breathing started to balance out.

“Plus I did sign a contract so I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to anyways.”, you said getting a chuckle out of Yoongi.

You let him calm down and relax some more before standing up and grabbing his hand to pull him down the hall to his bedroom. He sat down on the bed curious as to what you were up to. After returning from his closet you handed him a pair of black slacks and a pink button down shirt, one of your favorites on him.

“Here put these on and meet by the front door in like twenty minutes. You are taking me out to lunch for some sushi and then we’re going to get some ice cream and then we’re going to go shopping because I need a new suitcase for when I storm out of here and go live with Jimin.”

You went to walk out of the room when Yoongi grabbed your wrist pulling you into him.

“You know I really like this new side of you.”, he whispered against your neck.

You pushed him flat against the bed before getting on top straddling his hips. Placing kisses along his jaw as your hands roamed his chest. You felt his hands grab at your hips pushing you down onto him at which point you smirked before giving him one final kiss on the lips and hopping off the bed chuckling at the way he made grabby hands for you.

“Get dressed Yoongi. I’m starving.”

“How many times are you going to do that to me?”, he asked.

“As many as it takes for me to feel like you’ve suffered enough.”, you giggled watching him dramatically slide onto the floor after your rejection.

“Alright. Give me like thirty minutes. I’m gonna need a cold shower.”

“Mmhm sure Yoongi. Whatever gets you out the door.”

You guys had a late lunch followed by some very tasty ice cream and then topped the day off with some shopping. All you really wanted was some new luggage that you didn’t even really need but you figured it was the least he could do. He insisted though on buying more and more. Every time you stopped to look at something he’d already hand it to the store associate before you could stop him. The next thing you know you’re walking into your room with multiple bags overflowing with clothes and jewelry.

“You know, once this whole thing is over we can move all of your stuff into the closet in my room. It’s big enough to fit everything”, Yoongi said taking the final bag and placing it on the closet floor.

“Yeah, you mean I don’t have to be banished to the spare bedroom anymore?”, you smiled before flopping down onto the bed. He flopped down next to you seconds later.

“Only when you’ve been a bad girl.”

You rolled your eyes before breaking out into a giggle fit.

After a few minutes of silence you heard the familiar ding of his phone going off. He pulled it out of his pocket before reading over the text message.

He looked at you and gave tight lip smile.

“Jin said that Woo-Sung has been filled in on everything and is ready to go. Jin’s saying we should put the plan into motion in about a week.”

Yoongi typed a quick response before putting the phone back in his packet and lying back next to you.

“I’m nervous Yoongi. What if this doesn’t work? Or what if it makes everything worse?”

“It’ll be okay Y/N. I won’t let her make it worse. We have the proof the baby is not mine and honestly at this point I don’t care what she does any more. She can go to the media and say whatever she wants about me. If it comes down to it I’ll sell everything and we’ll move out to the countryside. I’ll become a sheep farmer or something if I have to.”

You snorted at the thought of Yoongi in dirty overalls trying to herd a group of sheep through a muddy field.

“Have you ever even set foot on a farm? I don’t think Valentino makes farm clothes.” you asked trying to control your laughter.

“No, but I can learn. How hard could it be?”

“I mean pretty hard. It’s a lot of work.”

There was a long pause where you mulled over his story.

“I’m thinking Petunia.”, he said suddenly.

“What?”, you asked extremely confused.

“The first sheep I get, I’m gonna name her Petunia.”

“Okay Yoongi. Whatever you say, but let’s not go buying any farms just yet.”, you chuckled.

He smiled, “We should get some sleep. It’s getting pretty late.”

“Your bed or mine?”, you asked before grabbing a nightshirt from the dresser.

“Let’s stay here tonight. Your bed is smaller than mine which means less space between us.”, he said wiggling his eyebrows.

After an overly dramatic sigh you agreed much to the pleasure of your husband.

You got in the bed next to him feeling his arms quickly wrap around you.

“What about Sweet Pea or Woolfred?”

“Yoongi, are you seriously still naming your imaginary sheep?”

“Ohhh what about Sir Reginald McFluffers the third?”

“Yoongi go to sleep or you won’t even have to wait for me to storm out and go sleep at Jimin’s. I’ll do it right now.”

You felt him chuckle against your shoulder.

“Alright, good night Y/N.”

“Good night Yoongi.”

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #cinnamon&vanilla #min yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi au #yoongi fluff #kim seokjin #jimin #bts fic #ceo au #arranged marriage au

[joannasteez]

stay, please

pairing: roman reigns x blackreader warning: ANGST.. smut . explicit descriptions! so minors please do not interact! word count: 10k ... now that we found love, what are we gonna do, with it? ...

all that time ago, when you'd first met him, your acknowledgement of roman was flimsy, a shell of nothing, but the simple words and pretty smiles made him run warm all the same. "my tribal chief", you'd say, airy and teasing, void of awe. he was big and strong, hubris making him this mountain of a man, but he was just that, nothing more than a man, and you'd seen enough men to know that they did not differ much. they groaned in time with their irritations, made their problems yours. lusted wild and unapologetically. they demanded everything, in their time, in their way, and gave what little that they wanted. and roman reigns, the tribal chief, was no different. 

his eyes, suggestive and sharp, had taken to the fit of your ring gear easily. the shaping of the fabrics in places and in others, the lack thereof, pulling his interest till his fixations melted something warm and devious into your skin. he'd approach you wolf like, this stalking pace as if to circle prey. grinning amused. "i think you can do better than that for me. a little more enthusiasm".

and he was a tower then, still is now, strides long, full of leisure. your eyes peered from under the fan of your lashes, indulging the domineer of his presence with the coyness of good prey. you'd done well to make the game, the chase, or whatever this was for him, at least somewhat entertaining if not completely so. 

you'd indulged. leaned into the mass of him, one small step forward after another till the air had no choice but to be shared between the both of you. a finger lifting to trace faint over the lettering of his shirt. and it'd taken everything not to fall then, not to give in to the pull of him, like some small wayward celestial object fighting against the orbit of a great star. the heady note of his smell, the strong comfort of his warmth, the height of him, the sure soft ways his eyes drifted over you, like he'd just known without complete expression of words or deeds that you were his. 

your touch had turned more firm then, from one finger to your palm, slipping down till it played at his abs. and a grin had curled, amused now too, feeling the rushing in his blood. "i can be a whole lot better for you, you gotta earn that though".

but your words, so teasing and strong then, built firm and made off your tongue to last, were not as reliable as you'd thought they'd be, for the gravity of him was this overwhelming thing. and before the rush of it could settle, before the excitement of lust could wane, you found yourself with him at every corner or surface available. your legs wrapped in his, your lips wet and your tongue tangled, pushing and licking to taste him. your breaths caught forever, short and desperate as they fought to be full. he felt good and the heat of him melted the worry in your bones, until it didn't. 

until the fun of it became dense, so much so that it was unbearable. his touch becoming more nailed into the skin of you, and his words fixing quiet, each more vulnerable than the ones before them. these heavy sinking whispers in the night, your bodies laying sated and damp, thighs aching and your blood rushing smooth just after release. arousal still sticky between your legs where his hands and mouth had been. from him came these words, forming to sound like something similar to forever. but by then it was too late, to stop, to take back, to slip away from under him. 

and in the midst of fighting and failing to keep away from his body, and his quiet bed time passions, creatives of the smackdown brand championed the idea of a more feminine edge to the bloodline. someone who could rough and tough it, take a bump and bounce back for more. someone who could smile and charm and manipulate. someone who could, in the blink of an eye turn vicious if need be. a character that had draw, that could have the crowd eating from their palm. and though yes, roman was not starved of womanly support by way of the viewership, the faction was in sore need still of a lighter touch. something, or rather someone less naturally brutish, that did not wreak of ego or that larger than life self importance. and so, from a charismatic mid-carder, to the upper echelon, you rose and dominated as an entity connected to the infamous crew. 

the full silver of your ring gear slowly altered to accommodate the overwhelming red and black, his colors, till there was a more even mix. and it all spoke without words, the black and red these leading lines, binding you to the one called the tribal chief. 

a botched spot in the ring kept you away for some time. a few months of recovery, the perfect amount of time to go cold turkey from roman. 

and though he called and texted and face timed, his constant travels and your inconsistencies left him hallow. an emptiness that soon would leave his ego to pulse with a bruising pain. he thought, in the midst of all those months of your recovery, that it was just the tingling in his fingers that he needed gone, these simple bouts of lust that could be easily remedied. but it was more than that it seemed. aches in his chest and this drawing pull in his skin. a helpless sort of longing. 

he wrestled harder in those months, brutal, bordering relentless. when you wouldn't answer at all, or would only answer with few words, he pushed the fire of his anger, drove it through muscle and nerve, about the bones that built him till it was all he could feel. 

why the fuck were you dodging him?

and all that fire, that white hot anger, attempting to purge his bones of you, flared and burst wild till it could no longer. flared to consume him till it proved shallow and here you were, under his eyes again. the silver-red-black of your ring gear calling his fingers to run against it, the tips where his nerves live itching to flex and curl into your skin. the curve in there where your hip dips, the muscles in him remembering well as the feelings there form back to life with excitement. 

you look as good as you did pre-injury. maybe even a little better. 

he makes himself known, the tone of him rich, stunning. something dark amidst the allure. you'd forgotten how well it arrested you. 

"hows your arm?"

"bendable, so it's fine". 

you do little to acknowledge him, afraid of what even a little eye contact can do to the strength of already weak resolve, but you move your newly healed arm about rather flimsily, showing him just enough so he can go about his business. 

the carpet ruffles with his every step. closer and closer he gets. your heart knocking into your chest. "recovery must've been good, should've been", his breath warm and feathering along your neck. your fingers moving with a slight shake as you make to clean an already clean vanity. "had to have been", his fingers taking a small trace over your shoulders to hold you there, "cause i barely heard a thing from you". his thumbs sooth into the fabric, soft and remembering. 

your breath hitches, the tip of his nose running small at the line of your neck. and none of those months of recovery mean anything in the slightest, save for the healing of your arm. your pulse quickens and beats harsh, same as it did before, skin taking to a slight tremble as the warmth of him surrounds you here. and your own fingers, working to burrow into the hard shape of the vanity, itch to touch him too, though something nags at you to fight against him. to war with the resolute way his touch fastens to your body. 

"i didn't realize you were my keeper". 

he sighs, slightly annoyed by the way your words fight to push against his own, but it doesn't stop the straying of his lips along your skin. skimming where they please till they pull in to leave a faint kiss at your pulse. "you've been ignoring me".

"apparently not enough". 

he laughs, pulls your hips close till they flush against him, and laughs some more. his mouth parting just at the shell of your ear. "you're not convincing", his fingers flexing, a firm pulling as they make their way to play between your thighs at the fabric covering where they'd itched and feened to be. "not even a little bit". 

and how you'd gotten here, falling so fast back into him to be consumed, back into the deft maneuver of his fingers and the heat of his mouth, was not at all lost on you. just as similar as it was not all that lost on him either, to feel your skin and the faint release of your breaths. fighting on his own for months to undo you from him, all for nothing. both affected in full by the other, thirsty and bordering impatient. and when he curls in past the stretchy material to slip against the wet of your slit, your hips move with a mind all their own, seeking a harsher friction. 

heat braces your skin, head lulling forward. your hips shifting rigid, fighting to still and losing as they chase the smooth circling of his touch. "roman", breathy. urgent. 

"no, no, no, no, no", his free hand firmly at your neck. an upward motion to reveal your eyes again. "you don't run from me, not when you want it this badly". his finger slipping further to sink in knuckle deep. the push in of them lax and patient. a pace he takes to feel you throb for him. with every second, the length of it steeping in the soaked mess of you. 

you gather words, a sloppy attempt to fire back at him and it fails as you moan through it. "who said i wanted this or you". 

"you know what it is babygirl", the speed of his touch urged on by his ego. his need to prove you wrong. you want him, you want him and he knows it. if not for words then he knows it with how eager your hips grind into his fingers. the slip of your pussy easy and hungry as it pulses. so much so that it resounds into the dead air of the dressing room, the tune of it forcing his hips to rut into you. "you don't want it, you tell me and i stop". he breathes hot and hectic into your skin, into your neck, kissing between takes of air. fingers thick and glistening under harsh fluorescent lights as they curve in to fuck you deep. "c'mon, tell me how much you don't need it, how much you don't need me", eyes brown and blistered. of course you needed him, of fucking course you do how could you not? when he needed you. "c'mon sweetheart, tell me so i can leave". a tear struck the apple of your cheek, a simple roll that told of everything. your skin twitched and your muscles ached, ready to feel the draw out of release, but the cage of your chest rattled, flaming with a need to say something long unspoken.

but to do it, to say it, would be worse than breaking a bone. worse than the raw opening of slit skin. to give in to him, would be the end of it all. 

"fuck", a whimper breaking. wrecking the strength of your voice. your hips working to rut against the curl in of his fingers. your head lulls at an angle to sink into his chest. hands free from the vanity as you grab to hold onto him. "keep it there baby, please". 

"yeah?", his neck craning to take your lips with his. tongue messy and suckling. and his fingers move with vigor, arm taut and muscle bound, veins striking against his skin. something similar to lightning. "and when you come what do you say?"

your breath catches and the sharp ways of your vision blur. the coil wound up in your core bursting wild at the seams as you rut and drip against the softening thrust of roman's fingers. your lips trembling as words flow hot and feverish. "th-thankyouthankyouthankyou". 

even if the body was not made to do so, you could fly high, tumble, knock into, break at, and push over just about anything in ring. it's what made the rise from the mid-card so satisfying. it's what made the star studded rivalries so well anticipated and stunning. women of a particular caliber, head to head, their bodies and their wits and their wills stressed and strained until only one remained. at it's core, the work all by it's lonesome was easy. tiresome yes, but the pursuit of winning, that bright gold belt about the waist, was all a singleminded affair. easy. but the presence of him was, is, a storm. difficult to escape. reckless. ungovernable. and it seemed that the drifting of his eyes to find you and the remnants of his touch could not be undone. like a deep soldering under your skin, at the hard make of your bones.

he lingered, and beyond the shallow 'i don't want you's', the cut of your eyes and that cold far away disposition, something like need teemed, warm and fettered to your fingers, pressing slow into his skin, the fabric of his t-shirt, slipping into his hair. just before the quiet, when ecstasy was it's loudest, he could feel it running into him like nails, 'stay', etching red and raw into his flesh. and then a soothing kiss, more passionate, wordless but tender all the same, 'stay please'. 

your inconsistencies were nearly earsplitting. i want him, i won't. i need him, no i don't. it made even the prestige of the women's world championship lackluster. 

you'd won, your waist decorated in gold, but the true excitement of such a grand moment could not reach you beyond the loose way liquor paints your tongue. skin racing warm and control undone. the floor moving with this deep hard shudder, bass bleeding out. the air is thick from bodies, from the unintelligible roar of people. but what is clear, beyond the blur that comes for the eyes after chilly shots of espolon, is him. roman smiling in that faithful way that he does, wolf like, suggestive. clever and telling in the way that it so clearer reminds you of how small and good you can be as prey. something for him to take. to hold and guide and pull and pry at till he’s full. but that look of allure is not for you, no he'd done something fucked. he'd gone and found someone else to look at like that, some woman near the edge of the bar too oblivious and taken by the size of him to know that it was all a game. 

a game you were losing at. your lips wet from the bits of your next shot that seemed to miss your tongue. you were too loose, too hot, too lethal. it was just barely easy to play the game when it was you, denying him and tugging along that thinly wound string that tethered itself from you to him, but when he made his moves to do the same, it wrecked you well. 

tore you asunder. this deep splitting at the heart till you were left raw to the open air. 

'fuck him, you're the women's world champion', the espolon steeped so well into you that it speaks. 'say it', persistent. you turn from him, your head lulling as your mouth greets another shot of that smooth tequila taste. 'sayitsayitsayit' 

"fuck him".

but is it believable? the harsh bite and break of words as drunk lips form around them, bound to such a severity that only comes with the pain of pain. 

the harsh bass nearly breaks your ears and makes your body tremble. you would like to leave, to tear your eyes away from them, from him, but you would also like to stay. 

"you play right into his hand when you do that", a mouth near your ear persists above the noise. the well fitted dress of a button up forgotten for something sloppier and indicative of the loose, dancing, club energy. cody rhodes' face just a few ways away from beet red as he holds chilly water in one hand. 

and there are crueler things in the world, things that grind against the spirit till it's worn and faint, but nothing pricks against the heart more in this moment than that woman’s fingers lingering against romans. the charm of her smile luring him in as she mouths to him unrecognizable things. "he wants to spite me, let him". 

cody snorts, lazily throws his arm about you. "it wouldn't be anything you've never done". and you think maybe you hate the sense of his logic and his friendship. the filterless way he says things. so forthright, so readymade. 

"fuck you, wheres the loyalty". 

his cheeks pull high into the creasing corner of his baby blue eyes. fully amused. he probably thinks you're a damn joke, and maybe it's true, in the petulant ways you avoid and revert inward. 

he hands you the cup of water and you sip it willingly, wishing maybe though that its something else. 

"he'll play cat, you'll play mouse, he'll fuck you and hint at what you fear most, you'll run and we'll be right back to where we are now. so what the fuck's up with the preamble". 

you shove the cup of water into his chest, picking up one of the many shot glasses that stand still on a tray. the taste of it not so dissimilar to water. he frowns, watching on as you glare into the emptiness of the shot glass. sometimes, in these short moments, when you crave things you aim to kill, he worries. 

"didn't realize all my shit was so entertaining". you look angry, sound that way even, but the melodramatic coupling of words tell him you drift more towards a sullen pain than to anger. 

"no, entertainment isn't this boring", he quips and you jab your elbow into his stomach. just enough to make him grunt before the break into a fit of little laughs.

but then you set the glass down and turn in to face him, to nuzzle closer into where your forehead meets his collarbone. eyes forming with hints of a glassiness that lend themselves to vulnerability. 

roman's eyes take to looking about the club, instinctively, falling against the warmth of your embrace with cody. fire forms in his chest, aches with a burning. 

your voice leaves off soft into cody's ear, muffled in the fabric of his shirt. "it won't work. not in any way that matters". 

"you don't know that"

"i've been played before. i'm not new to games". 

cody rubs soothing into your shoulder, the compassion making you melt in that drunken way that leads to the welling of a tear. 

"games aren't made to last, that's why they get played, and why people play them. if it's real then it's real". 

"is this what it is now? you don't speak when you see me?" 

dead air and his own words, tired in their anger. 'how long can i go, before i break?', but the break came quickly, the silence disrupting him. he rests but not really, stands there idle as if to feign the strength of a stable man but his nerves stir with ill-control. they flip and they twitch, crashing up against the inner parts of him. you won't speak, and your eyes don't meet. and when the job forces your hand, you grow cold in this subtle way. warm still but a biting chill just like at the cusp of spring. and your lips become these masters of brevity. and he wants to say it here —where his blood rushes irate, wrought by adrenaline— that he isn't too far from hating you. your skin, your touch, your voice, your face, the pull of your lips when you smile, all the things that make him lov-

"we work together, i talk to you all the time". 

and even in all this, he couldn't not move closer to you. one foot in front the other till he was arms length. "promos and in-ring action aside, y'know what i mean". 

you fight your own urges. to meet his eyes, to touch him, to fall beyond the bounds of those drunken whispers from nights passed where you cursed his name. "it should stay like that, professional. it's cleaner this way, safer". 

he scoffs. something like a tower now the way he stands over you.

"yeah?", smirk mirthless. "and what, me fucking you out back behind an arena ain't clean? you bendin' over in a dressing room ain't safe enough anymore?" each word slightly louder than the last. 

"keep you voice down", you hiss. 

"or what?", his eyes sharp and narrowing. scrutiny burned into the brown of them. "everything you do is convenient for you". and his lips spread in that mirthless way again, bordering disgust. "you get scared so you pull away, you feel good again and come runnin' back. you ain't never fit me in for consideration, not once, unless it meant me sticking my dick in you". 

and when blood is drawn, words like venom dripping into raw split skin, isn't it only appropriate to do the same? to do him in with the violence he so easily struck with first?

"once upon a time i didn't have to consider you", meeting him with words, cold and mocking. "i paid you fucking dust and when i did acknowledge you, you were grateful for it". vexed and thrilled, you watch the silent ways his rage manifests. the flaring in his nose and the shifting in his jaw. beneath where heaps of muscle lie, just there at his chest, falters this steady beating. a deep plunging of his ego. it makes you smile, nicks pain into your heart just the same. "maybe we should revisit that and stay there, and not be so damn emotional about it".

he recedes into something like pity. "whoever he was before me, he did a number on you". 

it's this rupturing that hurts the most. the pain of it, a distant memory long remembered. this great big wound. raw and the skin so tattered still and messily undone. "you don't know me". 

"exactly", roman urges. still above it all, wanting to know something. the slightest thing. anything. 

you leave, slamming the dressing room door.

it was as if the spite of him, that which that'd already existed —a small, near idle thing, had reared it's head to tear through him again. seemingly more brutal than before. whether cruel or not, whether it worked or not, he'd made the effort, against his better judgement to see you bend. not to break no, but to see something other than the usual push and pull that became the mainstay of whatever this thing was between the two of you. that night at the club—his own go at drawing up some jealousy, an attempt at cracking your little shell of resistance, to see if you even cared, but still he didn't know. not for sure anyways. so here he was, needy, spiteful, and a short ways away from brutal as sweat broke from his brows and a frustrated groan from his lips. hips swinging in lethal, teeth gritting, and the core of him coiling tight. 

he couldn't remember her name, no, but she was too similar to pass on. she ran just parallel enough to you that it could work. similar skin tone, the nonchalance, the coy silence of the eyes, sly slim touches that roughed into something harsh—near skin splitting. but when she spoke, the puzzle piece couldn't quite fit. her pitch too bright, not bitty enough. it didn't wreck through him the same, didn't rush in to him or thrum his blood but he couldn't complain about it, not when the chase of his release was so close. just palpable enough to satisfy. 

roman took a mild shifting, hiking up a leg to leave the other bent, his foot nailing further into the hotel bed sheets, all to work his hips deeper. 

her face ran into the sheets, mascara smudging dark into the clean white. "mhmm- fuck! i-", her hips fluid, rolling against the swing of roman's. words nearly undone, breaths close to finishing. "pleasepleaseplease".

she pulsed about him, hips rocking to chase the burning in her limbs, the harsh twist up of her core. and where he dug into her she fought to keep him there, soaked and clenching but it just barely came close. she hugged him for dear life, fucked on him till she couldn't take him to the hilt anymore. attempted to possess him even, with sultry moans and the allure of whispered begging. everything he liked, everything he wanted but it didn't quite fit. everything lacked by only half of a half step but it all mattered. and it was evident you made the difference. 

the lazy trace of your lips, the delirium you took—even in rare bouts of aggression—the burn of your touch like a piercing in his skin. the dulling of your eyes, till they rolled overwhelmed and undone. the shivers in your skin and the submission of your body, the skin and bones of you left for him to form back together. 

he missed you, and yes of course he wanted to fuck you, completely break you in that faithful way that he did in times past, where you'd rush in dainty, words like feathers, thankyouthankyouthankyou, but he also wanted to hold you. wanted to mold himself to you till he was unsure of where he ended and you began. he wanted breath stealing kisses that rolled lazy and thick. he wanted to still the shivers in your body, wanted to caress you through the burden of release and even after, he wanted to keep you there. safe in the strength of him. 

and it was here, in these thoughts, where he found the feeling. the pulling in his gut strong and subduing, tugging away from the wet mess of her to release. thick ropes against her skin as he groaned. 

"fuck......".  

your name slipping through. unabashed and clear as day. 

roman winces, feels the recoil of it in his flesh. this awkward reversion where his body fights not to cave in on itself out of embarrassment.

why the fuck would he do that? 

but she's moving before he can do anything, cleaning herself till she's rid of him. and damn it, why can't he remember her name? his back flopping into the sheets, an arm thrown over his eyes. he's tired and ill feeling, somewhat ashamed. 

the woman saunters in, some ways from disgust. such a beautiful man, so obviously successful, and seemingly hung up on a woman who cares less than a fuck about him. thats what she can gather anyways. her fingers helping her slip her clothes back on. she grows curious. 

"who is she?"

roman looks to her, realizing just how much she doesn't look like you at all. beautiful but not you. 

"what?"

her eyes roll. that small sliver of curiosity done away with as she shuffles to adjust her heels."if your'e gonna finish all over me, the least you can do is remember my name". 

she makes for the bedroom door of the luxury suite, leaving roman to fall deeper into his own silence. her voice carries, sweet and mocking. 

"your little nda is signed. thanks for making me come". 

roman grunts in response. feeling the slight rattle of the slammed door. 

from the chill of new york city winter weather, to the warmth of one of the city's many luxurious hotels, came a firm dulling of the nights mixture of cocktails and whatever other light liquor your dear friend cody rhodes had decided was good enough for you. and what a dear friend indeed, always so caring, so righteous and so fucking motherly. his every word soft and urbane — "slow down, take this water, no more of that drink"—and his every look one of knowing and pity, until his glassy blue eyes and lisp-y mouth became resolute, even when in their own drunkenness, going as far as to putting you in a car and shipping you back to where you were now, at the hotel. "you're not even having fun, go sleep", his lips pulling into a gentle pout. his arms a warm embrace till they were gone, and you were ducking sullenly into an SUV. 

he was all you could think about.

...whoever he was before me, he did a number on you... 

and with so little said, roman had done you in to a silent sort of suffering. this shoddily made shell of something —your heart— playing at nonchalance, completely destroyed. stripped now, naked and fearful of whatever is to follow. the possibility, whether with or without him, the unknown, left you stunned, ill even. 

...should you call?... fingers itching to reach, to slip against his contact ...but would he answer?... or would he, and rightfully so, do you the quieted sort of violence you'd done to him, time and time again?... those brutal ways your lips refused to speak, and when they did their words like daggers. your eyes never meeting, and when they came upon him, they bore over him icy and displeasured. like he was a nuisance, or even worse, a stranger. and the desertion of your touch, once upon a time, when the drive of lust and adoration was new in him, seemed that it would never leave. yes, you'd understand, but fuck if it wouldn't hurt, wouldn't pierce the greater parts of you, where strength of the ego and desire lives. 

but its only when the phone rings that all hesitancy of the moment breathes hard. knocks unceremoniously against free inhibitions till you're wishing for him to ignore you. maybe, right here, right now, making the effort is enough, maybe it's all you need to say ...i did it, i tried... and nothing else. your whispers rushed and a bit scared and waiting. "don't answer, don't answer don't answer".

the ringing stops. he answers. 

your breathing is soft, but present, the only thing that sings amongst the silence of him. what is this? after the callousness, the hardy stones you'd thrown into the glass of his resolve in an attempt to break him. 

he's tired but not really. done but not really. he sighs, fingers roughing through his beard. "yeah?"

you giggle, breathy. a bit unnerved. your words rolling off, slightly slurred still. "thought i'd get your voicemail", you wonder how he looks, if his heart threatens to beat beyond the cage of his chest the way it does yours. "didn't think you'd answer".

he's quiet. breathing. "why'd you call?"

"you sound nice". the little thats left of the tequila pouring over your tongue into words. even in his tiredness he sounded beautiful. rich and dark and alluring. "did i wake you?" 

"no". but he can't help himself, in being curious, in caring. "you alright?" 

"i'mfine, ijust...i-"

"you sound drunk". 

"tipsy". 

"how much did you have?", a question but more so a command. the authority threaded in his voice lulling you in. it makes you shiver with need. makes you want to touch him. 

"mhmm idon'tknow rome". and he can hear your shifting over the sheets, as you shift over answers to give him, that would satisfy him. you wanted so badly, despite your fears, to satisfy him. "a shot, a drink or two". 

"lightweight for real", he chuckles. "who were you with?"

"cody. he got my uber". 

is it so bad?, when the hour is late?, to think of seeing you, even if the thought is little and fleeting and ways away from dangerous? "you here at the hotel?" 

"damn", and you're laughing. giddy at the way he worries. reeling with sarcasm "you want me to share my location?" 

"watch yourself".

"yes sir". 

and here the air is hesitant, forming fragile and ill-informed of whats to come. it shapes about the both of you wearily and groans even in it's stillness of how ill-suited it is at holding the ambivalence of this... love, lust, longing or whatever it is twisting about the both of you. it yearns for something new, for something unweighted and free and sweet. 

roman asks you again. curiosity breaking a heaviness into the weight of him. "why'd you call?" 

your bed sheets pinch and ruffle between your fingers, taking on the burden of your anxieties. "i figured if i went out...i'd-i'd get a little courage yknow? a drink or two and then i could call you, could hear your voice". 

"hear my voice huh?", his jaw clenching. tone one of full mocking and scrutiny. after everything, all that was said, something like venom off your tongue in a means to poison his resolve, and now you wanted to hear from him? "and all that big talk, all that mouth and bravado, paying me dust and keepin it how it used to be", smiling mirthless. "what happened to that? where'd that go?"

you shiver, cold despite the warmth of the room. "i don't know roman". 

"you don't?"

"i don't wanna argue with you". 

"what do you want then? tell me so i know". 

"it doesn't matter", something like a grin running through your lips, sullen and wistful. formed only by the sweet safety of what if's and what could be's, because those were always easier. "you'd leave". a single tear slips against your cheek. "you'd get bored after a while and you'd leave". 

...but he isn't him, whoever that other man was, or could be, the one that'd seemingly broken you...

he sighs. "you're afraid of somethin that ain't happen".

"yet", you add. 

"it's not going to".

"you don't know that". 

"you don't either". and of course the fight is natural, this insistent war where true desires of the heart are subdued to the will of something comfortable and simple, because love, even at its easiest, proved always to be tedious and demanding. "i don't make it a habit of getting played".

"i don't make it a habit of playin", sincerity filling him whole. "how i've felt... how i feel still, about you? it's always been real sweetheart". 

another tear and then another, till your skin is warm and nerves flustered. your chest tightening as your mouth trembles. "don't fault me for being scared, please?" 

"clean slate. we can start over". 

"ok". 

and that restless buzzing, the harsh rushing  of the city — cars and trains and people— works easy to overcome the natural fall of silence. breaths passing, his and then yours, one after the other and then together, in waiting, eager but unsure. 

the emptiness is unsettling. makes you restless. urges the drive in his muscles to move. 

your hand splays against a pillow, fingers curling in soft, your voice even softer. "what side of the bed are you laying on?"

"left side". 

you hum. imagining him. hair splayed, long and gentle. "i hate the left side".

"i know", he smiles, small like and imaginative. thinking of older memories, where your legs find themselves curling against his own. 

"it's empty, my left side".

"yeah?"

"yeah".

possibility, this mighty rushing in his blood. 

"whats your room number?" 

there was nothing flimsy about this, the gentle pull of his lips, tongue slipping cautioned but ready all the same, his fingers and palms seemingly made to do and withstand the brute force of many things but taking the time instead to hold you dearly. to savor with his touch what his lips cannot. but when the well of patience in him fills to the brim, when it overflows and floods him unsparingly, his persistence has no choice but to do the same. and your knees threaten to buckle, threaten to kill your resolve, as he cradles your head with one hand and the other anchored firm at your jaw —thumb and pointer— his kiss growing wetter, tongue sharper. because the time away —where neither of you could do more than fight and throw stones and break and avert, gazes and words and touches and thoughts and feelings— felt like forever. and then came the standstill, the white flag. clear air and even clearer intentions, over a phone call of all things. with simple words of the heart. 

roman figured if anything, he was making up for lost time. your palms taking to his beard, thumbing over his cheeks, mouth forming soft over his. 

you felt good, he felt good, but not so much that it couldn't be true.  

and here, where you feel the abandon of his control grow, you break from his mouth, trying and failing to grab for something on a nearby shelf. but he's faster, reaches to grab the outstretch of your arm, flying it over his shoulder. his breath warm and enticing, rushing a thrumming in your blood as he nips the skin there. teasing. 

your nails take this tender clawing into his nape, dipping into silky hair. "i thought we were taking it easy?"

his words mix between the twist of his lips. "we are. your clothes are still on". kissing along your neck.

but he doesn't loom here, statuesque in his anger. doesn't suffer your resolve to threaten a breaking or diminishing to fold under the weight of a harsh truth. knowing whether or not if his words would split you raw for a vicious bout of bloodletting. no he doesn't loom here, but his standing is firm all the same. gentle minded and secure. immovable in the way that it refuses to let you go. 

you wonder if jimmy and jey and solo and naomi can hear him in the pantry from where they are in the living room. hear his groaning, and the smack of his lips as he takes yours. hear his lust and his love and his longing. 

you hum against him in bliss. "you make it very obvious that you want to eat me alive when you look at me like that in front of everybody". 

"am i supposed to feel bad about that? because i don't". 

"being lowkey goes a long way sometimes". 

"yeah a little too long". 

but that night had only been one of the first nights of this mending, this slow cautious maneuver of putting back together the broken pieces of whatever this thing was that had been brewing for sometime. and it isn't until you're sitting in a shared comfortable silence, sipping wine and tasting sweet deserts that the realization comes to you. that this —the sex and the passion and the strife— has only ever been a thing, something ill formed and without definite shape. uncategorized and hesitantly spoken of. it had all been rushed with hushed pleasures and secrecy, rendezvous and an inherent longing that would not, for fear of realer things, be spoken of.

but it was very clear now, as he dipped a spoon into tiramisu, that you needed him. 

and the pace here is easy, as waiters and other patrons breeze by your table without rest, without wait, his eyes and his stillness forming well over the hold you have as you touch him idly. your palm at his knee, raising to take his hand in yours, fingers folding in, shy and feathered and bursting with a wordless affection. 

from where you are, just a short lean in from his lips, his features are not so intimidating, not so all consuming in that daunting way he's perfected. his cheeks are freckled and round and the brown of his eyes are bright. 

you kiss him, take that short lean in and meld your lips till he hums and thumbs your chin. because he isn't him if he doesn't touch you. doesn't hold fast to your warmth. 

and even after you part, the intimacy laced in the air breathes slow and lingering. "thank you for being so patient with me, with everything". your fingers fiddle and caress over his. "i know i haven't made it easy for you". 

"when it's something i want, i wait". 

and wait he did, with a statues patience. but even the strength of statues fail, worn and weathered if left to stand against time and their own stillness. eventually they all crumble, some in such a poetic fashion that its destruction means more than its birth, and other's with a simple, unceremonious falling. but the undoing of roman's patience is fierce and alluring. and as you breathe short, in between the firm pull of his lips, water hot and raining against your skin, you feel the chipping away of that patience as well. and it isn't just the pouring in of the shower and the sweet warmth of soaps and candles, but the influence of him as well, melting underneath flesh and bone.

6:17 PM

the steam forms something amorous. thickens the anticipation and lulls your resolve into a surrendering. and the tight feeding of his fingers into your thigh doesn't help any, nailing sharp and greedy as they have your leg hooked about his waist, his tongue licking against yours. and here in the kiss his lust grows slow and exacting, in a means to savor. making you moan and forcing your hips to grind mindless. his body hard and wet and safe. 

your fingers curl into the hair just at his nape, tugging to pull, to break his lips from yours, but he's fast and wanting, rushing in for another sweet assailment. groaning in time with his pleasures as his hips rut at your soft skin. you try again to break from him, to breathe even if the air suffocates you so, and he gives in. settles for fastening himself to you elsewhere, to supple skin, and to grinding his hard dick at you. his mouth roaming about your neck, nipping with his teeth and kissing gentle. a meager attempt to reigning himself in. 

your touch wanders further into his soaked hair, mouth moving to trace his, to tease him. "we have a reservation for 9", you kiss him lightly. "i don't wanna be late".

he hums, rests his forehead to yours. taut fingers working your hips to a slow grind against his dick. working what nerves lay dormant in you to life. 

"the restaurant is a 30 minute drive", his nose and mouth nestling into the plains of skin where your neck ends and your shoulder begins. drinking in the small breaking off of your moans. "plenty of time". 

7:29 PM 

and the minutes wandered away fast and teasing, forcing in an urgency as you fought hard to slip away from him and the heaviness of his desires. and it took much control, to part from his warmth and the heavy lust of his eyes. from the way his touch and his mouth maneuvered —with seductive method— and the heat of his cock laying at your skin, so terribly close to where you need him. but how odd the fear is here, after the pulling away of all that nasty pettiness and the settling of it, no longer scared of how much he would love you, or how well he could etch himself to the inside of you —with touches and deep words filled with passion— but now, weary of just how unbearable you would be. because it seemed now that he was stuck with you, and that if he would continue his affections with such an intensity, that you would have no choice but to return it. and even in this, your fears, your weariness of this love and lust and longing, were not so frightening at all. but exciting. 

you're excited. 

"tie or no tie?"

the bulk of his arm, where tattoos paint the skin, slip through a white button up. fingers deft as they take the time to do in each button. 

"no tie".

your hands soothing over your skin with a warm smelling body butter. eyes trailing to his as he watches your hands work over your skin. 

"and the jacket, yes? no?" 

"yes to the jacket", but your answer barely registers, and how could it possibly do so clearly enough when the fabrics of your underwear form over your body the way that it does. everything about you soft and inviting to the touch as you approach him. your fingers undoing the top most buttons. the intricate designs of tattoos here at the curve of his pec peaking through. "and just leave this open a little". your palms smoothening away at the rest of his shirt, over his shoulders to adjust the already adjusted collar, fingers slipping against already buttoned buttons, and when the smallest wrinkle catches your eyes, you're already flattening it to straighten. and here he takes you in, arresting with silence and a never ending depth to his eyes that leaves you without words.

his mouth close enough, breaths are shared. and there is no other word to describe the scent of him other than divine. 

you want to fall into him, as free as air and without hesitation. 

his lips smile. "you're staring". 

but it is justified, because shouldn't all beautiful things be looked upon with awe and a speechless sort of appreciation? shouldn't they be touched, the way you touch him, your palms possessing him to hold as you kiss him greedily and without wait. your tongue lashing through firm and without the mind to yield. moaning gentle into him and if not for his own strength he would fall to his knees. is this not how beautiful things should be treated? should they not be adored and reverenced? should he not pry at your skin the way that he does? dull nails sinking in to remember the forms they take as they go. your leg found slipping around his waist again as his fingers move swiftly to claw their way down till your panties push away helpless. 

and he groans, lips parting only to find yours again, finding you warm and wet as his touch slips through the mess of your slit. and he wonders how long you've been like this, stewing in your own desires. his blood rushing hot and fast, feeling the heavy throb your body takes as he plays a teasing touch at your opening. something whiny and dainty tumbling off your tongue as you fight to reign in that wild burst of lust so loosely falling off your skin.

"roman", you warn. so small it nears a whisper. 

"shhhh, relax", his finger dipping in to feel the heat of your pussy. a neediness to see you break bursting in the cage of his chest, his heart hammering at the sweet daze in your eyes. "just a little bit baby". 

"we're gonna be late". you fight.

and you want to say how much you hate him, how much you hate the ease of his touch—such a terrible gentleness— and you hate how it makes you swoon, and throb harder, feeling the depth of his artful handlings. you fucking hate it, hate him, fuck, and your breath labors harsher than before, feeling the seam of his lips as they sit to hover above yours, and shit, his fingers stroking firmer than before, a slighter urgency in the pace that catches your breath and his eyes dim low but they hypnotize you, and no you don't, but, well yes you do hate him, but you don't, a moan stretching in sync from him and from you, and damnit you love him. love his touch and the proof of his lust, how naturally it is born from his love and his longings. 

he can see the prickling in your eyes, the glassiness just before the burning brown of them. and you ruffle your face into his chest, into the balminess of his skin but he does not relent. and the sound your arousal makes as it coats his long fingers is lewd but it brushes over you warm and inviting. drives your waist to grind into his every stroke till release is sweet and so close. 

the undoing is palpable, a licking flame against the skin. short tremors starting in your legs as you call to him. little whispers that beg, "please...please...please", hushed and slurred. 

and just when it's there, it isn't, his fingers slipping out of you slow, wet still and gripping your ass to stop the mindless grinding your hips take. 

"roman, no, what are you-", his lips kissing yours to stop the words and the worry. but he's kilt weeks, hell, months of such a lengthy build up, and your body rushes confused and unsatisfied. you pull from him, just enough to speak, feeling his palm caress into where he holds you. "what are you doing?" 

"its almost eight", his body forsaking yours to step out of the bedroom. "need you to clean up and finish getting ready". 

8:18

at your wrist

at the bend of your inner knees, your elbows

the skin of your neck just behind your ears

and just where your ankles roll inward. 

his dress shoes click back into the bedroom to be met with an immediate assailment. but this violence is no violence at all, but rather a sweet, sultry thing. enticing. and he holds his wrist forward to check the time. 8:20. fuck the reservation, he thinks, stepping till he's behind you. eyes peering through the mirror, watching the delicate way you curl a thin brush over your eyelashes. a dark mascara that thickens and pulls the length and when you check the fruits of such minuscule labor, beautiful and satisfied, the crotch of his pants prove too thin, and uncomfortable. and as he dips his nose into your neck and molds his fingers to your hips, flushing you against him easy, you work into your nerves an air of dispassion. cleaning the dresser of miscellaneous things, fighting the urge to let him do whatever he wants with you. 

and here, just behind your ear, the perfume proves to be intoxicating. his grip nailing in, curling to bring you impossibly closer. but his eyes never break. they hold, piercing hot and mischievous through the mirror. 

in the silence you both suspend, weighing the importance of your plans. 

he nestles into you. the fabric of your dress raising as his fingers pull. 

and his voice makes you weak. thrums your blood. 

"how important is this dress?". 

"important enough", you hold against the balling his fist takes. "i paid money for it".

roman eases to his knees. undoes the neat knot he's made of his hair. he knows just how much you adore the feel of it. he pushes the fabric to rest above the curve of your hips. taps your right leg. 

you lift it, angling it to rest your knee on the dresser. breathing labored. excited. 

his own breath is warm at your skin, "and if we miss the reservation?" the sweet spice of your perfume meets him here too. his thumbs spreading you in a leisure manner. 

anticipation consumes you. voice ragged. "it's not important". 

he hums, delighted, his tongue lapping soft. testing and teasing. and your body leans forward, sensitive and longing, hips shifting away at such an intimate touch. but he holds firm, slipping wet through your slit again, continuously, his thumbs caressing where his grip tightens into your skin. and now that he's here, his patience to leave you undone forms new. bleeds a vigor about his every muscle and bone. your senses growing pliant above him, resolve melting as your hips shift to brush along the wet sweep of his tongue. and why he takes to such a leisure pace, you have no idea, but the pleasure simmering, fighting its way up the slope of your spine, grieves. wishing for something harsher. something less controlled. 

the silence is remedied with a tender "please". teeth taking your lips to bite. 

his mouth kissing, lingering, and you feel it spread. a smile. his mischief slipping into your skin before the inevitable pulling in, your clit caught, pulsing and needy as he sucks, thirsty and unstopping. and you feel arousal drip slow, glistening, his tongue catching it to savor. throat groaning as he shifts back forward to taste the fat of your clit. and though you stand above him, your hips shift ill-controlled and your voice leaves you soft and broken. belly coiling tight as his ministrations grow more singleminded by the second. 

the nails of your fingers find their way to the roots of his hair, pulling him closer and running to soothe into his scalp. jaw dropped and gasping."feels so good baby". 

and the slip of roman's tongue is lewd, caresses the swell of your clit as his mouth works your pussy. and as desperation mounts your bones, your other set of fingers tighten to hold against the dresser, arousal dripping its way past the onslaught of his mouth to run through his beard. the pricks of the hair there, rubbing your inner thighs to burn raw. 

he grunts. "fuck", muffled and heated. dipping his tongue through till he's caressing the warmth of your walls. slow and reverential, savoring the tight clutch that holds him there. 

white heat blankets your skin, fingers slipping to nestle through your slit, laying a dulcet touch to your clit. his tongue wide and gentle as it fucks you. and the sensation there is terribly sweet, solders hot and binding till your legs begin to tremble above him.

"roman", you call for him. tender and broken. he feels a blooming in his chest. heat and an eagerness. " 'm coming". 

and the burden of that mounting coil shatters. pulses hard as you ride the sensation, fingers rubbing over the mess of your clit. thumb catching the soft nub to press against your pointer, trapping it to prolong that rich thrumming that flows about your skin. and roman takes to kissing you again, licking his tongue through the messiness of your release and kissing over your fingers.

8:50. the dinner reservation long forgotten.

but there are many other things forgotten besides white table cloth, wine glasses and intimately lit candles. the once so perfect button up he'd tucked into expensive slacks, now strewn about the floor, creased to hell next to the shine of abandoned shoes. and with all these things, left to be unremembered, is that mischievous sort of patience born from his teasing. where his touch was once salacious and mocking, unforgiving in the way it played well and denied pleasure better, is now just a filled shell of desperation. need running like flares of wild fire. and it shows here, as you sit atop the dresser, legs wrapped about him, the way roman aches and throbs, hot and demanding. cock thick and hard, reddened and leaking as he slips it through the stickiness of your slit.  

his tongue growing sloppy, drunkly slipping over yours, pushing in the taste he'd savored so dearly. his skin teeming with a rushing, this great throbbing in his spine and the muscles in his core as he nestles the tip of his dick through the tight clutch of your heat. groaning in time with his pleasures as he sinks in, corralling your thighs forward to control the pacing, and deeper he goes till you're taking him to the hilt. the build of him seeming to crumble before your eyes, this mountain of a man trembling and undone by the warmth of you. delirium coursing fluid over bones as he stills to feel the softness and the pulsing. everything he'd missed, finally at his finger tips again. 

and if not for the pain and the violence of it, you'd pull your nails through him. over taut skin and the great build of his muscles. not in a means to destroy, no, but in the hopes to consume him. a more permanent etching beneath his flesh where blood flows, just as he's done to you. 

you hiss, breaths stuttered. mouth falling where the freckles at his cheeks live, balmy and heavy, attempting to find his mouth amongst the fall of his hair. to kiss him as he stretches you to take him. your fingers combing over the strays and flyaways, roughing your legs tighter to deepen the weight of him inside you. 

you moan. something feathery and gentle. the fullness of him threatening to split your ears. and when his hips slip forward, fluid and strong, your fist knocks against the marble of the dresser. pain in your hand turning to pleasure else where. 

"mhmgmh", his groan dark, feeling it rough up your body. and the carved marble of the dresser becomes more tainted by the second, the drag of him against the pulse and flutter of your heat so terribly charming. a soothing take to your pussy thats rigid enough to leave you breathless. and when your spine curls forward, head lulling to kiss the mirror, he leads with tongue to kiss your skin. "that's it right there huh?", but he needs no answer. pure evidence here, his dick rutting forward through the mess of you. 

"yesss", stressed and drawn out. 

the gentle pull of you, flexing wet and tight, a cureless addiction. his words slightly slurred, lips at your cheek, trailing to your neck, over your shoulder, plush and kiss swollen. "so soft babygirl". the draw in of him singleminded, throbbing and rutting. groaning as dazed eyes catch the feed in of his cock, a deep burying that shudders his skin. "love when you let me touch you like this", driving his fingers to form further up over your hips, dull nails curling at your back. "when you let me fuck you good", his hips pressing in as he stills, grinding slow, for you to feel him there, where he belongs. "how you need it". 

you cry, a tear staining your cheek. the tremble of your lips forming over his as you kiss him. body molding to him, the go of his thrusts mindful as they work to fill you. and here, he slips in easy, steady still but with a gentler purpose. and his fingers, even in their dullness, don't run as brutal and the deftness of him proves with a tender rocking of his hips. arousal soaking him sweet as it sounds above the silence. 

and the shock of everything takes hold. the ways you fought so terribly against him, to suffer in what you thought would be some less harsher fate than to live lovingly with him. 

your voice stretches out delicately. into the safety of him. "don't leave me", quivering as you feel the building pressure in your body. "stay please".

"not going anywhere sweetheart", a hand at your cheek, thumb caressing there, "i'm right here", and the other pulling you impossibly closer by the thigh. lips over yours, sharing breaths. "you feel me? i'm right here", words whispered and groaning, the stroke of him deep and easy still. 

and as he'd wanted since the beginning, your resolve crumbles as he holds you in his hands. 

your heart heavy. fearful, excited. "....love you....", trembling as you come undone. "i love you". 

he twitches, releasing thick and warm in you. pulling your lips in, passionate and relieved, tongue rolling to taste the words he'd waited to hear from forever ago, when everything about your attitude towards him was flimsy and hollow. and the bursting in his chest is undeniable, a smile slipping across his lips as the heat of the air sits easy about the both of you. 

he kisses you again, lingering, with love and lust and longing. 

"i love you too". 

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns smut #platonic!cody rhodes x reader #joannasteez #roman reigns x female reader #angst #i love the angst #reader may be a lil insufferable idk #shes going through it #bare with herrrrrrrrrr #roman has sex with a woman thats not reader #it makes him sad tho so… we still win #i wrote one of these parts when i was tipsy #these are yearning hours #its smut with decent plot #the fear of love after love is lost #at this point im just yappin in the tags #nah this shit is long as hell omg #but it ended so cute !!!

[pursuitseternal]

“His:” Maistacia sates Ascended Astarion’s needs and her own (NSFW)

A gift for @primopinku: her beautiful Durge🗡️✨ and her art that inspired this story.

Ascended Astarion x Durge Maistacia | E | 1.5K

Summary: “There was nothing quite like the silence after a massacre:” Maistacia, Dark Consort, Right Hand of the Vampire Ascendant finds her love… or rather he finds her. And tames her waywardness so she is… his

CW: bloodshed, past Dark Urge sated, possessive A!Astarion, blood kink, rough sex

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤

There was nothing quite like the silence after a massacre. Astarion had once purred such sweet lines to her, wrapping his tendrils of love and charming her with his blinding obsession.

But it was true. The hum of her living muscles, writhing from their exertion thrilled her. Somewhere in the distance, Maistacia could still hear a faint drip, drip of blood. Not one Guild member was left breathing, not one sound filled their great caverns packed with stolen goods. They paid for their treason against her and her love in blood. Blood that ran so quietly now.

“I see you’ve had some fun, darling….”

Slowly she turned, her slippered feet silent on the stairs as she climbed up towards that waiting figure. His silhouette shimmered in the flickering torches, holding court even from the entryway of his cave. Astarion’s lips pulled into that slanted smile, eyes half lidded and head tilted as he watched her flow like water, graceful in every way as she came to stand before him. Her dark eyes sparkled in the flickering light of the caverns, the drops of blood like rubies glistening on her skin.

“I hope you’re not… disappointed,” she lilted, a coy smile darting over her thick and pouting lips. “I don’t take kindly to threats to our rule, my love.”

“Are you worried I would be angry,” one of Astarion’s thick, silver brows quirked. Amused. “The Guild has paid for their betrayal, it seems, my dark consort. My right hand seems to have fed the ghosts of her Urge.”

His pale hand shot out to claw around her chin, a bit of pressure, the dance of a threat in his crimson eyes. Warm and wet, his tongue caressed up her jaw and temple, licking the spattered blood of their enemies as she groaned. “My only complaint is that you didn’t want to share…” whining, hurt… no. He was toying with her, taunting her to rise to his challenge.

“Why make my Ascended Lord sully his hands with such filth as the traitorous Guild, hmm?” Maistacia purred, one bloodied hand creeping into the collar of his jacket, all white and beaded and elegant. Now it would be stained at his neck with the blood of their enemies. “Perhaps you require a different sort of feast, my love.”

His fingers snatched hard around her slick wrist, his tongue warm as he lapped the sticky crimson from her dark and golden skin. A deep throated sigh left her throat, her heart rapped even harder against her ribs, her own set of viscera vibrating inside with each swirl of his tongue in the cup of her palm, each longer suck of her fingers as he cleaned them.

“I liked this jacket, you know…” he hissed, false tones of disappointment coloring his voice as he let her hand drop, favoring those smirking lips for his next meal. He devoured her smile, sucking that grin from her lips and stealing her warm exhales before they left her lungs.

“You can’t blame the right hand that feeds you,” her voice curled into his ear, echoing in the workings of his hungry mouth.

“And little love, don’t you make my mouth water,” his damp mouth slunk down the curve of her jaw to suckle on her neck. Fangs sliced perfectly into her, the flow of warm and fresh blood scenting the air, covering the metallic whiff of congealing, drawing out the heady orange-laden scent of her own perfume. His tall, lithe body wound snug around hers, skin-tight in his embrace. Suck after deafening suck, he took from her, his fingers clawed into her upper arms, holding her firm and steady.

His.

And yet, when she was done with allowing him such liberties, her fingers gripped around his windpipe, shoving him back just enough to unlock those greedy lips from her flesh. “Tut, tut,” he grinned slowly, gazing up through her long lashes. “That’s enough. You wouldn’t want to add one more corpse to this magnificent pile I’ve already made.”

“Never,” he purred, that left bow arching as he licked his lips clean. “But your master is still hungry… still looking for more ways to be fed.”

Maistacia giggled deep in her throat, that music in her voice reverberating over the rocks that held only death and stillness now. Three steps, and crossed the landing to a balustrade. She slid herself to perch on its edge, the stone rail thick enough, far enough from the gaping, bloody void beneath them both. Her hands slowly slid the loose folds of her waistband from her hips, her flowing trousers puddled around her ankles. Dark eyes locked into his crimson ones as he stalked closer. As he watched more and more of her skin revealed for his viewing.

For his taking.

The hem of her silken tunic, dark and black as her eyes, soaked with blood, peeled higher. That invitation to help her quel that bloodlust… or just her pounding lust that matched his raging desire. It was enough to beckon him to her body. Confined at last, arms around her back, hands pulling her flush to the edge of the stone rail beneath her, he began his feast.

She couldn’t breath, lungs burning as every gasp she tried to take was only filled with his own groans. The leather of his own breaches was cold compared to the inferno inside her by now, now that he grinded into her slick between her thighs.

He pressed that hard line of his cock against her, an insistent demand to sate himself with her in more ways than one. Her own fingers locked into the edge of stone behind her, braced for the rigor she knew was coming. But he lingered, tasting her kiss, the slight tang of blood still coating his tongue and filling her nose. That pit in her stomach gnawed harder, a little buck of her hips on the smooth and oiled surface of his breeches giving her no relief.

Most likely on purpose.

“Won’t you feed… take what you want, my love?”

His lips twisted and devoured all at once. “If you think you deserve it, little love… Perhaps you have been rather naughty to leave me behind as you decimated our enemies…”

“I thought you loved a good massacre… letting your right hand do as the gods intended…” she purred in reply.

“Of course, but I wonder what else your right hand might do now to please me…”

“Plenty I can do…” That was enough to spike her inferno to blazing. Her hand reached between their bodies, tearing through the few little buttons that kept him confined. A growl of approval shook her lips, his own hand catching his cock to give it a few lingering strokes. A moment to tease its weeping head up and down her seam, his fangs grit together as he pressed his mouth against her trembling lips.

Always so strong, so fierce, this beautiful murderess of his. But she would melt for him and him alone.

His… he groaned as he took her. Musk from her body, perfume from her skin… there was nothing left to their senses of the bloodbath around them. Only their possession of one another. Only his cock thrusting, only her hips riding his every movement.

Every drag inside her, every dig of his nails into the perfect swell of her ass to keep her from sliding on the rough stone… every ounce of pain and pleasure pushed them further into owning one another.

The Lord and his Right Hand, the Ascendant and his Consort… their pleasured noises were the only sounds to fill a room of death. And with every little death they drew from one another, they never felt more alive.

Hips slapped hard against her, the cries of her own bliss piercing in the heavy silence to thrill his pointed ears.

His.

Every clench around him threw him closer, that way that only she could get under his skin, could unravel him piece by piece. It was too much… too intoxicating, too compelling to be in her thrall.

Not that he would ever admit to it with words.

Only the language of his cock buried between her thighs, the poetry of his hand stayed into those sensuous, raven locks that reached her hips. He would sing only the love ballads of his groans as he fucked her, the percussion of his body slamming against her dripping thighs until he growled and huffed as he came. Her thighs locked around his waist, trapping him until she squeezed every last little drop of his seed.

A few more thrusts for good measure, his hand in her hair roughly yanking her face from his shoulder. Making her dark pools of eyes to meet his stare as he finished. As he made her his again.

He swept his fingers through the stain of her blood from her neck, pressing them against her lips. “Suck,” he commanded with a hiss. “My consort… my right hand…”

Maistacia’s lips sealed around that coppery salt of her own blood, his cock still twitching inside her with every swirl she darted around his digits.

“Mine,” he purred one last time as brought those bloodied lips to his one more time. Even as he was hers, his body sang in reply.

#maistacia #astarion x dark urge #astarion x female dark urge #astarion x female oc #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion spoilers #baldur’s gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion art #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #bg3 art #bg3 #baldursgate3 #baldur’s gate iii #baldurs gate smut #baldurs gate iii

[ddejavvu]

for mvm, could you please write something where reader trips/falls and then james purposefully falls too bc he’s impulsive lol and thinks that’s the best way to listen her embarrassment in the moment and she’s initially confused but then they’re both giggly and helping each other up

The last thing you expect when your foot catches on an overgrown root on the grounds is for James Potter to go tumbling after you. After all, he'd been walking the opposite way with his friends, he'd been about four feet away from the tree root when he'd fallen, and you're fairly certain none of his friends had pushed him.

They're standing around you two now, snickering at their friend's antics as he scrambles for his wayward glasses. They've landed upside-down on the grass, and you blink warily at him as he snatches them up, shoving them onto his nose to grin cheerily at you.

"We took a trip together," He beams, "You alright?"

"Uh- yeah, I think so." You push up against the cool soil beneath you, your hands digging into bright green blades of grass that tickle your skin, "How did you fall too?"

"Dunno." He shrugs, a blade of brown, cut grass stuck to the outer curve of one of the curls that's sticking out over his forehead, "Must be Peeves or something. I've heard he lays out tripwire in the halls."

"Right," You can't help your face breaking into a smile at James's own identical one, and he offers you a hand as you rise to your knees. He's barely upright himself, and you two stumble to your feet in unison, shoulders knocking into each others as you stand.

"You sure you're alright?" He asks, hand still clutching yours even though you're very much stable by now.

"I'm fine," You dust a smear of dirt off of your leg, "Thanks for helping me up. And- uh, thank you for throwing yourself onto the ground."

He hangs his head, bashful grin growing only wider on his face as you call him out, "Anytime, love."

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #james potter one shot #james potter one-shot #james potter headcanon #james potter headcanons #james potter hc #james potter hcs #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter dialogue #james potter fluff #james potter x reader fanfiction

[calmcoldevening]

Pov: You loved vampire!slashers in your past life and now you met them again

TW: mention of blood, biting, vampire and e.t.c

Characters: Vincent Sinclair, Michael Myers, Hannibal Lecter

English is not my native language, so sorry about misspells. I hope you enjoy it ♡

Mieloji (Lithuanian) — Darling

You have just moved to a new small town away from the hustle and bustle of megacities. Surprisingly, you quickly found a place to live and settled into a small house, beautiful and cozy. After unpacking all the things, you decided to explore a new city a little. After all, you've been living here for quite a while, haven't you?

And now you are standing in front of a large mansion, made in the likeness of a certain Gothic style. The massive building was made in dark colors. Large windows with a pleasant view of a surprisingly well-kept garden with bushes of blood-red roses; a dark pointed roof with neat tiles; dark gray walls of the mansion with peeling paint in some places. In front of your face were massive doors made of dark oak with a neat intricate engraving on them. Something like snakes.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage, and slowly open the door. It does not give in immediately, the old hinges creak disgustingly. And here you are inside. You can see a huge corridor with a large staircase directly opposite the entrance. The interior is made in black and red tones, in some places you can see elements of silver or gold. Huge paintings in gold frames hang on both walls of the lobby. They depict some important people with menacing faces, but you can't make out the text on the captions to the portraits. It's a language you don't know. A huge chandelier with red candles burning on it hangs on the ceiling. Even the very flame on them seems scarlet. And although it's only early autumn outside, it's strangely cool in the mansion. Almost grave cold.

Michael Myers

You notice that your kitten is behaving strangely. Perhaps you shouldn't have taken him to such a strange mansion. The black little animal begins to meow often and asks to get off your hands. You slowly put him on the floor, and he runs straight up the stairs to the second floor.

"Michael, be a good boy and come back!" You mumble in a voice a little louder than a whisper.

Your boy has never been so restless, on the contrary, he was usually even too calm. Even when you first found this baby, he was a quiet, albeit wayward cat. As if he understood you.

"Michael..."

You hear the cat meowing from one of the distant rooms and sigh in defeat. Slowly climbing up the burgundy trunk to the stairs, you hold on to the smooth black railing with your hand. When you reach the back room, you notice Michael sitting on a large velvet bed with a satisfied smile. It was a huge double bed with a gray canopy over it and a carved headboard. A truly aristocratic bed. You come closer, holding out your hands to the kitten.

"Come on, be a good boy, we need to go. We don't want to meet the owner of this place, do we?"

Finally, the cat climbs into your arms and you turn around to leave, but abruptly bump into something. He was a huge man. You back away in fear, landing on the bedspread. You just crashed into his chest...

Your eyes go up, examining the man with horror. He was at least six feet tall, menacing and cold as a statue. His dark curly hair fell in careless curls over his pale face. The man's face was expressionless, and his large copper eyes were bloodshot.

You reflexively hug the cat to you, trying to protect him, and you close your eyes. The man raises his hand and...

Nothing?

Oh.

His big cold palm with rough fingers gently touches your face, stroking your cheek. You slowly open your eyes, looking at the stranger in disbelief. But now his face wasn't so impassive. Behind all this cold facade there was a hint of... Happiness?

The man was standing there, stroking your face, as your kitten jumped to the floor, starting to rub against the man's leg. What a... He never recognized strangers, even hissed at them if someone got too close to you.

You look up at a man, and your eyes meet. Why is he silent?

"Y/ N..." he mutters faintly, and your heart starts beating wildly in your ears.

How does he know your name? A moment later, and the man gets on his knees, hugging you around the waist and putting his head on your lap. Even in this position, he was huge. He covers his red eyes, starting to slowly rub his face against your knees and emit a light purr. Just like a kitten...

"Missed you."

And again just one phrase. But it's enough to make your heart start to ache strangely in your chest. Your hands seem to move by themselves, burrowing into his unruly curls and massaging his tense skin. A strange feeling of deja vu appeared inside. As if it really was before...

Looking up, you don't find a kitten.

"Michael," you mutter softly, frowning, and notice that the man raised his head, looking at you with his puppy dog eyes. His name... Michael? Just like your kitten. You sigh softly and smile at him. The man... No, Michael, he smiles a little in response and you see little fangs peeking out from under his lips. A vampire... But it doesn't scare you. For the first time, nothing scares you. It's like you've finally come home.

Vincent Sinclair

It was a huge picturesque mansion where you wanted to stay longer. All this mysterious interior in the mystical light of blood candles caused a strange excitement in your stomach.

You slowly climb up to the second floor, looking at the paintings and leading your hand along the different railings. A truly blood-stirring place.

Walking to the second floor, your feet lead you to the first room you come across. A spacious room with dark curtains on the windows, inside there were several tables littered with papers and paraffin candles standing on them. But what caught your eye were the drawings. Oh, Father, it was a whole picture gallery! All the walls of the room were hung with old, slightly yellowed and frayed paper. And on each sheet there were different faces, as if alive. You came closer to examine them and... Your face was here. It was almost perfect. The accuracy with which your facial features and your hair were transferred, although they were somewhat longer in the portraits... Your smile is so bright and colorful. Your eyes... It was really you. But you've never worn such strange dresses... And where did your image come from here?

There was a thump behind you, as if something heavy had fallen to the floor. You turn around and freeze in place.

It was a man. He was dressed in unusual clothes for modernity, rather resembling the costumes of the Victorian era. His long hair fell over his broad shoulders, and his face was covered with a snow-white mask. Several heavy volumes of books lay on the floor in front of him. So that's what it fell...

It seems the man is hesitating. His ringed hands are shaking a little as he gathers his thoughts. It was as if he had seen a ghost. Or a goddess.

The stranger is slowly moving towards you, his dark hair flowing over his strong shoulders like silk ribbons. He slowly knelt down, gently hugging you with trembling hands. You feel this cold touch on your hot skin, but it seems almost... comforting. You look down at him, your hands almost reflexively reaching for his hair, gently running through the soft strands. And he shudders. A dull, barely audible whimper fills the room. The man presses closer to your body and mutters something indistinctly.

A simple "Vincent" flashes through your head, and you don't notice how you say it out loud. The man shudders, looking up at you, and your heart freezes. His blood-filled eyes look at you with unprecedented love and tenderness. You're back, they say.

Hannibal Lecter

"You're finally here, Mieloji."

It was a deep male voice that made your blood run cold in your veins. You slowly turned your head towards the stairs, noticing a tall man on it.

He was dressed in a dark suit with a starched white shirt peeking out from under his vest. His entire appearance radiated elegance and sophistication. Those carefully arranged hair on her head, shining in the bloody candlelight. This sweet, but at the same time dangerous, intoxicating snow-white smile with plump pink lips. And, oh, those blood-red eyes looking into the very depths of your trembling soul.

As he slowly descends towards you, you back away, pressing into the wall. The man reaches out to you with his pale hand with neatly sharpened nails, touching your cheek. Only now do you notice how much he towers over you. Like a predator over a prey.

"I had no hope of meeting you again, Mieloji," He whispers, leaning against your neck and looking at you with his burning eyes.

"S-Sorry... But I don't understand what you're talking about..." You mutter softly, feeling your knees slowly give way, "Maybe you're confusing me with someone..."

"Oh, no, dear. I recognize you from a thousand," He whispers with a predatory smile, baring a pair of sharp fangs, "I recognize you from a thousand, Y/N."

"How do you know my name?" Your voice is shaking. It seems like it was too much for you. You were scared.

"Shh, Mieloji. I didn't mean to scare you," His gaze softens for a moment as he runs his thumb over your trembling lip, "I'm Hannibal."

He probably expected this name to give you some hint of what's going on, but you just nervously pursed your lips. What a strange man he is... Although it was worth this name to fly off his plump lips, as your heart skipped a light beat. But this is not enough to believe his words. You're just scared...

"It seems you've really forgotten me, Mieloji," Hannibal murmured with a slight bitterness, looking into your beautiful eyes. Oh, he was drowning in their alluring depths every time, "I shouldn't have let you go then... But I cherished you too much to deprive you of the joys of mortal life."

The man wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you into his cold embrace. Your smaller body looked so perfect in his hands... The pleasant aroma of his body hits you in the nose, mixed with a slight taste of copper and sandalwood. At this moment you feel so calm, here in his arms. It's as if the whole world around you has ceased to exist, just you and him.

His cold hand slowly looks at your tense back, lightly sliding his nails on the fabric of your clothes. Hannibal remembered it all too well: every curve of your body, the scent of your hair and your gentle voice. It was definitely you, his beloved, who returned to him after centuries. He knew it right away, as soon as he noticed you at the gate through the window of the second floor.

"Mieloji, I've missed you so much... I thought I wouldn't see you again," he muttered, a hint of relief in his voice.

Oh, how you wanted to believe him. It all seemed like a pleasant dream. You just moved out of your old town and entered a mansion you didn't know, but this was the first time you really felt at home. You were in the right place.

You almost reflexively squeeze the fabric of his vest between your fingers, and the man lets out a light laugh. He pulls away, still holding you by the waist and burying his free hand in your hair. Hannibal tilts your head slightly to the side.

"Let me show you my love again," he whispers, and you feel a painful burning sensation in your neck.

His sharp fangs cut into your flesh, and his pink lips begin to slowly suck your skin. It was painful. But gradually this feeling was replaced by something like... pleasure?

"Let me help you remember everything, Mieloji."

#slashers x reader #michael myers #michael myers x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader

[seresinhangmanjake]

omg L-O-V-E-D your recent drabble! 😍🥰 will we get to see the disneyland trip?? (no pressure :)

Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy this one, too :)

Dad!Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female reader

Oh, Baby Series

words: 623

--

"Alright, baby girl, listen up." 

You were surprised your daughter managed to follow your husband's orders in her state. Her ears were full of laughter and playful screams, her nose taking in the drifting scent of cotton candy and popcorn, while her eyes were wide as saucers, trying to absorb every colorful, animated sight before her. But her father's voice broke through the distractions enough to tug at her attention.

She released your hand to take both of his, and you chuckled as she stared up at him with a wide smile, her arms swaying side to side and thus doing the same to his. 

You were tempted to snap a picture of the moment. Your daughter's face was morphed with uncontained excitement, and though Jake's held an intense seriousness, it did nothing to so much as stutter Eve's expression.

"What, Daddy?"

"Rule one," he began and Eve nodded vigorously, "No whining about the roller-coasters. Some of them you just aren't old enough to ride yet and you know it. Safe rides until you're taller. Rule 2: The princess-shaped gummies in the baggies at the candy shop have to be paid for before you start snacking. And rule three: No running off from Mama and Daddy."

Jake had that way about him. He loved to have his fun—perhaps a bit too much at one point in time—but with Eve, fun came alongside ground rules. And you couldn’t exactly blame him. As your daughter grew, Jake’s mother was sure to inform you that the little girl’s energy directly matched that of her own son’s at the same age. A ‘wild boy’ was what she called him, and you couldn’t deny Eve was already succeeding at following in her father’s hyperactive footsteps. 

“Ok!” Eve suddenly shrieked, pulling out of Jake’s hands. She spun until her back was to you, her feet already in her ‘I’m ready to dash’ position. She was quick, that was for sure, but Jake was quicker. 

His finger tucked into the neck of her t-shirt just before she flew out of reach. “That would be running off,” he said, lightly guiding her back to him.

With a huff, she faced the two of you. “But you guys are going to be too slow!”

You snorted then and crossed your arms. “Trust me, sweetie, your daddy has never been slow at anything.”

Jake shot you a playful look, his lips quirking up a little in the left corner. “Except talking to you that first time.”

“That’s true,” you agreed. “It did take you a while. You just stared from afar all night.” 

You were given a wink in return and Jake’s lips parted for what would have been an undoubtedly witty retort that never came due to your daughter’s interruption. 

“Daddy, staring is bad manners.”

He tore his eyes from yours and directed his sight back to his daughter. “Yes, thank you, baby.” 

“Can we go now?”

Jake crouched in front of her so they were near eye level and adjusted the Mickey ears atop her head until they were straight. “What are the rules?”

Counting with her fingers, she repeated the list. “No grumpies about roll-coasters, no gummies until Mama and Daddy say ok, and no running away.”

“Correct,” Jake praised with one sharp nod, then he held up his hand for a high-five. Eve did a little jump to power the force of her palm smacking against his. “You, baby girl, just won yourself an extra balloon on our way out.”

“Really!”

“Yep.” Standing to full height, he brushed a wayward curl out of her face. “Now lead the way with your walking steps.”

She slipped one hand into his, the other into yours, and proceeded to do just that.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @cinderellasmissingshoe @novagreen04 @multifandomlover4life @mayhemmanaged @memeorydotcom @ryiamarie

---

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #dad!Jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin top gun #tgm fic #jake seresin fluff #dad!jake seresin x reader

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Thinking about if Alastor’s twins were like the shining twins…

-freaks everyone out, especially because both never drop their sharp toothed smiles.

-their big eyes stare into your soul.

-something they know a little TOO well because they will stare at whoever just to mess with them.

“Where’s the popsicles?” Charlie hums to herself at the frozen refrigerator.

She hears some giggling behind her, catching both little deer girls with the popsicle box.

“Hey girls! Can I get one of those?”

They both simultaneously stop laughing and instead stare at the woman.

“…”

“Uh..” Charlie repeats her question.

They both continue staring, their smile still on their face as they continue to eat their popsicles. Making no move to give one to the Princess of Hell.

It’s a good minute before Charlie just backs away quietly. Walking away with her feelings hurt for being ignored 🥺 (poor Charlie why did I do her like that 😭)

-they WILL speak in unison because they know how uncomfortable people get.

“We’ve been watching you.” *little giggle* 👹

“I’m not doing this. I’M NOT DOING THIS!” Vaggie exclaims running out of the hotel.

-when there is an option for peace or violence they WILL choose violence.

“Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” Vox says.

“Like an ugly primbly bitch 👹”

-I could see them both tying up some horrible sinner and giving them a makeover. Alastor catches them and is deeply amused.

“Ladies~ what did mother say about kidnapping sinners from the street?~”

“But father we’d like to play with her.”

“She’d look much better with more eyeshadow.”

“Yes indeed, we are helping her look more pretty. She’s ugly right now.”

The father of two gives them both looks, his smile stretching maliciously at the wayward sinner begging him to save her.

“Hmmm…very well then! Don’t tell your mother!”

“Thank you papa.” Both say.

Both love you dearly.

After a long day of tormenting others and hurting everyone’s self-esteem, you can find them curled up in your lap reading a story for bedtime.

When they’re tired enough, you’ll tuck them in bed and land little smooches on their foreheads.

When you leave them to sleep and they’re sure you’re gone, they’ll open their eyes to stare at one another.

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

“…”

“Let’s eat 👹”

Cue them raiding the kitchen and eating everything 👁️👄👁️

The next day:

“WHY IS THERE NO FOOD?”

*little giggle* 👹

Idk why I like making them unhinged lol

No because I love this too and you know that they would 1000% torment Valentino and Vox.

But when the reader catches them they dropped the act because they don't want to make Ma'ma mad.

The reader make's them apologize to Charlie and Vaggie.

This is just perfection.

#hc #hcs #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #dad!alastor

[nightcourtseer]

“Wrap Me in Your Skin and Bones”

Warnings: NSFW

Summary: The true mating bond is revealed between Elain and Azriel, and the frenzy ensues.

Read on A03

Need coursed just under the surface of his skin like an electrical current.

There was no relief in sight, though it had been a week since they had sequestered themselves in the townhouse once the mating bond had finally, blissfully snapped.

“Still going?” Rhys’ dark talons had scraped at the dark entrance to his mind the day before, a cautious teasing from the High Lord who had barely had time to beg for their forgiveness when it was discovered that there had indeed been a Mother-blessed bond all along, buried under the surface of the corrupted spell linking the son of Day and Autumn with Elain.

Azriel’s mental voice had snarled back at Rhys before slamming the doors to his mind shut. A faint laugh could be heard from the other side before Azriel had redirected his attention to the female curled into his side, looking up at him questioningly.

He had reassured her with a gentle kiss to her forehead before they both fell back into a brief sleep, temporarily having sated the newly-revealed bond.

It wasn’t long before he was awoken by a slender hand tracing the whirls tattooed on his chest, moonlight setting her bare skin aglow and Azriel had been unable to resist the look in her eyes - the raw need that passed back and forth between them as they struggled to understand how they could possibly go on living outside the four walls of her old room in the townhouse.

The moon was still high in the sky when he awoke again, the space in bed next to him cold, the covers pushed back. Exhaustion was a heavy thing weighing on him, even as her absence made him ache, renewed need thrumming through his muscles, pushing him to find, protect, love, fill.

A solid bridge was an open passageway between their wayward souls, and Azriel must have unknowingly sent a call across its expanse as before he could fully sit up, pushing his weary muscles to move, Elain stood in the doorway.

She wore only one piece of clothing, haphazardly buttoned halfway down - a forgotten white dress shirt that he must have left in the dresser of the house at some Solstice or another. The large sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, so as not to fall down into the plate of sweet rolls she held in her hands. Golden brown curls were pulled back from her face in a halfhearted braid, even as the humidity of summer in Velaris curled a few stray pieces around her forehead and flushed cheeks.

Dark circles lined her eyes like shadowed moons, and although part of Azriel ached to see them, he knew that his own were no different. They had trouble sleeping after all, or eating, when the bond was so fresh, so insatiable. Only mumbled, drowsy words or the growl of a stomach pushed them to stop, to reluctantly pull apart to grab something from the kitchen or sink under the covers for an attempt at sleep.

She let out a quick breath when she saw him sitting there, eyes dark with exhaustion and hunger and need. Primal in every sense of the word, as they relished in what they had willed between them for so long.

“You need to eat,” Elain chided softly, as she approached the bed. Bare feet near silent on the wooden floor.

“The only thing I need is you.” His voice was thick and low, still coated with sleep.

She replied only with a soft, indulgent smile as she climbed carefully onto the bed next to him, the shirt pulling up onto her upper thighs as she balanced the plate in her hands.

It wasn’t close enough.

He grabbed her hips, slowly moving her to settle over top of him, to where she no doubt felt the physical embodiment of his longing for her hardening between them.

“Eat, Azriel,” Elain encouraged, lifting a roll to his lips.

Scarred hands tightened in the fabric of his old shirt at the words. The words, the action, so reminiscent of their first few moments at the house once that bond had been unveiled.

Only to appease her did he lean forward, opening his lips to close around the roll, and then around her fingers. He sucked gently as he pulled away, tongue tracing the pad of her skin.

A quick inhale of breath sent her chest rising and quickly falling under the cotton fabric of the shirt.

“You’re exhausted, Azriel. You need to sleep.”

“Hmm…” he mumbled, his voice betraying his fatigue as he leaned closer to her still.

Everything he had ever wanted, had ever needed so close he could almost…

He let his tongue indulgently trace up the elegant column of her neck. Taste of the sweet pastry and her own addictive scent of jasmine and honey sending a fresh shock through his system.

How Cassian and Rhys had emerged from their mating frenzies within a few days, he would never understand. Maybe it was the fact that he and Elain had tried to repress their own for so long. Maybe the years of raw need had been buried so deep only to grow to an insurmountable level, unable to be contained by earthly skin and bones.

All he knew was that it had been a week, and their desire showed no sign of tempering.

“I need you,” he whispered. Though he had no strength left, a strange soreness he was unused to feeling settling within him as he gave all that he had to her - against the kitchen counter, pressed up to the closed door, underneath the tree in the garden, dappled evening light filtering through the leaves as he pressed into her again and again and again…

All-seeing brown eyes scanned his own. A gentle hand reached for him across the bridge of their souls - an offering to him, to help him settle the ache that threatened to pull his flesh apart.

He took that hand, near shivering at the rightness, at the wholeness that he felt as she took the lead.

The plate of sweet rolls was abandoned on the nightstand next to them as a gentle hand pressed to his chest, instructing him to once again settle onto the pillow underneath him.

Then swift, graceful hands were moving down the buttons of her shirt, his hazel eyes devouring each inch of skin that she revealed to him even though he had worshipped all of it, every single bit, once, twice, three times over.

Once she bared herself to him, the shirt barely hanging onto her shoulders, she pulled the sheet back from where it still lay between them.

Azriel’s back arched as she ground just once against him, bare need meeting bare need as they both sighed in relief at the feeling.

His chin tilted up as his hands tightened around her plush hips when she did it again, and he went to flip them over when Elain shook her head above him, leaning forward so that her chest just barely brushed his.

“Let me,” she murmured against his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to them as he let his heavy eyelids close, relishing in the feeling of her surrounding him in every way as she sunk down on him.

Her body felt like home.

Azriel let her peace wash over him, her movements a moor in a heavy tide as his soul settled, safe when watched over by hers.

It started off slow and sweet as she moved on top of him, skin to skin. That was, until she moved a hand to wrap around his neck, her touch gentle but firm as she titled his head back to press warm kisses along his jaw, up to his ear.

He could feel she was as close as he was, her other hand desperately clutching at his where their fingers interlaced next to his head.

“Let go, my love.”

Her soft voice was a beacon in his darkness, leading him home, to pleasure, to light.

To a place where his weary soul could finally rest.

“Give me everything,” Elain whispered encouragingly in the dark as she pressed closer still to him. “I can take it.”

He knew that she could. Knew that she already had taken all of him - his joy, his pain, his need, his loneliness, his longing.

This release was slower than the rest as they came together, Elain letting out a quiet cry as he moaned, pressing his lips into her curls. Their chests rose and fell in tandem, a push and pull like the tide as they caught their breaths. Azriel’s eyes remained closed as he pressed slow kisses to her forehead, wincing slightly as she pulled out of him. The loss a more manageable ache than it had been minutes before. The bond once more sated for a time, so that they could pause.

Her fingertips whispered over his eyelashes, the few freckles along his temples.

Darkness swept over him, sleep a sweet calling even as he struggled against it.

“Rest,” Elain commanded him, her honeyed voice just beyond the edge of his shadowed mind. “Let’s rest now, Azriel.”

He felt her lay down against his chest, and he pulled her closer with a hand underneath the shirt still covering her back. The small of her back was warm beneath his touch.

Sleep finally a welcome thing with her in his arms.

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar fanfiction #elain x azriel #pro elriel #pro elain #elriel fanfiction #elriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #sweet and sleepy smut #sleep azriel

[zepskies]

Hii! Could I request Soldier boys reaction to his gf slapping his ass 😭😭 like he's just walks by her in the comfort of their own home and she just... does it

🤣🥴 LMFAO. Bless you for this ask, my dear. It turned into a full on "imagine" scene instead of just bullet points. (And I think you sent me another imagine! I'll work on that one next. 😘)

Here we go…

Word Count: 550

Imagine: Repaying him for a job well done.

He was just standing there, doing the dishes.

You didn’t know why you liked it so much. You had cooked, so it was only fair that he cleaned up the kitchen. (Or such was one of the ground rules you'd set when you two moved in together.)

Maybe it was because he was actually following said rule. Maybe it was because your boyfriend was washing a damn dish without you asking.

Maybe it was the exquisite ratio of broad shoulders, straining under his simple shirt, to a tapered waist and a pinnacle of strong, jean-clad legs.

“Hey, you got any dishes over there?” Ben called to you, over his shoulder.

You took that moment to drain the last of your wine glass with one bracing sip.

“Yep,” you said, popping the “P.”

But when you didn’t join him in the kitchen, Ben finally looked over at you. His brow shot up when you raised the glass, twirling it around from your recline on the living room couch.  

“You really expect me to go over there and get it?” he said.

“Please?” You wiggled your bare toes on the couch and held onto your throw blanket. “My lower back hurts…you know, from all those hours I put into making a loving, home-cooked meal.”

Ben shot you a look of annoyance. You gave him a pair of imploring doe eyes; you both knew it was an act, but somehow, it still worked on him…most of the time.

Your mouth twitched at a smile when he finally came over to grab your glass. He plucked it out of your hand with a shake of his head. (And a look on his face that said you were lucky beyond fucking belief that he put up with you.)

So when he turned to leave, you really couldn’t help yourself.

You leaned over and gave him a nice smack on the ass for his efforts.

Ben was surprised enough to stop short. His hand flinched on reflex, actually cracking the wine glass. It was just a fraction of his super strength, but the glass soon shattered over his hand and onto the hardwood floor.

His hand was fine, of course, but his brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend what the hell just happened.

You bit your lip, but a snort of amusement still escaped. Ben slowly turned to you.

“Fucking proud of yourself, are you?” he asked, with a wry raise of his brow. Still his lips threatened to curve upwards.

“A bit, yeah,” you admitted. Your little smirk made his green eyes narrow.

“Okay,” he nodded. Then he turned and swiftly yanked the throw blanket off your body, before all but tackling you onto the couch.

You squealed and pushed at the iron wall of his chest, but it didn’t make a damn difference. Ben trapped you underneath him, caging your hips between his thighs, and sunk a firm hand in your hair.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was gravel and sin, and it made a pleasant tingle run down your spine. You still had the audacity to smirk in his face.

“Who says I can’t finish it?” you quipped. Your nails dragged down his chest teasingly, all the way to his belt.  

Ben huffed. “We’ll just fucking see, won’t we?”

He then captured you with a searing kiss that made your toes curl.

AN: I love doing these SB imagines/headcanons! 😘

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List:

If you prefer not to be tagged on imagines, just let me know. 😉

@melancholictearz @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman

@mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore

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#ask me stuff #soldier boy #slapping dat ass #Soldier Boy imagine #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy headcanon #zepskies answers