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tallymonster · 1 day

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Memories of Us

Chapter 18 : Remember Me

AO3 || Master list

A/N: so this is my longest chapter...it's around 6.7k words lol and there's a lot of lore drops going on soooo yeah enjoy lol.

Thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for their blessing on each chapter. Your support means the world to me.

Super special thanks as always to @micropoe10 because this girl has literally been here from day 1 supporting, uplifting, pushing, and helping me with this story. She even wrote the last few bits to save me from myself and I can never thank her enough. Love you so so much Rue.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel @hereliesblackdragon @misscrissfemmefatale

Astarion had begun to realize how much he enjoyed Octavia’s company. She was the eternal sunshine behind the clouds and each bit of affection from her broke them apart and allowed the light to come through.

The thought of someone caring about him was a lost concept, that someone could see something inside him other than what he saw himself.

Octavia was utterly infatuated with Astarion, she wondered if there was more to this routine the two of them found themselves in. The feeling of their bond becoming stronger, drop by drop of her delicious blood.

She was desperate to unearth more of his secrets, all while still hiding her own. Octavia was blinded by her own hypocrisy, the irony of her wanting to dig into his past while denying her own started to eat away at her. As she stared at herself in the mirror by the front door, she felt something tugging at her to be truthful with him.

There was a knock on the door, she took a deep breath as she finished fixing her hair.

You need to be honest with him. He was with you. It's the least you can do.

Astarion waited outside Octavia’s house, she had suggested going to a night market in Rivington she heard of. A friend of hers apparently told her it was a great place to go on a date.

He was somewhat nervous to be out in the open so publicly with someone. It had been so long since he let himself do it, not feeling the same as when he and Tav would walk hand in hand on the same streets.

Astarion leans on the rails of her front steps, he stares up into the starry sky. The stars sparkled as if they were there just for them. He smiles to himself, hearing the door open.

“Hello beautiful. I was afraid you were leaving me to go to the market all by mys-” He turns and the words are taken out of his mind as he takes in Octavia’s appearance.

She was in a mid-thigh length mustard colored pinafore dress, with a black short sleeved shirt, and some black tights with black leather ankle boots. A woven bag hung from her shoulder. This was one of the few times that Octavia could swear he was rendered speechless.

Octavia giggles and gives Astarion a kiss on the cheek, “Oh come on, you've seen me naked, I’m not dressed that seductively right now.” she walks past him and turns to wait for him at the end of her steps. “Ready to go?”

He nods with a grin and follows behind. As he steps down to the sidewalk, he holds his hand out, testing how she will react to his small gesture.

Octavia blushes, her heart fluttering slightly. She swings her shoulders back and forth, in a giddy wiggle. She smiles, biting her lip and takes his hand in hers. It felt cold, but so safe. She felt his fingers slip between hers in a comfortable lattice.

They walk through the street, silent at first. After they cross the road, Astarion wraps his arm around her waist and speaks. “You look wonderful by the way. I know you said you didn't look enticing, but I beg to differ. I think you look absolutely appetizing.” He squeezes her hip, Octavia’s cheeks are flushed a light reddish tone.

Astarion pulls Octavia close, hugging her in a playful embrace. She laughs as he bends down to kiss her. “You're being awfully affectionate. Are you feeling okay?” Octavia asks Astarion.

He lovingly cups her chin with his hand and pulls her in for another kiss. “I’ve just been really happy these last few weeks. I just figured that since we are on a date, I would act like it.” Astarion shrugs, giving Octavia another kiss before releasing her from his arms.

Octavia leads Astarion down the road to where the market was being held and becoming more populated. It had been so long since Astarion came to the street markets. He hated the crowds, the noise, all the different smells of foods he can't enjoy, but with her by his side it's all just background noise.

Astarion looks down at Octavia, a smile creeps into his face as he watches her eyes light up with excitement. Perhaps he could suffer for a bit longer, she did seem pretty eager to go out like this. Who would he be to deny her such simple pleasures?

Octavia can't decide where to go first. To her left was a stall with handmade leather bound books, to the right some flower stands, and not to mention all the food! She took Astarion’s hand and began to walk towards the flower stand. He smirks letting her lead him to wherever she wants.

“I love flowers. My mom and I had a garden at my childhood home where we grew so many. I tried maintaining it after she died, but it was just so hard to keep it up by myself. My dad was never one for being outside in the dirt even though he grew up near the Druid Grove.”

Octavia confesses with a laugh, she turns to Astarion and her smile drops a bit.

“I'm actually going to visit him soon. He's moving back to the Grove and he asked me to come help him empty out the house…feels weird to go back to basically throw away all the memories we made there.”

Astarion notices the change in her smile, the drop of her shoulders, and the way her hands come together. Her fingers twiddled at the variety of flowers carefully laid out with a far off stare. He takes one of her hands and holds it gently.

Octavia turns to him with faint tears on the corner of her eyes. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “It's been a long time coming. My mom's been gone about 16 years at this point, so why do I feel so sad?”

Astarion’s grip tightens on her hand. He knows this feeling too well. The feeling of moving on and allowing the grief to come and go as it pleases. Astarion takes in their surroundings. The last time he allowed himself to be in this type of market was the last time he saw Tav.

“You feel sad because you miss her, love. I've been there myself. In this very market no less.” Astarion finishes his sentence with a soft breath.

Octavia looks at him, recognizing the same sadness behind his eyes. The grief of losing someone you love. She remembers one of the things that makes her feel better is to talk about her mom, so maybe he can tell her about his loved one? “What were they like? The person you lost?”

Astarion glances back at Octavia, he hadn't thought about telling Octavia about Tav just yet, or at all. He pays for a bouquet of wildflowers that Octavia’s eyes locked onto. They turn and begin to walk away from the stall.

He hesitates before giving her a sad smile. “I’m not sure if this is the right time for that, I mean, I'd rather focus on you tonight, if you don't mind.” They sit on a bench near the edge of the market. Astarion looks down at the bouquet, taking a small pink rose and placing it in Octavia’s hair.

His hand lingers on her cheek, he leans down and kisses the corner of her eye. As he pulls away, he catches the smile that forms from her lips. He hands her the bouquet, as she leans on his shoulder, perfectly distracted away from her questions.

“No matter how long it is. Know that you will always carry a piece of her with you. As long as you remember her and the love you had, you'll never be without her.” Astarion comforts Octavia as they hold hands.

Astarion's good at the little words that everyone likes. The pleasant platitudes to soothe a broken heart. Meanwhile, he continues to push his own feelings of grief deeper down.

He could still see Tav standing at the opposite side of the market, the bag she carried full of contents hung from her shoulder. He stood about 8 stalls away from her. Her sweet scent hit his nostrils as he traded meat for bottles of blood.

Astarion had turned his head towards the scent, nearly dropping the glass bottle in his hand. He couldn't believe she was still in Baldur’s Gate after 30 years. He didn't know how long he was staring, until the merchant cleared their throat.

Astarion thanks them and turns back towards Tav. She's staring into a mirror that sat on top of the stall. She seems as if she's looking for something inside of it, a dreamy far off look behind her eyes. He hesitates wondering if she would be happy to see in or if she’d punch him. He’s frantically running scenarios in his head when he notices her head lift up.

Astarion shields his face with his cowl, only his bright red eyes shining through. He slings his bag over his shoulder and hesitates to walk closer to her. Tav fully turns to face him, her face the same kind loving light he saw in his trances. She smiles, beaming towards him, a look of recognition and love.

He swallows, the world seems to be closing in.

Instantly, though, that same world comes crashing down when he hears a small voice calling out. “Mama!! There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!” A little girl runs past him, straight into Tav’s arms. Soon after a man comes up to them both and wraps an arm around Tav's waist.

He watches as the man kisses Tav and leads her away.

The rest of that day the way she looked past him burned in his mind. Could she have already forgotten about him? How long did it take for her to move on?

There's no point in dwelling on it now, he's got a lot of other things to worry about of course.

“Astarion? Are you okay? I didn't mean to pry again, I’m sorry.” Astarion is broken away from his thoughts by Octavia’s soft apology, her hand resting in his. He looks down at their hands intertwined. The flowers sit on the bench between them.

“The last time I saw her, she was standing at a stall like the one we were just at. I'm pretty sure she forgot who I was…or she had this look on her face like she did. I’ll never forget the way she looked into that mirror…This glossed over sort of blank empty look to her eyes. It was so strange, like she didn't remember where she was for a second.

Besides, she had a child and a husband? Partner? I don't know. I didn't hang around too long to ask, and I didn't want to cause any issues so I just stayed out of it.” Astarion confides, his voice mournful and far away.

Octavia feels the grip holding her hand tighten a bit, perhaps she's edging too close to his boundaries again? She rubs her hand on the top of Astarion’s arm. The motion soothes him and replaces the icy shards of sadness that pricked behind his eyes.

Somehow though, as he looks into her dazzling green eyes, he feels that lovely warmth in his chest. That feeling of comfort he’s longed for over a century.

They lock into each other, taking in their collective grief. Their sadness was the thing bringing them closer together. “You know, I’ve never told anyone about her.” Astarion confesses, “It's the first time that I've felt comfortable to feel this grief with someone who can relate. Thank you for giving me that opportunity to share a little with you.” He leans down and kisses her sweetly.

Octavia smiles reluctantly, a small shy blush grows on her cheeks. She must have something on her mind. “Is everything alright, my dear? You seem lost in thought.” Astarion asks.

She nods slowly, turning to look out to the market. “I was hoping that I wouldn't bring up anything sad, but I guess I couldn't make it through one date without ruining the moment.” Octavia huffs in a soft awkward laugh. “Gods, for once I wish I could stop being so melancholic and just enjoy the good things my life has given me lately. Like you.”

Astarion sits up a bit, he could feel a slight warmth at the tip of his ears, was he blushing? He clears his throat and asks, “Really? What about me?”

She smiles and plays with his fingers in her hand. “Where to start? You're kind, well…to me,” a soft giggle follows “you're smart, incredibly handsome. I feel pretty fortunate to have someone like you on my side, you understand me. Whoever let you go is foolish to have done so, but they opened up that path to you for me. So maybe they weren't so foolish after all.” Octavia lifts her hand, kissing the top of his hand.

“She didn't leave me. I left her. I left because I was scared. Scared that I couldn't take care of her how she wanted. Scared that she would figure that out on her own. That she would wake up one day and realize that I ruined her life. So I ran. I didn't even say goodbye. I just picked up my bag and left in the middle of the night. Like a coward.” Astarion spits out, the shame and regret dripping from his lips. His lips purse as he bites the inside of them.

Octavia frowns, she takes the flowers and places them on her lap. She plucks one out and begins to softly spin the flower, opening the petals. “You're not a coward.” She brings the flower up to his ear, tucking it behind.

“I don't think you're a coward for trying to keep someone you loved safe.” Her hand lingers on his cheek, caressing his face. “‘The things we do for love’, as my mom used to say.”

Astarion melts into the warmth of her hand. His heart felt the grief it was used to, but with her here it didn't seem so devastating. To allow himself to be vulnerable with someone felt strange, as most things involving Octavia do.

They sit in silence for a few seconds, before Octavia speaks “Not to change the subject or anything because I feel awkward,” she laughs a bit, “but I've noticed that you haven't been wearing your glasses lately? Did something change?”

Astarion bristles a bit, having to think on his feet. He was a bit hesitant to admit that he was not feeling the need to keep hiding behind the magical lenses any longer. In reality, he began to feel more comfortable to be himself around her.

But instead of giving her that openness, he lies again. “Oh, I…felt like I'd be calling more attention to myself if I were to have them on right now. Besides, wasn't it you that asked me why I wore them indoors right as Gale introduced you to me? I feel like this is the opposite of that.” Astarion ends with a soft tilted giggle.

“Imagine if someone stopped us to ask why I'm wearing sunglasses in the evening? As you so tactfully had that first night? That would have definitely ruined the date. Either way, you didn't do anything wrong. You’re perfect.” Astarion pulls Octavia close, releasing his hand on hers, and drapes his arm on her shoulder.

Octavia melts into his embrace, a bittersweet feeling hung over them. She brings her hand up to her shoulder and interlocks her fingers into his again. Astarion felt her relax a bit.

“How long will you be away?” “Do you want to come with me?” They speak at the same time, interrupting each other. Astarion clears his throat and Octavia laughs quietly. She turns her head to ask again, “Do you want to come with me to Wyvern Hills? I'll be gone for around six days?”

Astarion thinks it over, the idea of meeting her father was intimidating, even more so because he would probably have to explain his particular affliction. “I don't think so, darling. You deserve a break, and I don't think Gale can handle everything by himself again. I had him do that once and he nearly quit. It's too much for one person to handle. It would be unfair to him.”

Octavia feels Astarion’s other hand start to run up and down her arm. It's as if he was soothing her, or himself, maybe both? He was beginning to recognize the same comfort of sitting in silence with a loved one. The reminiscences of a quiet evening under the stars.

The sounds of nature envelop them, an intimate orchestra for two lost souls floating in an everlasting ocean of grief. In the vast darkness, they find the light and come together.

Octavia had lost herself to these feelings like so many times before. Astarion was born in it, used to the push and pull of it. Having lost the will to swim against it and let the waves crash over him, caught in its current thrashed around, but this was different.

To Astarion, Octavia feels like the safety net pulling him from the depths. The warmth of her affections was melting away his fears. His heart wanted to tell her how he felt. To confirm that after all these years, he finally felt the warmth of loving someone again.

“I lo-” Astarion almost confesses when he catches himself and continues, "I'll miss you. A lot. I just realized that we haven't been apart since we met. It'll be strange not having you around.” He leans down and kisses her cheek. “Come back to me, okay?”

Octavia felt her cheeks flush and her heart flutter.

Was he..? No…I’m probably just projecting.

Octavia couldn't deny her feelings for Astarion. The little flashes of lightning whenever he held her, made her laugh, or kissed her were exhilarating.

She couldn't deny that she loved him.

Octavia was terrified to tell him so after hearing him talk about his lost love. Who would she be if she heard all his pain and immediately said “Well, guess what? I love you!”? Her face felt hot, how long had they been sitting here?

She turns to Astarion and kisses him, she lets her feelings pour into their kiss. Octavia could feel tears gathering behind her eyes, “I’ll miss you too.” She smiles and kisses him again, feeling him lean into her, his arms wrapping around her.

Octavia pulls away a bit, “I should go home now, I told my dad I would try to be there as early as I could.” Astarion responds with a whine, Octavia giggles as he plants small kisses all over her cheeks, nose and lips.

“Don't miss me too much, Star.”

“Is that a challenge, darling?”

They laugh as Astarion unwraps himself from her, he stands and holds his hand out. Octavia takes it and they walk off into the night.

They leave the flowers on the bench.

--------------------------

Octavia walks up to the cobblestone cottage she grew up in. The patch of wildflowers she used to run in have turned into a full meadow, their blooms alert and open as if welcoming her back.

She walks up the gravel path to the doorway, noticing a small hummingbird on the hibiscus bush her mom lovingly tended. She smiles watching it flit away. Her trip would be over soon. A ping of sadness runs through her, saying goodbye to the place is going to be hard.

Suddenly the door swings open. Her father, Ralomaer, stands at the doorway with a giant grin on his face. He has a red flannel shirt on with some white powder on the bottom and some dark pants.“Hey kid! Have a nice walk? Are ya hungry? Got some breakfast made up for you!”

“Did you make waffles by any chance?” Octavia asks, with a laugh. Her dad tilts his head, his brows furrowed and he shakes his head, “Yeah, how’d you know??” Octavia laughs harder and points at his shirt. “You're covered in powdered sugar, Dad.”

Ralomaer laughs and waves his hand over the fabric, cleaning it up. Octavia walks up to him and remarks, “That must come in handy, you always used to hate doing laundry.”

Her dad laughs, “Well when you live alone, it's kind of pointless to wash one thing at a time. This is faster and better for the environment. Anyway, go eat. I'll meet you upstairs when you're done, it's attic day!” He waves his hands in a flourish, as Octavia walks past him and into the kitchen. Her dad climbs up the stairs.

Later that morning, Octavia sits cross-legged on the floor of the attic. Her father sits across from her on an old wooden chair. Between them sat an open wooden crate full of letters, drawings, photos, and many memories from her childhood.

“Okay, now I understand why you wanted me to come by and have this visit with you so urgently. This is really nice to go through with you, Dad.” Octavia chirps excitedly.

“Well don't thank me, thank your Auntie Taeladra! She insisted I clean the attic since she bought the house from me. Kept telling me something about ‘Preserving family history’ and ‘can you tell Octavia to come instead, isn't this pretty much her job.’” Ralomear holds up his hands, making finger quotes.

“Gods, she sounds like my coworker, Gale.” Octavia and her father laugh, as she rifles through the crate. Finding medals, trophies, countless books, letters, and pictures.

“You know, I think you’d like Gale. He's pretty funny. He's smart, witty, and so quick! He's been a great mentor, and an amazing friend. I'm really lucky to have him.” Octavia smiles warmly as she keeps rifling through the crate.

Her father stares at her, a puzzled look on his face. “What? What's that look for??” Octavia asks playfully.

“Are you dating this Gale? That was a lot of complimentary language for someone who is just a friend, my darling.” Ralomear gently teased.

“Dad! No! He's not my type! Besides, I'm way too busy with all the research and work and just…everything.” Octavia laughs, hiding her face behind her hair. She quickly looks away, hoping that her answer would squash this conversation.

“Oh my little bookworm! Don't keep your head in the books too long, you'll miss out on writing your own story.” Ralomear pinches Octavia’s cheek adoringly.

She smiles at her father, a little embarrassed laugh leaves her lips. A feeling of dread grows, she knows that her visit might end with her having to possibly define whatever she's got going on with Astarion. A small seed of insecurity plants itself in her stomach. How could she ever find a way to ease her father’s worries when it came to her love life?

“I’m gonna see what else is back there.” Octavia gets up and starts looking through the rest of the crates that occupied the attic. They were all stacked neatly in the corner of the little room. She walks up to the circular window next to the stack and opens the thin curtain.

Small dust spores kick up as she swings the window open, allowing the fresh air and sunlight to flood in. When she turns she notices a dusty tarp in the darkened corner of the attic. Some canvas frames sat on top of the tarp, it was staged as if it was trying to conceal something.

Octavia comes up to the items, carefully moving them aside. What she finds is an old wooden crate. “What the..?” She runs her hand on the edge of it, easily sliding it open. “Woah…hey Dad? I found something?”

Ralomaer looks up quizzically and wanders over. He stands with a hand on his hip, the other scratches at his beard. “Well would you look at that! Didn't even know that old crate was in here! No wonder your auntie wanted you to come through here, you and your museum skills are great for finding old junk!” he laughs.

Octavia began digging through the crate. Inside were old spell scrolls, tomes, stacks of handwritten letters from her great grandmother, the other adventures she traveled with, even highly detailed hand drawn maps!

Octavia could not believe the amazing treasure trove she had just unearthed in her own home. How long has this been here waiting for her to find it?

She finds a book full of sketches of various plants, animals, and locations all over Faerun. Octavia fixates on a fully illustrated image of the inside of what looks like an Illithid colony! She continues to flip through it, mesmerized by the way everything is drawn.

Octavia turns the page and is struck with drawings of eyes that look relatively close to Astarion’s own. She feels a strange sort of recognition from looking at the drawings.

The blood colored irises that were lovingly depicted in charcoal and ink, have a haunting familiarity to them. She knows Astarion is old, but she never asked exactly how old…

Her father pulls her out of her suspicions, “Lookie here, Tavvy! I found a rather interesting letter!” Ralomear recalls as he unfolds the antique parchment, handing it to Octavia. She reads the letter, her mind a little frazzled by yet another strange coincidence.

Darling Tav,

Laurent tells me you've been having nightmares again. It's been about 20 years since everything happened, are you still being plagued by the memories of it all, or just one particular, specific person? I still have some of my contacts from the House of Grief from my days as a Sharran. If you're serious about taking the risk, I could put you in contact with them. Let me know when you two get settled into your cottage. Lae and I can be over as soon as a tenday.

You're always in my thoughts, my dear friend.

Love always,

Shadowheart

“House of Grief? That sounds ominous.” Octavia remarks, remembering the extreme rituals Sharrans would take in order to release painful memories. Octavia could hardly imagine the suffering of those who felt it necessary to forget something, to now know that her own grandmother endured that shakes Octavia to her core.

“Sharrans eh? Good thing you did that whole exhibit on them! Maybe your friend Gale can help you out with this stuff?” Ralomear remarks.

“Yeah…maybe… Do you think Grammy had some PTSD from the whole Netherbrain thing?” Octavia asks quietly, the seriousness weighing heavy on her heart.

“I’m not sure, baby. Your mom always avoided the subject with me. Something about not wanting to dwell on the past and enjoying the time you had in the now. It was the one thing I never understood about your mom. How I wish you could ask her now.” Ralomear solemnly muses. He looks at Octavia, smiling mournfully.

They stay in the silence for a moment, before Octavia breaks. “I miss her. I could really use her brain right now.” She runs her finger along the outside of the crate.

“I miss her too. You definitely took after her, your brilliance is obviously her doing, my heart.” Ralomear takes Octavia’s hand in hers, squeezing it lovingly.

“I am so proud of you, I know your mom would be too. Now, let's keep digging through her stuff!” Ralomear smiles warmly and releases her hand.

Octavia shuffles through a stack of books, most of them run of the mill books, nothing too noteworthy. Until she notices a blue-gray fabric bound book. In silver letters across the front it read ‘Warming the Melancholy Heart’. She cards through it, until a small hand written letter falls out.

Octavia opens it, scanning the page. She gasos and begins to read the letter to her father.

Laurent,

The Unburdening your wife chose to follow through with should have fully set in by now. I have sent you some recommended reading should you have any questions about the procedure. Your wife has all my gratitude for all she did for me and the others. To give her this blessed relief in this trying time is the least I could do.

As per her concern, she may have some fleeting memories, but those should fade in time. Should she have any aftereffects or complications, do not hesitate to contact me again.

Shar’s blessings be upon you,

Nocturne

“Unburden? What does that mean?” Ralomear asks Octavia, handing her the letter.

Octavia reads through the thin book, the words describing the taking of memories sound as if they're trying to lessen the serious action being taken.

The remedy may seem non-existent, but it is not so. No heart that beats is a stranger to that which gives it joy - you must seek it out however you can.

Octavia flips through the book, most of it is filled with testimonials from people who went through the process. Lines of affirmation for what has been done to forget. Her eyes linger on one of the pages describing the aftereffects, symptoms ticked in red ink, tally marks keeping track of each in black.

✓ Forgetfulness ///

✓ Melancholy ////

✓ Face blindness //

✓ Staring at nothing //

✓ Nightmares of past memories /////////

These shall subside as time passes, you will need to guide your loved one through the process moving past their burdens. Should they seem different, another session may be required.

You may notice your loved one have an empty, far off look to their eyes, that will lift as their healing progresses. If you find they are forgetting more than intended, return to the House of Grief.

Be aware of them looking into mirrors for a long period of time.

"Mirror??? What?” Octavia gasps, covering her mouth quickly after. “Tavvy? Everything alright? Your face looks really sweaty all of a sudden…” Her dad reaches out and places the back of his hand on her forehead. “Oh yeah, you're feeling a little warm, why don't you go lie down? We're almost done for today, so I can finish up and bring some tea to your room?” he gives her a soft pat on the shoulder.

Octavia nods, “Sure, thanks Dad.” she can't wrap her mind around everything she just read and saw. She grabs the sketchbook and the book on Unburdening and walks out of the room. She descends the thin ladder leading up to the attic, then walks into her room, closing the door.

Octavia presses her back against the door, sliding down until she's sitting on the floor. The sketchbook closely held to her chest.

She opens the book back up to the images of the eyes. There's no doubt in her mind that she's looking into the same eyes that she had back on the bench outside the market.

Suddenly, Octavia remembers that she had the enchanted journal at the bottom of her bag. She crawls over to her bag at the foot of the bed, and flips furiously through it.

One entry immediately catches her attention.

Gods, it's been incredibly hard trying to keep these entries as neutral as I can. There's no telling what else could come for A. About two tenday ago, we went through that freaky meadow, A and I ran into a Gur hunter named Gandrel. Said he was looking for a vampire spawn, I noticed A’s whole attitude immediately change. His face looked as if he had been slapped. Those eyes that keep staring at me, turned so fox-like and angular. As soon as we heard A’s name come from the hunter’s lips, it was over. I have never seen him move like that. He swears it’s Cazador, but what would Cazador need him for?

Octavia presses her knees up to her chest. She closes her eyes and tries to push the notion of this being Astarion whom her ancestor is referring to out of her mind. It can't be him, could it?

She reaches over to the foot of her bed and rips through her bag, shaking out its contents, until finding a black velvet bag. She slips the ribbon off, taking out the red leather bound book that Astarion had given her.

She flips through, reading the first few lines. It speaks of people who had been captured, the various ways in which they were beaten, tortured, abused, and finally, bled try and turned.

Each one had an entire 20 page section dedicated to their specific treatment. Near the bottom of one page, she notices a name.

According to Aurelia, the Gur sent someone to find him. I sent Dalarya and Petras to stalk the Gur encampment in Rivington. They are to kill whoever does not give up information.

The boy will be found, I need him to ascend. The Ritual of Profane Ascension will be completed.

I WILL BECOME THE VAMPIRE ASCENDANT.

Ritual of Profane Ascension…where had she seen that phrase before? Octavia goes back to Tav’s journal, flipping through until she sees those words again.

Today, I got a better look at his back.

He's got a circular scar with Infernal written all around. When I saw it the morning after the party with the tieflings, he said it was poetry, but he didn't know that I know Infernal. I was hesitant to tell him what it really was, but something told me to keep being honest.

When I asked him where he got it, he told me it was a gift from his old master, Cazador. I explained to him that I believed it was a binding glyph, Cazador was planning something and whatever it is, it seems he needs the missing piece that I have in my party.

My suspicions were proven correct when we met up with the devil after finishing the Gauntlet of Shar and killing the Orthon.

He told us about this Rite of Profane Ascension. How Cazador needs 7 of his spawn to sacrifice along with many others to make himself into some kind of super vampire that can walk in the sun, go into homes without being invited, all those things that go along with being a vampire….

I'm not so sure about it though. Raphael explained that the soul of the Ascendant would be lost, and he would be a shell of his former self.

I don't know if I could go through with it. Killing all those people? It seems like such a big decision to make, so permanent and serious. We had a group meeting after everyone cleaned up and had dinner. Karlach and Wyll were adamantly against it. They can't justify all that loss for one person to benefit.

Gale and Shadow had more rational arguments, they both had ambitions to be greater than they were through their own rites. A seemed to listen to Shadow over Gale, but ultimately it was Lae’zel that convinced him otherwise.

She told him how all she wanted was to serve her Queen, but after seeing everything we have, she realized that she can't keep chasing the shadow of a lie. Sometimes, we have things we want, and we find that to achieve them, we would lose all of ourselves. If that was the case, what was he chasing after? If he wanted freedom, he's already free.

I think that was what finally opened Star’s eyes.

Star??

“Fuck me.” Octavia can feel the color drain out of her face. She looks around the floor at all the books that were surrounding her. She picks up the sketchbook and keeps looking through.

She noticed that every so often, there are pages ripped out. As if someone tore them up in a fit of rage. When she reaches the page with the eyes, she sees a little doodle of a star beside each one.

Octavia can't help the trembling in her hands, there's been this creeping suspicion inside her for a few weeks now.

The enchantment Gale broke, the log book Astarion gave her, the way he described his lost love seeming like they had been Unburdened and now all this? The clues are becoming glaringly obvious to her, but, it can't be….can it?

Her heart is thundering inside her chest as she keeps going through the pages of the sketchbook, more torn pages, drawings of flowers, and finally near the end of the book, two full pages of the binding glyph that Tav had described.

Three circles, almost like a bullseye, surrounded by Infernal symbols. The scarring looked deep and painful. Octavia’s mind races remembering how Astarion winced and seemed to not want her to touch him there.

Octavia’s eyes survey the page and her breath is ripped out from her lungs when she sees a profile drawing of Astarion looking her right back in the face. She can feel the tears well up behind her eyes, her entire life she had been told about this grand adventure, this amazing thing that her great grandmother had done for the city she loved.

There's almost double the amount of writings speaking all about a seventh spawn. It used a code for their abuses and names but I was one set of entries that surpassed all others in her eyes.

Octavia swallows, she grabs the red leather book one more time, she opens the book towards the end, as soon as she sees his name, it all comes crashing down on her.

I have dispatched the brood. They will find him and bring him home. And when they do, I will make him scream for this.

Their tale was fanciful, but they believe it to be true. Astarion, standing in the sun’s light? Willing and able to disobey me? Inconceivable.

My spawns fail me. Astarion eludes me. I WILL HAVE MY DUE.

Octavia’s blood runs cold.

There it was, hidden in plain sight this whole time. Astarion is everything that she has been searching for. He's the one who was there, the one who was in the paintings, the one who Tav forgot. All the evidence was clear, and now seeing his name in this journal that she barely bothered to look at back home…

Home.

Oh gods, how was she going to be able to look Astarion in the face now?

The only thing that made her doubt all of this was his back. She hadn’t seen it yet. She dreaded having to ask to see it, what would she say? How would he react? She presses her head up against the footboard of her bed, closing her eyes tightly.

Octavia's heart shattered as she sat clutching her knees tightly to her chest. The room grew smaller and the air around her was stifling and thick. Between the sobs, she tried to catch her breath, trying to stop the room from spinning, holding on to her legs, anything to ground her.

But what was left to stand on? Everything she knew up to this moment had been a giant mystery until now, shrouded in a decades-long secret. Locked away behind paintings and books, the things that once gave her comfort, that now sat scattered about her felt tainted.

She shoved them away, call it anger, frustration, fear, it all blurred together now. The floor felt like shifting sand, like it would give way at any moment sucking her down. Hiding her, like the other 7000, like his siblings like him...HIM.

Did he know? Did he know about her relationship to Tav? She had so many questions now and everything felt more and more uncertain. He loved Tav, and she had loved him that was for certain. Was he still in mourning, did he regret leaving Tav? Was she Tav's replacement?

Oh gods the room was spinning as Octavia lay down on the floor curled in on herself. She couldn't think that way, but she couldn't help it anymore. She no longer was thinking with a clear and rational head, instead, she let her emotions control her.

Binding her to the belief that Astarion once upon a time loved a woman so intimately, that she would never be able to fill that void. As sleep took her the last thought that plagued the visions within her mind was one that had read in the journal, something that Tav had penned so long ago.

Would Astarion ever leave Octavia like he had left her? And if he didn't would she ever be good enough for him to convince him to stay?

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #fic: memories of us #bg3 fanfic #shit's getting real now y'all.

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elvirable · 8 months

Text

Instincts

[ Astarion x f!Reader/Tav ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 3.7k | status: complete themes/tags: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light angst at the end, you know the sex scene after the tiefling party?, yeah so this is it, with astarions pov, already catching feelings smh, smut is halfway through, just skip to after all early dialogue

----------------------------------------------------

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his simple plan crumbling apart.

In other words: Astarion has been struggling to balance century-long instincts with newfound feelings, an undeniable connection. He carries out his simple little plan as intended, but meets complications he didn't quite expect. ----------- A/N: so i hung up my cod medals of honor to write this.. i've been playing for a month now. originally posted without proofreading, but its now edited for grammar and some terms -----

It was hard not to have fun around you.

Something of a child-like giddiness would buzz through his nerves whenever you sauntered over, his marbled red eyes wouldn't dare to miss a beat of the vision you were. Swaying hips and that deceivingly coy face. Of course, you were strikingly beautiful – a wickedly delectable sight – but that wasn’t the only source of his carnal anticipation.

It was just you, the enigmatic little thing you were.

Admittedly, Astarion believed he had read you like an open book the moment he laid eyes on you. It was an instinct of his: gathering a cerebral repository of notable ticks and body language, facial twitches, and octave changes in those around him. Watchful, constant observations.

He had chalked you up to a sort of stoic character at first. Graceful, to a degree, in your manner of subtly balancing the world around you. A stable composure, quick and quiet without brash or idle chatter.. unlike that Gale. You were a less flagrantly repulsive hero-type crafted in his mind – but he had still expected you to be oh-so predictable with a shallow drive for self-emaciating ‘justice’. Whereas the others wore their baggage like a garment, you held your cards close to your chest – like a chameleon suddenly thrust into the spotlight.

Yet the sun rose and fell two or three times around the wilderness of Elturel, when he found himself pleasantly contradicted. He normally didn’t dedicate much attention towards someone he believed he so easily pegged, but his interest began to pique. Just enough to leave him sitting with an edge and a consuming desire to peer in closer.

Maybe it was the way your mouth twitched into a quiet smile during his verbal antics on the road or the firm passiveness you held from the blighted village to the drama of Emerald Grove; an intoxicatingly confusing blend of traits you harbored. The closer he watched you, the less blurred you became. You didn’t fear being authentic and enforcing boundaries to those who attempted to use you – but you weren’t cruel; you met the world around you just as it was, without discrimination. No unnecessary harm, no free handouts either.

Or perhaps it was your sarcastic remarks that stirred what little glee he had in him; an especially delicious and refreshing insight into your humor. While he could care to give a critical note or two on your lack of blatant cruelty, Astarion respected your compelling demeanor; he witnessed how all these companions turned their eyes so frequently to you with decision.

But what he did know for sure was the eye contact.

Gods, the first time your heads swiveled mid-strife and your gazes locked with a rich crackle – the memory alone was enough to stupefy him! Something strange stirred, something that didn’t sit comfortably. He didn’t know what to make of it.

With all this said, that same sensation boiled inside his stomach as he mulled over his every interaction with you. He recalled that moment of midnight – when all was still and you had caught him prepared to taste your throat. Your wary stare pierced through him, washing away briefly the desperate pangs of blood-thirst and left him feeling.. nervous.

Ugh, how he despised the feeling.

He was sickened when all those ledgers of observations caved in on himself, caught in his pale throat. He had taken such an overwhelming liking to you – to the extent, he had realized, that he was drawn to your guidance, your approval; a repulsive frustration at the time enough to coil through his cold veins. Without much to say, however, he was adamantly relieved when you conceded and soon regularly allowed him to drink from your slender neck.

His trail of thoughts glossed over your stifled grunts onto the following morning: when you came to his defense as everyone felt the need to chime in with their unfettered prejudices. And how his ease, his excitement around you became persistently potent – a fresh energy that filled him as you spurred on his teasings and whims. Astarion noticed your subtle release of your ever-strong walls, just enough so he could relish in your humor and affable side.

There was always a hesitation at doting on the sensation that rose inside him at these thoughts of you. He surmised he was merely back in the practice; where he spun honeyed words and charmingly guile eye contact, to wrap his target around his finger. Any little edge of control he could grasp onto, the familiar taste of influence he used to know so well. These habits of two hundred years were kicking in. He’d play the part and – sooner or later – this eagerness to please would be reversed onto you.

Whether it was his own willful denial or the culmination of fate’s ever-spinning thread, the first crumble began the night of the tiefling party.

Cool and clear was the star-freckled night. Everything was too merry for him: the wide-toothed grins of the tieflings, sharp strums of the lute, the chatter. Even the wine was downright awful, pungent and tart like vinegar.

Astarion would’ve normally indulged in his bitter mood, but it was the sight of your drunken smile that diffused his prior desire to complain.

How interesting, he thought as his eyes lapped up your squinted grin and eased laughter. It was helplessly infectious to see you so earnest, casually prattling on in conversation throughout the camp.

Red eyes followed while you made your rounds, encouraging the tiefling’s dancing lights spell and conversing with the bard. Astarion even raised a brow at the playful expression that washed over your face as you spoke to the hulking druid by the name of Halsin. When you strolled over to Shadowheart and he caught that carefully provocative glint in the raven-haired cleric’s eyes – a chord of jealousy grew taut inside his chest.

He had half the mind to feel insulted that you hadn’t wandered in his direction yet, but that was quickly dispersed when he noticed you dismiss yourself and head towards a wooden crate near the riverfront.

Almost like a shadow, Astarion swept in your direction. Whether it was to merely take in your smile up close or to put his plan in motion, he settled on the latter. You were rifling through the crate that held what could barely pass as wine, muttering a quiet curse about the little tiefling probably pocketing a bottle or two.

“Here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed,” the words dripped from his mouth with a sweet cadence. “You will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”

You swiveled at the sound of his voice, raised brow accompanying your hazy smile. The influence of wine lowered your usual wariness, and he caught the realization flutter across your face; there was no constitution in attempting to act reserved, especially with the rapport you two had grown. Amusement was written all over your face, hardly concealed – you had decided to play along.

“A little treat? You can do better than that.”

“Oh, I certainly can. It would be my pleasure.”

He leaned closer, half-lidded eyes darkening and breath heavy with a mischievous delight. You watched him expectantly, reveling in what would pour from his lips.

“How about this one,” he loosened his posture, as if you both were stowed away from the entire world instead of dawdling along the outskirts of the shoddy camp. “All these accolades from the tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

Astarion watched the smile further spread across your soft lips, the wickedly sweet crinkle in your eyes while you crossed your arms. An exhilaration rose underneath his suave demeanor, even the bemused snicker invigorating.

“Is that the best you can do?” came your quick quip.

“Hmm, let me give it another go,” his voice was thick with arousal, a hungry glint in his eyes. “Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation – it’s as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.”

His words clung to the air for a moment. The deliberate onslaught of poetic pleasantries laced with such ardent lust, the hum of the wine – Astarion studied your face swirling in thought. Heat had built up from the lower half of your body up to your cheeks, a quiet neediness wavering in your stance and threatened to boil to the surface of your skin.

Gods, you were thinking, it had been the longest time and you’ve been touch-starved.. more so under the urgency of all the trouble you had been thrust into. You never trusted a pretty boy, but you'd be damned if his flowered prose didn't stir something in you; you had never been the subject of such pursuits, real or not. Desire rushed through you, coiling in your stomach.

There was a beckoning in his eyes as they clutched onto yours, imporing you to draw closer, and his boyish features were even more alluring when caressed by the moon’s glow. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust those flowery words. They were tinted with an air of rehearse.

“Did these really work on Cazador’s targets?”

“Well, they’re working on you, aren’t they?”

A mild bashfulness buzzed through the warmth on your cheeks, as you couldn’t really deny it.

“How about if I said these little words… everyone’s favorite,” Astarion continued, pausing for effect.

“I love you.”

Sly amusement colored his face. He had succeeded in riling up the intrinsic urge, no matter how much you tried to conceal it. How adorable you were when your gaze fluttered briefly.

“Having fun, are you?” you observed, smile holding on your lips.

As he had mused earlier, he was. It was hard not to whenever around you.

Festivities settled down, the entire camp fast asleep once the wine crate had emptied and bellies were full. Only the chittering of crickets could be heard amongst the trees.

The forest, usually dressed in potent darkness, stilled beneath the moonlight. A serene, subtle beauty of the night – one Astarion was very accustomed to knowing, to living . He had done this so many times it had become second nature – the salacious rendezvous, the secrecy and fleeting thrill of them all.

He had contemplated before, the image of you melting in the throes of pleasure. He wondered whether you preferred his hands gentle or rough, what sounds would dribble from your lips – if they sounded as sweet as you tasted.

Though nothing could prepare him for the reality, which far surpassed fantasy; the pretty little thing you were, bare figure caressed by the lowlight, slowly making your way towards him.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

You offered him a coy smile, cheeks still warm and rosy. An ache rushed between your legs at the sight of him sauntering forward, his well-formed broad physique. Lean, yet muscular – and the soft details of his appearance; the crease of laughter lines, the curl of his lashes. Just the anticipation of it all served enough to make you wet.

“Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you,” he leaned closer, desire coating every syllable.

“You don’t have me yet,” you matched the pulse of his words, emanating a playfulness to goad him on further.

Greedy lips suddenly met yours, and you were pressed against the tree trunk. His palms gripped the back of your thighs, swift dexterity almost catching you off guard. You instantly melted, like a puddle, in his grasp; your soft lips just as eager, skin aching and impatient for his touch. You never realized how sensitive you were, how truly touch-starved until you fought the gasp that escaped your throat.

Astarion didn’t waste a beat, carefully laying you onto the grass below while he drawled slow kisses along the curve of your neck. Fervent yearning permeated from your skin; you wanted more, and he was prepared to give you everything .

He drank in the sight of your arousal, eager to please you yet potently roused from the position he was in: you were such a delectably pretty thing sprawled beneath his weight, completely bare and vulnerable. Wide eyes bashfully beckoning him to just taste you.

“Part those precious legs for me, beautiful.” He directed, his voice less of a growl this time – instead more sweet. Soft.

You could feel your face heat up further at his words, following his command without hesitation. Tender hands trailed along the soft skin of your thigh, his intense eyes briefly leaving yours to watch his fingers lingered over your folds – you were glistening with slick , fevered arousal.

“Oh my, you’re already so wet for me.”

His voice was almost a whisper now, as a keen excitement rushed through his veins. A twitch pressed against his briefs, his cock already hard and eager especially when his eyes darted towards your rosy. So willing, ready to indulge his every whim. For a moment, he settled in your vulnerability – a sight he didn't expect to see. You were always full of such delicious surprises.

He shook the thought from his mind, allowing a sly smile to return to his lips.

“Who knew you were so needy?”

Your cheeks flushed, timid lips scrambling to form a defensive retort before he slipped two fingers inside. Only a quiet gasp left your mouth as your soaking warmth struggled to adjust, tightening around his digits. You were barely able to comprehend the words he said, instinctively bucking your hips.

“ Astar ..” your breath hitched before you could even finish, when his fingers began a slow pace. Teasingly slow, you would beckon, but there was nothing you could even fathom whispering anymore. Your walls began to clench, eager to receive his unwavering attention.

Hums of pleasure pulsed through your every nerve, rapidly as he fastened the curling pace of his fingers. Every hitched and quiet whimper encouraged him, his palm soaked with your slick. He relished the sight of your round breasts rising and falling feverishly, your heat clenched around him – his cock further hardened, precum no doubt pooling on the fabric of his briefs.

All you could manage was to focus on the pleasure mounting between your legs, thighs now quivering with anticipation. His thumb slid up to your swollen clit, never breaking pace, to draw teasingly slow circles. He adjusted his weight to lean closer to your face, the sudden attention causing an overwhelming shyness to press your eyes shut. Your thighs trembled more now while his fingers beckoned and lured your pleasure to spur closer and closer.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice the gentlest you’ve ever heard.

He couldn’t place the sensation – of feeling entranced in a sense, when whimpers of pleasure fumbled from your beautiful lips. Astarion almost felt lost, nearly mesmerized, when you kept those pretty eyes trained on his. He could feel his eyes soften at your vulnerable stare, and all at once everything inside him craved to slide into your warmth. To feel you melt into him, to hit every right spot to make you sing, for every sweet prayer cascading from your lips to be for him.

“Mmf..” You were left in a sudden foggy haze, a mix of pleasure and confusion when he abruptly withdrew his fingers. You couldn’t fathom any words to speak, only furrowed your brows in a hazed and disorientated manner.

“I’m sorry, love.” His breathless laugh seemed dazed before the low, heaviness returned to his tone, “You were practically just begging with those lovely eyes of yours.”

He leaned downwards to plant soft, reassuringly delicate pecks across the nape of your neck; each a mantra to affection, leaving a buzz in their wake. Carefully he peeled down his briefs with a wasted moment to rub his eager cock against your slick warmth.

Your moans sounded even sweeter closer to his ear, and a delighted sigh pressed from his lips onto your skin. His throbbing cock was met with some resistance as the length and girth was suffocated by your tightening walls, warm spasms at the sensation being filled.

A guttural, low moan hummed from his throat. Fuck, you were so perfectly tight.

His cock pulsed at the sudden attention, aching with pleasure and a warm buzz radiating through his skin. He paused for a moment, needing to relish every second it felt to be now pressed so deep inside you. The softness of your skin, delicate cues of pleasure washing over your face, how your warm walls enveloped his cock.

You moaned as he pushed more of his length inside your needy warmth, tears beginning to well up in the corner of your eyes. Pleasure and slight pain blurred, the tip of his cock almost pressed against your soft cervix and a rouse of heat traveling up your spine.

His hands gripped the globes of your ass to adjust his leverage, slowly but deliberately digging his hips against yours with each thrust. His body was achingly ready, alive with frantic urge. He was incapable of any pretty words to whisper, tangled groans replacing his usual velvet tongue.

As he pounded quicker into your warmth, your pulsating soft walls sucked his cock tighter and deeper with each buckle. He nestled his head into the nape of your neck. Sweat formed on his pale forehead as he wrestled with his restraint, his cock stroking in and out, hitting pleasure points you never knew existed and relishing in your shameless cries – desperate for him.

Soft, warm pleasure unraveled across you in hot waves. If you had the mind, you could only hope that no one could hear you two – the sounds and wet smacks of his skin colliding against yours – but all you could do was turn your pleasured cries and whimpers into soundless gasps.

Your lips parted, hips bucking before your back arched from the ground. Every fiber of your body attempted to get closer to him, and his to you. Of some act of grace, your hand caressed his face, lifting him to face yours.

Oh, how he wanted to melt right there.

Eager eyes met each other, brows furrowing together into a soft, tender stare. Astarion’s hips began to buck erratically for a moment as he struggled to regain his resolve. Once steadied, he continued to bury deeper into you in every perfect way. You were clenched so tightly, so divinely around him while his name trickled as a whisper from your lips.

“You – fuck .. “ you couldn’t be bothered to form a proper sentence, every whim of comprehension overwhelmed by new heights of white pleasure. You were lulled into a stupor, and his grip tightened at your garbled pleas.

“Thaaat’s it,” Astarion practically begged, voice ragged, his eyes never leaving your beautiful face as it twisted with sweet expressions. An eagerness gnawed inside him, to push you to the edge of your pleasures. You were so perfect while you cried his name, taking all of him so well.

“Come for me, sweet girl –” Hushed and delicate was his tone, only causing you to surrender any inhibition.

Heat wound tightly in your abdomen, lashes wet with the tears trailing down your warm face. Every nerve was wound so tight, finally snapping into a rush of white hot pleasure that left your skin flushed and tingling. You tried to whine out his name, but it spilled out into broken gasps as you reached your fingers to grip his silver curls.

His hips began to stagger, riding out your pleasure until he could no longer postpone the succumb to pleasure. They lost their rhythm, and a low moan rumbled from his throat as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of your tightening walls, pressing into you.

You could feel his cock throbbing in you, as your nerves are slow to fizzle from the glowing buzz, and it swelled. Your slick walls were overstimulated nearly by his desperate, choppy thrusts before a cry escapes his lips – his cum flooded into you, thick and hot. He felt waves of warmth, so real and alive. So helplessly right.

The air was silent, as you both collected your breaths in hurried gasps. Astarion peeled his weight off of you only to roll onto his back, by your side. Your body felt light and completely slack, almost boneless as you sunk into the earth underneath you. Aftershocks of pleasure still rippled throughout your nerves.

Both of you laid sweaty, flushed, exhausted, lacking the energy to care. You broke the silence with a wobble in your voice.

“Fuck, you came inside me..” you stated the obvious, reeling from pulsing nerves and vision hazy.

“I’m sure the druids have something that’ll take care of that..” Astarion said breathlessly, extending an arm to wipe the sweat glistening off his forehead.

He waited for a quiet laugh or a retort, but neither came.

Turning his head, he was met with the vision of your exhausted figure fast asleep. Slowly your chest rose and fell, face at ease – a vulnerability he had only seen when you were in deep sleep, if you weren't tossing and turning.

The quiet sat with him while he attempted to gather his thoughts, his experience. He had seen an entirely different side of you – exposed delicate. Part of his conscience pooled with guilt.

He had a plan. A nice simple plan. It wasn’t foreign to casually bed strangers, seducing and manipulating them into following his every whim. Hells, this had been routine for two hundred years . The count was lost on how many nights he spent using people like ragdolls, only to be lured back into the hands of Cazador.

Astarion returned his gaze to the stars glistening above, attempting his best at reducing it to the odd circumstances or perhaps he was simply out of practice.

Regardless – even if it was more than a fluke – he had already fucked things up. The thought felt tainted now, uneasy and riddled with remorse.

Little did he know that evening, that was the beginning of his plan crumbling apart.

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teatoptony · 7 months

Text

For All the Mary Janes

summary; 'in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spider-man. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well'. what about the mary janes, then?

or, in which you're the mary jane to miles's spider-man

pairing(s); e-1610! Miles Morales x reader, e-42! Miles Morales x reader

warning(s); i didn’t have any specific gender or race for r in mind while writing, but rio calls r ‘mija’ once and i think that’s ab it

maybe some incorrect usage of Spanish? Spanish speakers who can respond to my weird questions pls hmu

maybe ooc but it’s been in my drafts so long i just wanted to get it out tbh

implied/mentioned parental issues with reader, not proofread, written (mostly) at ao3 hours

You and Miles were always joined at the hip. Your parents knew each other well, so your families were together a lot. Mr. and Mrs. Morales saw you like their own daughter, often joking that you and Miles would be engaged when you got older with the way he could never leave you alone.

At least, up till around two years ago.

You and Miles started to grow apart when you got into Visions Academy. He thought it was a stupid school full of stuck-up rich kids who only cared about making connections that would help them along further down the line. You thought it was a good school that had a good track record of producing students that had a lot of success in what they wanted to do.

Some things were said the day before your transfer.

Since then, the two of you rarely texted or called. Mrs. Morales would often come by for coffee with your mom, tell you about how her son was doing and gush over 'how much you've grown' from last Tuesday, but that was about the only way you knew the vague outline of what he was up to.

You'd admit you felt lonely for a while. After all, Miles had been your best friend ever since you could remember. But you also weren't going to go running to him after everything he'd said.

I mean, was it really that bad to want a good future?

Soon enough though, you felt like yourself again. You met new people, made new contacts, and actual friends. Because contrary to popular belief, the people there weren't all mini business men and heartless CEOs in the making. They were just kids, after all.

And then, Miles won the draw. Just a few weeks before the start of the new semester, your parents mentioned that he'd be going to your school from now on in passing.

You didn't think much of it at first. I mean, everyone has that one childhood friend that they fell apart with, right? For the first week or so, you didn't even see his face much. In fact, you didn't see him at all, not even a glimpse in the halls.

That was about to change drastically.

Short story shorter, you caught a glimpse of him walking on the side of the school with pigeons stuck to his hands. A month or two later, Spider-Man climbed through your dorm window, ripping off his mask and ranting about some villain of the week.

"I couldn't even catch the guy-"

"Miles?"

"...You're not Ganke."

The two of you made up that night. He apologized, admitting he was being unfair and was upset that you were leaving his school. It didn't exactly clear everything, but it was a start. The two of you caught each other up on everything they had missed. In the end, the sun was about to come up and the both of you realized you hadn't gotten a minute of sleep on a school night.

From then on, the two of you get closer again. He went to you for the occasional rant or patch up, and he actively sought you out in school now, relieved to see a familiar face in the halls. Gradually, you got close to the point you'd call him one of your best friends and vice versa after around a year of radio static.

Everything was great. He was cute, funny - in an awkward way, but hey, he made you laugh - he looked out for you, and when he talked to you he did this cute little thing where he would play with the strings of his hoodie which he somehow always managed to layer on with like two other jackets and—

Oh yeah, did we mention the crush you had on him?

Because there was one.

Big huge one, right here. Materialized out of thin air looks like.

Which should have been fine. You were perfectly capable of hiding a crush. I mean, come on, it's high school. You would've been eaten alive if you couldn't.

Normally, you would even be confident that you could make your crush like you back. I mean, why wouldn't he?

Two words. One person.

Gwen Stacy.

It was like he could never go even one conversation without mentioning her.

Slight exaggeration? Maybe. Maybe not.

"Oh yeah, that's cool! Y'know, Gwen told me one time that—"

"You got an A, I knew you could do it! I told you so. Did you know Gwen got A's in—"

"Oh hey, you got your hair cut! Reminds me of that time when me and Gwen—"

At first, it was bearable. Sure, she came up annoyingly often whenever you talked, but she had just left this dimension, never to be seen again. Of course he was gonna miss her.

You laughed at all his stories, listened to every one even though he told the same six or seven ones over and over again. You even grew to like Gwen, as if you'd known her for the short amount of time Miles did, too.

But then two months passed. Then six. Then a whole year. Before you knew it, a year and four months had passed since the departure of Gwen Stacy.

And he still. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.

You had tried to understand. You really did.

But you can only hear the same damn jokes so many times before you get a migraine.

Pick any story. You could list off every variation of how Miles would tell it off the top of your head.

Gwen Stacy became the daughter of one of your mom’s friends, so to speak. That one girl in the neighborhood you couldn’t help but envy.

And worst of all, it was like he wished you were her.

Whenever you did something, he would tell you how Gwen could do it better. He would ask you whether or not you thought Gwen would like certain trinkets he found around town, and kept a collection of them in one of his drawers so he could give them to her one day. He was even studying quantum physics instead of art so that he could make his own multiversal gateway - a safe one, so that he could unlock the multiverse, possibly for good.

It hurt when he zoned out while you were telling him about you, thinking about her; your day, what you wanted to study, how your parents were fighting a lot again lately and you were struggling because of it, how you'd joined a new band—

"A band, huh?" Miles suddenly perked up, finally looking up from his sketchbook. "Did I tell you Gwen's in a band? It's called the Mary Janes—"

"Miles would you please stop?"

A pause, both of you mildly surprised at how you'd snapped at him.

The two of you were at your dorm, seated side-by-side on the bed with your legs folded in front of you. It was Friday, the day before Mr. Morales’s pre signing-in party.

The boy looked at you, a questioning look on his face. "What's wrong?"

And that tilt with his head - he really didn't know, did he? You couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

"Miles, I know Gwen's in a band," He tried to say something, but you didn't let him speak before you continued. "I know she's a drummer, I know she does ballet, I know she had to shave half of her head because you couldn't control your powers - hell, the whole school knows that—"

"C’mon, don’t bring that up—"

"—I know every single story she told you while she was here, and I know every single detail of what you two did and how you did it. And I know she does everything I can do and she does it better. I’m tired of hearing it, Miles." His eyebrows furrowed, a slightly hurt look flashing across his face. "I’m sorry you miss her and I’m sorry she’s gone, but I just can’t be around you if all you’re gonna do is compare me to her."

A moment of silence settled in the air. You hoped Miles would understand. Surely, he’d see how tedious this was getting.

"All I’m asking is for you to tone it down."

Another beat passes without a word from the boy. He’s looking into your eyes, but it doesn’t seem like he’s all there. Like there’s a world past your irises that he’s seeing for the first time.

"I- I’m sorry, y/n, I can’t do that." Miles finally says, his gaze turning away from yours and to the sketch he’d been working on for the last hour. You glanced down at it as well, the bright blue eyes of the one and only Gwen Stacy meeting yours.

"You’re the only one I can talk to on this," he said quietly, softly closing the sketchbook and tapping a finger nervously on the cover.

"Ganke?"

"Ganke’s fine, he’s great, he’s just.. not someone I can go to for these things."

You took a deep breath, the guilt of having to tell him ‘no’ building up in your chest. You knew his relationship with his parents were complicated at the moment, and he didn’t really have friends outside of you and Ganke. But still.. it was like he wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in your life ever since your initial reconnection.

It wasn’t like you expected a complete 50:50 give-and-take in relationships, but honestly you felt like you were talking to a robot with very limited audio cues.

"Miles, you don’t listen to me anymore. The only time you actually respond to anything I say is when it’s something even remotely related to Gwen."

"That’s not true!" Miles protested. You watched as he tried to find something to argue his point, only to come up empty. His shoulders sagged a little.

"But you gotta understand, Gwen - I’m not gonna see her again, at least until I figure out.. everything." He said in a quiet voice. "I need to talk to someone. Can’t you understand?”

"I’m not trying to shut everything down, I’m just asking you to pay attention to me every once in a while." You sighed. "And if you’e not willing to do that… do you even think of me as a friend?"

Miles left your dorm not long after that little talk, sneaking out the same way he snuck in; through the window. You dug your nails into your palms, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm to push down any sadness you may have felt. It was the second time you and Miles had grown apart, this time maybe your fault a little more than his. It felt like it, anyway.

Still, you felt like you’d done the right thing.

You hoped so, anyway.

It was an hour before Jeff Morales’s technically-not-captain-yet-but-will-be-soon celebration. Your dad and yourself had come early to prepare everything and set up all the decorations. Your mom apparently ‘couldn’t make it’. It was the third time in the last two weeks she cancelled on plans that your dad was involved in.

You stacked red plastic cups on one of the tables, a cooler full of ice and two-litre soda bottles to your left. Miles’s parents had insisted they didn’t need any help, but your dad had insisted right on back that the two of you wanted to. You didn’t mind. You’d cleared your evening for the event anyway, so it’s not like you had anything better to do.

The one thing that made you kind of regret coming was your lack of a jacket. It’d been really sunny in the morning, so you’d figured it would be a warm night. A breeze picked up and sent a light chill through your body, causing you to just barely shiver.

"Mija," Mrs. Morales called, coming up from behind you and laying a hand on your shoulder. "You’re freezing."

"Oh, I’m fine, mama," you replied, smiling at her. She gave you a look that said ‘we both know that isn’t true’.

"Miles might have something in his room," she suggested, "I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you borrowed one of his clothes."

You thanked her but refused, claiming it might get warmer once the guests started to arrive and the party was at full swing. She must have noticed something was off when she mentioned Miles, because she raised an eyebrow and shook her head lightly before asking,

"What did he do now?"

Either you’re really bad at hiding things from her or her motherly sixth-sense worked on you too. You hesitated, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell her. After all, Rio had always been like a mom to you.

"We had a fight - if you can even call it that, anyway, about a girl," you said, fiddling with a plastic cup. "We’re not on real good terms right now, I don’t think…"

Rio looked slightly surprised for a moment, then something seemed to click into place. She sighed and put her hands on your cheeks. "He’s a little bit slow," she said, giving you a sympathetic smile. "But he’ll get there. Eventually."

She then squished your face before immediately letting go, making you laugh. "Now go get yourself a jacket. I don’t want my only daughter to freeze to death."

You held your hands up in surrender as she pointed to the stairs, swiftly making your way down to the Moraleses’ flat. You had a spare key that Miles’s parents had given you a long while ago, when your parents used to have full on screaming matches in the middle of the living room every other day.

Within a couple minutes you’d grabbed one of the dozen coats, hoodies and jackets strewn about Miles’s closet, pulling the soft material over your shoulders as you took a glance around his room. Everything was about the same as you’d seen two or three weeks ago, save for a few new stickers laid about the desk.

There was an all-too-familiar sketchbook on the bed, one similar to what Miles had been scribbling in last night in your dorm, just in a different color. This one looked a bit more used, so you supposed he’d gotten it and packed it full of Gwen Stacy just after she left this reality. The thought put a bitter taste on your tongue.

A half an hour into the party, Miles still hadn’t showed up. He was supposed to be here at least twenty minutes ago, and you could tell his parents were getting both worried and annoyed. Rio asked around for her son as Jeff chatted with some colleagues. Suddenly, an auntie shoved a mic into Mrs. Morales’s hand, drawing everybody’s attention to her by clinking her glass. Jeff looked away in what could only be described as complete horror.

"Um, hi…"

You grinned as she continued with embarrassing stories about her husband, from little anecdotes from when they were dating to how he was almost 10lbs as a baby. It was then that Mr. Morales jumped in, quickly taking the mic away from her and giving his own speech.

"—And to my son…"

You grimaced as he raised his cup, looking around for someone who wasn’t there. The two of you met eyes instead, and you shook your head to tell him he hadn’t showed with an apologetic look. He turned to his wife, only for her to do the same. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"…The reason I do any of this in the first place. So.. I love you Miles."

Afterwards, the DJ put the records on again. People are talking, laughing, congratulating, creating a warm, buzzing atmosphere. You’re dragged away by a few little kids to play with them over by a small cluster of barrels, which they’ve decided is their ‘lair’. You play make believe with them for a little while as their parents stand a bit away with your own dad, occasionally glancing over at you to make sure the kids are behaving.

It’s then that Miles finally shows up, pushing the door open with two boxes in his arms. You follow him through your peripheral vision as he tries to avoid his parents, ultimately failing. You’re not sure what they’re saying, but it doesn’t seem to be going that well. He shows them the contents of his boxes, which doesn’t seem to impress them too much.

After a couple more words, Mr. Morales raises his voice, the DJ trying to divert people’s attention away by upping the volume but ultimately giving up.

"What do you got to tell me so bad?"

"You know what? Never mind."

Miles walked away, pulling his hood up as his dad yelled after him about him being grounded for two months. Must’ve been really bad, huh?

You waited for the music to come back on before you made your way to the exit, ruffling one of the little kids’ hair as he skittered away with his sister. You’re just going to check on him for a minute, just to see if he’s okay. You can do that… right? I mean sure, it might be awkward since things had ended like that last night, but still.

No one else was going to.

You let yourself into the flat once again, approaching Mile’s room with soft footsteps. You’re just outside the door when—

"Are these your drawings?"

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart freezes right along with you. For a moment, you felt like a deer in headlights.

A feeling crawls its way under your skin, cold and slippery. You don’t know how you know, but you’re absolutely positive.

"Missed you too."

Gwen Stacy.

You’re on your way home, your hands rubbing up and down your arms to try to warm yourself up during the walk. You lived a little while away from Miles’s place, but it’s nothing you can’t walk.

You’d left the jacket on the Morales’ couch, turning on your heel and leaving the moment you heard her voice.

Damn it.

When had she gotten back? How had she gotten back? What was Miles’s reaction?

What were they doing now?

…Did you really want to know?

As your brain clouded over with questions, you took a wrong turn. Maybe two. Or three. Honestly, you didn’t know. Once you realized that this definitely wasn’t your neighborhood, you stopped yourself mid-step, looking around to see if anything was familiar at all.

Your eyes settled on a building, as there really wasn’t anything other than that around here other than some roads and bridges. One of the windows were glowing.

Then the whole structure began to rumble.

The ground beneath your feet started to turn… black…?

Wha—

You fell.

Not for too long, but you did.

You dropped around six feet onto hard concrete, twisting your ankle in the process. You cried out in pain and surprise.

"What the—?"

"Y/n?"

You looked up at that. You knew that voice.

Except, you didn’t.

The first thing you noticed is that this definitely was not the place you were in before. This place was more narrow, more dark. Light rain pattered on your skin as your hands supported your sitting position, wondering what the hell was going on.

The person who’d said your name was at the entrance to the alley you’d been.. teleported? to.

They took hesitant steps over to you, and, for some reason, you didn’t feel scared that this complete stranger had cornered you in a place you’d never even seen before.

Maybe the voice is what made you think it was alright.

Or maybe it was his face, which made your heart stop its primary function for the second time today.

"Miles?"

But he wasn’t Miles. At least.. not your Miles. This one was skinnier, just a little shorter. His accent had more of a Spanish touch to it and, most of all, his hair was braided into two sections that reached just below his shoulders.

No. He was very much not your Miles Morales.

Nevertheless, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. There was something in his eyes — regret? Happiness? Sadness? Anger? Confusion? Probably all of the above.

He got closer, and closer, and closer. Once he reached where you were half-laying, he crouched down and tilted his umbrella until it sheltered your body more than his.

"…Are you hurt?" He asked, giving you a once-over. You just nodded, still putting all the pieces together.

Had you—

Did you—?

The boy in front of you studied your face for a little while, but then ultimately shook his head and shrugged off his jacket, handing it over to you.

"Come on. It’s cold outside."

2K notes · View notes

xervn · 2 months

Text

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 🔧

oneshot | mechanic ellie x reader

ao3 link

summary: your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, but thankfully ellie shows up and offers her help

18+ MDNI | 6.3k words | tags; modern au, porn w/ plot (like 70% is plot tbh), kissing, vaginal fingering, pining from reader? arguably, no use of y/n, not proofread

my first post on tumblr EVER and my first time seriously writing smut, so pls be kind!

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It’s midday and you’ve been driving down an isolated road in fuck-knows-where with the hopes you’ll be able to find a gas station in at least 15 minutes. You’ve been driving down this straight road for what felt like ages now, your only surroundings being orange-colored sand and leafless plants.

Never in your life has driving made you more anxious, it was like you were in charge of safely disarming a bomb. You gripped the wheel and glanced at the gas gauge occasionally, each look wearing your hope thinner. You were supposed to fill your tank before leaving, but it wasn’t in your plans to get lost in the first place. You knew your incompetence would catch up to you eventually, but you didn’t think it’d be now.

Your teeth grit against each other as you raced against time. You desperately repeated affirmations, hoping they would help you along the way. Maybe if you ignored the fact you could be stranded, you’ll get to your destination faster.

My gas is NOT running out…

I will NOT have a mental breakdown…

I AM responsible…

Not even a good moment later, the engine starts sputtering as if you called it upon yourself. You desperately tapped at the fuel gauge, resulting in the amount dropping drastically. To your surprise, it’s been showing the wrong amount the entire time. You drove towards the side of the road so you could let the tank run out while you spit out a colorful array of obscenities. There was no doubt in your mind that this might be the worst day of your life.

You slammed at the dashboard of your piece of shit, beat up, 2012 Toyota Tacoma with unprecedented rage, dropping your head onto the steering wheel in defeat. The depleting noises the engine made as it slowly died only added to how you were feeling. Your face heated up and your eyes brimmed with tears; not because you were sad, but because you were so damn pissed.

“Fuck my life...” You sobbed out, forehead pressing harder into the wheel.

The sudden blaring sound that came from the car’s diaphragm jolted you up and caused you to yelp out. Everything’s silent for a while— you included— like a city before a tsunami attacks or the quiet before a dam bursts. In proper fashion, you unleashed a waterfall of tears; slowly, but surely, turning into a wallowing mess. Tears, snot, and saliva everywhere all because you made an irresponsible decision and drove a terrible car to make irresponsible decisions in.

Out of frustration, you honked some more, beating at the wheel’s center like there’s a solution inside of it. Certainly, this wasn’t the best way to handle your situation, but it was the only thing you had the energy to do. Amidst all the beeping and profanities, you failed to notice a car pulling up beside you. They honked their horn in unison with yours and the harmony caused you to frantically look around for the source.

You turned to your left and your gaze was met with a green set of eyes. It only took a second longer for you to realize who or what was looking at you. A woman with short auburn hair and a freckled face was shooting you a concerned glare.

All that was running through your head now was that a woman was looking at you and the manic episode you were having would undoubtedly scare off any future prospects. As your stomach turned into knots of shame, you muttered a low swear and quickly wiped away the remaining tears on your face.

You took a deep breath and calmly rolled down your window, which took an agonizingly slow amount of time. You occasionally spared the woman a few awkward glances with an equally awkward grin. Your humiliation built up along with the comically loud sound coming from the rolling window. After what felt like an eternity later, the window finally rolled down and you looked up to meet the woman’s gaze again, further examining her features.

Right there and then, you swore your heart fell out of your ass. You never thought you’d find yourself saying something so cliche, but the lady was a sight for your teary sore eyes. She was wearing a simple gray tank top, which showcased her spectacularly shaped arms and tattooed forearm.

The sight of her alone made you question your sanity. Maybe you were imagining her to make you feel better? You wouldn’t be surprised if you did.

As you looked up at her even more attractive face, you noticed her scarred brow was perked up, which could only mean she noticed you staring, and based on the subtle curl at the corner of her lips; she found it amusing too.

Your face instantly warmed up. You needed to defend your ogling quickly, but before you could manage out a single word, the beauty beat you to it.

“Are you okay?” The woman questioned, the slight lilt at the end of it only deepened your embarrassment. It physically pained you to imagine how much of your breakdown she saw.

“I’m fine, I was just...” You couldn’t finish your sentence, so you let out a sheepish laugh to fill in the space.

“You sure? It looks like you’re having some trouble.” The woman gestures her head at your car as she speaks, not breaking a second of eye contact.

You chewed on your lip, nervously shifting your stare before admitting, “Uh, yeah. I ran out of gas...”

“Looks like it slightly inconvenienced you.”

A subconscious scoff fell from your mouth as you lazily gestured around you. “Slightly?”

“Just a guess. I could hear the honking a mile away.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the only thing that works on this junk.”

The woman let out an amused hum, casually glancing at the road behind her before turning to you again. “Did you already call for help?”

“Nope...” You responded, your eyes still wandering off.

The woman idly wet her lips in thought before driving up the road. For a moment, you thought she rudely left you stranded on the side of the road, but after carefully looking, you noticed she was driving a tow truck.

Your previous thought that she might be a figment of your imagination immediately came back, because what the hell? A real-life angel came to save you at your lowest. She parked in front of your car and stepped out of the vehicle and you peered out the window of yours, shamelessly following her movements in awe.

She was slim, lean, and held an average height. The jeans she was wearing fit her so nicely, you actually had to pinch yourself to stop looking.

You reached for your rearview mirror and pointed it towards yourself, making sure most of your makeup was intact. Much to your dismay, your eyeliner was smudged, and your lip gloss was wiped away. So, not only did she watch you wail like a baby, you looked like one too. You glimpsed back at the woman, making sure she wouldn’t catch you in the act of dolling up for her.

You stepped out of the car after quickly fixing your makeup, a bit shy to face the woman now. You weren’t particularly dressed like you were ready to do any flirting today, sporting a white graphic crop tee and distressed blue jean shorts. Nonetheless, you fidgeted with your clothes before approaching her.

She double glanced at you as she moved stuff off the truck’s ramp, eventually blurting out, “I don’t have any gas in my truck, and uh–“ She abruptly stopped her action to look at you as she spoke, “– there’s no gas station out here for a while, but I have a garage not too far away.”

“You’ll help me? I mean, is it okay? I don’t wanna shit on your plans.” You asked, but mostly out of decency. You needed the help after all. Plus, your only other option was to wait for another mechanic instead of just going with this extremely hot one.

She grinned and nodded a few times reassuringly. You found that every little motion she did melted you a bit. Just the tease of a smile from her could turn you into pudding. “It’s no problem, I was headed there anyway. It’s not every day I get to rescue a damsel in distress.”

You bit down a bashful grin as you muttered a thanks and she told you to wait in the passenger seat. When you walked off, you swore you could feel her eyes burning into you. You couldn’t tell if it was a phantom feeling or if she was actually staring you down, but every inch of you hoped for the latter.

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You took a look around your surroundings. The car smelled like diesel and marijuana, but you weren’t expecting much from a tow truck. There was a cute 3D dinosaur pendent hanging off the rear-view mirror and the car had small handmade stickers across the dashboard.

Before you could look any further, the woman stepped into the driver’s seat and started the car. She just hooked your car up to hers, so she had to take a look behind to make sure it was in place, setting her tattooed arm on your headrest as she did so. Your heart skipped at the closeness and all you could do was stare at her like a dork.

It was slightly perverse how much you enjoyed staring at her face. You’ve seen beauty before, but she was a discovery. Another plus was that she smelt really good. She didn’t wear a sweet or flowery perfume. She wore something earthier, and it blended in perfectly with that slight hint of gasoline. The best way to describe it is that she smelt like a pinewood air freshener in a new car but fucking hot.

The woman caught you off guard with a glance, her own face a bit shocked to find you looking at her. You quickly averted your gaze and eyed the road up instead, pursing your lips together as if nothing happened, attempting to ignore the shame away.

You were obviously embarrassed, and that usual mortified feeling washed over your body. She didn’t laugh or anything, but as she retrieved her arm and put her hand on the wheel, you nervously glimpsed at her face and saw a small, smug smile.

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The drive was painfully quiet. All you could hear was muffled crunchy sounds of the road and the humming of the truck’s engine. You sat there, fiddling with your shorts as you slowly zoned out.

“Where are you headed?” The woman blurted out, causing you to abruptly turn her way. She was still focused on the road ahead, so you took the time to peer at her side profile, in which you deemed needed to be framed and hung up in an art gallery.

“I’m going to see my family upstate for the holidays.”

“How long have you been driving then?”

“About... three hours.”

“Three hours and you didn’t think to stop for gas?” She huffed out a melodic laugh and peeked at you. You’d let her tease you as much as she wanted as long as you got to hear that laugh again.

“I thought I had enough! My stupid tank was reading wrong.” You responded, puffing your cheeks out at the thought.

“I’ll fix that too then.”

“That’d be appreciated.”

“Why’re you driving that old thing anyways?”

You shrugged as you spoke out, “Well, I’m a college student and it’s better than nothing.”

“Really? What’s your major?” She looked at you for a moment with genuine curiosity. It didn’t feel like she was just looking for small talk.

Her interest was comforting, but you were slightly wary to say it. Your major didn’t necessarily scream out sexy like psychology or law would. You hesitated before slowly speaking out. “… Astrophysics.”

You knew the chances of her having any idea what your nerdy major was about was incredibly low. You bit your lip as you waited for the awkward ‘oh’ or ‘cool’ that usually comes after.

“Astrophysics? That’s actually fuckin’ sick.”

Your brows rose in shock, never expecting anyone to respond that way. “Yeah, I like space stuff... I guess...”

You rubbed your forehead at your dull awkwardness and the woman let out another satisfying laugh at your lack of explanation. “That’s one reason to get into it. I like space stuff too. I think constellations are pretty neat.”

You smiled to yourself at her sincerity, and consequently, the thought of stars perked you up in an instance. “Me too! I had the perfect view of Aquila from my backyard growing up.”

“I’m jealous. I struggle connecting them myself, so I just go to that one space museum in the city to look at ‘em. But, fuck, if I could see– I know this is basic, but– if I could see Ursa Major with my own eyes?”

“You haven’t? The Big Dipper is one of the easiest to find.”

She chuckled before she spoke. “You’ll need to help me find it then.”

Help her find it? Lay underneath the stars and connect them with her? It was a very nice thought in your head, but you’re 100% sure she said it without thinking. You expected the previous silence to continue after that until she broke it again.

She was clearly embarrassed by herself, twisting her lips before finally saying something. “My name’s Ellie, by the way.”

You sheepishly responded with your name and Ellie subtly smiled as she continued to drive down the road.

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You guys pulled up to the driveway of the mechanic garage. There was a large decal with ‘MILLER AND CO’ over a wrench painted on the metal doors. The area was just as deserted as the road you guys drove on, minus the few farms around now.

“Is this yours?” You asked.

“Nah, it’s my dad’s. I try to enjoy it like it’s mine though.”

“Has this always been what you’ve wanted to do?” You wondered out loud, only to feel regretful after. You didn’t know her, and you were already asking personal questions. The slim chance she’s suddenly put off by you made you wanna curl into a ball and cry.

“I mean, I always wanted to be an astronaut growing up, but that was never in the cards for me. Things changed when my dad adopted me, I was practically glued to him. I did everything he did.” Ellie freely answered and it dropped your worries instantly. You found her openness incredibly attractive. At that moment, you could feel yourself yearning to learn more about her. “I still love everything about space though, don’t get me wrong.”

“And dinosaur stuff too?” You cheekily queried as you pointed at the rearview chain.

Ellie glanced at the cutesy decor and chuckled. “And dinosaur stuff too.”

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After getting the cars into the garage, Ellie steps out of the car and walks over to your side. You watched curiously as she strolled to your door and popped it open for you.

You stared and she stared back expectantly, gesturing for you to hop out. You smiled slightly at that, and Ellie smiled back. God, you could watch her smile for days on end.

“You can sit anywhere, it shouldn’t take too long.” Ellie said as you stepped out, closing the door behind you.

You turned to face her before continuing the conversation. “Thanks again. Also, err... how much is it gonna run me?” Your teeth clenched a little as you asked. It wasn’t the first thing that you wanted to say, but you weren’t made out of money. I mean, look at what you were driving.

Ellie snorted at your expression and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

In response, you gave a doubtful look. There was no way she was this kind and wanted nothing in return.

Leaning against the truck door, Ellie playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. This is my good deed for the month.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?” You quizzed, your brow perking curiously.

“Nothing at all. But if you insist…” She went on, looking off as if she was really changing her mind.

“No! No... Thank you.” You blurted.

You cursed yourself at how vulnerably broke you were being, and Ellie smiled wider than she had before. Once you caught onto that smile, your eyes latched on. It was only natural to stare at her teeth, her lips, wondering how they’d feel on yours; if she’d smile between her kisses.

You quickly snapped out of it before you spiraled any further, but clearly not fast enough.

“You have a staring problem, y’know?” Ellie stated, slightly tilting her head as she let her eyes travel over your body. A stare for a stare if you would.

“I wouldn’t say it’s a staring problem.”

“If it’s not staring, what is it?” She asked with her eyes locked onto yours.

“Admiring?”

Ellie was slightly surprised at your sudden boldness, her smile faltered for a millisecond before quickly returning.

“Hm, I could say the same.”

She basically confirmed she was also checking you out. Meaning, you had a chance. You looked away as you blushed fiercely, and in the corner of your eye you could see Ellie doing the same.

You don’t know when it started, but the vibe between you two became pleasantly tense. Any previous worries and doubts that Ellie might not like you vanished. You clearly had a chance with her, and you planned to see how far your luck would go. She turned away to clear her throat and pushed off the truck. You decided to move away yourself, finding a nice chair to settle yourself on.

The spot you sat at put Ellie in your direct line of sight. You should probably call your family and tell them you’d be running late, but you were comfortable where you were. Ellie was incredibly captivating; you wouldn’t mind trailing her with your eyes as she did simple tasks like filling up gas for the rest of your life. She was like a really good fucking movie.

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Thirty minutes into your imaginary film, you thought the picture quality was getting better, but you discerned it was just Ellie getting closer.

She rubbed her oiled hands off her shirt as she approached you. “Can you help me with something? I j–“

You sprang up to your feet before she could finish speaking. You didn’t need to hear what she had to say next. It wouldn’t hurt for her to see how interested you were.

Ellie went wide-eyed at your eagerness, shaking her head lightly.

“You could’ve let me finish talking first.” She said with a subtle, taunting smile.

“I didn’t need to. I’m already getting serviced for free, so I’ll gladly do it.”

“Getting serviced, huh?”

You smiled coyly at Ellie as you recognized the implications of her childish repetition before correcting yourself. “I’m already getting helped.”

Ellie retained her smile as she turned back to the car, gesturing for you to follow her with one of her stained hands. You followed her over to the driver’s side of your truck where she knelt down and shifted an arrangement of tools on the cement floor.

“I need to fix the wiring underneath your car to fix the fuel gauge. If you could hand the tools to me when I ask for ‘em, that’d be great. Can you do that for me?” Ellie questioned in a honeyed voice. She looked up at you, waiting for your answer; a cruel grin barely tugging at the corner of her lips.

You only nodded as her stare left you too flustered to speak. You knew the intentions from her tone of voice alone and, boy, did it work. She was teasing you again, but even more obvious than the last.

She fixed a set of tools on a white cloth, setting the toolbox open and nearby as well. You weren’t stupid, you can tell what almost all the tools were. Driving a car you do; it was only a matter of time before you had to do temporary repairs yourself. However, you realized the opportunity you had laid out in front of you, and you were most definitely gonna take it.

Ellie spoke as she retrieved a tool from the box, glancing at you to make sure you were following. Of course, you made sure to pay attention fully.

Her gorgeous green eyes laid upon your dreamy lash-filled gaze up and you could read the subtle fluster off her face. “This is a ratchet. I.. I’m sure you know that already though.” Whatever you were doing was working and Ellie’s little stammer was evidence.

You looked at the tool and pushed out your full, bottom lip, slightly shaking your head. “Nope. I do now though. What’s next?” You immediately resumed your gaze at Ellie before you could even finish speaking.

She grinned and it was clear she didn’t believe you, but the look in her eyes had a mischievous glint in them; so you knew it was definitely safe to continue.

“Alright, princess. This? —“ She paused to pick up another tool mid-sentence, and the break gave you just enough time to process the panty-soaking pet name. “— Is a screwdriver. The pointy end screws things in.”

You didn’t bother to look at the tool this time, making sure every inch of your face was telling her you wanted her to screw you in.

“Uh-huh.” You nod with your eyes glued on Ellie’s.

Ellie laughed lightly with a new tone to it. You couldn’t describe it if asked, but you could describe how it made you feel. It took everything for you not to clench your legs together to relieve your now growing pressure.

“Are you keepin’ up with me?” She said, teasingly.

You grazed your teeth along your bottom lip, and you hummed in response. Ellie licked hers like an effect from your cause before she continued to school you on the tools she needed.

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You two engaged in the flirty lesson until it eventually ended, and she left to fetch a garage creeper from a tool station nearby.

Ellie set it at the side of the truck, where the driver would be, and sat down and laid back on it. You were sitting on the floor by the tools now, so you could easily watch her work. She rolled backwards and underneath the car, adjusting herself on the trolley by sending her hips forward so sexily you wondered if she did it on purpose. In that motion her top rode up a bit and since you were so close, you could ogle up her midriff freely.

“Screwdriver. Enjoying the view?” Ellie suddenly quizzed.

Without a second thought, you handed her the screwdriver only taking a moment longer to register what she said after.

By now, you felt less embarrassed by Ellie catching you staring since she obviously enjoyed it. “The view? The view is nice.”

“Just nice?”

“The view is really nice. Amazing, even. It’s a nice area, I might even move here.”

Ellie huffed out the faintest chuckle. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“We are, don’t worry.”

“Feel free to admire all you want then.” You could tell she was smiling as she said that despite barely being able to see her face.

The light banter you guys shared gave you twinkles all over your body. You wondered where this all might lead to. Perhaps nothing at all, or, as you hoped for, her number at least.

Ellie tosses the screwdriver to your side with a low hum before holding her hand out. “Pass me the torque, please?”

You reached into the toolbox, staring dumbly at the items. It seems you might’ve really needed the walk through after all. Along that tutorial you failed to learn what the hell a torque could be. “Let me try to find it...”

You looked through some more, trying to see what method could help you single out this torque. Meanwhile, Ellie rolled from underneath the car and sat on the creeper, rolling forward and towards you. You were so caught up in Ellie’s request, you failed to notice her presence.

When you finally chose a tool, Ellie’s hand happened to land onto yours. You and Ellie shot each other surprised glances and Ellie eased the tension with a subtle smile. She pulled her hand away, but not fully nor quickly. Not quickly at all.

In fact, she lingered like she wanted you to remember how her fingertips felt; slowly sliding her digits up the back of your hand. Just like that, everything felt like it was in slowmo. Everything but your heart, which was beating faster by the second. You knew you had to pull yourself together quickly. This moment could potentially make or break something.

“I found it.” You spoke out so lightly it could be mistaken for a whisper, peering your eyes into Ellie’s green pair. You didn’t have any expectations for what would happen next, but you were practically shaking from anticipation.

“Took you long enough. Do we need to go over it again?” Ellie responded just as low as you spoke. The husk and tease around her words made you clench around nothing, embarrassingly so.

You didn’t let that stop you, however, letting yourself indulge in her teasing for your own guilty pleasure. “Maybe… What’s this again? A hammer?”

Ellie grinned at your faux naïveté, her head cocking to the side. “I know you’re smarter than that.”

“I just need a quick reminder.” You grinned back as you spoke.

“That’s not what you really want though, is it?” Ellie’s smile faded into a less prominent, yet more seductive one.

You could swear up and down her eyes flickered down to your lips a couple times, so you naturally started leaning towards her.

What you failed to realize was that Ellie had already started to lean towards you. She dropped off the creeper, decreasing the distance between you two dramatically. She leaned herself against her hands and spread her legs, leaving you kneeled between them. There were no coherent thoughts in your mind, but you finally had an expectation and that was Ellie’s lips on yours.

Your lips collided and your eyes fluttered shut. You instantly dropped the torque back in the box and stiffened a bit, not sure if this was really happening or not. However, whether it was real or not, you wanted to do a good job.

The kiss started off slow, testing the waters. Ellie’s smooth, gentle lips made you feel tipsy along with that smell you loved blocking your senses. You were completely intoxicated.

Ellie slid her palm on your hip and gradually roamed the small of your back. The sudden touch shot electricity through your body. She was balancing herself on one hand now, but she attentively stayed on your lips. You couldn’t stop the greed for more rushing through your core even if you wanted to. You placed your hand on the nape of her neck, desperately bringing her in to deepen the kiss.

You could feel the grin etched into her lips and it only drove you further. She obliged to your wishes and parted your lips against hers with minimal effort, easily intruding the tip of her tongue between. Your tongues slid and ran across each other sensually, and the messiness of it all had you sopping where you knelt. Too lost in the moment, you accidentally let a low moan escape. If Ellie couldn’t tell how needy you were, she could tell now.

She slowly broke away from your lips, and it left you both panting heavily. Your face, confused, and hers, studying. Did you turn her off? Did you do too much when she was probably expecting something less? You tried to avoid her eyes, too disappointed with yourself to look.

Ellie didn’t let the eye-contact break, following your eyes with a worried expression. “Hey, hey... It’s alright. You’re not in trouble.” Ellie said, letting out a cruel laugh at the end.

You frowned at the teasing this time and your embarrassment was even more evident.

Ellie took your expression in consideration as she leaned in to peck the corner of your lips. The gesture eased your worries, but you were unsure of how this would turn out. She gave you a brief smile before finally saying, “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

You nodded your head slowly and Ellie frowned at it. “I need words.” She said, more sternly than you’d expect.

She was quick to get a few words out of you. “I… I want this.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” She replied, leaning in to connect lips with yours again. You didn’t realize how much you missed that contact until you felt chills run through your body.

You missed her lips on yours despite only kissing for so long. The hand Ellie had placed on your back drifted lower and grasped your ass, earning a moan from you, which Ellie took great pleasure in hearing and feeling.

By now, your knees were starting to hurt, and it took a lot of restraints not to topple over Ellie. However, you refused to move your lips from hers, you just got them back.

Unfortunately, Ellie must’ve noticed your stubborn shuffling since she pulled away despite your muffled protests.

“Let’s move somewhere more comfortable.”

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Ellie cracked open the door for you to a small lounge space and placed a quick apologetic kiss on your lips before walking off. She had noticed her handprint smudged on your shorts on the way to the lounge and it reminded her that she had to wash the car grime off before doing anything more with you. At this point you were so pent up you probably wouldn’t mind. You decided not to dwell on what risks you’re willing to take to fuck Ellie and sat yourself on a brown couch that felt a lot comfier than it looked. The vibe of the room was similar to Ellie’s car minus the smell of weed. Speaking of smells, it smelled just like her.

Thoughts of Ellie panting and briefly taking your lips between her teeth flashed through your mind. The vividness, considering it just happened, made the heat between your legs increase. You instinctively pressed your thighs together and fought the urge to take care of yourself right there and then.

Thankfully, Ellie strolled into the lounge and shut the door behind her, and it finished with a lock click. Your eyes met as she strolled towards you, plopping on the couch next to you.

Ellie opened her mouth to say something, but you didn’t want to hear it. Not right now. You cupped her face and pressed your lips into hers and you shut her up instantly. She leaned over you, pressing you back into the couch. Amidst the smacking and passion of your mouths against each other’s, Ellie’s hand drifted up your waist; thumbing along your skin. Everything was so hot and cloudy now; you couldn’t think about anything other than how good you feel.

At some point, Ellie’s leg was kneeled, and her thigh was wedged between your legs. You only became aware of the new positioning after accidentally pressing yourself against her. You were laid down on the couch, completely dazed with Ellie hovering over you. She noticed you coming back to reality and grinned smugly as she moved her hand underneath your top and groped at your breast. You arched into her touch, keening, and Ellie rewarded the sound by rubbing her thigh against your clothed clit.

You gasped sharply and the brief friction had you bucking for more. Your barely audible pleas must’ve triggered something in Ellie as she bent down to kiss you, taking your lips between her teeth. The feeling is even better than you remembered.

The intensity of the kiss is wet, hot, and you can’t remember when you last took a breath. You placed your arms over Ellie’s shoulders and lightly ran your fingertips along her back, rolling your hips into Ellie’s thigh. You were so close, so close until.. you suddenly lost contact. Ellie moved her right hand to your hip, gently pinning you down so you couldn’t move as she placed her thigh out of reach.

She has pulled away from you too often and you weren’t going to back down quietly this time. You broke off from her kiss-swollen lips, rather reluctantly, and begged. “Ellie! Please… just—”

Ellie shushed you and whispered directly into your ear, her breath hitting your cheek and sending shivers down your spine. “I’m gonna fuck you myself. Be patient.”

You weren’t gonna argue. You wanted that. You wanted her. Ellie moved her hand from your hips and went to loosen the button of your shorts. She moved her legs so that yours were fully between hers. You unwrapped your arms from her shoulders and helped her tug your shorts down urgently, lifting your hips to speed the process.

Ellie positioned herself so she could tuck your knees in. She parted your legs and leaned back, taking a moment to appreciate how wet you were for her; your slick heat coating your underwear, glistening, all for her to see. It would’ve embarrassed you in any other instance, but you were so filled with lust, none of it mattered.

She pressed her thumb against your clit, through your undoubtedly soaked panties and peered down at your face: brows furrowed and brimming with want. Ellie wasn’t gonna make you wait any longer. She moved the fabric out of the way and finally rubbed your bare clit with the pad of her thumb. You panted heavily, moving into her touch.

Ellie leaned towards you, turning her wrist clockwise and dipping her fingers between your folds, rubbing your labia between her middle and ring digits. You groaned out and quickly pulled up your top and tugged your bra underneath your tits so you could grasp at the sensitive area.

Your wetness coated Ellie’s fingers perfectly and it was only a matter of time before she fucked you with them senselessly. She coaxed your clit between her fingers, and although you were too wet for much friction, the pressure was just enough to get you there.

You fondled and squeezed at your chest, pinching at your nipples as your eyes clenched shut; concentrating on that release you needed so badly. Ellie was practically salivating at the sight, still hunched over you and getting off from the look of you alone.

Your much anticipated orgasm rolled through you, crashing in like a wave. You moaned loudly, arching your back and rolling your hips forward.

Ellie slowed down and helped you ride out your orgasm before suddenly slipping both fingers into your entrance. The sudden intrusion made you whine, and Ellie dipped down and pressed a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes were brimming with tears, but you needed her to move. You needed her to fuck you badly.

You squirmed under Ellie and she placed her free hand on the cheek she kissed, thumbing along it as she cooed at you teasingly. “Shhh.. You’re gonna ruin the makeup you fixed just for me.”

Ellie’s thumb creeped towards your swollen and gloss-less bottom lip, the aftermath of rough, sloppy kissing. You mouthed out a ‘whoops’ and faked a pout.

Ellie laughed as she gazed down at you. The sight of her flushed red, freckled cheeks smiling down at you only made you want her more. Ellie felt your need squeeze against her fingers, and she made sure that you knew she knew by glancing down at her fingers filling your cunt. She bit her bottom lip and decided to give you what you wanted, slowly pumping her fingers in you.

You keened colorfully, raising your tucked knees and wrapping your legs around Ellie’s waist. You needed her deep. She picked up her pace and curled her fingers, hitting that soft wall. She was doing everything right, there was no doubt in your mind she was an angel, a sexually experienced one at that. You pulled her down, meeting her halfway so you crash your lips into hers.

Ellie moaned over your lips and, god, you were so close. She slid a third finger in you, pumping and curling her fingers; knuckles deep. You were so close you were seeing stars, it made you think back on the little conversation you two had in the car and you wondered if this is what she meant. Then just like that they fucking connected.

You cried out as you came, tightening your legs around Ellie’s waist as you gushed over her fingers. She kept her fingers in you until you finished. Once Ellie pulled out, you groaned from the loss and she muttered out an apology.

You gave her one lingering kiss before plopping back down. You were utterly exhausted and aching. Aching... pleasantly, but that wasn’t the point. Your mind slowly started recollecting everything that happened. You were just fucked by a hot stranger you met in a town you still don’t know the name of. You’re not sure you would’ve remembered after this anyways.

“Usually I would help clean up, but...” Ellie gestured around her. You almost forgot you guys were at the back of a mechanic’s garage.

You snickered and nodded understandingly. “Right. I know.”

You two stared at each other awkwardly despite what occurred not even five minutes ago. Ellie ruffled with her hair before speaking out, “So… Can I take you out sometime? When your trip is over?”

You pushed up so you were at eye-level with her. “I... I think we’re past that, but yes. Yes, you can.” You leaned in for a kiss and she returned it with a grin.

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#ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us part 2 #ellie smut #tlou2

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souliebird · 3 months

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 15]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Words: 8.1k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

The first thing you process as you begin to come to is a slow, rhythmic beeping. It is dull and low and it almost carries you right back into the nothingness. You slip in and out of the fog a few times before your mind is able to catch a hold of conciseness. Even then, it feels like everything crawls by until your thoughts go from incoherent images to actual awareness.

You feel awful - like you've been hit by a massive truck, who then backed up over you only to run you over again. Everything aches, but the worst of it is centered on the left side of your head, going down to your neck. It throbs and feels so stiff. You don't think you could move your head if you tried.

The second worst thing is how dry your mouth feels. It is as if someone stuffed you full of cotton to remove all the moisture from your body, then to make sure you were drained, dried you out under a heat lamp. It hurts to even try to swallow the little saliva your mouth is producing.

You need something to drink.

Like some sort of miracle, something cold and wet is pressed to your lips. It startles you, but you react quickly. You force your lips to part and an ice chip is slipped between them. You suck on it desperately and it only takes a second for it to melt away, but almost instantly you are given another one. This happens two more times before your mouth finally doesn't feel like a desert.

Your eyes are hard to open. They feel crusted shut and you don't know if you have the energy to try and pull them apart, but you try. It takes multiple attempts, but finally they open. Everything is far too bright and blurry.

Matt comes into focus above you, face wracked with concern. His hair is a mess and it looks like he hasn't slept in ages. His eyes, while sightless, are puffy and bloodshot and you wonder if he has been crying. Your brow knits in confusion and you try to reach for his cheeks to offer some sort of comfort. Your hand doesn't make it far off whatever you are laying on, but it doesn't matter because as soon as it is in the air, he's clasping his around yours.

He breathes out your name just as you croak out his.

Above you, he lets out the smallest breath of a laugh, like he is relieved, before moving even closer to you. He presses his forehead to yours and you let your eyes fall shut again - you're too tired to keep them open and you don't think he will mind the lack of eye contact.

“You scared me,” he whispers against you, before you feel his lips brush your cheek.

You manage a confused noise, not understanding what is going on. Your throat burns as you attempt to talk, “what happened…?”

“You've got a pretty bad ear infection,” he tells you and you think that sounds about right. Everything hurts so much and you are far too warm. The cotton feeling in your mouth is also in your left ear, making it feel like half your head is dunked under water.

He is so close, his breath warms your still cool lips as he talks, “It hit you hard and fast - your fever got up to 104 and you wouldn't wake up. We had to bring you to the hospital, but you'll be okay now. Your fever has gone down a lot.”

The words float through you and it takes you a few seconds to grasp onto them and make them make sense. “We…?” You question because you don't know who ‘we’ could be.

“Foggy and I,” he confirms. The hand not clutching your own cups your jaw and feels so cool and nice that you can't help but lean into it. He gives you another kiss, this time to the forehead, with his scruff lightly scratching against you. It tickles.

You realize a name is missing and your heart starts to race. Matt hasn't mentioned your daughter and you start to panic.

Where is she? Where's your baby?

“Minnie?” You ask, but to your non-stuffy ear, it sounds more like a whine.

He quickly starts to shush you, his thumb gently rubbing over your cheek, “it's okay, she's okay. She's safe. Foggy took her to go get some breakfast. She's okay. She's okay.”

His words do calm you, but your heart still pounds in your chest. You know Matt trusts Foggy, so to an extent, you do as well, but you want your daughter. You want to hold her and make sure she is truly alright. She must be so scared.

You get another kiss to the forehead and it pulls you from your worried yet sluggish thoughts. You decide you like the feeling of Matt's beard against your skin. It's not something you're used to, and even if it is a little scratchy, it feels nice. It makes you feel warm but not like your supposed fever is making you feel warm. It's a good warm that wraps around your heart. It helps to soothe you - Matt would never allow your little one to be in any danger.

“Try to get some rest, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere - I'll be right here when you wake up, again. I swear,” he whispers into your hairline and you find yourself nodding into his palm.

Sleep sounds good - you're tired and achy. Your eyes are so heavy you couldn't possibly open them again. You are slumping back down into your pillow before you know it, thoughts slowly buzzing back into nothing.

The darkness takes you easily and you drift off without realizing Matt is practically clinging to you.

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When you wake again, things make a little more sense. The hazy heavy fog is no longer covering your brain and you are more aware of what is happening around you before you open your eyes.

You can hear people walking around and talking outside your little room and everything smells disgustingly sterile. You can feel where IVs have been placed into your arm and the different monitors attached to your chest. You also know Matt is still clutching your hand and that motivates you to actually look around.

Your head is tilted to the right, stretching out the stiffness on the other side, and centered in your view is Matt. He's asleep, head tilted down with his chin nearly to his collarbone. He looks so peaceful with his chest slowly rising and falling and someone has draped a thin blanket around his shoulders, only adding to his gentleness. You can't see it, but you're sure his knees must be bumping against the bed with how close he is to you.

Your heart flutters in your chest. Had he stayed there this entire time? Has he let go of your hand at all?

You remember when you were in the hospital to give birth. You had been so lonely - no one had been there to hold your hand or keep watch over you. No one had visited you - though you had received flowers from your work friends.

Is this what it will be like now?

You want that desperately - to feel like you matter to someone, for someone to care about you and your well-being, to feel like you aren't always alone.

You squeeze his hand, and even though you feel absolutely horrible - hot and sweaty and like your head wants to fall off - you find yourself smiling at the sweet, handsome, lawyer who fathered your child.

You are so happy you forced yourself to tell him the truth.

You don't hear anything to your left but your heart rate monitor beeping, but your ear is also so clogged up not a lot of noise is getting through and you know it's throwing off your spatial awareness. It hurts to roll your head, but it eases your nerves to find you are alone with Matt in the exam room. However, you can't help the worry that bubbles in your stomach over the lack of your daughter.

You know she must be with Foggy. The hospital is probably an incredibly unpleasant place for her - you hate being here because of the smells and atmosphere and that must be amplified for her. You can't imagine all the awful things she might hear here - the sick and dying and the surgeries. You are grateful for Matt's best friend. You will have to find a way to thank him properly.

You force your gaze back to Matt and begin to slowly rub your thumb over his knuckles. He has so many scars there and you don't possibly know how he could have collected them all. He's told you before he practices boxing, but you don't think it is the bare knuckle kind. Maybe the punching bag can split skin - you have no idea about any of it beyond what you've seen in short viral videos.

You have toyed with the idea of asking about going to the gym with him. You think it would be a fun experience for Minnie and you're curious how fit you actually are. Your workouts consist of chasing a toddler around - star jumps, push ups, and weights are no longer in your repertoire and you haven't properly gone on a run since high school. Plus, Minnie has recently learned what a cartwheel is and you are sure she will want to learn to do one and a gym is a safe place for that.

You fall into a daydream about Matt teaching you and Mouse how to tumble, closing your eyes again as you do. You picture buying cute little leotards and watching your daughter perform a routine until there's movement under your hand.

Matt squeezes your fingers, and you open your eyes just in time to see him blink awake.

He gives you a sleepy smile, then with his free hand pulls his glasses out from somewhere under his blanket and puts them on. You watch him, taking in his crows feet before they disappear.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he shrugs the blanket off his shoulders.

You take a moment to consider the answer. You honestly feel horrible, but you don't feel as horrible as you previously did. There are aches and pains but you feel human again, as opposed to the concept of one. So you squeeze his hand and respond, “Better. I didn't…I didn't think I was that sick.”

Matt hums and somehow scoots closer to the bed, then lifts your hand up to kiss the back of your hand. You feel your face heat up and your heart rate monitor beeps a little faster. “I'm glad, you gave us a good scare,” he says, keeping your hand against his lips.

You have to remind yourself he's a very touchy person to keep your heart rate from increasing even more. To help with that, you drop your gaze to his chest - he's wearing a Columbia sweatshirt that is far too big on him and hides his lean frame.

“What time is it?” His question throws you off at first, but then you realize there is a clock above the curtain entrance to the room.

It takes you a second to process, which you blame on the illness and not the fact you haven't used an analog clock in ages, “Almost 1:30. I'm…guessing that it is PM. I can't really tell.”

Matt nods and you guess he can tell whether it is day or night. You hope it is day - you'd feel so guilty if you'd been in the hospital longer than a few hours.

Behind your hand, a small smile appears on his face, “Minnie and Foggy are on their way back up. I think she heard - oh. Okay, yes, she heard you talking. She says she has a present for you.”

Your heart pangs for your daughter. You don't want her to see you like this, but you desperately need her in your arms. You try to push yourself up, but you don't know if you have the energy to keep yourself sitting.

“Do you know how the bed works?” You ask and Matt shakes his head. He reaches out and feels along the railings, but by his frown, you guess he can't figure it out. You doubt any of the button labels are in Braille.

“Let me get the nurse.”

He squeezes your hand once more before letting go. You tell yourself to ignore the strange feeling that envelopes you as he disappears behind the curtain separating you from everyone else.

You don't want to be alone again.

But you aren't - Matt is gone for barely thirty seconds before he's slipping back into the room, followed by a tired looking nurse. The woman comes up to your right side and you finally notice a little stand computer tucked by the bed. As she swipes her card key to unlock it, she looks at you, “How are you feeling?”

You decide to go with the same answer you gave Matt, “Better, ma’am.”

“Good, good,” she says as she types something. You go through the quick song and dance of confirming your name and birthdate, before she starts her questions, “Your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

You have to think about that - your head hurts but not nearly as much as it did last night and your body feels sore and groggy. You bite your lip before estimating, “About a four..?”

She adds that to your chart, “how about your ear? It should feel a bit clearer, you had a lot of fluid that drained out.”

That surprises you because you definitely do not remember that. You touch your ear and it feels far too warm and sensitive. You had no idea it was the problem, so you feel like you can't compare.

“I don't know. Full? It…hurts. Like it's…sore on the inside?” you feel like an idiot trying to explain, but you have no idea about ear anatomy.

The nurse hums, then turns to you, pulling a stethoscope out of her pocket, “I'm going to listen to your lungs. Take a deep breath.”

You do as you are told as she places the device on your back to listen. You repeat this a few times with her until she's satisfied and she goes to enter her findings in the computer.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she tells you before leaning down to adjust your bed, so it can help you sit. You go from laying down to being propped up, “He will go over your discharge instructions.”

You're being discharged? You just woke up and haven't talked to anyone at all. The fact they are sending you away confuses you, “I'm being discharged?”

The nurse nods, not even looking at you as she locks the computer, “Yes. Do you feel you shouldn't be?”

You flush at the question and duck your head in shame. You know better than to question a doctor - if they think you should be discharged, you are fine. You force yourself to shrug and apologize, “No, I'm sorry, I just didn't expect it.”

The nurse simply gives you another hum before leaving to probably go tend to a patient that actually needs her. Almost instantly, Matt is back by your side, taking your hand. He kisses the meat of your thumb as he sits back in his chair.

“If you need to stay, you can stay,” he quietly advises.

You quickly shake your head, “No, it will be fine.” You huff a sad laugh, “It's not like I can afford this anyways.” You don't want to imagine the bill you are going to receive - being brought into the emergency room and given all kinds of medicine. You’ll have no more savings.

“Don't worry about it,” he quickly tells you, a frown clear on his face. “Focus on getting better. Taking care of yourself. We can tackle the bill later - there's plenty of work arounds.”

Guilt pools in your belly - you don't need Matt worrying about your money problems. You force yourself to nod at his words, simply so he'll not try to comfort you over this issue. You think he must be on to what you are doing because he squeezes your hand and starts to say something, but quickly cuts himself off. You don't understand why until a few moments later - the curtain closing off your room is pushed aside and Minnie barrels in, closely followed by Foggy.

You barely look at the blonde, instead pulling away from Matt to throw open your arms for your baby. The speed in which she manages to scale Matt and jump to you is impressive and you hug her to you like you're trying to absorb her. Your arm screams at you due to the fact you're trying to bend where your IVs are, but you don't care - and you don't care if your little angel is nearly strangling you with how tight she's hugging you.

“Don't ever get sick again!” She whines into your neck and you nod against her. You'll never get sick again - what you put her through for being sick will forever live in your mind.

“I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was sick.”

“It was scary!”

That absolutely breaks your heart and tears start to fall.

“I'm so sorry, Minnie,” you choke out as you try to hold her impossibly closer. The guilt you had regarding money transforms into guilt over being sick at all. How dare you put Minnie through this? You should have realized something was wrong. You repeatedly apologize into her hair, trying to keep yourself from sobbing while she clings to you.

You feel the bed dip and then Matt is pulling you both against his chest and pressing his lips to your crown, “Shhh, it's okay. It's okay.”

You try to shake your head because none of this is okay. You scared and upset your daughter and you've got a stupid ear infection that is going to bankrupt you. Nothing is okay.

“Do you want to show your Mommy what you got her to make her feel better?” Foggy asks Minnie after a minute of you being hysterical and shame courses through you as you are reminded someone else is there, watching you breakdown.

You are such a fucking mess.

However, Minnie pulls away from being squashed between you and Matt and jumps off the bed to go to the blonde. You finally notice, through teary tired eyes, that he has a decently sized gift bag. He sets it down on the ground and Mouse has to pick it up by its sides because it's too tall for her to hold by the handles.

As she tries to figure out how to get back on the bed, you realize Matt is still wrapped around you and you decide you are too tired to fight with your anxiety and guilt any longer. You want his comfort - so you lean more into his arms and he responds by nuzzling you. He begins running his hands over your arms and somehow, it begins to soothe away your upset.

You miss whatever exchange your daughter and Foggy have, but he lifts her up and places her and the gift bag on the bed and she hauls it over to you.

“We got you a present to get better,” she tells you and you know whatever it is, you'll cherish it.

There's no tissue blocking your view and you see something pink and white checkered that looks very soft. Before you can move to pull it out, Matt intervenes. He takes your wrist and gently stretches out your arm that has the IV in it, humming against you, “You have to keep your arm straight.”

You flush at the reminder, feeling like a complete idiot, and use only one hand to pull out the gift.

It is a massive blanket and it is so so soft. You want to bury yourself in it.

“Oh, Mouse, this will make me feel better. Thank you so so much,” you say as you reach out with your good arm to hug her again. She wastes no time tucking herself back between you and Matt.

“Blankies make everything better,” she advises wisely, “Froggy said so.”

You can't help but smile at that and hold your daughter even closer. You turn your attention to Foggy, who has just been an absolute saint for watching over your daughter, “Thank you so much, Foggy. For everything. I can't thank you enough.”

He scoffs and waves his hand, “it is my pleasure. This wasn't my first late night Murdock call, it won't be my last, and she is at least a pleasure to be around at three in the morning.”

You want to ask how they even knew you were sick, but you also don't want to know the details. You can only guess Minnie somehow called Matt and you aren't in a place to hear that conversation. The guilt and emotions would overwhelm you even more than you already are and you are so so tired of crying. So you hug your daughter even closer, so she's in your lap, and mumble another thank you.

Foggy takes a seat in one of the visitor chairs and asks, “has the doctor come yet to talk to you?” You very much appreciate his concern, but most importantly, his tact. You don't feel like he's judging or lying to you. He seems genuinely concerned.

You try to not shake your head at his question, since Matt is still holding you and it would just hurt your head more, and reply “Just the nurse. She said I'm getting discharged.”

The blonde huffs, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms, “Wow, they really do just turn and burn. Last time I was here, they pushed me through, too. American health care, right?” You hum in agreement - the health care system in America is very bad.

Foggy dives into a story about being in the hospital when he was a kid. It quickly catches Minnie’s attention and you realize this may be more for her benefit than anyone else's. You try to listen, but instead find yourself resting your head on Matt's shoulder and closing your eyes again.

You’ll just stay like this, your daughter in your lap and her father holding you against him, until the doctor comes.

If he takes his time getting to you, you don't think anyone is going to complain.

---

It takes another three hours for you to be fully discharged. You have to fill out a mass of paperwork before the doctor even speaks to you, but after he does, no time is wasted to clear you out of the needed exam room.

Any concerns you have about getting home are moot, as Foggy has everything covered. He has borrowed his girlfriend's car and procured a child's seat from his parents - who apparently have multiple due to their ‘hoard of grandchildren’. Minnie doesn't fuss at all, focused on being the best helper she can be by carrying your purse, which had apparently been brought in with you. Matt is insistent on helping you walk, which you are grateful for - standing makes you very dizzy and you have to focus to not stumble.

To your great surprise, Karen is waiting outside your building as Foggy pulls the car up. She's carrying a few shopping bags, and beside her is a grumpy looking man you vaguely recognize holding a very old fashion looking crockpot. It has an orange vintage flower pattern and you kind of want it.

No one says anything as you all climb out of the vehicle. Matt quickly gets himself under your shoulder and his arm around your waist while Minnie latches herself to your hand. You don't know if she thinks she's helping or if she's obeying your rule of hand-holding when outside.

You all awkwardly stand on the sidewalk and you watch as Foggy and the new man have a staring contest. You have no idea what is going on and kind of don't care, as you want to get up to your apartment. After a full minute, Foggy points to the man and declares, “you aren't coming to Thanksgiving,” before marching towards the door to the building. Matt, and thus you, follows after him and as you pass Karen, she snorts with laughter. She and the man fall in line behind you as you make your way to the stairs.

You just know that if you allowed him, Matt would pick you up and carry you up the three flights of stairs, but you refuse to let it happen. You are dizzy and far too warm, but also very stubborn and you determinedly take each step at a time, refusing to stop until you're on your floor. Only then do you resume leaning into his hold.

Foggy unlocks your door then ushers you all inside. Minnie lets go of your hand almost instantly, drops your purse, and runs to the bedroom. You guess she is going to grab Pig and Scooby to update them on everything. You make your way to your couch as Karen sets the groceries on the table and her grumpy friend finds a spot on the counter to plug in the crockpot.

As she unpacks, Karen narrates, “Okay, so I got you all the essentials - Gatorade, tea, saltines, ibuprofen, a compress, and I got you life savers to suck on because that helps when you want something to sweet but don't want to eat anything. I picked up your medicine, it's just ear drops. And of course, the most important thing,” you turn on the couch just in time to see her motion towards your kitchen, “Nelson Family Chicken Soup.”

You stare at the blonde with wide eyes and you feel like you are going to start crying again. No one has ever done this much for you before - not even your ex-boyfriends. Your last one wouldn't even pick up tampons for you, but Karen has clearly gone out of her way and you've only met her a handful of times. You have no idea how to thank her and Foggy for everything they have done for you. You are going to have to bake them a cake or something. As for Matt, you know you are never going to be able to repay him for the comfort and care he has given you in the last few hours.

You are so overwhelmed with love for this little group of friends who are letting you into their life.

“Thank you so much,” you say, meaning it with all of your heart, “you didn't have to do all of that. Thank you.”

Karen gives you a warm smile before waving you off, “Don't mention it. You'd do the same for any of us.”

You happily would and plan to take notes of what Karen bought, just in case. However, the soup is something that confuses you. Did Matt's best friend bring Minnie to his house to cook? You turn to Foggy, who is examining Minnie’s toy chest, and ask, “You made soup?”

The blonde man looks up with a laugh, “God, no, you don't want me cooking. That was all my mom. Her soup is a cure all.”

“It is,” Matt vouches from beside you. “It can cure almost anything. It got rid of my flu last year.”

“It saved countless Christmases,” Foggy adds.

“It also stops cramps,” Karen confirms.

You look to the man in the kitchen for his approval and he just shrugs, “Haven't had it, but it smells good.”

You have to cover your face at that point because it is all too much. Foggy's mother made you soup? How did she even know you were sick? Why did she do this for you - someone she's never met? Someone she has no connection to at all?

An arm wraps around your shoulder and you are pulled to lean against Matt. He nuzzles against you and whispers, “you aren't alone anymore. We're all here for you.”

You hide yourself against him and he starts to rub your back in a comforting manner. This is far too much for you. You don't know how to process all of it.

Luckily, a distraction from your patheticness comes in the form of your daughter.

You hear her come back into the living room and boldly ask the strange man in your kitchen, “Who are you?”

You try to listen since you are curious and you can feel that Matt has turned his head to pay attention to his daughter. You stay tucked against his shoulder, wishing you had your new big blanket to wrap yourself in.

“My name's Frank, what's yours, little lady?” The man says and you try to commit the name to memory. You wonder if he is Karen's boyfriend or something - you don't think he's been mentioned before.

“Minnie!” She declares, then, “This is Pig and Scooby. They like soup, too!” You guess she's held up her toys for him to see. She must be less nervous of the man since he is in your home.

There's a round of chuckles before Frank speaks again, “That right? How about we leave it to your Daddy to get you and your friends some soup and we let your Mommy get some rest?”

There's a few beats of silence before you hear Minnie again, “Okay. Bye-bye, Mister Frank.”

The man barks with laughter, which barely covers the pitter-patter of feet coming towards you, “Daddy, can we have soup for dinner, I'm hungry.”

“Of course, princess, I'll make you a bowl.”

The others must take that as a cue, because when you lift your head up, the three other adults are making their way back to your front door.

Karen lightly calls out your name to get your attention, and when she sees you looking at her, offers a soft smile, “Feel better soon, and let us know if you need anything.”

“Anything at all,” Foggy adds, “I'm more than happy to play babysitter. Parks are my specialty if the squirt needs to get out all that Murdock energy.”

“I'm not a squirt!” Mouse huffs and you can picture her puffing up her cheeks.

“I don't know, kid, you look like a squirt to me,” Frank tells her and she lets out a long ‘nooooo’ in response.

You smile against Matt at the little exchange - you can tell your daughter is extremely fond of Foggy and that makes your heart rest easy. She's never been so vocal around other adults before.

“Thank you, so much. I really, really mean it,” you tell the people who have come to your rescue.

“It is really not a problem, you're family, now,” Foggy tells you before directing himself towards Minnie, “Okay, squirt, can I get a high five?” The sound of a toddler running followed by a slap tells you she just did that. “Good girl! Now, help your Dad take care of your Mom and call me if he gives you any trouble, got it?”

“Got it, Froggy!”

Goodbyes are exchanged then it is just your little family left in your apartment. You finally allow yourself to pull away from Matt.

“You don't need to stay.”

His response is to raise his eyebrows at you, “You think I'm going to leave you alone while you're sick? You need to rest. I’ll take care of everything else. Minnie can finally show me her Scooby movie.”

You want to tell him ‘no’, that you have it handled and he should go get his own rest, but you know it's fruitless. You're learning Matt is committed to his role of being a father and there will be no way to convince him to go. He's a lawyer - he probably already has fifteen arguments ready for why he should stay.

So you give in and give a small nod, “Okay…”

He breaks into a big grin, like he expected you to push back and is happy you didn't, “Good. Are you feeling up to some soup?”

Your stomach turns at the idea of eating anything. You’d been given IV fluids at the hospital and managed a cup of water, but you do not want to eat. There is nothing actually wrong with your stomach - everything is centered on your ear - but that doesn't change the fact you'll probably not be able to keep anything down.

“No,” you tell him after a moment, then add, “I think I'm going to shower and go to bed.”

“Okay,” he hums, reaching up and oh so gently petting your cheek with the back of his fingers and making a shiver run up your spine, “Let me know if you need anything. You don't need to get up, if you just say anything, I'll hear it, okay?”

You don't like the idea of him being able to hear your sick gross body, but there is nothing you can do about it. You slowly push yourself up, careful to not get too dizzy, then start towards your bedroom. Behind you, Matt starts talking about soup and Scooby with Minnie.

Once you are alone in your room with the door closed, you break down. You sit on your bed, hide your face in a pillow, and just let out all of your tears. All your frustration, your shame, your guilt, your confusion, your tiredness, and your pain pours out of you. Your shoulders shake as you bite into the pillow to try and hide your sobs and you pray Matt realizes you need to be alone right now and distracts Minnie. You just need to get all of this out of you.

Your body is so exhausted you can only cry for a few minutes before you are completely drained. You feel slightly better emotionally, but your head is throbbing even more.

You desperately want to get clean and curl up now. You weakly toss your pillow back on the bed and force yourself up to gather something clean to change into. You place the new garments of the dresser, before going to the closet and pulling out a new sheet for your bed. You know you don't have the energy to strip it, but you don't want to sleep on your own filth. So, you push your blanket off, then lay the clean sheet over the dirty one.

Satisfied with your meager attempt, you grab your clothes, open the bedroom door, and shuffle to the bathroom.

You look like absolute shit and don't need your mirror to tell you that, so you try to not look at it. To help, you grab a towel and maneuver it to hang over your medicine box, then strip out of your soiled clothing.

You let your body go on autopilot to start the shower and as you wait for it to heat up, you wash your face and brush your teeth. That alone makes you feel cleaner. You take your hair out of its ponytail - you washed it on Saturday, so you aren't going to rewash it, but you'd like to wet your skull to remove some sweat.

You kick your dirty clothes into a corner, then check the spray. It feels nice and hot, but not scalding, and you step in.

Almost immediately, your vision goes spotty and it feels like your brain is floating in ice water. You have to reach out with both hands and lean on the wall so you don't tumble over and you shuffle to it to press your forehead to the cool tile.

Maybe a shower wasn't such a good idea after all, but you feel so sweaty and sticky and gross. If you just stand and let the water wash over you, maybe it will help and you won't have to let go of the wall. Or you can just sit on the floor, but with how you are feeling that runs the risk of you not being able to get back up.

A knock on the door startles you and you have to push more against the tile to keep yourself upright.

You close your eyes tightly.

You think it must be Minnie. She's come to go potty when you've been in the shower before and you don't think she went before you left the hospital. You take a deep breath and center yourself before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opens and closes and the voice that speaks isn't Minnie.

“Are you okay?”

You shake your head because you are very much not okay in any sense of the word. You don't know how to put that into words or even if you want to. You don't want to go on the emotional rollercoaster again - you're so tired. You just want to get clean and go back to sleep.

You don't mean to space out, but you do. There's just so much going on and your body decides to only focus on remaining upright. So when hands smooth over your waist, you nearly scream. You know it's Matt, but it still scares you.

Why is he in the shower with you?

You try to turn around to question him, but his hands tighten around you, keeping you in place.

“Let me help you.”

The words shake your core. Your heart begins to pound in your chest and you know, if you had any tears left in you, they would be falling. Why is he doing this? Why is he here, asking to help you? Why is he pushing for it?

You feel him step even closer to you and his chest brushes against your back. He breathes your name into your ear, then repeats, “Let me help you, please.”

You try to shake your head and choke out, “You should be with Minnie.” Minnie needs him, she needs his help, not you. He is here to help watch over her, he even said so himself.

His nose bumps against your ear and you feel like your knees are going to give out. Why is he doing this?

“She's trying to give soup to her toys and watching her shows. She doesn't need me right now. You do. Let me help you.”

You push your hands firmer against the tile to keep your balance.

Matt has been with you all day, holding your hand and keeping you upright until you left his arms to go take a shower. You haven't asked this of him - he's been with you of his own free will. He's been so gentle with you, so caring, so comforting.

His hands move from your waist around to your stomach and slowly up to your sternum and very gently pulls you flush against his chest. He feels so firm, so steady, holding you up.

Do you really want to push him away? Do you really want to send him back to watch Minnie?

You can barely keep yourself standing. You're so dizzy. It feels like at any moment your body is going to give out and you'll collapse.

It feels nice to be held.

It feels nice that he is here for you, for whatever motivation he has.

You think of your daughter. How scary this must be for her and how terrifying it would be for her if you fainted in the shower after everything that has happened.

That must be why Matt is here with you. He's far more in tune with your body and you know that means Minnie is too.

He's trying to keep her safe by keeping you safe.

You need to think of Minnie, not yourself.

Matt whispers your name again and you drop your hand from the tile and place it over Matt's.

“Okay…” you whisper. “Okay.”

Lips brush your shoulder and his hands move to be at your ribs and there's a gentle pressure, silently asking you to turn. You take a steadying breath and start to rotate, slow as can be.

You can't look at him in the face. Despite everything, shame burns deep inside of you. You've always been able to do things yourself - you've always had to. Even if it feels good to have the help, to know Matt is going to catch you if you fall, the voice that lives inside you hisses that you're being weak. Pathetic.

You force your eyes open and the first thing you see are the scars going across his chest.

He has been through so much you don't even know about, just like you have been through things you haven't told him about, and to make this work, to make raising your daughter work, you have to trust each other. You have to trust Matt and he needs to trust you.

You slowly reach up and place your hand half over the scar on his right pec, then, to prove to yourself that you mean the beliefs in your head, you lean in and press your lips to the other side of the scar.

He inhales sharply and you feel like, for some reason, you made the right move.

Neither of you move for a minute, then Matt gently presses against you and guides you back into the spray of the shower.

It feels so good against your hot sticky skin and you find yourself letting yourself lean more into Matt and you give in to your desires and let your head fall against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you do.

You feel him reach behind you to the shower caddy and you are happy you have been using bar soap, so you don't have to explain what is what to Matt. He lathers up his hands, then begins to wash you. He starts with your back and you decide to just zone out. You can't debate anymore, you can't let your mind go crazy - you're too tired, too sick to deal with much more.

Matt's hands slowly work over your back and sides. They dip down to your bottom and even though he's touching somewhere intimate, it doesn't feel lewd.

After your back has been washed, he tilts his head just slightly and his nose brushes the shell of your ear and he breathes into it, “turn around so I can get your front.”

It takes a few moments, but you do as you are told, and then you are leaning back against Matt's chest, head once again resting on his shoulder, just the opposite one this time. Your nose is a hair's breadth away from his jaw.

He relathers his hands, then starts on your stomach. He's so methodical about it and it feels almost hedonistic. You're not going to deny it feels good, but you know it's not in any way sexual or wanting. You just haven't been touched in so long, so anything will feel good.

He avoids your nipples when he runs his hands over and under your breasts and he doesn't linger, moving up to your shoulders, then down your arms. When he gets to your hands, he laces your fingers together.

“Do you want your hair done?” He quietly asks and you just barely shake your head.

“Just want to get it wet,” you mumble into his throat.

He hums in response and squeezes your hands, “‘m gonna need to turn you around again to do that and to get your legs.”

He keeps your hands in his and, to your great surprise, turns you slowly around like you are dancing, one arm over your head and another around your back. When you're facing the right way again, you open your eyes to see Matt smiling at you with the softest look.

In your chest, your heart clenches.

No one has ever looked at you like that before. No one. No one has ever treated you the way he has.

You don't think you care if it is because you are the mother of his child. Matt is a truly good and loving person and you want to bask in it, at least for now.

You let go of one of his hands and cup his jaw. He presses into it, closing his eyes and it's like you can feel any tension he might have in him melt away. You stay like that for a few seconds before he turns his head just slightly to nuzzle into your palm, then he lets go of you to drag his fingers through your hair. He makes sure to get your roots wet, but doesn't soak your hair. His nails dig slightly into your scalp and you try to not moan at how nice it feels.

“Hold onto my shoulders,” he directs you and you do as you are told. Only when you have a secure hold on him does he kneel down and begin to run his hands over your legs. He starts high on one thigh and works his way down to your foot, then repeats the process on the opposite leg.

You can't help but look down at him, watching as he delicately washes you. There's this deep urge in your belly, right above your core, to tangle your hands into his hair. A memory from your night together, all those years ago, flashes through your mind.

He had backed you against a wall and gotten on his knees to push your dress up and your panties down. Your thigh had been draped over his shoulder and he had eaten you out like a starving man before taking you to bed and making you cum two more times on his tongue.

You quickly banish the thoughts because not only do you know it's not the time for that, but that it was a one night stand between strangers. You don't want to make things any more awkward by Matt realizing he's having such an effect on your body, even if you don't intend for it.

You tell yourself to think of the pajamas you've picked out to wear instead - a nice, soft, baggy shirt and your favorite biker shorts. You picture the amazing blanket your daughter got you and how nice it will be to curl up in it and sleep.

You want that more than anything right now. You want to just sleep.

You focus on that until Matt is back in front of you and turning off the water.

“All done,” he whispers and you repeat the words back to him.

He helps you out of the shower and gets you wrapped in a towel before starting to dry himself off. You don't allow yourself to admire his body and focus on getting the water droplets off of your body and out of your hair.

Once you are no longer dripping, you bundle your hair back into a ponytail and pull on your clean clothes.

The little change makes you feel so much better. You always forget how just being clean can change your mood so drastically.

“Thank you,” you whisper once you are dressed. “Thank you so much, Matt.”

You turn to finally look at him, and he has redressed in just his boxers and oversized sweater. He steps towards you and cups your jaw, smoothing his thumb over your cheeks, “You don't have to thank me. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. You just have to let me in, okay? Please let me in.”

You close your eyes at his words and nod.

You can't promise you will let him in fully, but after everything he's shown you in such a short time, you think you can try. You can try to let Matt in.

“Okay.”

He lets you go with a small, sweet, and soft smile then cocks his head slightly to the right, “Let's get you to bed, I think someone has decided they want to join you for a nap.”

Joy swells in your heart and belly at the idea of cuddling with your daughter. You want to wrap her up and hold her and let her feel loved and protected. You know now how nice it is and words tumble from your lips without you meaning them to, “you should come too.”

His eyes go wide at the offer before that small sweet smile morphs into a boyish grin, “I would like that. I would like that a lot.”

a/n: Matt would not stop smooching. I could not hold him back from smooching.

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then i met you

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owliellder · 8 months

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 1: The Sketches

It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.

He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.

Younger agents. More energized agents.

The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.

Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.

Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.

Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.

Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.

Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.

It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.

He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.

And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.

So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.

The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.

It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.

Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.

How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?

Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.

But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.

The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.

Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.

The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.

After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.

Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.

It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.

He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.

As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.

There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.

The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.

The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.

But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.

About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.

The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.

"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."

Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.

"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.

"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.

The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."

From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.

Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.

He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.

While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."

Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.

The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."

Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.

The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.

He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.

"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.

The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."

The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?

"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."

A painting?

A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?

Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.

Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.

Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.

It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.

The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.

He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.

The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...

"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.

Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.

"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.

You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.

The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.

"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."

Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.

Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.

His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.

After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.

Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.

"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.

Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.

Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.

"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.

"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.

He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"

The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.

"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.

It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.

The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"

"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"

Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."

As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.

Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.

Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.

You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.

"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.

"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.

Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."

Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.

It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.

The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.

"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?

You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"

Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."

You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."

"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.

"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.

Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.

"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.

"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"

Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.

You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.

The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.

You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.

Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.

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countcvnt · 2 months

Text

Experiment

Chapter Two: Bad Dreams

[Poly!TF141/Fem!Reader]

[Ch. One]

Summary: You realize, while asleep, that just because you're out of the facility doesn't mean you're completely free. Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, mentions of blood and vomiting (nothing too graphic), Angsty Simon Word Count: ~3.5k (don't quote me on that) A/N: Was gonna wait to post this, but it's on my AO3 already (i posted this first ch. a couple days ago on there, but am just posting it here now) so i wanna post it here too. I have Covid, and time to write, so why not post it now? Hope you enjoy~ The angst is only going to pick up from here tbh

You toss and turn in bed. Your covers are strewn across the room and you’re sweating. Your eyes are screwed shut as you lie there whimpering. You can’t even force yourself awake.

“You are not acting very nice.”

Your gaze does not even meet the scientist’s. His eyes bore into yours, but you can not force yourself to look at him. Instead, you stare at the floor. Your mind is racing, you are everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Did you hear me?” He asks. You nod. “Then act better.” He marks something down on his clipboard and you watch him closely now. “Next time, there will be no warning. You will be punished.”

You nod again. Your hands rest on your thighs, gripping your bare thighs and shaking violently. Your whole body is shaking. At this point, you can’t think of a time you weren’t shaking. Your eyes cut from the man’s hands and up to him. You see the reflection of the bright lights of the lab in his glasses. You sniffle slightly.

“You look sick.” He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours. You don’t look away this time. “After all this-” He motions around him. “That won’t happen anymore. You won’t have to worry about silly little sickness or your immune system at all. You know, after all of this, you will be the best.”

If it works, You think. You are almost certain you should have died by now. You have absolutely no clue what they have been injecting you with. You know it makes you sick. That’s about the extent of your knowledge. Well, you also know, you can die at any given moment. Whether the medicine or the guards around you takes you. Something can happen any time, and you just have to let it happen.

You remember lying in your ‘room’, throwing up blood and bile. No one checked on you. Not until the next round of testing. They gave you nausea medicine and you only hoped it’d work. Now, you're staring down the scientist who has ‘stuck by your side’ through all of the experiments. He is the only one who survived, you think. There have been several others. But you only saw them once or twice.

You aren’t sure if or how they died. You don’t like to think about it.

“We are going to test pain tolerance today.”

You perk up, in the least enthusiastic way possible. It caught your attention and set your skin ablaze. What does this entail? You can’t help but run through scenarios in your mind. The scientist pulls out a smaller syringe and places a needle in it. It’s full of a clear liquid. You don’t move. You’ve learned it’s best to not move.

He motions for you to hold out your arm. You do so, willingly. You’ve also learned it’s best to do as you’re told. He injects the needle into a vein and you try to stay relaxed. You whimper and shut your eyes. Suddenly, everything is on fire. Your body burns. A scream releases from your throat and you fall from the metal stool you had been sitting on. You curl up, clawing, scratching at your skin.

You begin to beg, “Please!” You scream for someone to stop it. “Please, help me!”

“Don’t worry,” His voice is so monotone. “It’ll pass. This is completely normal.”

You sit there, screaming and crying as the pain grows worse. You wonder if you yell loud enough if the guards would step in. But, so far, no one has stepped in. No. One. You can’t count on anyone. Not anymore. Your clawing slows down, the burning subsides. You relax and let out a small whimper. You sit up and inhale slowly. You slump over and look up at the man in front of you.

“Better?” He asks. You nod. “Good, now get back up.” You follow his instructions. “Now, I have a scalpel here. I’m going to poke you-” Your eyes widen. “-I’m not going to stab, or cut deep. I’m just checking pain levels.”

You sit back on the stool and hold your arm out again. The man grabs the scalpel from the side table and pokes into your arm. Blood rises and drips down. You feel pressure from the poke, but nothing else. You don’t react. You soon find out, maybe you should have.

“Hm, nothing?” Everything seems to be going according to plan for him and whoever was coordinating this. “Okay, next test.”

The scalpel is dug into your skin. Dull pain comes to the area, but you aren't feeling anything you should be feeling. You are too startled to scream. Blood rushes down your forearm and your eyes widen. You have learned to not pull away, so you stay there.

“Astounding…” He grabs the gauze from the small table and wraps your arm. “We will continue testing this in the morning.” He motions for some guards to come in. “I have to make sure that this… This is permanent.”

��If it’s not?” The words slip out.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

The words, his tone, they send chills up your spine. You are grabbed, harshly, by the guards and pulled into the hallway, out of the little, ‘cozy’ lab. Your eyes adjust to the dim lights of the hall and you squint. You are dragged to your ‘room’. The guard flashes his card in front of the door and it slides open. They toss you in, you hit the floor. There is no pain this time.

You want so badly for that to be a good thing. You can’t help but feel sick to your stomach though. You crawl to your mattress and lay down. You don’t even have a cover. You sigh. You curl up and go to sleep.

You wake in a cold sweat. A scream rips from your throat and your body tenses. Your breathing is ragged and a knock is coming from your door. You look towards it. You examine your surroundings. You exhale trying to calm yourself.

“Ace!” The knocking becomes violent.

Your brows furrow. You stand from your bed and walk towards the door. You swing it open and find Gaz standing there. His eyes lock with yours, before falling to your sweaty, sticky form.

“Who’s Ace?” You ask, not caring that he is probably staring at your chest.

“Sorry,” He mumbles and tries to close your door. “I shouldn’t-”

“No,” You swat at his hand, opening the door further. “Who is Ace?” A cool breeze hits your bare legs and you realize why he’s being so funny. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ and you step back. You remember that you’re wearing your tank top and panties. You grab your shorts and throw them on. “I’m Ace, aren’t I?” You finally ask.

“That is… Was your call sign.”

You notice Gaz swallow hard. You can’t help but wonder what has him so shook up. He had to have seen some thighs and cleavage before. It registers, he must not have seen yours. You make note of that.

“It’s okay, Gaz,” You reassure him, “I promise it’s fine if you look at me.” You’re trying to not laugh. You can’t help but smile though. His eyes cut from the floor and up to you.

“Are you laughing at me?” He asks, you can see him grow embarrassed and irritated.

“You’re being silly,” Your smile widens. You watch Gaz relax. You cock your head. “Acting like I’m the first pair of thighs you’ve seen in your life.”

Gaz groans. “You don’t like-” He stops himself. “You used to not be comfortable with us seeing you like this. I don’t wanna overstep any boundaries.”

“You’re very sweet, Kyle.” He lights up as you call him by his name. “I do remember being that way though… I had always been that way ever since I can remember.” Which isn’t very much, you decide it would be best to not joke about that though. “But, I guess becoming a little lab rat kinda nipped that in the bud.”

Gaz doesn’t ask further questions. “I came to check on you, because you’re thirty minutes late.”

“Let me guess,” you purse your lips, “I used to never be late.”

Gaz is at a loss for words. “Well, no! You and Price were always first at debriefings.”

You note that as well. “I guess I need to change?” You question him. Gaz keeps from dropping eye contact. You are sure you need to change. Going to whatever you needed to go to, with nothing but a tank top and shorts on would probably not be the best look on your first real day back. “I’m fucking with you, Gaz.” You turn from him and he huffs. You grab some clothes from the dresser. Gaz excuses himself and you decide it’s best to not fuck with him further.

As he closes your door, you begin to mentally prepare yourself for what the day holds. You know you’ll be digging up old memories. You know recent wounds will resurface. You have to prepare now. You run through different questions and answers.

You're on autopilot as you get dressed. You finish up and walk back towards your door. You swing it open and find Gaz waiting. “Oh, you’re still here.”

“Figured you’d need help finding the room. Unless you don’t-”

“No, no,” You interrupt, “I don’t- I don’t know where the room is.” Having to admit that hurts. Gaz catches that. He doesn’t say anything further. You follow him down the hall and through a corridor. You reach a double door and Gaz lets you in first. You spot Price, then Soap, then Ghost. Every last one of them seems uncomfortable.

You walk into the middle of the room and stand there. The door closes behind Gaz and he walks up beside you. You stand there waiting for anyone to say something. No one breaks the silence, so you decide to.

“I don’t think I like sleeping alone.” You look at Price. “I haven’t- I didn’t have a roommate in the-” You keep stopping yourself. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a roommate. I don’t know how I'd react to one. But I can not sleep alone.”

Price nods. “That can be fixed.” He is reassuring. “We'll get you set up with-”

“I want it to be one of you.” You interrupt him. All of them tense. “I know I don't remember much of anything… but you four seem to know me the best. I want it to be one of you four.” You nod to yourself as you say the last sentence.

“Do you have a preference?” Price seems like he isn't judging who you pick, but you can't help but feel like they're all judging which one you pick.

“How about-” You place a finger on your chin. “We could alternate?”

“Alternate sleeping arrangements?” Ghost speaks up.

“That can be arranged.” Price nods. “We can talk more about that later. We really need to figure out what you do know.”

“Easy,” you shrug, “I know I have a mom and dad- We moved a lot growing up. I know that I used to be self conscious.” You remember this morning.

“Used to be?” Soap asks.

“Well, yeah, being stuck in a lab changes a person.” The whole room becomes uncomfortable. “Sorry…”

“It's alright, love,” Gaz pats you on the back, and you look at him. You don't tense. You don't attack. You just stare. Your stomach flips out how he says ‘love’. “But that's not what he meant. Do you have any information on what was happening?”

You inhale slowly and close your eyes. “Okay. I don't know where I was. But I do know people came and… uh went. A lot. Do I know where they went? No. I'm assuming the guards took care of them. It was too important for people to just come and go as they pleased. The experiments were too-” You pause. “Classified. But the scientist that was with me when Soap saved me, that was my main scientist. I never got anyone's name. They said I would get, uh, stuff like that if the experiments fully worked. I'm not sure they ever had it work though-”

“On others?” Ghost interrupts. You nod. “There were others?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. I overheard a couple times, of different,” you pause again, thinking of what they called you, “subjects just… dying. In reality, I don't know why I'm not dead. I also believe there were more because I was dubbed Subject Five. There were, I assume, four before me. Unless they just wanted to call me Five.” You shrug, growing uncomfortable. “I do know, for a fact, they were only getting military personnel.”

“Dae ye ken how come thay picked ye?” Soap is about as uncomfortable as you are now.

“Not entirely. But the scientist had said that I was compliant. I was… pliable, that is the word he used when I walked in for the very first round of testing. He didn't want me. He made that very known. But he had me, so he did everything he could to make everything work. It wasn't always smooth. But,” you shrug, “it is what it is.”

You see Ghost shift. He looks angry. It's making you more uncomfortable. “What do you mean, it wasn't always smooth?”

“The testing was extensive. The amount of times I've been poked and jabbed is unknown at this point. I mean,” you roll your head to the side, exposing your neck, “I have little scars littering my body from… everything.”

Price can tell you're growing tense. “Have you eaten this morning?”

“Not hungry.” You respond, trying to seem as normal as possible. “But, I would like to shower… I haven't had a hot shower in, uh, four months. I only ever got cold ones.”

“One of us can show you where-”

“No, no,” you wave your hand, “I saw it earlier. I'm sure I can find it myself. You four probably have a lot to talk about. I'll be out of your hair now.” You force a smile.

You exit the room and head back to your room. That probably wasn't going to be your room much longer. You grab some clothes and head towards the showers.

Your head hurts and you want nothing but to sit in hot steam and scrub yourself under scalding hot water. You make your way into the showers and find it empty. You sigh. You go into one of the little showers and close the door. You turn on the water and relax as the warmth hits you. You groan and roll your head back. It's the nicest you have felt in months. ——————————— Simon has not felt so angry in so long. He wants to find who did this to you and kill them. Every single one of them. The way you had seemed to shrink when talking about what happened. How you look to be a shell of your former self. And how you probably don't even remember your former self.

“What do you mean we are going to alternate sleeping arrangements?” Johnny asks. Simon wants to know how it’s going to work too.

“That’s up to her.” Price finally says. “I’m assuming she’ll pick one of us to stay with during the night. We can change it every night. Or however often she needs.”

Simon needs you to pick him. But, he also hopes you don’t. Your last interaction with him has seemed to have left a horrible taste in his mouth. He wants to protect you so badly, still. Maybe you don’t need it now, or anymore. But he has to. Even if you don’t remember what happened.

“Simon,” Price’s voice is low, soft, reassuring. “This is not your fault.”

“You keep saying that.” He growls. “You weren’t there. I was. End of story.”

Simon plays the night over and over in his head. Every day. Ever since you were taken. The night at the safe house. It was you and him… It could have been him they snatched up. But it had to be you. He can’t stop thinking about how differently it could have been if it were him they took. He isn’t so pliable… His blood is boiling.

“Ghost,” Johnny speaks, bringing him back down, “she’s okay now.” He places a hand on Simon’s shoulder and tries to reassure him. Everyone is so reassuring… Simon wishes they would stop. He isn’t used to not being able to contain himself. And yet, here he stood. Seething. Ready to bash the heads in of anyone who even thought about bringing harm to you. He can’t take it.

“Fuck this.” He needs to clear his head. “I gotta go.”

Price, Johnny, and Kyle let him leave. Simon thinks maybe a hot shower would help him as well. He inhales deeply as he walks towards the showers. The door swings open and Simon realizes there is only one shower running. Good. All he can hear is water. Steam covers the room. It’s practically a sauna. The water stops running.

Then he hears it. Soft humming. A hum he knows he’s heard before.

Memories are flooding back. Your fingers running through his hair, his head on your chest, and your soft hums the only thing he can hear. Suddenly he can’t breathe. He’s frozen. He’s moving in autopilot momentarily. He’s making his way towards you. He spots you. A towel is wrapped tightly around you and your back is to him. Your hums turn to singing and Simon reaches you. He opens his mouth to speak and he realizes too late he has startled you.

He’s reaching for your shoulder when your hand grabs him. You swing him around and slam him into the concrete wall. Every bit of breath is knocked out of Simon. Your hand is on his throat and your eyes are dark. Simon notes they’re way darker than he’s ever seen.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“You’re in the men’s showers.”

Simon watches as your face drops. You look around. “No one was in here. I didn’t- My brain was too foggy.”

Simon’s hands are up. He relaxes as you let him go and his eyes don’t leave yours as you fix the towel covering you. His eyes briefly drop and he looks at the scars littering your skin. You were right. They’re mostly smaller scars, but there is one on your forearm, right under the bend of your elbow. There was force behind that one.

“Should have let us show you where it was.” He smiles under his mask. You look embarrassed. “I’ll make sure no one comes in, if you wanna get dressed, love.”

It slips out. Naturally. He tenses as the word leaves his lips. Love… His back is to you as you get dressed. He does not dare peek. As he begins to relax, words leave your mouth causing him to tense all over again.

“Ghost?”

He wants you to call him Simon. “Hm.”

“Gaz called me ‘love’ earlier too… I know it’s a British thing, but the way you both said it-” Simon tenses as you pause. “What were we? All of us?”

Simon really does not know how to answer that. He can easily tell you about him and Johnny, or about Price and Gaz. But you? Fuck, it was confusing. He didn’t entirely know what you were with the others. But he did know the both of you were close. But, never like that…

He says your name. His eyes shut. “That’s complicated.”

“Hm…” He hears you hum. “You can turn around now.”

Simon turns to find you approaching him. You’re dressed and holding your towel in your hands. “Sorry about earlier… I don’t know what happened. I didn’t know it was you-”

“It’s fine.” Simon motions for you to walk in front of him, letting you leave before him. He watches you closely. He wonders if you can feel his eyes on you. If you can, you don’t say anything. Simon wants nothing more than to reach out, rest his hand on the small of your back, and walk you to where you’re going. He refrains.

“I’m sort of hungry now…” Your words bring Simon back. “Can you show me to the cafeteria?”

Simon nods, “Of course.”

He walks in front of you. His body begins to lead the way, while his brain is stuck on you slamming him into the wall. He can’t stop thinking about it now. Processing it. You looked absolutely feral, and a little terrified. He tenses, his fingers curling into his palms, as he thinks about what happened to you to make you that way.

Simon doesn’t want to have to go through the pain of remembering certain things. But he hopes that if you do remember who snatched you up, that you will tell him who it was. So that he can cause them just as much turmoil.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john price x reader #john price #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #x reader

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ncteez · 10 months

Text

homewrecked. (j.ww)

Wonwoo doesn’t seem to realize that you’re giving him the best option out of a relationship that doesn’t even involve you. With a cheating best friend on one side, and a loyal Wonwoo loving her from two hours away on another, you decide that home wrecking isn’t always a bad idea. or the one where wonwoo fights internal demons over wanting you bc he’s in a relationship that he doesn’t even realize is falling apart.

ao3 | m.lists | leave feedback and reblog to give wonwoo a boner

minors do not interact.

WORDCOUNT― 12k

PAIRING― wonwoo x afab reader

CONTENT― toxic relationships, fluffy sex?? like it’s very intimate

WARNINGS― infidelity, there’s some angst but it gets fixed with fucking, mentions of reader having tits that jiggle and she’s also shorter than him, alcohol consumption

NOTE― will i ever stop writing smut from his point of view? probably not. we love to know what a man is thinking while he’s balls deep. anyway, this ain’t proof read bye.

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― big dick wonwoo, making out, leg humping lmao, finger fucking, oral [m receiving], “IT’S NOT FUCKING, IT’S MAKING LOVE!!!”, cliche “omg ur pussy was like, meant for me”, mating press position, unprotected sex, cream pie, he’s in love bro–

Wonwoo didn’t know why he needed you so badly and the thoughts ate him up. Day after day, watching you dangle yourself in front of him like you don’t know he’s definitely not the type to take you up on the offer.

The issue is that he would take up the fucking offer if you had done this five months ago before he entered into a long distance relationship with your best fucking friend. She moved out of town, and two hours wasn’t going to stop him from pursuing that relationship. You, however, you were definitely going to make him stop pursuing. Why? Because your best friend is a bitch, and it’s not like she hasn’t texted you about all of the dicks she’s been sucking since she left.

Why not give him the revenge he doesn’t know he needs?

He can feel his eyes burning holes through that thin shirt you're wearing and at this point, it’s painful to try and pretend he doesn’t stare. Even more painful to pretend he’s being nonchalant about it each time you get a little too close to him, each time you bend over directly in front of him, and surely each time you decide not to wear a bra while wearing said thin shirt.

He doesn’t understand why he keeps showing up for you. Before, it was because you were a mutual friend between him and his girlfriend. You were cool, laid back, and fun to hang out with. His girlfriend never seemed to mind when the two of you would hang out alone, then again that was quite a rare occasion before she moved away. Now though, hanging out with you seems to have far more intent behind it than just avoiding boredom on a weekend. Now, you appear to be more interested in what he has to say, what he looks like, how he’s feeling.

Wonwoo can’t quite pin point the moment in time where you started acting this way, but he sure as fuck can pin point the first day you seemed off around him. He thought he was thinking too hard, wondering why you knocked on his door on a cold December evening with no jacket on, but wonderful cleavage offering firm jiggles with each shiver.

It got to the point that by the time spring hit, and he was still hanging out with you on the regular, that he was almost annoyed that the temperature got warmer. Sure, it was more of a reason for you not to wear clothes, but it doesn’t feel as intentional when you’re quite literally dressing for the weather.

Still, you’re here again. In his apartment, sprawled out on his couch with the remote in your hand as if this is your own space. You really do make yourself at home, a little too at home. No bra under that thin shirt, the air conditioning raising goosebumps on your skin and perking up your nipples each time you lift your arms up for a long and audible stretch for him to surely suffer over later.

Hanging out with you shouldn’t feel like this, because he has a girlfriend.

“What do you want for dinner?” He asks from the kitchen, pretending that the two of you don’t seem like a couple on your own, as if he wasn’t just texting his actual girlfriend.

“Dunno,” You shrug, turning your head to look at him and noting his slow response of bringing his eyes from your tits to your face. “We should go out.”

His heart thumps heavily at those words but is very quick to realize that you’re absolutely not asking to be his girlfriend right now.

“Huh?” He asks nonchalantly, averting his eyes back to his near-empty cabinets with a huff.

“Like, go out? To a bar? A restaurant? A club?”

He lets his arms fall from the cabinet as he closes it in defeat and makes his way to throw himself onto the couch next to you.

“You, of all people, should know I don’t go out anymore.” He retorts in a long sigh, averting to the fact that those are options for single men or couples that seek those kinds of experiences together.

“Why not? She still goes out.”

The first secret is out, though you kind of assumed he knew already.

“Oh? Does she?” He asks, seemingly not too bothered. “That’s good, she deserves to go out and meet people considering she moves to a brand new city.”

You nod in agreement, rolling your eyes up to look at his living room ceiling.

“Come on, she knows I’d be there to fend off any girls trying to get in your pants.” You argue with him, or rather, you try to convince him.

“And you plan to go looking like that?” He asks, turning his face to you and once again staring straight at the way your tits leave no room for imagination.

“Uh, yeah? It’s not like I'm the one under lock and key.”

He rolls his eyes at you but offers a small nod, standing to his feet and shuffling to his bedroom.

“At least put on a jacket or something, I think it’s supposed to rain tonight.”

You nod, smiling as you follow him to a room that should be off limits to you. Mostly pleased by the fact that you’re going out with Wonwoo alone, and surely you’re about to be wearing his jacket over the shirt you wore specifically for him to look at.

You were right, you are wearing his jacket as you step past the security at the club. Shortly after the two of you left a small diner, you nearly thought he was going to have cold feet and not want to go, even after taking the time to fix his hair and wear a nice outfit. Thankfully, he didn’t. Thankfully, he’s right at your side appearing as nervous as he was the day he asked your best friend out. Thankfully, he looks like he’s here for you and not to be your wingman.

“Lighten up, we’re just here to have fun.”

He nods, looking at you and the way his jacket looks on you. It shouldn’t look so good, you shouldn’t look so good to him. He can’t help but feel like he’s crossing a line despite learning his girlfriend goes out quite often without so much as telling him about it. Even before he started dating her, it’s not like clubbing was his thing. He just went with you and his girlfriend, occasionally letting his own friends tag along to find some raunchy date for the night.

“You’re right,” He nods again, encouraging himself. “Just gotta get in the mood of things I guess.”

You smile at him and pretend you heard what he just said over the bass of the music, and opt to point with your head toward the bar that holds a short line of people appearing to be ready to drink. He follows behind you, being led from a comfortable distance in a space that should force him up and against you. Consistently, you look back to make sure he hasn’t been lost in the crowd. To make sure he isn’t being grabbed at by all of the people who would surely want to pick him up tonight if they find him standing alone somewhere.

He keeps the pace though, shoving up next to you by the bar so that you both can order your first drink of the night. All you can do is look at him briefly any chance you can get as the two of you wait.

He looks uncomfortable here, but incredibly handsome in the darkened room with the neon LED lighting flashing across his cheeks. You’ve seen him in lighting like this before, usually pressed up against your best friend, but now you feel as though he needs you here for comfort. Then again, he wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for you arguing that the two of you come here.

Still, you know how he acts when the alcohol hits him, especially in a loud room full of hidden secrets that people are releasing without a single hint of fear. You have some secrets too, ones that you’ve felt bad for keeping, but in a way, it isn’t your job to tell him.

The snide part of you likes seeing him take an interest in you. Someone so entirely loyal shouldn’t be caught up with someone like your best friend. You’re actually shocked he gave in so quickly to even come to this club with you, even more shocked at the way he continued to hang out with you despite your obvious attempts of seduction.

You started doing it a mere day after your “best friend” texted you a selfie, post-sex glow practically dripping out of her sleepy smile within another man’s bed. With an arm wrapped around her, one that did not belong to Wonwoo. You knew it wasn’t him, because she texted that shit the same day Wonwoo had his job interview.

He got that job, and part of you wonders if the excitement in your friend’s voice for him over the excited call he gave her later was really for him getting the job, or if it was because she had some really great sex with some non-boyfriend. Because of course you were at Wonwoo’s house helping him pick a professional outfit, of course you were there letting him recite the things he wanted to present at the interview. Of course that’s what you were doing, you helped him prepare and then waited around his place until he got back with the news. He’s your best friend’s boyfriend, and arguably, he was also your best friend by that point.

After that, all respect for the relationship left you, and instantly you took matters into your own hands. Be there for him, be around him, be a friend to him, and of course, try to get revenge for him. Even if that meant using your own body because for some reason, you felt protective. You felt possessive.

Seeing the way he looks at you, even while being in a loyal relationship, is arguably pushing you past the boundary of just wanting revenge for him. You can see him argue with himself in his head, the doubt of why he’s looking at you this way, the doubt of why you’re doing this so suddenly. It’s attractive seeing him fight a loyalty that his own girlfriend doesn’t even give to him. It’s attractive to see him here, next to you, spouting out his drink order and looking at you briefly as if to tell you it’s your turn.

And you do order, feeling the fabric of his jacket rub against your naked arms, and the zipper occasionally stimulating your breast beneath the thin shirt. Wearing no bra has both pros and cons. The pros being, constant stimulation and Wonwoo keeping his eyes attached to you and telling on himself. The cons, the bar tender and every other fucking person in this club appear to also be staring.

Thankfully, the two of you grab your drinks shortly after and head straight around the dance floor and scout out a small couch in the back. Small as in, a two person seater with a small table in front of it. It’s a lucky snag on a saturday night to find an empty spot that perfectly fits the two of you, but neither of you seem to be complaining.

You sit down next to him, feeling the warmth of his arm radiating immense heat as his eyes travel the loud room of dancing bodies, his drink in a hand that appears to be trying not to tremble.

“Why’re you so nervous?” You whisper yell at him, taking a thoughtful sip of your drink before leaning forward and bringing your head playfully in front of his line of sight.

“Just kind of doesn’t feel right to be here without her, y’know?” He responds, taking his own thoughtful sip and grimacing at how strong the drink is. Still, he continues to sip as he watches you roll your eyes at him in a huff.

“Oh my god, could you be any further up her ass right now?”

He almost feels offended by that comment. Wanting her to be here is not considering being up her ass, if anything, it’s being a good boyfriend. You continue to spit sarcasm at him though, looking dissatisfied with how he’s acting.

“How come she can go out and have fun and you can’t? Here, look.” You say, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick selfie with him. “Watch, she won’t mind.”

You immediately send the selfie straight to her, with the small comment of “he agreed to be my wingman for the night.”

Instantly, she responds with a kissy emoji, wishing you luck on your dick-search. That’s it. That’s all she sends. Even you feel your heart drop a little for him at just how much she doesn’t seem to care considering he’s practically stroking out over the idea of being here.

“See?”

He nods, taking another drink from his cup and nodding even harder. Honestly feeling a bit better that she at least knows he’s here. Mostly because he didn’t even know how to tell her that he’s going out to a fucking club with her best friend.

“I’m so lame, god.” He laughs at himself, practically downing his drink by now and staring into your also already emptied cup. “I’ll go get us more drinks?”

You nod with a devilish grin, watching how his nervousness completely disappears to that of a confident man, in a club, who would have no issue with rejecting every single person who tries something with him.

There’s one issue though. Like, you commend him for that loyalty and you knew this would be a difficult task but, what if he genuinely rejects you too? Surely not, because at the end of the day, you’re the one who knows what’s happening behind his back.

Most people would at least tell him what’s going on before trying to seduce him, and in all fairness, you don’t know why you haven’t yet. You guess you’d rather have him cheat on her back, just to show her that he’s not going to sit here and wait on her like she’s expecting him to.

How is she gonna find out? You don’t know.

The night is good, rain dripping outside is easily drowned out by both the booming music and the loud laughter Wonwoo throws at you every few minutes from people watching. The two of you have barely moved from the love seat, but have continued to drink for hours now. At this point, you’re the one staring at him, and he doesn’t even seem to avert his eyes as he continues to drink.

From your tits to your eyes, to his jacket draped over you, all the way down to your legs and the way you move closer and closer to him, up to the point you throw both legs over his lap and he instantly grabs onto them to hold them in place.

Still, he’s laughing. Playing it off perfectly as if it’s not intimate, as if it’s not something he would avoid if he hadn’t already downed four drinks.

“Wonwoo,” You ask, getting closer to his ear to avoid yelling.

His voice booms back at you, still yelling.

“Yeah?” He responds, turning his cheek to meet yours in this moment of close conversation.

“You look really good tonight.,” You say directly into his ear, hoping he hears you as well as you hear yourself. You’re trying to tip-toe past a boundary, but it’s not like you’re lying.

“What?” He responds again, gripping your legs a bit tighter as he leans closer to you, his other hand reaching to your head to hold your lips closer against his ear. He really didn’t hear you, but it feels– you don’t know. It feels like something.

“I said, you look really good right now.” You half-laugh into his ear, and he responds with a soft chuckle before pulling away from you with a shake of his head.

“You’re being dumb,” He laughs as he continues to shake his head. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”

“No, really,” You smile, playing it off much like he is. As if it’s a joke. Still, you crowd up to him again, lips right up against the shell of his ear and continue to sweet talk him. “She’s lucky, I’m a little jealous.”

You don’t hear him, but you can practically feel his skin go cold at your words. He doesn’t move, and you can argue that he doesn’t breathe for a solid thirty seconds. Which is strange because it’s not like the comment couldn’t be taken a few different ways. It appears he’s finally let it click in his head though. Right now, at this moment.

“Hm?” You continue against his ear.

Finally, he pulls from you, standing to his feet and letting your legs fall from his lap. You watch him nearly lose his balance as he tries to pretend he’s totally being normal about this, and totally not drunk.

“I’m gonna go get us another drink.” He says before walking off and not letting you say another word.

That, he does. He brings back another drink and appears now to be keeping his distance from you. And you, of course, with the alcohol bubbling in your belly, feel a bit too bold and far too interested in what you’re trying to do right now.

“Did she even call you today?” You ask, slowly making your way to the point of her not even texting him once she realized he was out with you tonight.

He shakes his head, then goes back to bobbing it to the music as if to borderline ignore you.

“Did she call yesterday?”

He ignores you.

“The day before that?”

He finally snaps his head over to you, brows furrowed in frustration as he fixes his drunken eyes on yours.

“What are you getting at? She’s busy!” He raises his voice at you, half-laughing at your questions toward him. You can’t tell if it’s because he’s pitying himself or if he thinks you’re trying to get him to cheat on her with you. The sad part is that it would be true either way.

“Oh. Yeah. She’s definitely ‘busy’.” You comment with a roll of your eye, practically downing half of your drink in one gulp before standing up and now trying to catch your own balance.

“If you’re gonna be this uptight, I’m just gonna go find someone else to hang out with.” You say defiantly, somehow hoping that he would get jealous.

He just watches you walk away, unsure of how he feels and instantly pulling out his phone to text his girlfriend. Partly just to see if she would respond, and only half because he hadn’t realized how much her communication to him had dropped.

You’re not having fun with this hot guy you found yourself grinding up against. You can feel the frustration in your bones with each grind, and even worse, you can feel his eyes on you in a way that’s very different compared to Wonwoo.

Sure, your tits are out and on display but it’s not like you did it for this guy. He eats it up in the way you want Wonwoo to. Even if his eyes are softer and full of doubt, this guy shows no shame in what he wants. He could have a wife at home, and still he’s looking at you without guilt.

Not that you support cheating. It’s a strange dilemma. Hating the fact that your best friend is doing it to Wonwoo, then countering her by fucking her man before letting him in on the reason why. It would be easier to just tell him, help him break up with her, and then woo him, but you feel angry enough for him that you prefer a more difficult route. The dramatic route. One that hurts her knowing he’s not bothered by her cheating because he has someone else to fuck now too.

Your drunk brain wonders what the fuck you’re doing here, with a guy that isn’t Wonwoo. So, your eyes wander around the room, landing on him still on that same love-seat, eyes glued to his phone.

Not-so-politely, you break away from the man attempting to shove his hand down your pants and head straight back over to him. You knew he wasn’t going to chase you out onto the floor after how rude you ended up being to him, but you really don’t have it in you to let him just sit in a club alone with a girlfriend two hours away probably taking some dude balls deep right now.

By the time you get to him and plop back down, he looks at you with a pained sort of face.

“Alright, turn it off.” You say, practically babying him as you grab his phone and hold the power button down. “She isn’t always the nicest.” You easily insult her to him, but he seems to agree by this point.

“She left me on read.” He says with an annoyed sigh. “You think she’s gonna break up with me?”

God, the pity you feel in that moment is intensely guilty. Because no, she’s not going to break up with him. It’s the other way around, actually.

“Hey, come on. You’re gonna ruin your buzz if you keep thinking about that.”

He nods to you, very nearly about to become the drunk-cryer before leaning against you with a heavy head, trying not to pay attention to your lack of reassuring him.

“Not sure why you’re jealous though, she hasn’t even let me visit her.” He laughs in a sad way. “Kinda wish she looked at me the way you do sometimes.”

He trails off, feeling you shift from under his head and take in a deep breath.

“You’re pretty attached, huh?” You ask, opting not to pry at this moment, opting not to feel jealous.

“Unfortunately.” He huffs, now lifting up and appearing to shake off his sadness. “Well, whatever happens, happens. At least I got you to hang out with.”

You nod proudly, now throwing your legs back onto his lap and staring at him.

“Yeah, whatever happens, happens.”

Oh boy, did stuff happen.

Stumbling into and out of a taxi happened, wobbling into his apartment happened, feeling him tug against your shirt as he fell into his bed, practically dragging you down on top of him, happened.

The most sobering moment was being entirely too drunk yourself to continue your plan with the night, stopping frozen as he looked up at you with a drunken smile and a small chuckle. The small voice coming from his lips saying, “You know, if I wasn’t with her I’d kiss you right now.”

You remember very nearly kissing him anyway, but opting to playfully cover his mouth and roll over and off of him before promptly passing out directly next to him.

And now you’re lying here at two in the afternoon, back facing him, with his arms clinging to you as if you belong here. You’re a little worried that he won’t remember what he said, and even more worried that he will. The hangover is prominent and booming in your skull, and partially you hope he’ll have a headache too blinding to even realize that the person he’s clinging to isn’t his girlfriend. It’s you.

Only a few minutes goes by before he stirs. His hands gripping you tightly, pulling you back and against him as he groans sleepily against your neck. You can practically feel his deep inhale of comfort by not waking up alone, until he freezes.

“Oh, fuck,” He says suddenly, in a voice more awake than ever. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to like–”

You roll over to look at him with your own sleepy smile, pretending as if you just woke up as well.

“It’s fine.” You assure him, sinking further into the blankets and trying to ignore your headache. “I cuddle with my friends all the time.”

He stays silent, not quite sure of how to navigate the situation but ultimately feeling the sharp pound in his head and throwing his head back against his pillow with a huff.

You’re a little sad that he doesn’t reach out again, but it’s kind of a given. The fact that he doesn’t ask you to leave his bed is enough for you right now.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” He asks reluctantly, internally hoping to god that you don’t. He vaguely remembers saying some stuff he shouldn’t have said, and doesn’t remember at all if he followed through with it or not.

You pick up on his tone of voice, careful and slow.

“Not really.” You say back, acting as if you’re falling back to sleep.

He breathes out a small breath of relief, allowing the silence to take over the room.

“Except for you saying you wanted to kiss me.”

Wonwoo is actually fucking horrified that you remember, reaching a hand to his temple and rubbing harshly in a self-soothing way.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He says back quietly, feeling the air become heavier and heavier.

“Oh,” You start, feeling a bit of a pull inside of you. “Well, you were drunk, so I didn’t think you did anyway.”

He breathes out another sigh of relief.

“Still, it felt good knowing.” You add.

Wonwoo pauses, feeling the ground beneath threaten to crumble from under him, taking you, him, and his bed with it as he looks over at your back turned to him. Something inside of him is now pulling a bit as he studies the way you breath and lay against his plush pillows. Your voice sounded disappointed, and he doesn’t understand why he’s also disappointed in lying to you about it. He did mean it, but it doesn’t mean you were supposed to be aware of how much he wanted to kiss you. He can’t. He’s loyal.

Nevermind the fact that you’ve never slept over. Nevermind the fact that you’re in his fucking bed.

“I’m not going to tell her, don’t worry.” You say out to the silence, in such a tone that doesn’t really leave room for him to respond outside of feeling bad more for you, than for his girlfriend who can’t seem to give him the light of day.

There’s another long moment of silence, and part of him wonders if you’ve already fallen asleep again. He can feel his headache get louder and louder in his ears and opts to try and sleep more too, because it feels like a better idea than dealing with this heavy atmosphere.

And he’s not sure why he does it, but he very carefully rolls towards you and reluctantly puts an arm around you. It’s just cuddling, nothing more. Friends cuddle all the time, right?

When you shift under him, wrapping your fingers up with his, he’s unsure of why he doesn’t pull back, and even more unsure as to why your hand fits within his better than his own girlfriend’s does.

It’s been a week of silence from Wonwoo since the night you slept over. When you officially woke up, he was still next to you, curled in on himself despite falling asleep in a way that should have been more telling than the silence in the room. You didn’t wake him because you knew he was pretending. The hint was that he didn’t want to talk about it, and he definitely didn’t want to look you in the eye. You took the hint.

So, you went home expecting him to text you at some point during the day. He didn’t. The next day? Also nothing. And now, a week later, still nothing.

You’re a bit in your head. Each work day is filled with menial tasks that do not interest you, mostly because you can’t help but believe you went a bit too far. You were being too pushy, and it resulted in this. Now, even if you were to see him again, wearing those revealing outfits would feel more like a disrespect than a fun little game you’re playing.

It isn’t fair that he’s playing that game with you without knowing, and perhaps it’s time to just get down to the point and tell him. His girlfriend is cheating on him and you’ve been a bad friend to him. You could care less about how she feels about you trying to get her boyfriend in bed with you.

His loyalty never faltered past staring at you and drunkenly admitting that he would kiss you if he wasn’t in a relationship. The task you gave to yourself was stupid, and to think Wonwoo would really pick you over her while still being with her was arguably the worst idea of your life.

Your confidence has faltered beyond belief, to the point that expecting him to text now is null. Even if you were to reach out to tell him what’s happening behind his back, at this point it would just look like you’re trying to pry. Like you’re getting involved in a place you do not belong, and definitely weren’t invited. Possibly even, like you’re lying just to get to him.

And you know, you would have stuck with the plan of silence, the plan of moving on from the situation, until she decided to snap you a billion and one selfies just the night before. Then again, it shouldn’t have surprised you when you opened snapchat this morning to see her, again, in a bed that isn’t Wonwoo’s. She must be out of her damn mind because his bed was warm and his arms were warmer.

She, again, is smiling. She looks drowsy in each photo, the arm held against her gripping her tighter in each photo until you see a glimpse of his face.

It shouldn’t piss you off, honestly, it shouldn’t. But the fact that she’s in bed with that man and not Wonwoo? Huge downgrade. The fact that she’s smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen her smile with Wonwoo? Worst best friend ever.

You don’t even respond to her, and instead screenshot every single photo, ignoring the fact that it will notify her of it, and then you block her.

You get a text at lightning speed from her immediately after taking at least nine different screenshots, catching a glimpse of the first line of text stating “what are you screenshotting for?” before blocking her number as well.

And then you sit, staring at the dirt in your camera roll before pulling up Wonwoo’s text box.

Sitting there on your bedroom floor, you type out paragraph after paragraph explaining yourself and your behavior before dropping the bomb. Drafting it once, twice, erasing all of it and starting over. Then you get anxious and close out the text box, instead writing what you want to say in your head but never quite satisfied with it because, well, even if she’s cheating on him…there is no way to explain it in a way that would excuse how you’ve been acting towards him.

Wallowing in your own self-pity, you seem to lose the point of the matter. Wonwoo is the one being fucked over, seemingly by both of you. Your best friend is taking advantage of him and so are you.

Ding.

Your phone goes off next to you, and part of you assumes it’s your “best friend” texting you from that guy’s phone instead, but your stomach drops the second you see Wonwoo’s name.

Wonwoo: can you come over today?

You almost want to say that you can’t, despite obviously wanting to. You’re anxious, you’re feeling awful, and you’re pissed off at the entire situation.

You: why? what’s up?

Wonwoo: i wanna hang out?

Well, maybe you can take advantage of his ignorance one last time. Surely he feels the intense awkwardness between the two of you, and he’s probably just wanting to put that to rest by hanging out like before. So, naturally, you’re going to go over under the idea of hanging out, and then find a way to tell him. Making no mention of how long you’ve known this to be going on, making no mention of your little mind game, or the revenge.

After all, he deserves to know.

Wonwoo is a little bit surprised that you show up in appropriate clothing. Not a hardened nipple in sight and you’re wearing jeans to cover your legs. He tries not to look at you in disappointment at this moment, and thankfully it goes unnoticed by you because, well, you’re blatantly avoiding looking anywhere near his face.

He doesn’t like that you’re not looking at him. Hates that even an hour into the hangout, you’re offering very little conversation compared to normal. You’re not making jokes, you’re not flirting.

While this is going on, Wonwoo feels like he’s staring far more than usual. Noting little things about you that he hadn’t gotten to pay close attention to before. The way your skin looks, your posture, the way you make a certain face when you seem to be thinking about something.

In his head, he wonders if he prefers looking at you this way compared to simply staring at what your body could offer if he didn’t have a girlfriend. His heart still beats the same steady pace, but it doesn’t change the fact that he feels like, especially after last week, there’s something here and exploring it is something he’s been avoiding for far too long.

It’s been there for a long time, and you never showed much interest until after he started dating your best friend. The fact that you started doing all that stuff after she moved away, while he’s trying to make things work from a distance? It was a hard thought to grasp, a hard feeling to admit. It seems he already admitted it to himself though. Putting together puzzle pieces in his mind that don’t quite fit. Ones where it’s him and his girlfriend, trying to fit your piece somewhere near him. It never fit until it was just you and him.

He never wanted to admit how much he loved spending time with you, how much he loved looking at you, how badly he wanted to touch you. It only got worse after she left, and after you started being around him more without her. He would notice even more things about you that he liked, and the mental gymnastics only drove him to act like an idiot around you. It made him talk about his girlfriend more, as if to mute the thoughts he would have about you.

Now though? He’s had time to think, he’s had time to figure things out, and ultimately, he’s had time to miss you. To see what it would be like without you around him for more than two days.

He really did miss you. A lot. Arguably more than his girlfriend, who lives two hours away and hasn’t even allowed him to visit her. So, as he’s sitting next to you on the couch, he moves closer.

When you get up to grab something to drink, he’s right behind you, absentmindedly placing a hand on your waist to reach up into the cabinet to grab you a glass before you can do it yourself.

When you sit back down next to him on the couch, he scoots even closer, reluctantly throwing an arm over the back of the couch and gently playing with the collar of your shirt.

All of those tiny touches bring your eyes to him a few times. The feeling of intimacy is more overwhelming than the day you lost your virginity. You didn’t have to do anything to get him to do it either. You’re not even trying anymore, and here he is, finding ways to get closer to you. Finding ways to invite you into his personal space.

The air in his apartment feels intense. It feels untouchable to you in a way too, making your anxiety bubble even more as you waver on the line of telling him the truth or just enjoying the way he’s acting right now. There’s too much guilt involved though, as you turn to look at him and this time, you don’t break eye contact.

He can tell you want to say something, but knows that you probably won’t speak your mind.

“What’s gotten into you?” You finally ask after a long moment of staring at him, and he just shrugs.

“I just feel comfortable,” he tries to play it off, his mind feeling heavy with the fact that she hasn’t texted him for three days. “And little frustrated.”

Sexually. Considering he hasn’t touched a single person since she moved away. Not to mention the fact that you have been dressing in a way that made him need physical touch for so long now. Until today, anyway. All of those hang outs where you showed up looking ready to be touched, and then leaving untouched? All of those nights he spent alone in his room trying to get his girlfriend to call him, moan for him, or send him photos? All of those nights without love from either of you, and only love from himself.

“Oh, Why?” You ask, reluctantly. You’re nearly prepared to get up and leave, hoping that his frustration isn’t at you as a person, or about what happened last week.

“She hasn’t texted in a while and I’m starting to second guess some stuff, I guess.”

You look at him with a shocked expression, the guilt rising in you to the point that you very nearly start screaming out the secrets. But you don’t, because he continues.

“You’re not wearing the stuff you usually wear to try and impress me either, so I feel like I may have lost my shot.”

Oh.

You look away, a confused feeling inside of you now. The guilt of the situation turning into that of petty revenge yet again. This is what you wanted. Him making a suggestion, even while in a relationship, to want you, to have you, to need you.

“I want to kiss you, so bad.” He sighs out at your silence, flopping his head against the cushions of his couch and groaning in frustration. He squeezes his eyes shut, a face looking as though he was pained to say such a thing, but it’s more so just the frustration of wanting to kiss you, and never having the chance. Never being able to be in a position to do it. Never being the person you wanted to do it.

“Are you going to do it this time?” You say in a small voice, still looking at him and the way he shows his clear intentions even through the slouched posture on the couch.

The cushions are plush around his head, offering him a comfort that you assume you could never bring to him in a moment like this. Even when he turns his head to look at you, eyes darting across your face to search for your usual cheeky smirk or grin, and finding none of that.

It’s the first time either of you have crossed the line of flirting. There is no flirting to be had here, and only Wonwoo’s reluctant intimacy, his needy suggestions.

“Yeah.” He lets out with a sigh, now taking in a deep breath and still not moving from the couch.

You, on the other hand, unintentionally push the secret to the back of your mind. The sheer idea of him wanting to kiss you, and him actually planning to do it overshadows any other thought in your brain. As if the entire situation never happened, and it’s just you and him with no ties to other people.

As if he’s not in a relationship. As if you’re not actively trying to end that relationship.

It’s silent, and he’s still unmoving after saying that. You look away briefly, trying to muster up the courage to say something else. To encourage him, to do it yourself. Then, before you can even try, you feel the couch dip next to you, and when you turn back to look at him. He’s right there.

You can feel his breath fanning over you, only now noticing that he must have been sucking on that candy before for this very reason. The scent of something fruity and sweet overpowering your senses as the two of you blink at each other.

You watch as his eyes go from open, to hooded, and you feel his palm against your cheek. The warmth of it lulling your own eyes to close.

The first feeling of his lips felt like any other kiss. Plush and warm. His lower lip slots between yours in a simple way, and he stays like that briefly before pulling back and looking at you.

His insides are buzzing, unsure as to why this feels so insane right now. He’s kissed before, so many times. He’s made out, he’s fucked. He’s done everything, but with you, it’s different. And it’s so fucking cliche to think about. Never did he think kissing you would feel any different.

But it does. And maybe it’s because your lips are prettier than his girlfriend’s, maybe it’s because the candy he had made the kiss all the sweeter. Maybe it’s because you’re here, and she’s not.

Or maybe, it’s because he actually likes you.

It only continues from there, his lips falling to yours once more, and then twice more, until he’s managed to cup your face in both of his hands and really kiss you. His tongue slipping in with ease and not at all as reluctant as his hands.

You kiss him back, seemingly trying to take what you can get before he realizes what’s happening and ultimately runs away from this.

With each passing moment, it’s what you expect to happen but, for him, each passing moment is only going further and further past the boundary line. His tongue continues moving against yours, his lips continue to fit perfectly with yours, and he keeps going until he’s breathless.

When he pulls back this time to breathe, his hands go from your face to your shoulders, running down your waist until he grips your hips and pulls you forward. You don’t budge at first, looking at him and his candy kissed lips.

He seems confident when he pulls at you again, and again, until you follow where his hands are pulling you. Directly on top of him.

There, he positions himself much like he did when he said he was going to kiss you. Head pressed back into the cushions, eyes closed before half-opening to look at you with a serious expression. Seeing him from this angle, with your legs thrown on either side of him, straddling him?

That angry feeling inside of you bubbles up again. This is what your best friend can fucking have? And she’s not doing it? She’s not here right the fuck now, sitting on her pretty boyfriend? With his stupid warm hands holding her so delicately on his lap? With his messy hair and pretty lips?

You groan as you look at him, moving your hand to pinch the bridge of your nose and shake your head.

“Hm? What’s up?” He asks, in his own little world with you, his girlfriend so far in the back of his brain that he doesn’t seem to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

“I just,” You start, adjusting your eyes back to him and taking in his image once again. This time feeling like the breath is knocked out of you with the way he’s looking at you. You forgot what you wanted to say.

“Are you worried?” He asks, bringing his hand back up to your face and running the back of his fingers against your lips.

It’s something that makes you feel like he’s not taken. It makes you feel like he wants to be taken though, by you, specifically.

You shake your head, kissing his fingers as they continue to make their way back and forth across your lips. Only slightly sticking out your tongue to lick them, before he runs that hand to the collar of your shirt and pulls you down and against him.

There, before you can even think to pull yourself back up, he’s wrapping his arms around you in a hug, letting your head lay against his shoulder as he talks.

“You really have no idea, do you?”

On the fucking contrary. He’s the one who has no idea.

“How long have I wanted to hold you like this?” He continues, still hugging you too tight for you to lift up enough to look at him. “Do you know?”

You shake your head, digging deep in your brain and finding no hints from him that would indicate such a thing.

“Since before you approached me to meet her.” He says, dropping the bomb that he’s still not yours, all while holding you as if you’re his. “Since that time you asked my friend for help on campus opening your bottle.”

“That was over a year ago.” You comment in disbelief, noting that college life felt so far away despite it not being a distant memory at all.

In fact, you remember the way he wanted to help before his friend did. You didn’t know him until that moment, and only knew his friend from a few classes.

“From the first second, I think,” He ponders, his grip on you loosening as he lets you raise up slightly to look at him. “I think this is what I wanted from then on.”

“Then why are you with–”

He cuts you off, kissing you again and ultimately doing the job of shutting your brain off so well that you can only believe he was meant to be the one doing it.

And there, the two of you sit like that with no goal in mind. Just kissing, just feeling, just enjoying. With each breath you need to take, the kisses only come back more intense, up until you think a solid hour passes.

Never have you made out for this long without a hand in your pants, or your hand in someone else’s pants. Arguably, you feel as if you need your hand in his pants by now, especially because you can feel how aroused he’s been.

He never pushed for more though, with his length sitting directly under you and his little relieved breaths each time you adjusted your body on his to kiss him deeper. You can imagine his legs must be going numb by now too, but he leaves no room for complaints.

None of his little sounds seem to come from pain, and the fact that this alone is enough to satisfy him brings that angry feeling back. You can imagine he must love to go slow. He must enjoy taking his time, and being gentle, sweet, and loving. Your best friend is so fucking different. You’ve heard of her sexual endeavors, you’ve seen them both in photos, videos, and hell, even in the same room as you because the bitch has no comprehension of personal space.

Only now do you realize that during her entire relationship with Wonwoo, she never talked about sex with him. She never sent photos, videos, or was all over him when the three of you hung out. You assumed it was because it was his boundary. You know she doesn’t respect boundaries though, so clearly not.

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo suddenly whispers between kisses, forcing you to search your brain as to what he must be referring to.

“Hm?” You hum into his insistent lips, only giving enough space for him to offer short bursts of conversation.

“Why am I with her, that’s what you were going to ask, right?” He says, pulling back and letting you look at him.

You nod reluctantly, trying not to feel his arousal beneath you twitch against your ass.

He shrugs.

“Does it really even matter?” He asks, now moving his body in a way that suggests you should stand, and you do.

You stay silent, watching him stand to his feet in front of you, looking down at you.

“Does it?” He asks again, looking at you for an answer.

You shake your head, watching him slowly take a step back, and back, and back. Fully aware of the fact that he’s making his way to his room, and knowing you’re going to follow him.

You do, following him until you get close enough that he grabs you again and holds you against his chest, expertly walking backwards in his apartment straight to his bedroom door. You could do that too, if you wanted to, because you’ve been here more times than you can count.

There, he continues to hold you in his grasp, inhaling the scent of your hair, running his hands down and slipping them under your shirt, rubbing your back.

You’re the one who snakes an arm around him to open his bedroom door, and he very nearly trips backwards. The chaos of you falling on top of him wouldn’t be the most awful error, with the way he keeps getting caught up with simply fucking hugging you. Thankfully though, he doesn’t fall.

Instead, he regains the control of his body and turns both of you around, now forcing you to walk back until your knees hit his bed and you’re falling back with him on top of you.

It’s silent again save for a small laugh from him, and he still just stares at you. As if he’s taking you in for the first time each time he does this.

He pulls his arms from under you and adjusts them now to where one is holding up his weight, and the other is once again fiddling with the collar of your shirt. There, he leans down and kisses the side of your mouth before moving down your neck, stopping where his fingers are toying with your shirt.

“I’m so hard,” He whispers against your neck, thrusting his hips forward and against your leg. “Can you touch me?”

You pause at the feeling of your heart fluttering, the warmth of his breath against your skin only heightens the feeling and you intentionally lift your leg slightly to bump against his length.

He lets out a pleased sigh at the feeling, tensing his hips against your leg and kissing against your neck again, beginning to suckle in that same spot.

His hands move up and down your body as he chases the friction your leg offers, slowly lifting your shirt, up until he has to remove his lips from your skin to get it off of you, only to immediately place them right back there, and sucking harder against your collar bone.

You feel his length throbbing against your leg with each little movement of his hips, and the pained feeling of your blood vessels being bursted with his mouth, the feeling of his hands now running up to your bra, intentionally moving the fabric just to free one of the breasts he’s spent too much time staring at before.

When he does that, you feel him release your skin from his mouth and groan out at the first glimpse of real naked flash, now running his lips straight to your nipple and sucking there instead. His hips moving faster against you until he can barely stand it.

He releases your nipple with a pop sound before looking at you, his eyes shining in a new way. He studies the way you lay beneath him, then looks down at his cock chasing the feeling of your slightly raised leg before he laughs at himself. Only slightly, a very small laugh.

“I feel so desperate…” He comments, shifting his hips harder. “and I don’t care.” He adds, reaching for your bra and pulling it off of you without so much as unhooking it. Then he goes straight for his shirt, lifting it off of his body just a quickly before lying against you just to feel the warmth.

“Are you okay with this?” He finally says, in a smaller voice, with a little less confidence.

Of course you are, even with all of the things unspoken about this situation, and what could come of it.

You offer him a small nod, moving your hands up to his hair and pulling a bit, as if to guide his lips back to your nipple. He follows with ease, smiling around the hardened nub and flicking it with his tongue before immediately pulling back and looking at you.

He’s fucking beaming. Never have you seen him look so happy. He’s practically glowing as he looks at you, and it makes you feel like your heart is going to thump out of your chest. You smile back, feeling like you both must look so stupid right now. He’s cheating right now, and you both couldn’t be happier about it.

“You’re so…” You start, your voice coming out cheerful and pleased. “cute.”

He raises a questionable brow at the choice of words there, wanting nothing more than to seem sexy, or like, arousing to you. But he will take it at face value, and hope that someday, maybe he’ll be more than just cute.

He hums, leaning back down to your nipple yet again, suckling it between his teeth before finally moving over to the other, warming up the skin there and leaving no part of you without a tingling sensation.

His hips have stilled, but you can still feel him ache against you, so you make it a point to raise your leg higher, moving it against him until he can’t stop releasing little moans from around your nipple. You keep doing that, up until he releases your skin with a deep sigh, one that feels painful.

“I want you so bad.” He groans, lifting fully from you and towering over you.

You look up at him, eyes trailing his chest and abs before focusing on his hands, which lifts from you and travels to the button of his pants.

It’s going to happen. It’s really gonna fucking happen now. You’re happy, your heart is fucking threatening death on you, and your entire body is reacting to him at this moment in the form of warmth soaking your panties.

He watches you watch him, your eyes practically urging him to do exactly what he’s intending to do, and he’s even more happy to oblige. Making a show of unbuttoning his pants, unzipping, and then pausing.

“Hey, look at me.” He says playfully, watching you struggle to move your eyes back up to his. “Keep looking at me.”

God, it truly is a fucking struggle to keep your eyes on his, despite how much you’ve grown to love how passionate they are when he looks at you. In your peripheral vision, you can see him lower his pants, you can see his hand reaching to pull his cock from his briefs, and you can even see him tug against it a few times, all while he’s smiling directly at you. Knowing you want to see it.

“How does it feel to have someone flash what you want in front of you, but not being able to really look?” He asks, again in a playful voice.

You roll your eyes at him, then dart them straight down and take in a deep inhale at how big he appears to be. Even against his hands, large and slender, his cock is arguably something that will feel new to you in size alone.

Honestly, you can’t fucking comprehend your “best friend” moving away and leaving that behind. Choosing someone else, letting someone else inside of her. Looking at it alone has your entire body in hyper-awareness of how badly you want it. You want him. Not even for revenge, but just to show him that he is fucking wanted. He is desired, and he isn’t worth fucking leaving.

You’re still staring when he shuffles back, landing his hands on your pants to try and get them off of you too, but you stop him. Shooting up from your back and nearly throwing yourself into a dizzy fit before grabbing onto him and pushing him from the bed.

He’s a little shocked, and definitely confused, until he realizes what you’re doing. You shift to lying on your stomach, face level with his hips.

“Oh,” He lets out, noting the way you’re grabbing his hips and bringing him forward again, his knees hitting his bed and the head of his cock hitting your lips. “Oh, shit.” He grits out, feeling you instantly take him into your mouth without even so much as suggesting you wanted to do this.

If there was a line to cross, it was already crossed, but this means there’s no turning back. And he’s fucking fine with it. His “girlfriend” never seemed this excited to do this. She was actually, um, quite boring in bed. Not to compare her to you or anything, it’s just, you know–

You can feel him tremble when you take him deeper into your mouth, honestly just wanting to show him how much you want this. You take him deeper, and deeper, until your throat constricts around him and you feel him tap at your shoulder and slide himself out.

“You don’t have to do that,” He comments, slightly out of breath, a tint of red fanning over his cheeks. “You really, really, don’t have–”

He’s cut off by you ignoring him, doing the exact thing that’s getting him to act like this. Taking more and more until your throat constricts again, and you continue to let your throat stimulate him.

“Fuck.” He moans in another shaky breath, showing that he’s still trembling, much like you are.

He doesn’t argue this time though, instead he opts to find out where the fuck he should put his hands. One lands on your head briefly, before it moves to your cheek to feel how hollowed out they are, then it ends up running through his hair, to amplify the feeling of pleasured insanity running through his body right now.

And when you pull back to breathe, you feel his hips chase the warmth of your throat. Gagging you once more before he sputters out a small apology, heaving in a breath and trying to steady his thoughts of how fucking amazing you are.

You smile at him, wiping the corners of your mouth before planting a kiss to the head of his length, tasting the salty pre-cum that you hadn’t gotten to taste before, considering how deep you took him into your mouth.

He still looks at you, dazed and totally infatuated with the way you look so proud of yourself. His cock twitching in front of your face, his eyes keeping the same passion. Before you can even go back in for more, he’s reclaiming his control.

“Roll over,” He says, not trying to seem demanding.

To you though, it just seems desperate, in a good way. A great way.

You do, rolling over and seeing him lean over you to quickly undo your pants, his cock literally right on your face. You playfully lick the base, feeling his entire body twitch as he laughs.

“Stop.” He chuckles at his own sensitivity, trying to shove your pants down in the awkward position.

“Don’t put it on my face then.” You argue, licking again.

He finally steps back with another laugh, removing his length from the assault of your tongue and throwing himself onto the bed, finishing the task of taking off your pants.

He briefly notes the wet spot on your panties, sighing in relief with a smile before he balances himself on one arm beside your head and leans down to kiss you.

You let him. Feeling entirely desired and wanted by him. The kiss is just as deep as the ones before, but this time you have the breath knocked out of you. You can feel his fingers moving your panties and going straight for your clit.

Your mouth falls slack against his, letting out a sigh that he swallows up enthusiastically.

He continues that, sliding his fingers up and down your folds, circling your clit, kissing you, chuckling to you, licking against your tongue before experimenting with sliding a finger into you.

He only stops kissing you at that moment, looking down at where his finger disappears inside of you, and then searching your face for a reaction. You look back at him with a dazed smile, slightly nodding with another long and drawn out sigh.

Then he slides his finger out, and slides in two, a bit harsher this time. Effectively fucking his fingers into you only twice before you’re pulling him back down and into a rough and messy kiss.

His hand continues to fuck into you as his tongue counters the motion with slow drags of his tongue against yours, as if he’s tasting each moan you give to him. The candied flavor of his lips is more dull now that you think you’ve kissed the flavor out of him. You imagine he can feel exactly how much you want him, with the way you’re grasping him, the way you’re moaning for him, the way you’re kissing with no rhyme or reason.

His hands get rougher and rougher as the minutes pass, up until he can feel you dripping against his knuckles and hopefully onto his bed.

“So wet,” he compliments you through a breathy kiss. “So pretty.” He adds, pulling back to really see how you look while being fucked.

You hum in response, spreading your legs a bit more, now using your own body to fuck against his fingers. Wanting more of him, wanting them deeper.

“Wonwoo,” You sigh out, feeling the slide of his fingers continue to drench themselves into the heat of your pussy. “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me.”

He continues to look at you, his cock twitching at the words as he dips his head in a small and, somehow shy, nod. All he needed was for you to ask. Now all he needs is to feel you stretch around his aching cock, relieving him of the intensity of how badly he’s wanted to be inside of you for so fucking long.

“Just tell me when.” he whispers, letting his fingers continue to do the work.

“Now.”

Well, you don’t have to ask him twice. He smiles, popping one more kiss to the corner of your mouth before lifting from you and staring down at the way you slide yourself on his fingers. Imagining briefly what you’d look like doing that to his cock. Closing his eyes tightly at the image and nearly whining out in pleasure at the image.

You’re a little shocked at first, with the way he pulls his fingers out, removes your panties, and instantly lays his cock against your core. Sliding it through your folds and humming at how wet you manage to coat his length. He does that for a little too long, but you watch him. He’s enjoying the image, staring straight down and seemingly focused on burning the image of his cock sliding against you in his mind.

And when he does finally position himself, he’s quick to grab one of your legs and place it over one of his shoulders, before sliding in slightly, then doing the same with your other leg.

There he stares down as he sinks into you, watching how deep his cock can go, feeling and seeing you pulse around him in a harsh and searing stretch.

Then, he looks at you and the way you’re lying under him with a face that resembles both pain, release, and pleasure. It drives him further, fitting his cock into you as if it was made for you and you alone.

You, on the other hand, feel as though you’re being split in fucking half by the sheer length of him. He just keeps pressing in, deeper, deeper, deeper. Until your legs tremble on his shoulders and he’s quick to turn his face to land a gentle kiss against your calf, as if to soothe you.

He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to though. When he bottomed out on you, all he could do was sit there and feel your pussy adjust to him. It felt so fucking good, so tight, so wet. All of it had him nearly not even thinking with his own brain. It made him want to say filthy things, seeing you stretched out on him, feeling your legs tremble even through his soothing kisses. Seeing your hands weakly grip at the sheets above your head.

Only now, does he slide out to offer you a bit of relief, watching your face and the way you take in deep breaths before releasing them with sweet sounds for him. He slides back in, letting out his own moan before gripping one of your legs to hold it in place and holding your thigh with the other. There, he finds a rhythm. One that has you moaning with each thrust, out of breath, and your legs trembling even more.

One that has him feeling like he could do this for hours. Loving the way he fits into you, loving the way your tits move with each thrust, obsessed with the way your voice translates pleasure for him.

He thinks he might be in love, fucking into you as if his life depends on it. As if his “girlfriend” never laid under him like this. Because she did, and somehow it never felt as good as it does with you.

Even through the silence save for moaning and breaths, it feels more intense than fucking ever has for him and he doesn’t want it to end. He loves the way your pleasure squeezes his length so tightly. He loves the little sounds you make, and fucking adores the way you still try to meet him half way with his thrusts. Like you’re urging for more, like you’re loving it, like you’re loving him.

He does this for a while, internally falling in love with you over and over again with each moan, each clench of your pussy, each fucking tremble. That is only heightened when he manages to move a hand to your clit, fighting your weak hands to push them away from you as he stimulates the sensitivity beyond belief.

You moan out for him, both chasing the feeling and urging him to stop because you don’t want this to end either. He chooses to keep going though, watching you reach your arms up to him, as if you’re calling to him through the intense sensitivity.

He’s so quick to let your legs fall from his shoulders as he intertwines his fingers with yours on one hand, the other keeping up the pressure against your clit. He leans closer to you now, face inches from your as he looks at you

“You’re so fucking pretty like this.” He compliments directly against your lips. “It isn’t fair.”

You can hardly comprehend what he’s saying, feeling his hips pick up intensity now that he’s even closer to you. The angle change makes the slide of his cock feel perfect inside of you, bumping every sensitive spot alongside his fingers caressing your clit, it sends you over edge without so much as a silent warning.

Honestly, it happens before he even realizes it himself. Feeling your pussy stutter around his length and the way you hold your breath as you try to kiss him at the same time. He tries to slow down to feel it, encouraging you to let it go while feeding into the one sided kiss. His fingers are still toying with you, wanting you to give him your all as you release. As he slows his hips, the slow drag of his cock inside of you continues to fuck you through your orgasm until he stops moving completely, unaware of how much you’re stimulating him through your orgasm, he pulls out half way in a panic.

“Hold on–” He breathes against your lips before throwing his head back and trying to convince himself not to come. “Stop clenching, fuck.”

You could argue, but honestly you’re about as stupid as he appears to be right now. Clenching harder at his words and the way his body jerks inside of you as he presses all the way back in again. Prolonging your orgasm past your own comprehension.

You moan louder in surprise, and there he goes.

Losing his goddamn mind inside of you as he releases, almost forgetting where he is as he pumps every single bit of his come into you with full fucking intention. Wanting you to feel it as he kisses you through it, wanting you to know just how much he could give to you, and ultimately feeling satisfied with the way you cling to him as he does it.

Up until both of you are breathless, trembling, and a fucking mess when he pulls out of you.

The silence in the room came back after the two of you caught your breath, Wonwoo was quick to clean both of you up, knowing for a fact that a shower will need to be in the plan within the next ten minutes.

But also, something else has come back to the front of his brain. Since, you know, he kind of lost his mind for a while there.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was cheating on me?”

“How did you–” You start, immediately pulled out of your post-sex daze. The glow of your skin disappearing and replacing itself with guilt and panic.

“When I asked her, she asked if you told me.” He responds, as nonchalant as ever. Showing no anger toward you for knowing.

It seems he figured it out on his own.

“Oh….”

“You could have just told me instead of letting me sit there and suffer abouting wanting you at the same time. Do you realize how awful that made me feel?”

You’re not prepared for this conversation, as much as you’d like to be.

“I was trying to get back at her.” You say in a small voice, feeling ashamed.

“Well, we definitely did.” He starts, tapping the bottom of your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “You should have told me though, instead of trying to take matters into your own hands.”

You look at him, searching for any hint of anger or disappointment and finding none. If anything, you see the frustration, possibly part of what he referred to before he fucked you. Before he definitely didn’t cheat on his “girlfriend” with you.

“We did?” You start, glancing away from him. “She knows we–?” You continue, wondering how the fuck the two of you would have gotten back at her if you only just had sex.

“Oh, right.” He puts a finger in the air. “I kind of jumped the gun and told her not to feel bad because I cheated on her too.”

“What?! With who?” You panic, wondering if the silence of last week was him fucking the sad out of him with someone else.

“You.” he pauses, avoiding eye contact. “Then I hung up and waited a few days to decide on what to do. I ended up texting you to come over so I could make good on my promise.”

“And if I wasn’t interested?”

“You were clearly interested.”

#wonwoo smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #jeon wonwoo smut

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formosusiniquis · 1 year

Text

y'know like barbie

ao3

It's Erica who gives him the idea, incidentally. Though she carries herself with a maturity that far surpasses the boys most days and though she's been through multiple life altering events, she does continue to only be eleven. Which is, it turns out, prime babysitting age.

The Sinclairs are going out of town overnight, it's their anniversary -- 18 blissful years, since our marriage can vote we thought we deserved a night away -- and they don't want Erica to spend the night home alone.

Enter Steve, who the Sinclairs trust with their children and who is inexplicably the only person Erica would accept staying the night with her. Steve honestly didn't believe it even as Mrs. Sinclair was saying it. But he smiles and nods, looks over the emergency numbers on the fridge when they're pointed to, nods at the money on the counter for food that he probably won't take, and waves as they walk out the door promising that he and Erica will be fine for the night and not to worry.

It's only when their car is out of the driveway and the door is shut that Steve realizes he isn't really a babysitter. He is a keep children alive while in a dangerous situation and when the situation is over drive them around because you feel bad that their childhoods have been marred by trauma-er which doesn't have quite the same ring as babysitter, and it's a lot harder to say with that rude tone the boys have been favoring. He also realizes that he's never actually dealt with children, or not girl children. The boys had all been older than Erica, when he had started keeping them alive. Max was definitely basically a teenager when he started really dealing with her; and she was usually okay to do what the boys wanted to do, like go to the arcade. Hopper didn't really trust him with El and that was fine, he wasn't sure he trusted himself with El either.

It put him in an awkward spot now though. Staring at Erica in her kitchen, a little afraid to ask the question on the front of his mind which was "What now?"

So he asks the second question on his mind, "What do you want to do that isn't eat ice cream all night?"

Say what you will about Steve Harrington, and a lot has been said, but he always keeps his promises and he always brings a pint of ice-cream for Erica to have when he comes over to the Sinclair house. Tonight he brought three, all different weird flavors he thought she'd like to try.

"Why can't I eat ice cream all night?" She says it with a challenge in her eyes, but he'd bet dollars to donuts that she's just doing it to make him sweat. "Because I've seen you eat ice cream, we've only got enough for two hours at most." His hand migrates as if of its own mind to his hip. "You need more than two people for Dungeons and Dragons, right?"

Her brows raise, for the first time since he's met her Erica Sinclair is stunned silent. Maybe she's just surprised he got the name right.

It lasts about as long as it takes him to notice it. "You'd play Dungeons and Dragons with me?" There's something fragile in the way she asks, and there is the eleven year old girl she's meant to be.

"Sure, you'd have to show me how, but if that's what you want to do I'm game."

Eyes narrowed in a distinctly intimidating way he kind of thinks she stole from Nancy, he does his best to make his sincerity clear on his face. "We need more than two people, but I've got something else we can do if you think your fragile manhood can take it."

He's got a retort at the tip of his tongue about just what his manhood can take and remembers just in time that yeah probably shouldn't make a joke like that in front of an actual child. "My pride isn't that delicate, I think I can handle anything you dish out."

"Famous last words."

He follows her to her bedroom, waiting outside the doorway to let her space stay private until he's told to come in. A clear plastic tub slides out from under her bed, out of sight but easily accessible and when the lid pops off he gets why. Rows of Barbies stacked neatly on top of each other, a mass grave for childhood. Steve has a stuffed bear, fur rubbed off of one ear, tucked up on the shelf of his closet that also got put away sooner than he would have chosen to, when it was too babyish.

“Alright, so who is the, like, elven warrior.”

“That’s not how you play Barbies.”

It’s snapped so fast that he thinks it embarasses her. He tactfully avoids eye contact, pulling out a doll with blonde hair snipped into a professional, if uneven, bob and a green skirt set. She's missing a shoe. “Then how do I play Barbies?”

“That one just won the Nobel Peace Prize, she solved world hunger, but she has plans to kill the Barbie who won the prize in Physics because she stole Barbie One’s research and gave it to NASA claiming it was her own.”

“Right, of course.” This was the kind of shit that happened on Dallas, only Barbie had a lot more awards. “And they’re all called Barbie?”

“Except for Ken, but Ken doesn’t do anything.”

“Well if Barbie just won the Peace Prize wouldn’t she use Ken to kill Barbie so she doesn’t get caught.”

Erica manages a look that is both condescending and considerate. “Barbie can do anything, including get away with murder; but she wouldn’t want to dirty her hands with that sort of thing.”

“And if Ken goes to jail it’s no loss.”

“Right.”

So maybe it's more accurate to say that Dustin actually starts it.

Dustin with the shittiest attitude this side of the Ohio, something Robin blames him for.

“Like father, like son.”

“Dustin doesn’t even know his dad.”

“I mean you and Eddie, dingus.”

“I am not that kid's dad. A brotherly figure at best, strong male role model more likely.”

“He’s a bitch because you are, Steve. Maybe if your and Eddie’s love language wasn’t being as bitchy as possible it wouldn’t have rubbed off on your kid.”

“Please don’t put Dustin and rubbing off in the same paragraph let alone the same thought wave.”

Dustin comes sprinting into Family Video on a Tuesday afternoon. “Steve! I need your car.”

“Did you learn how to drive when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“Obviously, I meant I need you too.” His hands are on his hips, eyes rolled. Shit maybe he did get it from Steve. “There’s this theoretical physicist coming to Notre Dame to give a talk on the Multiverse Theory.”

Steve was allowing himself a second to consider whether this was worth it, for once, instead of just blindly agreeing to drive Dustin wherever. The drive sucked ass, but it would put him close enough to Chicago that he could try to find a music store that would carry albums from the international metal bands Eddie couldn’t stop talking about.

It was a second too long for Dustin. “Steve, a theoretical physicist-”

See Steve had this suspicion that the kids did actually think he was an idiot. He was pretty sure that none of them, hell maybe none of Hellfire, save for Lucas realized that every athlete in the school had to keep up at least a 2.5 GPA. Which might not have been anything to write home about but Steve kept a 3.2 for most of high school, until the multiple concussions started to catch up with him. He wasn’t stupid, was the point and even if they didn’t think he was an idiot in a mean way he was a little sick of the shit.

“I know, like Barbie.”

That shuts Dustin up real quick.

“N- no, not like Barbie! Barbie is some girl's toy.”

“Excuse me?” Robin, who told Steve that she would not help him parent his children on work days or any other day ending in y had remembered that Martes doesn’t have one and her shift was almost over. “What does that mean, exactly, a girl’s toy?”

“And,” Steve adds, because he can and because Eddie made him drive him to fucking Bloomington because he was fixated on time travel and needed access to some science journal that only existed at Indiana U apparently, “Barbie is on a research team looking for the Higgs particle so she can start figuring out time travel.”

The bell chiming as Dustin leaves has never sounded sweeter.

He’ll definitely end up taking the twerp to stupid Notre Dame.

The thing is that Steve thinks he’s never really stopped being a bitch.

He doesn’t want to stop. He likes being bitchy. It’s fun, when you’re doing it with people you like it’s pretty funny, and honestly he’s kinda like Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility, he’s only bitchy responsibly now.

And it’s actually perfectly responsible as an older brother type babysitter figure to correct the behavior of the younger siblings by being bitchy. If they don’t learn at home they’ll go out in the world thinking that kind of behavior is acceptable, see Steve Harrington in his early high school days who talked to people like his father did.

So when Mike interrupts El with, “I’m not going to ask Steve, he probably doesn’t even know what a Pulitzer is either.”

He says, “Oh, yeah like Barbie won. Or Nancy will someday, probably. It’s a journalism award, Wheeler.”

And when Lucas corrects, “I don’t actually think you can win an award for comics. It’s still really great though, Will!”

“Barbie won the Kirby Award in 1985 for best artist, I’m sure Will is soon to follow.”

Or when Nancy tells Holly, “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to be something important instead?”

“You could be an actress and do something cool like go to space if you want, Hols, like Barbie.” And maybe he says it with a little more bitch than he should that time, but he’s seen the ballerinas in Nancy’s room, she didn’t always want to be an investigative journalist.

It gets to be second nature. When someone starts being shitty about something or to lighten the mood.

Erica doubts whether she should run for student council. It's her first step to being actual president, like Barbie.

Dustin makes a crack about Steve's possible future prospects when he butts in on a conversation between Steve and Robin. "I could do all three, I could be a counselor and a hair stylist and an engineer. Maybe I'll add EMT too, Barbie wouldn't stop at three, why should I?"

Or when Mike sneers at him, "What are you a cop?" All because Steve told him not to buy weed now that Eddie had stopped dealing.

"Ew, no, because you look like a fresh-faced little narc trying to be cool and you're gonna get ripped off."

"What so not like Barbie?"

"The Barbie world has achieved equality at a level that it doesn't need the cops." Eddie sometimes has to get high after a run in with Powell or Calahan who he still doesn't really trust after the spring. Steve has been treated to many a lecture on why the police were a waste of resources.

He lets Mike sit with that for a minute before he adds, "Like Barbie, I am very cool and know what it looks like when I'm being taken for a ride. If you're gonna get pot from someone other than Eddie, ask Hop where he used to get all of his shit."

It doesn't feel stupid, until El comes running into the cabin one afternoon that Steve has decided to join the rebuilding effort. It’s actually just him and Hop, who has started trying to quietly parent him, something he’s not entirely convinced isn’t revenge for telling Wheeler that Hop has smoked pot before. Steve is pretty sure El was crying when she came in, something he bumps up to a certainty when he sees how awkward Hop looks right now.

“You mind taking that kid? It’s been a long time since high school.” he rubs the back of his neck, Steve does appreciate that he has the decency to feel weird about asking. “If it’s anything outside of big brother shit I can take over.”

He does let himself get suckered by that big brother line.

El is facedown on her bed in a clear ‘leave me alone I’m crying’ pose but he figures he’s already here it’s not like he can turn around and tell Hop that he was too afraid to approach a crying teenage girl. Like that wasn’t the whole reason he’d been sent in the first place. “Hey Ellie, can I come in?”

She sits up, tear tracks plain on her face but no more are falling, and nods in that endearing, aggressively certain way she’s got. “Is everything okay?” He pauses and asks, “Was it Mike?” because he knows that’ll be the first thing Hopper asks when Steve comes back out.

“You are worse than Dad.”

“That stings, Ellie Bell.”

She takes a deep breath, steeling an already impressive will, “Lucas says it is okay to just want to be happy right now, but all they talk about is what they are going to do. Dustin is talking about going to admission early, Will talks about talking to Dad and Joyce about art school, Lucas worries about his sports and scholarships, and Mike talks about classes that count twice. I do not know what I want to be. I do not know why I have to be anything.”

“You guys have been through a lot. I don’t think anyone would blame you for taking time to just be a kid.”

“What if I never want to be something? What if I do not ever want to go to college?”

He’s made his way over to the bed with her, sits tentatively on the edge like he’s seen Joyce do before. “Then you don’t. You’ll probably have to get a job at some point, but that doesn’t have to be what you are. Lucas isn’t a landscaper just because he mows lawns in the summer.”

“You don’t think Dad would be upset?” she asks.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would really make Hop mad. And you might change your mind. I've been out of school for almost two years and I’m only thinking about college now. Or you could go to college and change your mind about what you want to be. You could be a hundred things, you could be anything! Like Barbie.”

He feels like an idiot almost immediately. A jerk quickly after that. He’s made El’s genuine crisis part of his stupid running joke. But something settles in the room. The underlying tension, the thing that had the hair on the back of his neck raised. He realizes, now, that her powers had probably also been on edge.

"Like Barbie." She says it with a graven seriousness, like Steve's dumb little joke is a mantra now.

"Yeah, and you're a sophomore you don't have to have your whole life figured out right now. And don't take life advice from Henderson anyway, he thought it was a good idea to raise an Upside Down slug as a pet."

He mostly just used it to be a bitch though. Because it was fun. No, it was what he was good at. So good at it he didn't even have to try.

Because Steve had a plan to be bitchy. Specifically to Mike Wheeler who kept flirting with Steve’s boyfriend while taking advantage of his hospitality. Sure it was at their stupid Dungeons and Dragons game, and yeah Steve was the one who said they could host the game at his house now that Eddie had graduated. Yes, he knew Eddie didn't mean anything by it when he responded and usually didn't flirt back with the kids. But it was still the kind of behavior that had to be gently corrected, for Mike's sake because if he didn't stop things were going to get drastic.

His initial plan is already in action. He encouraged El to come along to watch the Party play. It was, admittedly, a half hearted plan. Wheeler got so awkward anytime El was around he mostly just hoped that would keep him from trying anything.

It isn't. Eddie starts to describe a new character, "Blonde and statuesque, she has a long bow in hand and delicate elven features."

And even though El is sitting a few feet from him Mike perks up the way he always does when there's a new NPC to flirt with. He is going to have to have a talk with Eddie about letting the kid try out a bard.

He does at least have one other tool in his belt. "Oh, like Barbie."

Steve knew what he'd get as he said it. A groan from Dustin, who falls for this as being sincere about as often as he falls for the dumb-dumbs and dipshits line -- which is everytime for the record. Will and Lucas keep their laughs small, enough that they're covered by Erica's snort. The original Hellfire crew mostly looks confused, it's becoming less and less their default as they warm up to the Steve he is rather than the Steve they thought they remembered; but he likes to keep them on their toes.

Eddie is charmed. He can tell. Sees him duck his head behind his screen and his binders, trying to preserve the stern and scary dungeon master image. That apparently isn't possible if you're smiling like an idiot at your stupid boyfriend, so he's been told.

And Mike has maybe been on the wrong end of the joke a few more times than everyone else. He turns an interesting shade of red, two parts anger and one part embarrassed is Steve's guess. The foot stomp is unexpected, but he expects its been passed down the Wheeler line as a shared signal of outrage. "Not like Barbie, this isn't some stupid kids game. She's probably a hot, wisened archer ready to reward us for helping her village, not some stupid doll that you're obsessed with."

Eddie's blank face with the twitchy eyes has fallen into place when he sits back up from behind his screen. His things aren't going according to plan, panicked face. "I think that's a good place to end things this week. Wheeler, Henderson, Jeff, and Lady Applejack you've all cleared enough experience to level right? Do that before next week."

Steve knows enough to keep his mouth shut while everyone packs up to leave. Sends a small smile to Erica on her way out to the family minivan, he knows she struggles a little being the youngest at the table even if she won't say it. He has to imagine that the outburst had stung a bit.

"You gotta be nicer to little Wheeler." Eddie chides once everyone is gone, halfhearted at best when he's telling Steve off into the soft skin of his neck. When he feels the admonishment more than hears it.

"I'm not mean to Mike." He says on instinct, he does try not to be. "And he started it."

"Definitely think you started the Barbie thing, Sweetheart."

And well, yeah. "I Barbie all the kids equally."

Eddie hmms Steve can feel the vibration of it through his back and on his neck. Eddie is about to start something he better plan on finishing. "He asked Hop where he should get weed."

Oh. "I didn't think he'd actually do it!" And then, "Is that why he keeps flirting with you, revenge?"

"No, he's got a bunch of misplaced jealousy because Will and the girls think you're hot." He toys with the edge of Steve's shirt as he says it. Perpetually cold fingers brushing the clothes warmed skin beneath making him shiver.

"The girls don't think I'm hot."

He hums again, nips at the blush red skin at Steve's neck. "El used to, Max definitely has a taste for jock.

"That's not my fault, you let Mike play a bard." He wishes he didn't sound so desperate.

"Wanted to leave the Paladin spot open for you, baby."

"I'm starting to feel convinced, we could go upstairs and you could show me your character sheet."

The things he'll say to get laid.

"Don't think I can do that Stevie, smooth as a Ken doll down there. Could show you the actual character sheet though."

His back is cold as Eddie pulls away, smirking unrepentant as he lets Steve have the tiniest taste of his own medicine.

"Barbie has a very active sex life, actually." He's never been one not to double down. "Let me show you the fun we can have without getting your dick out."

He does leave it alone for a little while, even though he really, really doesn't want to. But despite what his friends, his fifth grade report card, and his mom might think; Steve is capable of keeping a hold of his worst impulses when he wants to.

So he lets opportunity pass him by.

He makes no comment about Barbie when Eddie talks about how John Carpenter is a film auteur. Not even when Dustin tries to define auteur for him. Incorrectly, but Robin comes to Steve's defense.

Barbie goes unmentioned, barely when an argument breaks out about Nobel prize winners, of all things. He thinks the kids argue more now than they ever have like it's the only way they have to get their bloodlust out now that the Upside Down was closed. He was quickly boxed out of the conversation, even if Erica kept sending him little glances over everyone's heads. (She'd let him have Peace Prize Barbie a couple weeks ago and maybe he was a little obsessed.)

Holly wants to be a vet now, a singing vet who is also on TV, but mostly a vet. She tells him all about it while he waits for Mike to find his shoes? Definitely not his quarters for the arcade, the day any of them bring those is the day Steve brings the nail bat back out. He’s one impulse purchase away from getting one of those little coin dispenser belts that the employees have -- Gareth just quit, maybe he still had his? Mike's frown is a little less general annoyance at Steve and a little more confusion when he's finally ready to leave and Barbie has gone unmentioned.

He almost breaks again when Eddie starts talking about sports. Or he starts talking about NASCAR which is close enough for Eddie, he has a surprising taste for racing for someone who never wanted to put his van on the starting line at parties. A woman led a Busch Series race for the first time, what a year '86. He's got no opinion on Barbie's ability to drive at all.

He could let a joke go. He could be nice. It wasn't so out of character that it needed this kind of attention.

Mike has forgiven him by the time the next session rolls around. Delayed two weeks after Eddie screamed so loud on stage that he couldn't speak for two days, and then again for Jeff's emergency appendectomy. Eddie has stopped leaving pointed gaps in conversation for Steve to fill with mention of Barbie, he has had his thinking face on instead which is good for Steve about as often as it isn't.

He leaves it alone. A little bit of non-life threatening surprise is good for the soul, or something. Listen, he’s made it this far by only asking questions when shit is about to get really, really bad and Eddie’s thinking face has only resulted in something bad once or twice -- and they probably should have spent more than a couple minutes negotiating that particular kink anyway.

When the kids start showing up and nothing has come from the thinking face, he assumes it was just for them anyway. He settles in to see whatever shit Eddie is going to do.

"From the ditch you pull a human man, a paladin. His plate is dirtied by his time on the ground but clearly gleams in its typical state. He's handsome, a square jaw and fluffy brown hair-"

"Ugh is this Steve? You already made us do a quest for him," Mike complains, maybe he hasn’t completely forgiven Steve for that last interruption.

Steve has, by his own count been the inspiration for at least three NPCs for this campaign: a white light faction rogue, Sol, that the party had to rescue from the dungeons of the nightmare King after he was caught sneaking into the bedrooms of the prince -- like it was Steve's fault that Wayne had super hearing; a young fighter from the gladiatorial combat ring who helped the party rescue a group of kidnapped children that were going to be used as bait in the next round of fights; and the most obvious Prince Stefan who sent the party on a quest to kill his betrothed a Duke called Thomas the Boarish and rescue his knight Rowen and beloved Bard Edwin -- it's not like he could unkiss Tommy, and he could be a dick but boarish was dramatic.

He was not this paladin, assuming Eddie was telling the truth about saving the Paladin he'd made for Steve.

"Cut the out of character chatter, Michael, before it starts counting in game. The Paladin before you is handsome in a bland, approachable, non-threatening way," Mike opens his mouth again, how is that not like Steve surely perched at the edge of his tongue and stopped in its tracks by elbows from Erica and Joey. "He introduces himself to his rescuer, Will the Wise, 'Thank you, kind sir, I would have been down there for ages before my lady noticed my absence. I am Sir Kenneth.'"

"What deity does he serve?" Will asks, something suspicious drawing across his face.

"Is there a holy symbol on his armor?" Gareth follows up. Gareth has been backing a lot of Will's plays lately, Steve thinks something might be going on there but he hasn't wanted to deal with Eddie teasing him for being a meddling matchmaker, again.

"There is no identifiable holy symbol on his clothes or armor." Eddie says, there's a mischief in his eyes, the way he tilts his head with quiet challenge and smiles.

"What God do you serve?" Erica asks, blunt and to the point. She gets cranky when her rogue doesn't have anything to stab.

"'The Lady in Pink,' he answers."

Any time Eddie reveals lore shit there's always a bunch of people talking over top of each other. It always turns into the kind of mass blob of shouting that Steve has a hard time parsing out, especially these days. Eddie somehow manages to distinguish not only people but the things they're saying and keeps his cool enough to keep the story going.

"Roll your insight, Gareth. Jeff, with a 15 history check, you have heard some whisperings from your homeland about a newly ascended goddess but not a name. Dustin, you're not getting shit with a 5 don't even try that but my back story says shit with me. Will, pretty sure that's a cleric spell but I'll let you have it he's a Neutral Good alignment. An 18, shit, yeah Garebear he does seem to be telling the truth that is the deity he follows; but that isn't the whole truth, you know a lot of the newer pantheon have a colloquial name and a true name."

"I'm sorry," Lucas says, "we aren't familiar with your lady. What can you tell us about her? Why would she leave you there? And that's a 14 on persuasion before you even ask."

"Why would I have asked that, Sinclair the elder? He has stars in his eyes when he speaks, 'before she ascended she was already limitless. A powerful warrior, an expert marksman, a mage beyond compare. Her power grew and grew until the only place left to explore was godhood.'"

"And what's her real name, if we wanted to spread the word?" Joey asks.

"'Oh she's everything. She's the lady in pink, she's the goddess with the golden mane, but before she ascended she favored one name I assume she has kept it.'"

"What is it?" Mike asks, perched at the edge of his seat.

"Oh no," Dustin whispers, a dawning horror on his face.

"'Barbara, though she preferred it shortened. Nicknames you call them," Steve sees the joke, knows where this is going a split second before reality breaks through the haze of fantasy for the players around the table. Eddie's smirking now, smile too pleased and too attractive. "'Y'know like Barbie?'"

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #and in 1996 when steve and eddie are expecting their first kid - a daughter #erica gifts them the barbie camper so steve has something while he waits for the real thing #listen you know that oh like barbie post with the steve speaking image below it #i saw that and this happened #i just wanted to try out a little steve and erica bonding #and it turned into steve being a bitchy big brother #steve and eddies love language is being dicks #but their secondary love language is not letting the bit die and i do believe that #so eddie had to take it up when steve set it down

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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

Note

Alright fic request! (Either reader or named Tav, whatever sparks joy.)

I HC that since Baldurs Gate has such a low population of elves, a lot of Astarion's previous sexual experiences did not involve his ears. They are probably the least "used" (his feelings) part of himself.

Maybe Tav isn't an elf and doesn't know, so they eventually just casually reach out- because they are so cute and Astarion's been OK with casual touches like that now they are in a relationship. But he just flinches away- very uncomfortable and hurt this happened.

Tav is obviously going to apologize and try to accept they hurt Astarion by mistake. Maybe not that night, but sometimes later after Astarion got to see them be sincere about his boundaries (maybe even OK woth him having a "bad" reaction) he puts his head in their lap and asks them to touch his ears in a quiet voice.

Basically a story about navigating rough waters with love.

I finally got to your request! I know it's been a while, thank you for waiting!

Synopsis: Astarion has very sensitive ears, you've never touched them. Until today.

Tags: fluff, Elven language and culture.

Thanks @bunnidarling for beta-reading! Your notes are super helpful!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Pointy Ears

Moon washes the meadow in silver light. As he sits by the campfire, Astarion's skin looks almost marble to you: white and perfect. You glance at him from time to time to detect a hint of disturbance, that his mind has dragged him to some unpleasant place.

But it seems like he is at peace with himself.

His pointy ears twitch a bit when invisible facial muscles move. They’re probably your favorite part of his body: long and sensitive, with a delightful pinkish hue. The elves, Tel’Quessira, have the most amazing ears.

But you suddenly realize you’ve never touched them. You often massage his scalp and have kissed almost every inch of his body, but the ears remain untouched.

The scars and the bite mark? It took months for him to relax enough to let his guard down. You still remember him muttering “Tav loves me, Tav won’t hurt me” while you were caressing his back. You pretended you didn’t hear that. As for the more intimate parts of his body, you two agreed on an “ask before putting a hand into the trousers”.

But his ears… You are a non-elf, a lesser being in the eyes of elves, and know nothing about them. But you remember how many years ago someone told you “Never touch their pointy ears, they hate it”.

“Astarion.”

Silence.

“Astarion, are you with me?”

Silence yet again. He looks somewhere into the woods, mentally far away from your small camp. Suddenly, his eyes squint and you see anxiety on his face.

Nine hells, again.

It happens to him often. He just sits motionless as if someone has cast a “hold a person” spell on him. He can stay like that for hours oblivious to the world around him. As if his mind shuts itself down. Sometimes he returns, surprised it’s already sunset “I thought it was still morning”, he says.

He describes it as a dark wave that just pulls him under into the nightmare, and he can’t do anything, only to keep drowning.

You approach Astarion and sit behind him. Then you touch his curls, slowly brushing them with your finger.

“I am here. I am not going anywhere,” you whisper. “Return to me, please.”

No response.

You keep caressing his head, intensifying your touches as you try to return him to reality.

And then your fingers accidently brush along his left ear.

Astarion flinches, forcing you to take your hands away.

“I am sorry,” you mutter.

Astarion covers his ear with his palm and stares at you in shock. He looks like a person who has been woken up in the middle of the night in some weird and violent way.

“Did I hurt you? I am so sorry!”

“No… you didn’t…” He still looks startled. “I just… Seldarine… How long have I been like that?”

“Since sunset. It’s almost the middle of the night.”

He snatches his shirt from the ground and puts it on. You still feel guilty.

“Sorry… I won’t touch your ears again.”

“Darling, you’ve touched me in much more intimate places and done much more lewd things to my body than this.”

You blush.

“It’s just… unexpected.”

“I am sorry.”

“Stop it! I hate it when you apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just… Fuck it. I want to take a walk.”

You nod. “Take a walk” means “I want to wander the woods on my own''. Sometimes he hunts small animals and drains them dry. More often he just walks enjoying the freedom of being in nature. Even a person who loves cities would go insane, forced to spend 200 years within its walls.

You are still embarrassed by your actions, so you return to the tent. You are feeling sleepy and doze off on your bedroll hugging a pillow.

You wake up a few hours later when Astarion returns to the tent. His shirt is bloodstained and his trousers are dirty, but he looks happy.

“Good morning, darling”, he kisses you. “It’s sunrise, time for the mortals.”

“Unless they travel with vampires,” you mumble as you sit up, feeling more or less rested. “I see you are in a good mood.”

“I am always in a good mood when I see your face, my dear.”

You scoot over, making more room for him. The tent is small but enchanted with darkness which fully protects Astarion from the sunlight. You would love to spend a couple of days in the inn, but the nearest town has no such place and you have to stay at the camp.

“Listen… about what happened…” He stumbles over his words. “Could you touch my ears?”

You giggle and invite him to sit between your legs. He presses his back against your chest and you wrap your arms around his body.

“You have leaves in your hair,” you say, brushing his curls with your fingers before kissing the crown of his head. “How sensitive are your ears?”

“Very sensitive, he admits. “That’s why… I… we… don’t like unwelcome touches.”

You carefully touch the tip of his left ear, then move your finger along the edge of the shell.

He closes his eyes and smiles.

You get braver and use your other hand to caress his right ear. You lean forward and kiss the tips, and as you do you feel an electric impulse coarse through Astarion's body.

“Why don’t you wear any adornments? You like rings and necklaces, but all the elves I have ever seen wear something on their ears. I mean, I understand why Tel’Quessir don’t pierce them…”

“Darling, never suggest to pierce the ears of the elf, it’s fucking painful.”

“But are there other ways? Without damaging the skin?”

He shrugs. “Never found anything proper I guess.”

He softly touches your finger and you understand he’s signaling you to stop. You press Astarion tighter.

You sit like that for a while in silence before you make yourself return to reality.

“I need to go to the town to see if they have some job for us.”

“I doubt it. We’d better return to the road at sunset,"he said.

“Yeah, this place is unbelievably peaceful.”

“I would say boring”, he takes out a book from his sack and you recognize Gnim, the language of the gnomes. Noticing your stare, he chuckles. “I prefer to know the enemy.”

You kiss Astarion’s cheek and leave the tent.

The town looks sleepy as if its residents exist in some weird world without troubles and worries. The townsfolk look at you with suspicion. Adventurers are rarely guests since there's almost nothing to do.

You ask here and there about a job, but as Astarion said there is nothing to be found. No troubles. No dangers. No reward.

Suddenly something catches your eye: a small building different in style from the rest of the houses. It is more elegant, with intricate runes on the wooden door.

Elven.

You enter carefully, opening the door as if you are afraid you may break it,

It’s a Jewelry store.

There are dozens of rings, necklaces, and bracelets. They are simple and delicate, but you just can’t take your eyes off them.

“Do you want anything?” A golden-haired elven woman waves her hand over the adornments. “Maybe for yourself?”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t want to wear such things on the road. I will either break them or lose them.”

“Pity. Maybe for someone you care about?”

Astarion would love something like that. No matter what happened to him, he is still an elf. Nothing will ever change it.

“Yes...” You say with some hesitation. “What do elves put on their ears?”

The woman smiles. “We wear ear cuffs. Like these”, she points at her own ear, showing a golden adornment that looks like flowers. “You want a gift for an elf, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Can I ask what kind of bond you share?”

You blush a bit and the elf smiles again. “It’s not an idle question. Elven culture is very complicated”.

“He is my… love.”

She points at the ear cuffs. “Then, this. Only lovers can give such things to each other. Received from a friend or, worse, a stranger, would be considered an insult.”

“Why so?”

“Oh, poor N'Tel'Quess. So bad of him not to tell you such important things.”

You pretend not to understand that the word she’s used is an insult. You speak some Elven.

“And how important is that?”

“Have you wondered why elves don’t like their ears being touched?”

“Because it hurts?”

Her laughter sounds like bells chiming. “The same way lovemaking hurts when nonconsensual.”

Fuck.

“It’s intimate. Even lovers sometimes don’t do it because they don’t fully trust each other. We allow this only to our aestara, our thiramina.For us, it’s a form of sex. But even regular sex might be less intimate. So, tell me, does he allow you to do that?”

“He did let me do this… today. For the first time. ”

“Then, give him an ear cuff. Choose.”

They all look equally beautiful and you try to picture Astarion wearing them but nothing is quite him. There are smaller and larger ones, golden and silver. Some resemble flowers, and some are more like stars.

Noticing your confusion, the shopkeeper sighs.

“Tell me about him.”

“He… is very kind. To me, at least. Very brave, but never admits it even to himself. He is smart, can learn a whole new language within a week, and can persuade people to do anything he needs. He can do a lot of things with his hands – embroidery, lock picking, you name it. But… he’s been through a lot. His past is very dark and he is still overcoming it, learning how to be with people, how to live this life.”

You carefully avoid details, trying to sound as vague as possible.

“It’s called srinna. The one who tests limits and establishes new boundaries.”

“Yes, it does sound like him”

The woman hands you a metallic ear cuff. It is simpler than the others but you notice small details like crescents and birds. It will look nice with his curls, you think.

You pay and as you leave the elf laughs again. “If I were you, I would scold him!”

You return to the camp at sunset. Astarion is still inside the tent engrossed in the book. He hasn’t been through too many pages. Gnim is difficult for someone who can’t stand its speakers.

Astarion smiles joyfully as he notices you. He always looks like this when you return. Pure happiness.

“So was I right about these peaceful people?”

“Yes. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I tell you what?”

“About your ears! The elven jeweler gave me a lecture about them! You could have at least explained this to me before I embarrassed myself!”

He disarms you with his puppy eyes. They say: ‘Oh, darling, you can’t be really angry with me, can you?’

“Stop making that face. You know I can’t resist it!”

Astarion sighs. “My apologies. Never really took it into account. But yes, touching ears is a form of showing affection.”

You take out the ear cuff and hold it out to him “I’ve brought a gift for you.”

Astarion puts the book away and takes the cuff. He is silent and you are afraid he doesn’t like it.

“Srinna”, he says. “The one who establishes boundaries. Thank you”, Astarion doesn’t try to laugh it away or mask his emotions. His smile is goofy and sincere; he rarely shows it even to you.

“Put it on!” you encourage him. “I want to see how it looks!”

“You’ve given it to me. You must put it on, not me.”

You lean to Astarion and carefully adjust the adornment to his left ear. To your surprise, it fits perfectly and doesn’t show any indication it can fall off. You think it must be easier to lose regular earrings than elven cuffs.

“How does it look?” he asks.

“Gorgeous.”

He cups your cheeks and kisses you. You feel like floating, forgetting about everything. You touch his ears and caress them with your fingers. Then he lets you go and presses his forehead against yours. “Salen arivae.”

“Salen means ‘my’, what does “arivae” mean?”

“Sunshine”, he answers after a short pause.

Seldarine - Gods! N'Tel'Quess - not people. A derogatory term referring to non-elves. Aestar- love Thiramin - soulmate

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion fluff #astarion ancunin #astarion fics #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #spacebarbarian fics #dnd elves #astarion headcanon #astarion gn!reader #astarion x you

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genshinluvr · 9 months

Text

Final Moments

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You're somewhere alone, bleeding, and on the verge of death. Everyone is scrambling to reach out to you, but you're not picking up your phone, and no one knows where you are. Not even Nanook knows your whereabouts. You didn't think you could die in a universe you didn't belong to, but you were wrong. At least you were able to hear their voices in your final moments, right?

Note: I haven't written angst in so long. This is probably not the best angst I've written. This is an answer to an ask I received not long ago. I'm not sure how I feel about this mini-fic, but I think something sad happening for once is somewhat good for a fanfic one-shot series. To be really honest, it doesn't feel like angst to me. Idk if it's because I wrote it or if it's because it's not sad enough. Who knows. I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Major character death, blood, probably my worst angst

Word Count: 3.9k

Your connection with Nanook has been severed. Whenever you sleep, you and Nanook communicate while you’re asleep. When you’re unconscious due to being knocked out by a flying prosthetic arm, Nanook is there— while you’re physically unconscious. You and Nanook have always been connected through body and mind since your arrival to their— Nanook, your Astral Express, Stellaron Hunter, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI companions— universe. However, this is the first time you realize you and Nanook are no longer connected to each other.

In the state of unconsciousness, you’re in the void. Only this void is different from the one where Nanook is covering the sun and sky. This abyss you’re in is pitch black, and you’re the only living being in the endless darkness. There’s no sky, no sun, no stars to light a path along the way in the void. At first, you’re uncertain whether you’re physically in this void or if you’re just unconscious.

That is until you hear ringing in your ears, and light starts flooding in. You gasp aloud as if you finally made it to the surface after being underwater for more than you can handle. Your lungs hurt, and so does your head. As a matter of fact, now that you have regained consciousness, your entire body aches, and you’re tired. So tired. Your eyelids threaten to shut, but you’re trying your best not to lose consciousness again.

Where are you?

What happened?

You push yourself upward and slump against the wall, choking out a gasp and breathing heavily. Your heart hurts— you didn’t think it was possible for you to feel your heart hurting to the point where you want to cry. Your vision is blurry, and you try to rub your eyes, but you can’t feel your arms. Exhaustion soon overtakes your body, and you fall unconscious.

Meanwhile, on the Astral Express, everyone is crowding around on the Parlor Car, their phones facing upward on the table. Everyone has been trying to call you, only for them to get a voicemail, or the call would fail to go through. The monotonous beep haunts their minds as everyone frantically tries to reach out to you.

“Are you sure the signal is good? Maybe we can’t call them because of the awful signal on the Astral Express,” Caelus comments, chewing on his nails.

March ignores Caelus’ comment. She presses her phone against her ears, listening to the ringing. If the signal was terrible, then how come the phone call was going through for her? The ringing stopped briefly, making March gasp, startling everyone on the Astral Express.

“Hi, this is [Y/N]! Sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now—”

March groans, ending the call. “Never mind. I thought they answered my call, but I was wrong,” March sighs in defeat, sliding her phone on the table.

The lights on the Astral Express flicker, and the door slams open. Nanook steps into the Parlor Car, his gold eyes scanning the Parlor Car, searching for your face. Nanook sighs and stays close to the entrance, running his hands through his hair. Just as Nanook feared: you’re not on the Astral Express either.

Welt furrows his eyebrows at the Aeon of Destruction. “Nanook. Your presence is sudden,” says Welt.

“Where is [Y/N]? Are they not on the Astral Express?” Nanook asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Unfortunately, they’re not on the Astral Express. We,” Jing Yuan gestures to him, Blade, Luocha, Luka, Sampo, and Gepard, “were contacted by the Astral Express in hopes that [Y/N] is on the Xianzhou Luofu or Jarilo-VI. To everyone’s disappointment, they are nowhere to be found.”

After hearing Jing Yuan’s explanation, Nanook starts to visibly panic. The Aeon of Destruction paces back and forth, taking deep breaths and muttering something under his breath. Everyone on the Astral Express gazes at Nanook worriedly. This is the first time they see him act this way. Nanook has always had this cool, calm, and collected exterior. Nothing can phase him, and only you can get a reaction out of him.

Sampo raises a finger. “Hold up. Why are you asking us where [Y/N] is? Aren’t you the one who can communicate with [Y/N] inside their dreams?” Sampo asks, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows at the Aeon.

“Nanook, have you been able to contact them by any chance? We’ve been hitting countless dead ends, and we’re really worried about them,” Gepard says, looking at Nanook pleadingly.

Nanook sighs and stops pacing. He looks at the people on the Astral Express with a deep frown. While Sampo is correct about him being able to communicate with you through your dreams, the people on the Astral Express, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI aren’t the only ones whose struggling to get into contact with you.

Nanook wasn’t able to contact you through your dreams prior to your disappearance. When Nanook brought you into this universe, Nanook made sure to form this connection with you— this unbreakable bond between you and him. But despite creating this unbreakable bond, it somehow severed, and he can no longer contact you through your dreams and unconscious state.

This bond is supposed to be a way for him to track you anywhere in this universe. No matter how out of reach you are from him. Whether you’re in the Astral Express, on Jarilo-VI, the Xianzhou Luofu, the void, etc., Nanook should be able to feel your presence somewhere throughout the universe. Nanook mutters something, closing his eyes and pulling at the roots of his hair with frustration.

“What’s Nanook saying?” Himeko whispers, not taking her eyes off the anguish Aeon.

Luka whispers, “He’s muttering something about [Y/N] and the bond between them. I can’t hear what Nanook is saying, but those are the things I can pick out.”

Dan Heng stares at his phone intently, staring at your contact picture while listening to the monotonous ring. This is the fourth attempt. The fourth time he’s tried to call you, only for there to be a voicemail or just constant beeping that’s shaking him to his core. You can be anywhere in the universe, and finding your precise location without you telling them where you’re at will be the most challenging thing they deal with.

“Are they still not answering their phone, Dan Heng?” Luocha asks, approaching the black-haired man.

Dan Heng sighs, ending the call when he hears your voicemail through the speakers. “No,” Dan Heng mutters, shaking his head.

Blade stares at the panicking Nanook, frowning deeply. Blade sighs, rubbing his temples with shaky hands. As much as Blade wishes he was mishearing the things Nanook was muttering to himself, the more Blade thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Nanook is the one that brought you into this universe— he should know your exact location no matter what planet and fleet you’re on. Nanook should be able to communicate with you through your dreams or unconscious state, and because Nanook is visibly panicking and stressing out over your whereabouts, Blade concludes that—

“Your connection with [Y/N] has been severed, isn’t it?” Blade asks, breaking the tense silence in the Astral Express and bringing Nanook out of his thoughts.

Nanook clenches his jaws, nodding. “It has been severed, unfortunately. I do not know how it happened, and I’m sure [Y/N] isn’t the one that severed it. There’s no way for them to sever the connection,” Nanook replies.

Everyone stares at Nanook in horror. If Nanook is unable to contact you, then it’s very unlikely they’ll be able to find you sooner. You, [Y/N]. The same person not from their universe, the same precious star everyone holds dear to their hearts— whether as a best friend, little sibling, or a small crush that developed into something bigger— the same star that shines the brightest in the universe. You’re somewhere out there in the universe, exposed to dangers you’re not used to handling. Heck, everyone didn’t plan on letting you be exposed to any hazards that exist in this universe, but now?

“So, you’re saying there’s no way for any of us to contact [Y/N]?” Welt asks, raising his eyebrows at Nanook.

While Welt looks calm on the outside, the man is freaking out internally. How did this happen in the first place? You were supposed to be safe and sound under his watch, but you suddenly disappeared without a trace, and no one was able to reach out to you or track you down. Not even the Aeon of Destruction is able to track you down, and the Aeon has connections with you— well, had a connection with you.

“What are we going to do now, Mr. Yang? Searching for [Y/N] seems impossible at this point,” Caelus says, plopping down on the chair and running his hands through his hair.

Jing Yuan shakes his head. “I’ll have Yanqing lead the Cloud Knights to search throughout the Xianzhou Luofu,” Jing Yuan says, taking his phone from the table and sending rapid texts to his blond retainer.

Gepard nods. “And I will have the Silvermane Guards patrol the Overworld and the Underworld. If they see [Y/N], their duty is to detain [Y/N] until we arrive to get them,” says Gepard as he grabs his phone to message Dunn.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Detain [Y/N]? As in, keep them in cuffs and behind bars?!” Sampo exclaims, propping his hands on his hips, and looks at Gepard with disbelief.

Gepard, Welt, Nanook, and Dan Heng sigh simultaneously, rubbing their temples and pinching the bridge of their noses after hearing Sampo’s question. March snorts, rolling her eyes. The door to the Parlor Car opens. Pom-Pom waddles into the room, his eyes scanning the Parlor Car for a familiar face other than the ones that are present.

Pom-Pom sighs with disappointment. “I see that none of you have found [Y/N],” Pom-Pom says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Himeko gives Pom-Pom a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Pom-Pom, but we still haven’t found them. They’re not answering our texts or phone calls, and not even Nanook can contact them,” Himeko replies.

Pom-Pom sighs and waddles to the Phonograph, pressing his forehead against the machine. A dark stormy cloud looms over Pom-Pom’s head as he lets out a string of whimpers and sniffles. Everyone on the Astral Express nearly forgot about how close you and Pom-Pom are. The closeness between you two is adorable, and Pom-Pom treats you like his favorite passenger on the Astral Express. Well, you are his favorite passenger. There’s no denying it. Sometimes, when everyone is asleep, you would keep Pom-Pom company and spoil him with his favorite snacks.

Of course, that was before Nanook became a passenger on the Express. Now you would keep Pom-Pom company on the nights you can’t sleep or when Nanook isn’t on the Astral Express due to his duty as the Aeon of Destruction.

“Pom-Pom?” March asks softly.

Pom-Pom turns to face them, his eyes blurred with tears. “How could all of you fail to protect someone that protected me!?” Pom-Pom wails, tears cascading down his cheeks. “What if we never see them again? They could be in danger!”

Everyone looks away, their shoulders slumping. Pom-Pom’s right. They did fail to protect you— this is the second time they failed to protect you, and they wish they could turn back time and prevent it from happening.

“There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll find [Y/N] and bring [Y/N] back to the Astral Express, alright?” Luka says, kneeling in front of Pom-Pom and patting the conductor’s head.

Pom-Pom whimpers. “But what if they’re injured?” Pom-Pom whispers.

“Then I will do everything in my power to heal them,” Luocha answers.

You’re rudely awoken by the sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You gasp and sit up, letting out a strained gasp and whimper. You look down at your body, now realizing the state you’re in. You don’t remember what exactly happened, but the more you look at your surroundings, the more you start piecing things together. You were attacked by the Mara-struck. It happened so fast that you weren’t able to comprehend what happened before it was too late.

And now you’re here, on Cloudford, bleeding out, going in and out of consciousness, with no cell signal to call or text your traveling companions. You can’t even contact Nanook due to the severed connection between you and the Aeon of Destruction. No matter how many times you lose consciousness, Nanook isn’t there— even if you scream his name, bloody murder. You will always be in the void, alone and searching for the Aeon that brought you into his universe.

You sprawl out on the ground, digging your phone from your pockets. Your vision blurs every few minutes, making it hard for you to do your task. You turn your phone on, attempting to call the first person on your contact list. Blade.

You tried to call Blade, but the call didn’t go through. You tried calling every person on your contact list, but the call continues not to go through. You push yourself off the ground, nearly slipping on the pool of blood beneath you. It’s a miracle that you manage to hold on for so long. The question is: how much longer can you hold on? Black dots dotting your vision, you’re extremely tired, your eyelids are threatening to close, and your legs and arms are tingling.

“I can do this, I can do this,” you chanted, limping as far away as you can. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

You’re not sure if giving yourself a false sense of hope is going to do any better. Still, it’s better to do that than lay in your puddle of blood, watching the time tick away and your life slipping from your fingers. With each step you take, you feel your strength slipping away. You’re exhausted, and everything hurts. The Mara-struck did not go easy on you until they assumed you were dead.

As much as you wanted to blame yourself for not being careful enough, there’s no one else to blame. Not even yourself. People will blame you for not being careful and watching your surroundings, but is it really your fault? The Mara-struck are ruthless, and they’ll attack anyone and anything that is alive and not Mara-struck like them.

You’re brought out of your thoughts and self-pity when your foot gets caught over the other, sending you to the ground with a loud thump. You let out a screech of pain and remain on the ground as every part of your body is stinging and throbbing with pain. The small cuts on your body reopen as fresh blood oozes from the wounds, spilling to the ground.

“Please, just end my misery,” you whisper, tears rolling down your bloodstained cheeks as you slowly drift in and out of consciousness.

The faint sound of buzzing coming from your phone wakes you up. You gingerly turn your head to see the screen of your phone lighting up and vibrating. You reach for your phone and roll over on your side to see Blade calling you. You swipe to the green button and hear a faint scream and frantic voices coming from the other end of the call.

“Blade?” You croak, wincing when you feel how dry your throat feels.

Blade sighs in relief on the other side of the call. “Thank the Aeons, you’re okay. Where are you? Are you safe?” Blade asks.

You chuckle bitterly, close your eyes and continue to lie on the ground. At least you’ll be able to hear their voices one last time, right? It’s better to listen to their voice before…. Someone calls your name, grabbing your attention.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t catch onto what you were saying,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut and fighting back a whimper that’s crawling up your throat.

“[Y/N], please tell us where you are. We’re very worried about you,” Dan Heng says.

You sniffle. The pain is beginning to feel unbearable. Everything hurts so much, and you want someone or something to end your pain and suffering already. You shouldn’t have played dead when the Mara-struck attacked you for who knows how long. You should’ve let them end you right then and there so you wouldn’t have to continue to suffer like how you are right now.

“[Y/N]? Are you still with us?” Caelus asks, his voice crackling through the speakers.

Fuck. Is the connection starting to act up?

“Yeah, yeah. I’m still here,” you reply, black dots dotting your vision. Is it normal to see a small burst of stars in your eyes each time you blink? “Sorry, I’m not feeling well right now.”

The other end of the call falls silent after hearing your response. As of now, Jing Yuan and Gepard haven’t received any reports from the Silvermane Guards and Cloud Knights about finding you.

The General of the Xianzhou Luofu and the Captain of the Silvermane Gaurds text their trusted companions regarding the search, only for Dunn and Yanqing to reply that they have yet to find out despite the number of Cloud Knights and Silvermane Guards scrambling to find you.

Mr. Yang walks over to Blade and takes the phone from his hands. “Sweetheart, can you look at your surroundings and tell us where you are? Even if you don’t know the precise location, do you know whether you’re on the Xianzhou Luofu or Jarilo-VI?” Mr. Yang asks.

“I’m on, uh, the Xianzhou Luofu. The Mara-struck…” you trail off, closing your eyes. Your hands are shaking— you don’t think you can hold your phone up any longer. Your arms feel awfully weak, and your phone feels heavy.

Jing Yuan’s voice crackles over the speakers. “What happened with the Mara-struck?”

Jing Yuan sounds frantic.

You shrug, completely forgetting that the others can’t see you. “They attacked me out of nowhere. They left me for dead, and there’s blood. So much blood,” you whisper, cracking your eyes open and looking at your surrounding.

“[Y/N], can you turn on the video call so we can see where you are?” Gepard asks, his voice crackling in the speakers.

You sigh, gritting your teeth as you turn on the video call. Your face appears on the screen— if you weren’t bleeding out and losing consciousness every few minutes, you would be gasping in horror at the sight of your reflection. Dear Aeons, you look horrendous. You blindly show your surroundings for the men to see where you’re at, but you don’t think you’re doing it correctly. Your arm soon grew tired, and your arms collapsed beside you.

“I’m really sleepy, guys,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. You nearly gagged when you tasted a mouthful of blood. You don’t know how much more you can hold on until they find you.

“Does anyone recognize that area? We’re not from the Xianzhou Luofu— nothing looks familiar for us,” Sampo mutters, gazing at the others worriedly.

Luocha steps forward and takes Blade’s phone from Mr. Yang’s grasp. “I know this is going to be complicated for you, but do not fall asleep, alright? Keep your eyes open and try to stop the bleeding. We’ll be right there soon,” Luocha instructs.

The men hear and see nothing coming from Blade’s phone. The camera is pointed to the sky of the Xianzhou Luofu— they see the color of your hair peeking in the corner. You rub your eyes and press your hands against the deep gash on your abdomen. You lift your head to see various cuts on your body. All are bleeding.

You whisper, “Which ones do I cover? There’s too many,” you mumble, gazing at the gashes with bleary eyes.

You let your head fall back on the ground, attempting to cover up as many as you can. How much longer are you going to hold on? You can hear a commotion coming through Blade’s phone as you lie on the ground, your phone lying beside your head. You didn’t think you could die in a universe you didn’t belong to.

“Stay on the phone with us, alright? We’ll be there soon, we promise,” you hear Blade say through the phone.

You can’t tell if Blade is panicking or not. He sounds so far away, no matter how close your phone is to your ears. How could this have happened anyway? It was all your fault, wasn’t it? Were you reckless like last time? No, no. Last time, the Astral Express was under attack. But this time, you left the Astral Express and ended up getting attacked by the Mara-struck. And now look at you, bleeding out on the Xianzhou Luofu while trying to stay conscious.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” You whisper, staring at the clear blue sky above you.

Luka grunts. “We’re not mad at you, [Y/N]. We’re very worried about you,” Luka replies.

Luka is trying his best to remain calm, but his heart is racing against his chest to the point he fears it might burst.

You close your eyes, feeling nausea hitting you. “Is Nanook mad at me?” you ask weakly.

Dan Heng looks at Nanook from the corner of his eyes as they run through Cloudford, searching for you. It’s just them racing against the clock to get to where you are— racing against the clock to save you. But will they make it on time before you lose consciousness?

Dan Heng shakes his head. “I’m sure he’s not mad at you, [Y/N]. Why do you think that?”

You crack a smile. “I… Nanook and I aren’t connected with each other anymore. Did I do something wrong for him to sever that tie between us?” You whisper, tears blurring your vision. “If I did something to upset him, please let him know that I’m sorry for whatever it is that I have done to upset him.”

Nanook snatches the phone and gazes into the camera, his gold eyes searching for your face. “I’m not mad at you, little one. However, if you lose consciousness, I will be upset with you,” Nanook states.

You laugh weakly, tears rolling down the side of your face. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry for not being strong enough,” you whisper.

Just when you lose consciousness, you feel someone cradle you in their arms. Your vision slowly turns black as the voices around you fade away— almost sounding like you’re underwater, sinking deeper into the depths.

“No, no, no, no! Please don’t leave me,” Nanook whispers, pressing you against his chest.

Your head lolls back, laying limp in his arms as blood continues to pour out of your wounds. Luocha kneels before you and Nanook, frantically trying to heal the cuts and deep gashes on your body. Sampo, March, and Himeko look nauseous at the sight of the pool of blood below you and Nanook.

March looked away, closing her eyes as a stray tear made its way down her cheeks. “Please tell me [Y/N]’s going to be okay, please,” March pleads.

Nanook presses his index and middle finger against the side of your neck, frantically searching for a pulse. Nanook buries his face into your neck, his body wracking with sobs as he holds onto you tighter. You can’t be gone. Please, please, please, please. Luocha’s hands fall to his side, and he looks away.

“Well?” Dan Heng demands, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Luocha shakes his head, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. Luocha grabs your cold hand and presses a kiss on your knuckles. Maybe in another lifetime, you will meet them again. But for now, stars don’t live on forever.

Note: Just because this is angst with death doesn't mean it impacts the overall HSR isekai series. This is a mini-fic, and to make it up to all of you, I will make a Nanook smut for this upcoming week! Yes, smut is finally here! Nanook got the majority of votes. Therefore Nanook is the first HSR male character to be getting smut! As I have stated in my Genshin Isekai fics, the fics in the series are like my multi-verse. Anything can happen in these fics, but it will not significantly impact the overall series. So, even if something traumatic happened to the reader in one fic, the next fic, it never happened to the reader. Some things will impact the story, but others won't be mentioned in other fics. For those who want to be on the taglist, here is the [Google Form]. For those who want to join the Discord server but weren't able to, here is the new temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]! Please make sure to read the server rules— you can lurk, chat and hang out on the server if you'd like! If you don't vibe with the server, you can leave whenever you want ^^ To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for the HSR one-shot series: @mompt2, @elegantnightblaze, @lunavixia, @jadedist, @reversearrowhead, @pinksaiyans, @aurelia-xyt, @lilliansstuff, @ssunset0, @starrry-angel, @kaoyamamegami, @kodzuvk, @for3very0urs, @a-cosmicdawn, @g3n0dtt, @theblades, @raaawwwr, @immahuman, @irisxiel, @siaracarroll, @crazydreamcat, @sagekun, @orichalcumthief, @dyingsweetmackerel, @rosiesareblue, @ichikanu, @hispasian-otaku, @asoulsreverie (Accounts that I was unable to tag are not tagged in this fic. Those who do not want to be tagged in a specific fic are not tagged. Remember to check your settings to see if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Honkai Star Rail x reader #Honkai Star Rail imagine #Honkai Star rail fanfiction #Honkai Star Rail fanfic #HSR x reader #HSR imagine #HSR fanfiction #HSR fanfic #Dan Heng x reader #Gepard Landau x reader #Sampo Koski x reader #Welt Yang x reader #Blade x reader #Jing Yuan x reader #Luocha x reader #Caelus x reader #Nanook x reader #Luka x reader #genshinluvr

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beetlejuicyy · 11 days

Text

Eraser | Ryomen Sukuna x reader

2. Wash Away

Summary: modern!Sukuna hasn't come to terms with the fact that you might not belong to him anymore (featuring a harmless Nanami cameo)

Warnings: gaslighting, toxicity, mentions of cheating

Word count: 2,789

Series masterlist: 1. Ultimatum 2. Wash Away 3. Only memories

Read on AO3

Notes: here's part two!! thank you for the love you showed for the first part, it means a lot. hope you enjoy

General Masterlist | Divider @rookthornesartistry

You checked your phone for the tenth time in the span of a minute. It had become unbearable to witness yourself desperately checking to see if Sukuna wrote you. Sure, you had ignored all his attempts to get in touch in the past few weeks. It didn't mean that you didn't enjoy knowing that he took his time to pester you with messages or take a break while driving between blackmailing some CEO for money and checking the status of the new cargo to call you five times in a row. Sukuna was persistent, if anything, and, as annoying as he was in his conviction that you still belonged to him, you found it incredibly satisfying to see him chasing after you.

However, since yesterday, the messages stopped pouring, your phone has gone silent, and your thoughts had turned your head into a mess. Did he give up on you already? Isn't that what you wished for, though?

"Thank you again for agreeing to meet." You said as the tall blond man came back to the table with your coffee. You argued that it was you who took him out so you would pay. Nonsense, he quickly dismissed you and remembered your usual order like it was yesterday.

"No need to thank me." He respectfully said, sitting down in front of you.

It was pouring outside, a quick summer storm that cooled off the heat of the previous days. It had started raining just after you met at the small café in your neighborhood.

You've known Nanami Kento since college. You graduated one year apart but you were part of the same friend group that ultimately didn't survive after graduation. However, you ended up working at the same company, until he resigned more than a year ago.

"How have you been?" He asked, taking a sip of his black, unsweetened coffee. Polite, as always, showing enough interest in your life while generally minding his own business, Nanami was the only coworker you ever really got along with.

"Fine, fine." Both of your hands were wrapped around the cold glass full of iced coffee. "Work is shit, like always." He nodded slightly, showing you that you had his full attention. "Actually this is why I wanted to talk to you."

Adjusting to life without Sukuna was hard. You've grown so used to his presence in your life that you stopped noticing how much of a difference he made. He would be in front of your house, one hour after you turned off your work laptop, to pick you up and go for dinner. On days when you worked from the office you would meet for lunch, occasionally, or he would drop by with takeout. On weekends you would go on longer rides by car or sometimes you would hop on the back of his motorbike and go to the seaside. He was filling most of your time and, after that dreadful night, you suddenly realized you had no idea how to exist on your own.

So you buried yourself in work.

Sukuna always hated it when you worked overtime. But now that no one was texting you to be ready, entertain you with riddles about the dress code and your new destination, you found it easier to spend half an hour more fixing some issues at work. Soon it turned into full hours. In two weeks, you ended up realizing that you hated your workplace. You hardly got along with any coworker, the tasks were piling by the hour, the pay started to seem too little for the effort you were putting in. In reality, nothing had changed. Only your perception, since you had no way to blow off steam anymore. Things were easier to tolerate when you knew that you would see your boyfriend.

"I want to quit. I can't stand it anymore." Your fingers were cold and wet because of the glass. "I know you work at the institute now. If there's any vacant position sometime, could you let me know?"

You felt bad for turning to Nanami, honestly to anyone, asking for things. However, you felt the desperate need for a change in your life. Or maybe you tried to cope with the lack of Sukuna's presence in your life by changing it completely.

"I mean, we have similar background, we graduated the same program."

You felt anxious asking for a favor, especially since you haven't seen him since he resigned and only kept in touch through few messages. So you started talking too much, justifying yourself, trying to get rid of the little voice inside your head that was saying you're a burden.

"I don't even want a recommendation or something, the thing is that I know these posts aren't usually public and someone with connections ends up getting it before the normal person can apply.” The more you tried to explain yourself, the guiltier you felt. Nanami, on the other hand, patiently waited for you to finish, not interrupting or dismissing your worries.

"Of course I'll help, y/n." He said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Thank you. And sorry."

"No need. We're friends." You smiled gratefully. You could always count on Nanami.

You continued to catch up with him while munching on some pastries. You almost forgot to check your phone as often. It felt nice to talk to one of your old friends, especially since you had locked yourself inside your room for the past two weeks. At some point, over the muffled voices of people and the generic song playing in the café you heard the sound of a motorbike engine hurring on the street. You mentally cursed at your heart for beating faster, immediately associating the sound with the image of your ex-boyfriend.

"Yeah, so apparently they have been hooking up the whole time and everyone found out during the team building. It's only rumors I've heard since I didn't go." You were telling Nanami the latest gossip about some coworkers when you noticed he wasn't paying attention to your story. His eyes were focused somewhere behind you. He muttered a quick excuse for ignoring you and you turned your head to see what he was looking at.

Goddamn it.

Sukuna was piercing you with his gaze as he walked in the small café, having girls follow his tall figure with their eyes as he passed by them with determined steps. His pink hair was a mess because of the helmet he just took off and he ran a hand through his longer strands to put them back in place. You rolled your eyes when you met his gaze, clearly annoyed by what was about to happen. Somehow, coming to a small neighborhood café just to make a scene while looking unbearably attractive was easier than saying ‘I'm sorry’.

Sukuna hated when you rolled your eyes at him. Coincidentally, he found it very arousing. Being a brat was one of your specialties but it seemed that now you were testing his limits a little too much. You turned back to Nanami in an attempt to reassure him you could handle this on your own but Sukuna was already by your table before you could finish your sentence.

"You've proved your point. Let's go home." He said, looking down at you. He had his hands in his leather jacket's pockets, exuding a very laid back attitude, reinforced by the calmness of his voice. He was talking to you as if you were a toddler.

The fluttering feeling in your stomach at the sight of his handsome face, which you hadn't seen in over two weeks, was crushed by the curious and longing eyes of every girl in that damned café scanning your ex from head to toe. The mix of anger and disgust you first felt when you first saw that dreadful video had come back to every fiber of your body and you clenched your fist so tight that your nails were digging stinging holes in your palm.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" Your voice almost screeched while trying to contain your vexation.

"Y/n, I'm not playing this game anymore." He said as his large hand found the nape of your bared neck, your hair up in a high ponytail. The touch of his fingers on your skin sent bolts of excitement in your whole body, straight between your legs, and you had to rub your thighs together on the chair to brush the feeling away. Nanami sat up, ready to say something in your defense, but you had already slapped Sukuna's hand away and sat up yourself. He looked down at your smaller body with an irritated expression, the tattoos on his face making him seem even more dangerous than he actually was.

"Sorry, Kento-kun. I'll be back in five." You excused yourself with a smile before making your way out, your shoulder brushing harshly against Sukuna's chest on your way. He followed you out, and you knew all those girls' eyes were on his every move. The thought drove you insane.

"Kento-kun, huh?" Sukuna mocked you when you finally stopped under the roof in the empty inner garden of the café. Usually it was full of customers but now the rain was washing over the empty white metal tables and chairs with soothing tapping sounds. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pockets but you quickly whined in annoyance.

"Don't. I hate the smell.”

Both his eyebrows raised in a perfect mix of surprise and irritation, almost like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. You never bothered to mention this aspect whenever your eyes would follow him longingly from the bed as he would light up a cigarette after fucking you rough, one finger playing with your lower lip. He chose to dismiss the thought as his head lowered so his eyes could look directly into yours, one hand placed at the side of your head against the wall. The smell of rain combined with his familiar and comforting perfume had your knees weaken while you tried to challenge his inquiring eyes.

“It took you two weeks to find a new personality?” His look was intimidating. You weakly tried to push him away pressing your hands against his chest but he didn’t even flinch. He sneered at your false effort, enjoying the warm feeling of your hands still lingering over the fabric of his white t-shirt.

“Why are you here, S’kuna?” You asked. Every time you imagined seeing him again you hoped to express your anger coherently, determined to let every single speck of negative emotion out of your system. You wanted to yell at him, hit him, make him understand the ruckus raising inside your heart because of him. But now all you could do was look at him with pleading eyes, almost begging him to tell you what you wanted to hear, what would finally allow you to forget everything and let yourself fall in his arms again.

“I came to stop you from embarrassing yourself.” You rolled your eyes again, pushing him with more force this time. He was still unmoved. You crossed your arms under your chest, unintentionally pushing at your breasts. He could notice the slight movement at the edge of his field of view, without taking his eyes off yours. He loved that baby blue fitted t-shirt of yours, with lace around the generous cleavage. And you wore it to see Kento-kun. The way you said that man’s name echoed in Sukuna’s brain and the thought altogether made him lose his mind.

“No, you are embarrassing me.” You spat back. You couldn’t believe you really expected him to give you what you what you wanted so easily.

“Half the city knows you’re my woman.” His other hand grabbed you by the arm, as if trying to shake you out of your stubbornness. Or keep you there, so you wouldn’t leave his side, no matter if you wanted to.

“We broke up, do you need a public statement for that?” It was painful even to you to say those words. You never thought you had officially broken up, not as long as you still hoped Sukuna would get over himself and admit that he was wrong, that he would never do that again. Because he loved you. But you let those venomous words out of your mouth in an attempt to see him feel only a fraction of the hurt you were containing in your heart.

Sukuna didn’t answer. He didn’t have any smart reply for that. He looked at you in silence, the only sound echoing between the two of you being the tapping of raindrops on the ground. He really did think you were simply acting like a brat, dismissing his efforts to talk only to have him chase you. Sukuna knew you loved that and, from time to time, you would push him away so you could see him make an effort to get to you. He never understood your reasons, but he entertained your caprices, enjoying the occasional taunting resembling a mouse and a cat constantly on the hunt. This time, it didn’t seem like a game anymore.

You wanted to kiss him so badly. You wouldn’t allow yourself, though, but your eyes would move from his eyes to his lips, his plump soft lips that you desperately wanted to bite on. You had left him speechless, with a helpless look on his face that only made you pity him. Pressing your lips together, you forced yourself to leave, since your knees were weaker by the minute and your arms were aching to be around his neck.

As you turned away, his hand gently fell down your arm, the tips of his fingers brushing over your bare skin, and he grabbed you by the wrist, keeping you in place.

“Give me another chance.” Sukuna almost begged. It was a pathetic sight, the tall muscular man, dressed in all black, with tattoos on his face, his whole presence imposing and intimidating, begging a woman like you to take him back. It almost made you give up. Almost.

“Give me one good reason.” You said, surprised by the composure of your voice in contrast to the hurricane of feelings in your heart.

“I miss you.” His eyebrows were raised in a pitiful plea.

“You’ll get used to it.” It wasn’t enough. You tried to break free from his grip but he held on your wrist as if it was the only thing allowing him to breathe.

“Don’t you miss me, y/n?” There it was. When his deep voice and mesmerizing eyes were failing to reach you he would retort to emotional blackmail. Of course you missed him, you cursed at yourself when you hesitated to answer, when the loud voice in your head was screaming to you that yes, you missed him, you missed him so much and your entire life felt pointless, that you hardly enjoyed anything since you last saw him, that you missed his comforting words and his safe arms and his handsome face.

“Someone is waiting for me.” You said as he let go of your wrist.

Sukuna watched as you turned your back to him, your long ponytail wiggling in the air with every step you took further away from him. He hated to see you go. Leaning against the wall, he lit up that cigarette only after you were out of his sight. It was such a peaceful rainy day when everything seemed to have slowed down, drenched in the humid air. His eyes were fixed on one small table for two in the corner of the garden, protected from the rain by a tall tree. It was your favorite spot, in your favorite café where he would find you reading sometimes, while sipping on iced tea. You always laughed at him whenever he would pick you up from there. His dark unapproachable figure made such a big contrast with the softness of the garden full of flowers. Sukuna always thought you fit so well there, like a goddess of the spring with your flowy skirts and your pretty round face.

He sighed, a thin cloud of smoke forming in the air as it blew out of his mouth. You were so different, almost opposites. This is why you worked so well together, you completed each other. He let his head fall back, resting against the wall, as he looked at the sky that was already starting to clear up. He wasn’t going to erase that tattoo off his skin just as he wasn’t going to allow you to erase him out of your life.

《previous 1. Ultimatum next》 Ascension |

True Form! Sukuna x Reader

tags: @siriuslyblackonback @rosaryia @st4r-s4r4 @depressiondiaries @sterzin @rowrowrowyourboat13

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #sukuna jjk #jujustu kaisen #sukuna imagine #sukuna angst #jjk

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steddiecameraroll · 5 months

Text

Steve’s pov to this post now both POVs on ao3

Steve sighs and lowers his head in shame as the group of old classmates leave the shop. Softly plunking his forehead against the counter in defeat. His uniformed hat slips from his head onto the counter. If Robin had been working she would’ve added more than one tally onto the board after that pitiful display.

“Buck up, sailor boy.”

Steve jolts up to find Eddie Munson nimbly twirling his hat around his index finger.

“Munson, what are you…that’s my hat.” Steve swipes the hat swiftly from Eddie’s hand, feeling unnerved under the man’s silly smile.

When he straightens himself up he sees Eddie take in the entire ridiculous get up with an amused gaze.

“Love the outfit, by the way. Really finishes off the whole ambiance.” He motions around them to punctuate his point.

“I know it’s ridiculous, dude. You don’t have to rub it in.”

Steve’s heard every pirate pun in human existence since he started this shitty minimum wage job.

“Oh no, you misconstrue, my good man.”

Misconstrue?

As Eddie continues, he flattens his palms onto the countertop and leans into Steve’s space. The seemingly simple movement causes a weird sensation in Steve’s stomach that he tries to ignore.

“If I’m rubbing anything, it wouldn’t be your uniform.”

Steve’s palms are suddenly sweaty because what the fuck does that mean? He thinks his cheeks feel warmer than they did a moment ago too, and he’s grateful when Eddie moves away to begin looking through the display case.

He takes a steadying breath then from behind the counter, steps in beat with Eddie’s movements.

As the curly haired man drags his finger across the glass he asks, “what do you recommend?”

Steve realizes he might get out of this interaction unscathed if he can get through the next couple of minutes. So he sucks it up and dons his most charming smile.

“Um, the USS Butterscotch is a favorite or the cherry’s jubilee.” He watches Eddie carefully scrutinize each and every flavor of ice cream before standing up and directing his attention back on Steve. “What do you usually get when you eat ice cream?”

The corner of Eddie’s lip ticks up and then he leans in.

“Wanna know a secret?” The man whispers.

And Steve does, he really does. “Um, ok,” he replies shakily.

He steps closer ensuring he doesn’t miss Eddie’s next words, and braces himself because it feels like something he should do.

“I’m more of a salty treat, kinda man.” Then Eddie winks implying some kind of hidden meaning.

Steve doesn’t get it.

But he doesn’t want to admit to that fact. So he tries to hide it with an uncertain chuckle, and an awkward scratch to the back of his neck. He prays Eddie doesn’t spring some kind of pop quiz on him, catching him in the ruse.

“Well, then maybe-um-a parfait? Peanut butter?” A lightbulb goes off in his head and he smiles bright. “Or nuts…something with nuts?”

Eddie snorts and bites back a smile, catching Steve’s eye. How has he never noticed how defined Eddie’s cupids bow is?

The words that just tumbled out of Steve’s mouth finally hit his brain, and he wants to jump through a window. Because it’s fine, he’s only a complete idiot.

The last five minutes with this man have thrown Steve off his game.

What is happening? Chill out.

He shakes his head and grabs an errant cleaning rag trying to busy himself. Maybe if he keeps his eyes off the super senior, he’ll stop putting his foot in his mouth.

And maybe he’ll stop noticing how oddly attractive Eddie’s mouth is.

“I could go for some nuts,” Eddie’s voice pitches low and Steve’s knees almost buckle.

An image flashes in Steve’s mind of Eddie looking up at him from below and it makes his mouth go dry.

“What kind of nuts do you have, Stevie?” Eddie asks while leaning over, drawing Steve’s eyes to the taut bicep muscle suddenly appearing under his shirt sleeve.

How in the world is he not supposed to hear the sexual innuendo in that question? He swallows hard and pushes through, trying to pretend he’s not chubbing up in his stupid polyester shorts.

“Um, just -y’know- normal ones.” He can’t help himself and continues. “What kind do you like?”

He licks his lips, holding his breath, waiting to see if Eddie will continue the banter.

Steve feels like his skin is burning. He can’t remember the last time someone so blatantly flirted with him. Let alone a man. A sexy man, he’s realizing, but a man nonetheless.

There’s not enough time for him to question why he’s enjoying Eddie’s eyes on him. He feels like prey of some kind and fuck does it feel good.

He wonders if the rumors he’s heard about Eddie are true. If Steve pulled the man behind the counter would he really like Steve’s nuts?

When Eddie responds, his voice is lower and it sends a shiver up Steve’s spine.

“I’m sure I’d like anything you give me, captain.”

Steve can’t control the shuttering reply that slips from his mouth.

“Jesus,” he sighs. “Uh, how about our peanut butter brickle topped with our candied almonds?”

That chubbing from earlier is becoming an annoying problem. So Steve nervously pulls his scooper from its holster and starts mindlessly spinning it.

He’s trying so hard to not think about Eddie’s tongue.

“Sounds delicious. I’ll have one of those. Is there a show or anything I get with my treat?”

“A show?”

Like a strip tease?

Steve grabs a parfait cup, grateful to busy his hands with the order.

“Was just curious if there’s some kind of song or dance you have to perform in this adorable little outfit. Y’know, like that one restaurant in Chicago, Ed Debevic’s?”

Steve scrunches his nose in confusion while sliding open the display case.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Really?” Eddie cocks his head. “It’s a 50’s diner place where the staff are dicks. Nothing? Really?”

Eddie’s face looks so earnestly surprised Steve wishes he had known the place. He shakes his head though, while reaching into the giant tub of swirly looking ice cream.

Steve can see Eddie in his peripheral, dip down to watch. Customers are always watching when Steve scoops but this customer makes Steve want to show off a little.

“Is there a shower back there?”

“What?” The question comes out of left field.

“In the back. Was just curious if you go home sticky or not.”

The timber of Eddie’s voice makes it sound like he’d prefer Steve to be sticky. Would he want to lick Steve clean? The flash of Eddie’s tongue fills Steve’s mind for the millionth time in the last 5 minutes.

“Um, no… I mean yes I’m generally pretty sticky at the end of my shift, but there’s no shower…in the back.” But he wishes there was. “There’s not really anything back there. Only a table and some safety posters, a white board that Robin shames me with.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “Shames you? Robin…?”

“Buckley?” He’s sure Eddie knows Robin. Doesn’t he play an instrument? “From school.”

“Yeaaahhh, that’s what I thought. Good for her.” He says with a smirk.

Steve pours a sprinkling of candy coated almonds over the ice cream with a furrowed brow. The snarky comment is a perfect distraction from the uncomfortable tightness that has been growing in his shorts.

Steve almost forgot the whole point of this interaction was to get Eddie out of here quickly. Not to fantasize about how warm and wet those pouty lips would feel.

“Anything else I can get for you?” He asks while trying to hide his nervousness behind a smile.

He sets the concoction down on the counter and holds his breath.

A slow yet wicked grin spreads across Eddie’s face causing a knot to develop in Steve’s stomach. That grin looks dangerous.

“Naw, I’m good. Unless…” He pauses a beat before continuing. “There’s something available that’s not on the menu.”

And then the man has the audacity to lean over the countertop, dip his head slightly, and glance up at Steve with the most mouth watering gaze.

Oh, he definitely has something Eddie can have. He wants to give it to him. Wants to feed it slowly between his lips until they’re spread tight. Then shove his fingers into Eddie’s hair and massage his scalp. And from the look on Eddie’s face, he’d love every single inch of it.

Steve’s never wanted to fuck someone’s face more.

“Um,” he looks around the empty restaurant, gauging if he could sneak in the back for a few minutes unnoticed.

The mall does seem quieter at the moment. Maybe no one will be craving a sundae for the next 10 minutes.

“Y-yeah, there is actually.”

Nervous energy is strumming under his skin. He prays he’s not misreading this. He’s never done this before, but he really really wants to. Didn’t even know that, until the curly haired man walked in here.

Now he thinks if Eddie doesn’t suck his cock in the next 5 minutes he’s never going to stop thinking about it.

“It’s in the back.” He swallows hard. “Um, in the-in the break room. Wanna see it? Maybe?” Hopefully Eddie doesn’t hear the crack in Steve’s voice.

Steve stands in nervous anticipation waiting for this whole thing to blow up in his face. Maybe Eddie will bust out laughing, call Steve a creep and stomp his way out of the restaurant. If he’s lucky Eddie won’t go around town telling everyone how the old king Steve is now queer Steve.

“Yeeaaah, definitely need to see it.” Eddie’s tongue glides languidly across his bottom lip. “Maybe wanna taste it even.”

Steve’s heart stutters while it quickly redirects his blood flow south. A tiny gasp slips past his now gaping mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken before him.

He nods in silent understanding and knows he needs to move quickly before anyone shows up. While biting his bottom lip to prevent a whimper from slipping out, he motions his head toward the break room door.

“Cool, very cool.” He keeps himself pointed toward Eddie and walks backward leading the way.

When Eddie makes it to the gap in the counter, Steve sees Eddie’s pupils widen and hears a heavy groan rumble from the man’s chest.

The break room door hits Steve’s back and he wonders how quiet they have to be. Because he’s sure from the look Eddie’s giving him, he wants to do more than suck him off.

And the way Steve’s body is responding, he would seriously consider it.

They disappear behind the door for 17 minutes, where Steve receives a sexy metalhead shaped hickey on the inside of his thigh.

“I don’t have all day, sailor man.” Erica Sinclair stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at the two men when they stumble out into the open.

Steve’s eyes fall on the melted mess of Eddie’s ice cream before taking in the angry tyke.

“Well, get after it, sailor man.” Eddie brings his palm down quickly, smacking Steve’s ass.

“Oh,” Steve startles forward feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Call me later?” Eddie whispers.

Steve tries to bite back a smile but fails while nodding eagerly.

Apparently Steve had been right, Eddie did want to lick him clean.

Eddie’s POV

coffee? ☕️🍩💕

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #steddiecameraroll posts #my writing

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impishjesters · 6 months

Text

Aggression Distraction

warning(s): canonical character..death? (it's Kaufmo), nondescript type of panic/anxiety attack (honestly the whole thing glosses over exactly what type of mental state you are in, just that you aren't doing so hot after that experience), cursing, minor suggestive content note(s): This can be read stand-alone but goes in hand with my previous post about Jax with a partner (platonic or romantic) who suffers from depression/suicidal tendencies. Can be read as platonic or romantic but written with more romantic intention in mind, consider it like pre-dating romantics or whatever. A/N: It's worth mentioning that Jax's behavior is a little back and forth, which is intentional. This stuff is new territory for him, but you matter to him so he's trying to be a rock for you, he's just gonna be a little shit while doing it though. ♥ AO3 version

With the latest addition of Pomni and the recent departure of Kaufmo, things had taken a slight turn from the usual day-to-day. You weren’t particularly close to Kaufmo, but to see him abstracted like that? Someone you knew, for god knows how long to just..stop existing like that?

It was horrifying.

As nonchalant as Jax had been over the whole thing like he’d seen it a million times, it had yet to leave your brain. Even days later. Days? It’s still hard to tell the passing of time.

Jax had taken notice when your gaze lingered on Kaufmo’s old room, the large red ‘X’ over his face. Every time he’d swing by your room to pick you up or drop you off he’d catch you staring, and he knew it wasn’t a good thing. Sure, nobody really liked Kaufmo, and you knew him for an even shorter time than them, but he had an inkling what had you so..distracted for a better term.

The first day or two after the events left everyone a little thrown off. Pomni stuck by Ragatha like a little duckling, Gangle had taken to trying to fix her comedy mask, Zooble did whatever Zooble does, and Kinger? Yeah, nobody cared what he did. But you? You distanced yourself or tried to at least, Jax was never far behind.

It was sweet really, he’s still getting the hang of this whole situation the two of you got going on and it’s been going on for a while. Honestly? It’s almost scary how well he knows you and is able to silently confront you without you realizing something’s even wrong, like some weird sniffer dog.

The thought makes you giggle.

Jax’s head lifts and his gaze falls to you with a brow raised, it’s not the first time you’ve randomly giggled but usually there’s a reason, generally something he did. And he wasn’t doing shit worth giggling over. Waving him off that it’s nothing he shrugs it off and goes back to his little task that his torso is blocking.

To be honest, you aren’t even sure what he’s doing anymore, he kinda just showed up and said “I need my favourite doll for this new little prank, so get off your butt and come to my room.” And then proceeded to drag you off your bed and over his shoulder like a sack of rice into his room.

A prank that he has still yet to tell you if there even is one.

During the time spent together, there’s something you’ve managed to pick up in the way he always goes with the crowd. Sure there are times he’s alone, but it’s different, it’s like he wants to be alone compared to the times he seemed to be following others around simply because he didn’t want to be by himself. It was something you yourself used to do after all. Hanging out with people you didn’t really care about simply so you weren’t completely alone.

Now if you tried to confront him on this little theory, he’d no doubt make some comment about how he’s not sure if it’s sweet or creepy that you’re staring at him so intently. Then immediately follow up with some spiel about how he can’t watch funny stuff happen to others if he’s alone. “Think of all the funny shit I’d miss!” Or whatever.

“Are you ever going to tell me what this latest ‘prank’ is?”

“Mmm..” he hums as if debating, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell you it’ll be a—“nope!” Called it.

You wanna call him out that there isn’t even a prank, he’s not even doing anything other than sitting there polishing a…bowling ball? You sit up from your spot on his bed confused. “Is that.. the bowling ball from—”

“What you think I went back down to that creepy place just for this exact bowling ball?” he scoffs, this place has plenty of the damn things he doesn’t need that one.

As tempting as you wanna say yes, you know just how lazy and manipulative he can be. “You? No. Making someone else fetch it with some excuse about how it’s got meaning and worth to you? Now that I can see.”

His eyes squint as he throws a grin over his shoulder at you, one that looks almost painful if not for the fact that he’s almost always grinning.

“You know me too well sugar,” he turns to face you, bowling ball balancing in his hand like it weighs nothing to him, “but I hate to break it to you. This really is just a different bowling ball, but now you got me wanting to send Gangle down to see if she’ll actually do it.”

“Behave.” You playfully chide. It’d be hypocritical to say “poor Gangle” after all, you’ve also sent her on a wild goose chase once or twice, even if you felt a tad guilty later on.

He scoffs and places a gloved hand on his chest in mock offense. “I always behave. I’m the textbook definition of the word gentleman.”

“Oh yeah? In what book?” Slipping off his bed, you walk over to him and reach out to the bowling ball only for him to yank it out of reach. Even sitting the bastard has enough reach to keep anything away from you.

Jax waves his arm about every time you try to reach for the ball, there’s no real reason to keep it from you, he’s just fucking around at this point. Plus this little endeavor has kept you distracted and him mildly entertained. “Oh, now that’s just rude doll, have a heart.” You stop trying to get the ball and he waggles it at you like he’s trying to tempt an animal. “You don’t think I’m a gentleman?”

“A man? Yes.” You scoff and push the ball out of your face. “Gentle? Only when you want to be.”

He hisses and tosses the ball aside letting it roll away, no longer finding it fun. “So harsh, you really do wound me.”

You flinch at the loud thud, unsurprising at the lack of dent the ball should have created under normal circumstances. “Oh bite me.”

“Is that an invitation?” His shit-eating grin nearly splits his face in two, it’s a shame the others aren’t around, he loves seeing their reactions when the two of you banter like this.

Like an old married couple.

You roll your eyes and step into his personal bubble, one of his ears twitches out of habit and his shoulders tense but they gradually relax as you get yourself situated on his lap.

It takes everything in him not to spit out something insultingly sweet, he’s heavily aware of your mental state right now and that wouldn’t help. Though he really wants to joke about how this definitely seems like an invitation seeing as how you’ve walked into his bubble and made yourself at home on his lap. Maybe later.

Silence falls between the two of you, huddled up against him with your face buried into his chest. He pulls the blanket off his bed and drapes it around you, it’s not cold per say, but you had voiced once that you still liked the habit of curling up into a blanket. Specifically how you were a fan of blanket sushi? Much to his original confusion.

“You know I’ve seen some pretty gross things wrapped in seaweed, you by far are the grossest sushi-filling doll.”

To which your immediate reaction was to question whether or not he’d still try and eat you. That was definitely not something he thought would leave your mouth. Luckily his quick tongue bit back something along the lines of “Not while the playschool toys are around baby”.

Jax placed one hand on your back applying light pressure while rubbing small circles, the other falling loosely to rest on your lower back. Your arms tightened around him and he gave you a squeeze back, when you got too embarrassed early on to keep asking for him to squeeze you the two of you settled on this unspoken method of asking. And it wasn’t always limited to full-body squeezing either, you’d squeeze his hand, arm, or leg and he’d squeeze back.

The longer the silence went the more his irritation grew, not at you though, just overall irritation at the silence, at seeing you like this. Kaufmo’s abstraction itself wasn’t what had you like this, he knew you thought of it more like Kaufmo dying. Which, who’s to say that you weren’t wrong for thinking that? That thing wasn’t Kaufmo, and now he’s in the cellar doing whatever it is abstracted things do. If Caine couldn’t fix them they might as well be considered dead.

The topic of death and dying almost never came up in day-to-day conversation, maybe a joke here or there but nothing like this. And you were doing so well too.

If he had the ability to fall asleep he would’ve, not that it wasn’t cozy and domestic as shit being all huddled up with you, but he was getting bored. His leg began to wiggle, lightly bouncing you in the process, something you recognized as him being antsy and an unintentional aid in soothing you.

Another squeeze to the lilac torso resulted in another returned squeeze, except unlike the first time, the grip didn’t loosen. It wasn’t suffocating but grounding, the hand on your back stopped moving, and both hands were glued to your back to apply pressure like a weighted blanket. If asked, Jax would probably lay himself on you like an actual weighted blanket—but part of you felt like he’d enjoy that too much and force you into some shitty deal to get him off of you.

The thought sparked a tiny giggle, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Jax. What the fuck were you giggling about? Meanwhile, his ass is going numb (it’s not) sitting here holding you like he’s trying to wrestle a balloon and not pop it. Mood swings aside he’s grateful for the sound, it’s not much but it shows him you were coming out of it. Especially when the giggling starts to pick back up.

“What’s so funny you little brat? Finally gone bonkers?” It’s harsh but there’s a fondness in his tone that only causes you to giggle harder. The lost grin slowly returns to his face and he purposely jostles his leg harder now, bouncing you more chaotically.

The giggle turns into a full-on laugh and he can’t help but find himself grinning more at the sound. “Okay, okay! Enough jostling, I’ll lose more brain cells if you keep it up.”

“Oh, you still have those?” He chuckles. “Here lemme just.. shake those loose too.” Both of his legs wiggle, jostling you back and forth like a boat would, his arms caging you in so you don’t actually go flying.

You let out a squeal following more giggles and hold tightly to his neck until he comes to an abrupt stop. “Jeez, that’s a real workout on the legs..” he mumbles, letting out a little exhausted sigh.

“Hey you did that all on your own, you have only yourself to blame.” Your grip doesn’t leave him in its entirety as you shift on his lap turning sideways, he loosens his grip and grumbles out a “watch it” until you settle down.

After making grabby hands at the arm not trapped behind you he rolls his eyes and relents, giving you his newly free hand. It’s obvious that Jax is pushing his limit at both sitting still and being this vulnerable, and you could keep going on and just soak up the affection full well knowing he won’t actually blow up at you. The others however will pay the price of his pent-up aggression. Perhaps you could lessen that by…

You give his palm a few gentle prods with your thumbs like it’s a squish toy before bringing it to your face, moving it in such a way that allows him to take your jaw and squish your cheeks between his thumb and fingers.

And oh boy does he squish, a bit too roughly but it’s not unbearable as he moves your head side to side. He knows what you doing, letting him have some playful aggression with you to lessen what he’ll put the others through.

You’ve done it before but it rarely does much, he’ll play nice when you’re around then subject the others to his full bull shittery when you’re gone. It does give him a good chance to just fuck with you and squish those cheeks and rattle you around, you’re at his mercy and you happen to make some particularly cute little noises after all. It’s a nice and rare chance to soak up being able to have your face in his hand without him having to subject himself to any embarrassing vulnerable shit of outright asking to touch your face in such a.. intimate-like gesture.

His internal struggles are lost on you though, simply content on his lap, in his arms letting him squish and waggle your head around. You silently count down the minutes, or guesstimate the minutes until he’s had enough and lets you go. At least this time he has the decency to help you stand versus shoving you off his lap and onto the floor.

Jax brushes the imaginary dust from his clothes and puts a hand on his hip, gesturing the free hand towards you. “We done here babe?”

You nod, rocking back and forth before shaking your head. “Lean over real quick.”

He rolls his eyes and groans but does as asked, leaning over to be on your level. Before he can ask why he’s breaking his back you lean up and press a quick kiss to the side of his mouth before pulling away and racing out of his bedroom.

The grin slips for a split second while he processes that you literally had him lean down, just to kiss him and then bolt. That face-splitting grin returns as he strolls out of his room just to see you at the end of the hall giggling like a maniac.

“You know what? I’ll give you a head start, better hope I don’t catch you!”

You bolt off with a squeal and he chuckles, maybe when he catches you he’ll just settle all that pent-up aggression toward you—he’s long overdue for an intense tease session after all.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus x reader #tadc jax #the amazing digital circus #jax x reader #jax

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ki-yomii · 1 year

Text

hit it/forget it | part 01 | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 6.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!jk, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), enemies to lovers, orgasm control/denial, drinking, slight college au ig??➥ summary | finally able to unwind for the first time in forever, you go to a friend’s party. only somewhere along the way you find yourself in bed with someone you swore you’d never sleep with. it’s too bad he’s not in any hurry to let you hit it, and forget it. ➥ notes | i’m v new to this fandom, and it has started to consume me lol ✌️🥲 ❤️ series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 ❤️

... Shit, what time is it?

Beams of sunlight pour in through the crooked blinds, stretching across the cluttered floor to flood the rumpled bed with golden light.

It’s so bright it hurts, your eyes watering with the effort it takes to open them as you roll onto your back with a quiet hiss.

Sore and still buzzed, it takes you several minutes to process your unfamiliar surroundings. Your mouth is stale and arid, the unpleasant taste of dehydration heavy on your tongue.

Needle sharp pain lances through your skull, and it’s hard to think let alone focus when it feels like someone’s shoving an icepick through your brain every time you so much as breathe wrong.

So much for a relaxing night hanging out with the guys, you think bitterly, pinching the bridge of your nose. There goes my last day off.

Spent curled up in bed fighting back nausea instead of out enjoying the last little bit of freedom your PTO offered.

If only the rest of the night had gone as well as the beginning...

Most of the group were camped around a game of beer pong when you arrived, already blitzed off their faces from pre-gaming while a few randos loitered around.

You didn’t pay them too much mind, more focused on catching up with your boys. It had been forever and a day since you’d talked to them, let alone seen them in person.

For a blissful moment it was just like old times; the floor sticky with spilled beer, wrestling matches followed by good-natured ribbing, and rowdy trash talk.

It reminded you so much of the shitty college parties they’d throw, you almost cried from the nostalgia alone.

The happiest you’d been in weeks.

Now you had adult bills and an adult life. Your schedules didn’t align like this very often. Getting to catch up and hang out with everyone again was a precious gift, one you didn’t realize how much you needed until you sunk back into the oversized couch, and took what felt like your first breath in months.

Your head was swimming, your heart bursting for fondness - only to choke on your tongue not even five minutes later when the front door slammed open to a round of hyped up chants, “JK, JK, JK!”

All the tranquility evaporated as Jeon Jungkook - the bane of your existence - waltzed over the threshold without a care in the world.

Meanwhile your heart was in your throat as he stood there in all his stupidly attractive glory while the rest of the gang surged forth. They swarmed him with friendly slaps on the back, a 12 pack of beer in one hand, and a bottle of tequila in the other.

He wasn’t supposed to be here - they said... He was supposed to be out of town for the weekend. If you’d have known -- fuck.

You wouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come. And now you were stuck with him for however long it took you to sober up.

God, you hated him.

Not that you knew why, really.

There was just something about him that got under your skin. Maybe it was the cocky way he held himself, his confidence sometimes bordering on arrogance.

Or maybe it was the constant teasing. (You refused to admit it might be because of how attractive you found him, and how angry that made you.)

Whatever the case, ever since he met you all those years ago, Jungkook’s made it his life’s mission to be as insufferable as possible. Always waiting in the wings with a flirty comment and that self-satisfied smirk of his.

Dealing with him was like dealing with an overgrown - competitive - toddler. It got exhausting after a while.

Far easier to avoid him altogether, even though that mentality came at the expense of your friendships.

You stopped going to events if you knew he’d be there, ducking out of get togethers last minute if you so much as caught a glimpse of his car. Eventually, your absence became accepted - expected even - which further fueled your inherent dislike of him.

As if all the reasons you don’t like him weren’t enough, you were tipsy, and that was always a recipe for disaster. Without your inhibitions halting your tongue, you had no qualms about calling him out on all his petty bullshit.

The particulars are too fuzzy to remember, but you’d been avoiding him by hiding out in the kitchen when he decided to come bother you.

One thing led to another, and he must have said something insulting enough because the next thing you knew, you’d crowded him against the counter.

He smirked while you snarled with distaste, a shot in one hand with the other balled in the open collar of his fancy button up. You thought about how nice it would be to smack that look off his face, and thoughtlessly agreed to a one v one drink off - winner takes all - just to one up him.

Damnit.

You should have left as soon as his ass showed up. And you should never have agreed to his stupid little competition in the first place. You know better than to fall prey to his schemes... yet here you are, so joke’s on you.

This has to be some kind of divine punishment.

All you wanted was to knock him down a peg (or ten). Then his stupidly handsome face, and low, mocking voice egged you on past your limits. Now, you’re in someone else’s bed, naked and sticky, nursing a hangover from hell.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

God, you hope it’s not Jin.

Any of the others aren’t much better, but he’s your bro at heart, and there are some things you can’t ever come back from. If only last night wasn’t a hazy, distant fever dream pockmarked with fitful moments of clarity...

Memories curl through your mind like tendrils of smoke, opaque and sinister. The harder you grasp at them, the more confusing they become; coalescing into a tangled blur of swollen lips, and naked, sweat-slick skin.

Salty-sweet bursting across your tongue as the burning stretch of a fat cock sinks deep, a whiskey rough voice groaning low and heavy in your ear, “Fuck, you’ve always been such a little cock tease, haven’t you, baby? Mm, yeah, just like that. Knew you always wanted me, wanted this. Hhng, shit, I’ve wanted to do this for-fuckin-ever, princess…”

Goddamn Jeon Jungkook, and whatever horse he rode in on.

Of course, you’d get laid after a dry spell, and the only thing you have to show for it is the tender ache of your thighs, the tacky sensation of dried cum clinging to the swollen lips of your pussy, and the vaguest daydream of toe-curling pleasure.

At least the sheets are soft, the mattress plush, the bedspread muted, dark colours; altogether masculine but chic.

The fluffy pillows are to die for, something like expensive cologne threaded through the fabric; citrusy and bright with notes of mellow sweetness that fill your lungs, and cloud your senses with every deep inhale.

A familiar thread in an otherwise unfamiliar bed.

Whoever it is certainly has impeccable taste... which doesn’t help narrow down your list of suspects, at all. They’re all stupidly fashionable in everything they do, meanwhile you feel like a half-decent hobgoblin half the time.

You can’t decide what’s worse: the fact you slept with someone who’s a friend of yours - not many people outside of the core group came last night - or that you can’t remember who it is.

No lie, the temptation to slip out before they wake is hard to resist. But it’ll only delay the inevitable, and you honestly don’t want to do that to someone you care about.

It’s better to face the situation head-on, no matter how much you’re dreading it.

Over and done, quick and easy like a Band-Aid.

The conversation’s going to be awkward as hell but it was a drunken mistake. You’re adults and in a few years’ time, who knows, maybe you’ll be able to look back and laugh. No reason to let it ruin years of hard-earned friendship.

“Aah,” you groan mid-stretch, “...what a fucking mess.”

“Look who’s finally awake.”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

The world screeches to an almighty halt, crashing and burning as all the breath in your lungs catches in your chest. Your heavy eyes pop open so fast you see stars, a field of grey sheets filling your line of sight.

A wave of disbelief threatens to drown you, hysteria following in the aftermath as your mind stutters to a stop.

Stomach turning, your heart slams into your ribs so hard you’re convinced you’ll break a bone. The thought of sleeping with a friend is bad enough, but the truth? So much worse. You wish the bed would swallow you whole.

Why, you lament, why him?

That low, sleep rough tone dripping with arrogance.

It raises your hackles, sets your teeth on edge until you shake with the urge to punt his ass across the room. Never in a million years would you expect to hear that voice beside you in bed.

You wish with everything there is that it’s just a hallucination - but there’s no mistaking who that voice belongs to.

The knowledge sits bitterly in the back of your throat.

“This is a nightmare.”

No fucking way you’re turning around.

You inch to the edge of the mattress, grateful for the distance. The very idea of touching him repulses, repels.

You’re already too aware of how the bed dips beneath his weight, the shared space warmed by the sleep soft heat radiating from his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jungkook scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

A hot palm, rough with callouses, grabs your shoulder. The steel grip tugs you close, unyielding as it guides you onto your back.

As soon as you glimpse the sunlight caught in the tangled briar of his hair, your eyes slam shut.

If you can’t see him, you can pretend he’s not there and if he’s not there, well then you won’t have to face your colossal mistake.

It might be petty and childish but all things considered, you think you’re allowed to be. Waking up next to Jeon Jungkook is earth-shattering. And altogether mortifying when you consider all the thoughts you had before you knew you fucked him.

Of all the people…

He’s made passes for years, and you always blew them off. Now? You groan. They’re never going to let you live this down. You take back every kind thought. This asshole doesn’t deserve your praise.

Before you tell him where to shove it, fingertips skim the jut of your cheekbone. The action effectively shuts you up, your brain stuttering to a resounding halt. Soft and light like butterfly kisses, they trace over the sweep of your flickering eyelashes.

It’s a ticklish reminder that you’re not alone.

You jerk away.

The click he makes with his teeth does N-O-T make you throb. Neither does his persistence, the effort to force you into acknowledging his presence redoubled. He’s stubborn, and altogether not unlike a boy pulling pigtails.

The comparison unbidden and unwelcome, you bat him away with a sharp, “Quit it.”

His voice is far too smug for your liking when he says, “Why don’t you try to make me.”

“Oh, my god.”

This asshole…

Your fingers claw into the sheets instead of his chest, nails cutting into your palms as rage lurks just beneath the surface of your skin. Your breath shoves from your lungs fast and hard. It’s a struggle to reign in the urge to pummel him bloody.

Meanwhile, Jungkook redirects his attention, his hand dipping down to dance over the front of your throat. A rough thumb maps the curve of your jaw, a shiver rolling through your body at the touch.

His low chuckle is the only warning you get before he’s leaning over, the shift in position causing the hard, compact muscles of his torso to brush your side. The fission of awareness that follows in its wake crackles down your spine, steals your breath.

Senses fixated on the sensual glide of skin on skin while pulses of arousal kindle to life behind your navel. Slick gushes from between your folds, wetting the insides of your thighs. Heart in your throat, you steady your voice long enough to say, “Seriously, just leave me alone so I can wallow in peace.”

Warm breath tickles the side of your face, the cool metal of Jungkook’s lip piercing brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs the syllables of your name. “Come on,” he says, “I dare you.”

The hell, is he being serious right now? What does he think this is?

“What are you,” you ask. “Five?”

“Would you stop being so dramatic?”

The first hint of genuine annoyance threads through the words growled against your cheek. His tone low, a warning buried in its depths. Fire and smoke, grit and gravel. You hate how you clench at the sound. Hate how confused he’s making you.

Why is he acting like this is a normal occurrence? You expect him to lord it over you, not act so...playful?

The uncertainty rankles, and your shoulders hike up around your ears. If he thinks he can jerk you around like this, he better step up and out because you’re out of fucks to give.

This is humiliating enough, and you’re not about to relinquish what’s left of your pride.

“Do you ever stop talking,” you continue, ignoring the pulse between your thighs, the crack in your voice, “Or do you like the sound of your own voice that much?”

Your heart pounds in the ensuing silence, Jungkook all but ignoring you as he sinks his nose into your hair. The pleased rumble that vibrates from his chest into yours follows a deep inhale.

“Mm, you smell,” his lips tickle the side of your neck, “really good.”

A whimper works its way up your throat, your teeth barely catching it in time. Fissions of sensation shoot down to your stomach, hot and shivery.

“Shut up. Just stop - stop talking.”

It’s not what you mean to say - you have full intentions of cussing him out, reaching out to touch smack him - but by then, it’s too late. He’s already on the move, a mocking chuckle falling from his lips.

The sound shoots through you, stokes your rage and desire in equal measure until you’re shaking.

He tugs at the plush, tender flesh of your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Y’know,” he muses, “I wouldn’t keep doing that if I were you. You might not like what happens.”

Surrounded as you are, it’s getting harder to think.

To breathe.

To be.

Sweat and sex cling to Jungkook, the scent filling your lungs with ash and burning through your bloodstream until he’s all that remains. Surrounding, smothering, swallowing you whole. “Look at me.”

Shit, he’s close - too close.

There’s a scant amount of space between your bodies, pressed stem to stern. Your tits crush against the hard plane of his chest, nipples stiffening with every drag of his skin, every shift of his body against yours.

His half-hard cock digs into the softness of your abdomen, wet and sticky as it drools into the dip of your belly button which shouldn’t get you as hot as it does. This is so not good.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I won’t.”

I can’t.

This is unacceptable.

Fucking him once is bad enough, the only saving grace is that you barely remember the taste of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into yours, the stretch of him filling you to the brim.

If you give in now, even if it’s only an inch…

Well, he’ll take a mile and you don’t have an excuse for why you’ll let him. You’re already struggling with the urge to succumb, to inch closer. There’s no telling what’ll happen if you actually look into those burning eyes of his.

Of course, he doesn’t accept your refusal.

You never expected him to.

“I said look at me.” The thumb that was gently stroking along your face hooks around your jaw, digging into the soft spot on the underside. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You grit your teeth, channel the rising lust into rage. Anything to put some much-needed distance between you before you do something you’ll regret. Like, sleep with him a second time while stone-cold sober.

“Just fuck off, Jeon. This is embarrassing enough, you don’t need to rub it in. You won, okay? Congratulations.”

You refuse to let him have his cake and eat it too. Damned if he gets to hold this over your head. That drinking competition was all his idea, anyway. The victory blooming in your chest is short-lived, thoroughly blown to pieces.

He doesn’t respond verbally.

Fast as lightning, the hand on your jaw disappears only to reappear between your thighs to shove your legs open. He doesn’t waste time, runs his knuckles along the length of your slit without hesitation.

Teasing, testing, humming in approval at what he finds.

The sudden rough touch has you jumping, gasping, eyes snapping open, fixating on his blown pupils. The grin tugging at the corners of his mouth is more a snarl, downright predatory. The metal of his lip ring glints in the light, his teeth bared while he spears you with a hooded, hungry stare.

“That’s it, show me those pretty eyes of yours.”

Breathless, your hips twitch and you clench at the praise, liquid fire pooling low in your belly.

Traitor.

“Jeon - Jungkook, knock it off.”

But you know he’s not going to stop. The ravenous look in his eyes says everything his mouth doesn’t.

“See,” he says conversationally, pausing long enough to thrust two fingers deep into you without warning. Pain sparks, flickers down your spine only to melt into a warm flush of pleasure as he twists his wrist. “That mouth of yours says one thing, but this pussy’s soaked. What am I supposed to think about that, huh?”

“I-”

Any response you have breaks off into a wounded moan, your brows furrowing as he flicks the tip of his finger against your g-spot.

“S-Shit!”

“Hm, what was that?”

A sharp smack stings across your wrist when you reach down to pull his hand away.

“Jeon - I - please…”

“Come on, use your words like a good little slut.”

“I - I can’t - shit!”

It’s impossible to think, let alone form sentences when the heel of his palm grinds against your swollen clit like that. Thick fingers curl deep, stroke, stretch until you mewl.

Every skilled thrust drives you higher, wrings pleasure from you so expertly you’ve half a mind to be pissed. Now you can see why all those girls were tripping over themselves to get with him back in college. As much as it pains you to admit it, he’s got game.

But even then, it shouldn’t be this easy to get you going.

To get your thighs clamping around his flexing forearm while uncontrollable shudders wrack your frame, finger fucked stupid by the sworn enemy.

“Hah.”

If you weren’t half out of your mind, you’d be more offended by the condescending smirk. All you do is half-heartedly smack his side, his free hand darting up to cover yours and keep it pressed against his skin.

You clench down with a whine at the feel of rippling muscle, the sight of his tatted fingers resting over your hand so delicately.

“Looks like I’m doing something right. Fuck, can you hear that, baby?” His movements slow to a crawl, the thrust of his fingers languid and deep. “Listen to how wet your tight little pussy is for me.”

Warmth creeps up your neck and sinks into the apples of your cheeks. It’s as mortifying as it is a turn on, the sloppy sounds of your needy cunt echoing back at you. Sticky arousal coats your puffy folds, every slick, squelching slide heard over stilted moans.

Without a doubt, you’re making a mess of his sheets. Judging by the husky growl of his voice, anything less wouldn’t satisfy him. “Gotta make up your mind, baby.”

He couldn’t sound any more indifferent, but the rough thrust of his fingers, the burning heat smouldering in the depths of his eyes says he’s anything but unaffected.

You whine, writhe, arch your hips to grind down on the hand working between your thighs.

It’s no use.

You get him right where you want him, only for him to flash a devilish grin and pull away. The desperation to get off builds and builds and builds until you’re half mad with it.

This asshole’s gotten you to the edge of cumming several times, only to watch with sick delight as he yanks you back, dangling you over the edge without letting you fall. You don’t even want to think about what this is doing for his already over-inflated sense of ego.

“You’ve been sending me all kinds of mixed signals for years.” He nips the tip of your nose, spreading his fingers wide open where they’re buried inside of you just to hear you squeal. “So what’s it gonna be?”

He’s playing dirty, and he knows it. It’s infuriating that smug looks so good on him. Are you really going to do this?

Ghosting his lips over yours in the barest of kisses, he whispers, slow and purposeful, “All you gotta do is say it. Be a good girl for me, and say: ‘Jungkook, please fuck me.’”

... Yes, yes, you are. But you’re never, ever going to admit that you want him.

Not when there’s nothing you can blame the impatient rise of your hips on, the grind against his palm, the unwavering eye contact that pins you in place. As unbelievable as this is, it all comes down to how horny you are and how good he looks above you.

You admit that he’s an asshole, but jesus, he’s attractive.

Jungkook chuckles, rolls his eyes. “So you’re gonna keep being a brat.”

He doesn’t look put out in the least. In fact, he’s downright feral with the anticipation of breaking you down and fucking you back together.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you begging for my cock one way or another.”

The you wish dissolves into thin air, all your focus narrowing on the flex and shift of muscle as he crawls down the length of your body. Shouldering his way between your thighs, he settles on his belly and rubs his hands along your hips.

Flinching at the first touch of his broad palms, you watch with rapt attention as his strong fingers inch closer and closer to your heat.

Every touch, every slide of skin calculated. Precise. Intent on getting your blood pumping and your pussy throbbing until you’re squirming against the sheets.

That ferocious stare, glittering like onyx in the light, tracks every movement, every twitch; catalogues what strokes get you mewling, what drag of fingers has you shuddering, shivering until you’re a downright mess.

Longtime lovers never paid half as much attention to what got you going, and a one-off mistake is doing a better job than all of them combined. Shit, he hasn’t even really done anything yet.

Jungkook’s as focused between your thighs as he is during training, a singular intent that’s intense and overwhelming. Frankly, it’s unnerving being so seen by someone you’ve considered an enemy for the longest time.

When did he start paying so much attention to you - and how did you miss it?

“Just…” you say, voice a quiet thing that sits in the space between your bodies, “Just get on with it already.”

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Jungkook uses his fingers to spread open your sticky folds. Cool air dances across your core, teasing at your swollen clit as every bit of your pussy is exposed to him.

There’s no hiding the embarrassing amount of slick wetting your thighs or how you pulse and twitch in desire.

He hums in approval at what he sees, your thighs trembling around his shoulders. “Thanks for the meal,” he says, brushing his thumb across the hood of your clit before he ducks down with his tongue out.

The firm, full contact lick has supernovas bursting behind your eyelids. He groans at the taste of you, grinds his face deeper into the apex of your thighs. The sound rumbles through your sensitive flesh, your thighs clenching around his ears.

A sigh escapes your throat, and you rest a hand on the top of his head.

Oh yes, a much better use for that mouth of his.

Your fingers delve into the thickness of his hair, inky black wrapped around your knuckles. For a moment you lose yourself in the sensation, senses so high. Every swipe of his tongue, every roll of cool metal along your heated slit as his lips pull at your folds sets you aflame.

The peace doesn’t last, overtaken by the smouldering antagonism that simmers beneath every one of your interactions. A ticking time bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.

His face between your thighs inspires a dizzying mix of disgust and desire, that he’s even in this position pisses you off beyond belief.

In retaliation for every wrong he’s ever done (the specifics hazy when he sucks on your clit hard enough to curl your toes, the barest hint of teeth), you yank on his hair with as much strength as you’re able to muster.

His neck wrenches back, and he winces. You luxuriate in the petty revenge of it all as spite blooms warm in your chest. Serves him right. Though you gotta hand it to him, he sure knows how to use his tongue.

“You bitch,” Jungkook groans, smothering the vibrations in your slick folds. You keen, bow your back so far you’re afraid you’ll slip a disc. “That hurt.”

For all his complaining, he doesn’t stop.

Quite the opposite.

He dips his head, so you tug at the roots harder while his hands wrap around your thighs, pinning your hips to the bed while his tongue flicks and teases, licks and fucks you open slowly.

The messy sounds of your cunt as Jungkook eats you out to within an inch of your life broken by soft sighs, moans of pleasure, and the occasional masculine grunt. Previous partners have gone down on you before but never seemed to care for it.

Jungkook on the other hand? He’s loving it, eating you out with single-minded ferocity, seeking his own relief by rutting against the bed.

It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen; the wild briar of his hair in utter disarray, sweat slick strands falling over his forehead while he buries his face in you, the muscles of his back bunching and releasing with every slow rock of his hips, his quiet, muffled moans of satisfaction, the ripple of tattoos as he pets at your flank.

He’s not shy - not that you expected him to be in this regard. You’ve heard all the stories about his prowess in bed from classmates and strangers alike.

All his movements are rough and desperate, wet and messy. The careful, slow teasing from before disappearing within the blink of an eye as he becomes consumed with a frantic desire to feel you cum on his face.

It’s not surprising that you don’t last long, orgasming embarrassingly fast, stuffed full of his tongue and fingers.

“Jungkook,” you choke out his name, a broken sound that fades into open-mouthed silence.

The ball of heat in your belly bursts, rushes over you like a tidal wave. You shake apart, pussy clenching so hard your womb aches as a gush of fluid dribbles out of you, soaking the lower half of your body and the bed.

Stars dance in the darkness behind your lids. You’re strung out and weak, incapable of movement, of thought, of anything besides the actual possibility that your bones dissolved when you came.

“Shit, that’s hot.”

Jungkook shifts.

Your lashes flutter. Breathing is difficult. You can’t feel your hands, the tips of your fingers tingling.

He kneels at the foot of the bed, cum soaking the lower half of his face. His lips red and swollen, his eyes hooded, dark and lusting. Pupils blown so wide the iris is nothing more than a thin ring of brown.

His cock juts from his body in a proud line, curved towards his belly. Smears of pre-cum glitter along the valley of his abs, and you have the strangest urge to lick him clean.

Seeing him look so debauched shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you want to kick your own ass for thinking about Jungkook like this.

Fucking him is one thing, actively appreciating him something else.

But no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the sight of him kneeling and lusting is a sucker punch to the gut. Breathless and yearning, you’re at war with yourself, contemplating round three when he opens mouth.

Again.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

The jut of his chest, the arrogance in his gaze ruins everything. Anyone halfway decent with their tongue who knows what a clit is can get a woman off. Jungkook’s nothing special - contrary to all those co-ed’s.

Just another run-of-the-mill asshole who thinks he’s a god. You’re reminded of this now that you’re not cum-dumb, brain dribbling out your ears. And just when you forgot why you dislike him.

“You know what, Jeon?”

If you could move, you’d shove him off the bed and get out of dodge. As it is, you’re in no such position; knees weak, thighs shaky as phantom waves of pleasure shoot from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes.

You settle for a nasty scowl. Half as satisfying, but getting your point across all the same. “I’m still not fucking impressed.”

His expression drops into a bitchy sneer.

You want to smack him, wipe that look off his face with your palm. It would be like all your birthdays rolled into one.

“The fuck you mean?” Jungkook asks, brimming with gruff impatience. Good. Arrogant prick. “I made you squirt.”

Ignoring the pounding of your heart, you scoff and dismiss his words, no matter how true they ring. He doesn’t need to know you’ve NEVER done that before. “So? Even I can do that, you’re no better than my vibrator.”

The muscles in his jaw clench, bunching and releasing as his stormy gaze sears you to the bone. For the first time since he started this little - whatever it is - he seems genuinely pissed, shoulders tense and mouth a thin line.

You swoon, the empty ache inside of you pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

“I’ll fucking show you who’s better.”

“Sure you will,” you simper with a nasty grin, tone dripping with sarcasm.

As soon as you prop yourself up on an elbow with full intentions of hopping out of bed, a set of large hands stops you in your tracks. Panic shoots through you, and any residual anger you harbored fizzles away.

He can’t expect you to — oh, but of course, he does.

“No, not like this,” you say while you squirm, attempting to roll onto your belly. “I can’t.”

Fucking face to face is too intimate.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so, baby,” he croons, tone a mocking lilt as he cages you beneath him. “I wanna see your pretty little face when you cream all over my cock.”

Any response gets lost in a weak moan when he rubs himself against your slick folds, the fat head catching on the hood of your abused clit. You whimper, a sharp spike of arousal slicing through you, almost painful when it follows so swiftly on the tail end of your last orgasm.

You try one last time, voice reedy and thin when you say, “Jeon, please, I can’t - fuck.”

The tip slides into you without preamble, just far enough to feel it but not deep enough to get you off. The smug bastard thrusts gently, your tender, swollen walls suckling his cockhead, trying to pull him deeper.

Pure torture.

Mind wiped clean, embarrassment and protests all but forgotten, all your focus narrows down on how to get him inside you as soon as possible.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks. “Got something to say? You’re squeezing down so hard. Want me deeper, don’t you? What a needy little slut you are for me.”

“Shit, Jeon, come on.” You pant, biting down on a whine. “Just put it in already.”

“Whatever you say.”

He keeps it slow, languidly works his cock deeper into you, inch by agonizing inch. Your muscles flutter, milk his thick shaft. It takes forever and a day before he bottoms out.

And then your eyes roll into the back of your head, hands flying up to anchor your nails into the meat of his shoulders.

He’s right there, cockhead snug against your crevice. Every ridge, every throb; it stokes the embers of your desire higher and higher, stretched so wide around him you ache; he’s the biggest you’ve had. You’ve never felt so stuffed full of cock before, it’s almost scary how good it is.

The taut skin of his belly grinds against your clit when he gets as deep as possible, pelvis flush with yours. “F-Fuck, Jeon.”

Above you, he shoots a cocky albeit weak grin.

You can’t decide if you want to slap him or have him fuck you into the mattress. Probably a bit of both. He boils your blood, but you’ve never been more aroused in your life.

Fucking hell.

“See, what’d I say? I’ll have you screaming my name in no time.”

You groan, breathing deep and slow. “Are you always such a prick?”

He hasn’t moved, but you’re on the edge, and far from ready for this to be over. The asshole hasn’t delivered. You haven’t been fucked raw, and you’re not leaving this bed until he gives it up. Now if only he could shut his mouth long enough to get the show on the road.

“Bitch.” He rolls his eyes, his broad palms firm on your hips while he shifts until your thighs rest over his. “Ready?”

You snort, shoot a comment about his dick not being that special and more than ready to tack on another scathing retort when he decides he’s had enough of your lip, pulling back and snapping his hips forward in one smooth movement.

It punches the air from your lungs.

Your mouth drops open in a near-silent gasp when the head nudges the spongy tissue of your g-spot. The sudden flood of warmth spreads out to all your limbs, pussy throbbing around him.

Your voice is shaky, spread thin, “A-Ah!”

Jungkook isn’t faring any better.

Hot palms tremble against your skin, the furrow to his brow pulling at his piercing, his mouth slack and glossy. His abdominal muscles tense with every stutter of his hips, flexing and resisting the urge to plow into you at max speed.

“Shit, baby, I forgot how tight and soft you are.”

Incapable of speech, reduced to mindless rutting. His broken moan shatters something between the two of you, and then it’s nothing but bruising kisses, sharp keens, rough hands, and frantic fucking.

He slams into you so hard the bed rattles against the wall, punctuating his filthy murmur of, “Perfect fucking fit, just like I knew you’d be.”

You appreciate his rippling muscles with your hands, caressing the firm lines of his body as you do your best to keep pace. Every other thrust has his cock slamming into your g-spot, your toes curling in the sheets.

It’s too much and not enough.

“Jungkook, I’m - I’m,” you sound wrecked, unable to even finish your sentence. “Please.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he growls, voice full of gravel and hips never missing a beat, “I got you. Now do it, cum, wanna feel you squirt on my cock.”

A fingertip finds your clit.

Rubs once, twice, three times, and then you see galaxies.

Crying out, you clutch him close as the bubbling pool of heat overflows, crashes into you like a tsunami. Helpless against the rushing tide. Your body spasms, your cunt gushing around Jungkook’s pistoning cock.

The slick slap of your skin almost as obscene as his groan, low and lewd, when you clench and clamp down on his shaft. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

Boneless and panting, you sink back into the pillows and stare up at Jungkook with glassy eyes. The early afternoon light highlights the lines of his body, the curves of his muscles, the splashes of color etched into his skin. Tremors wrack your body as you lay there while he chases after his own pleasure.

“Shit, I’m gonna — fffu-ck!”

One last thrust buries him to the hilt, his cum flooding, filling you to the brim. Face slack with pleasure, his head drops into the cradle of your shoulder. He pets your sides with gentle hands, his breath puffing across the sensitive skin of your neck while his body twitches with aftershocks.

The both of you are weak, fucked out.

You lay under him for a long time, silent except for your shuddering breaths. Your bodies coming down from unimaginable heights. When your arms aren’t so useless anymore, you push at his chest and grunt.

“Get off.”

A flood of cum follows his swift exit, thick seed dribbling down your folds and pooling on the sheets beneath your ass. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, a primal sort of appreciation curling through your belly.

Well, that’s new. And something you refuse to unpack now.

Flopping down beside you, Jungkook stretches, his expression far too self-satisfied for your liking. “For being such a bitch, you’re a good lay.”

Leave it to him and his goddamn mouth to ruin the afterglow.

You shoot him a sour look, dragging yourself to your feet.

There’s a moment where you almost fall, wobbly and off-kilter, before you regain your balance. You clean yourself gingerly with a towel hanging half out of the hamper.

Sore, tender, and vindictively pleased to see the white streak of his cum stain the dark terrycloth.

The asshole laughs at your disgruntled look, lounging on the bed like a lazy jungle cat. His thick arms cross behind his head and he watches you with dark eyes as you bend to get your panties.

Try as you might, you can’t help sneaking peeks at his barred chest. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s noticed the covert looks. You scowl. The smug bastard.

“Don’t be like that, baby. We had a great time.”

Scoffing, you refuse to dignify that with a response, and tug your shirt over your head.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really, but I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

He ignores your sarcasm and continues, nonplussed, “I think you’ve never cum so hard in your life. I think you’re gagging for another ride.”

You pick something up off the floor, chuck it at his head and pivot on your heel. Anger pulses, white-hot and only partially satisfied by the pained groan from behind you as the object makes contact.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You know what that was for. God, are you always such a fucking dickhead?”

“I think you like it,” he says. “I think you like me - I think you’ve always liked me.”

You ignore the burn of your cheeks, and scoff.

The man’s ego is big enough without you adding fuel to the fire. He doesn’t need to know that was the best sex you’ve ever had. That you came so hard your toes curled, and your hands went numb.

“In your dreams, Jeon.”

Keeping your back to him, you’re about to put on your pants when an iron grip shackles itself around your wrist. You tug, testing the hold. He’s unyielding, spearing you with an intense, depthless look.

“...Jeon?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You blink, swallow and flounder for a response. “Um, I - home?”

He frowns, and tugs you back towards the bed with a huffy sneer, “Get back in bed.”

Wait, what.

You blink, and blink again at the blush stealing its way across his face, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks a soft pink, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours. Can’t help asking, “...What?”

“S-Shut up!”

“I didn’t even-”

“Just come back to bed.”

Still in disbelief of what’s happening, you let Jungkook rearrange you to his liking. You find yourself tucked into the curve of his chest, your nose pressed against his collarbone with his buried in your hair. His lips rest against your forehead, dropping the faintest of kisses to your brow.

“...We’ll talk when you wake up.”

You can’t tell if you’re curious or horrified, but for now, getting a few more hours of sleep sounds like an excellent idea. And, you suppose, it could be worse.

Shacking up with Jungkook isn’t all that bad, so long as he keeps his mouth shut.

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