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itsonlydana · 2 months

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"passenger princess" | chapter seven

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 3,6k

❱ summary: phone-call interruptions on a lazy sunday morning / defining the word "date"

❱ warnings: none

❱ an: we're halfway through and I'm more in love with this man every word I write

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER SEVEN: QUESTIONS

You awoke to a low, deep-throated groan right next to your ear; the sound pulling your hazy, sleep-infused mind into reality faster than any alarm could've.

Multiple sensations surged through your body in a matter of seconds, from the heavy arm curled around your middle, a large hand broadened over your stomach, the leisure exhales of breath hitting your neck, and of course, the delicious, if not close to unbearable, heat of another body pressed against your back.

The memory of the conversation in the kitchen, sharing doubts and fears over chocolate cake, was all too clear, as was the movie which had turned out to be much more interesting and enjoyable, when you had a hand to cling onto.

Halfway through the second movie, you had felt the pull of exhaustion that came from a day out swimming, in your bones, and after a while, it had become impossible to fight the – becoming gradually harder and the moments in-between shorter – heaviness of your eyelids fluttering close.

You remembered falling asleep to the giggles of Legolas, the hushed whispers of Aragorn, and the hypnotic and serene rising and falling of Thranduil's chest that became your pillow as you gave up concentrating on the movie and instead focused on his hand in the back of your head, stroking through your hair until your consciousness slipped away.

Before your mind railed off into an overload of thoughts prompted by this, another groan followed the last one, this one blending into a deep inhalation of air.

The muscles of the arm tensed up as you heard a yawn indicating that Thranduil, because this was without a doubt Thranduil, was waking up as well.

Regulating your breath, eyes still closed in an effort to stay in this cozy headspace a little while longer, you listened to the rustling of the blanket, to the tiniest movements of his body and just his breathing, luxuriating in this private moment.

Was there any other sound more comforting than that?

"Gods," his voice rumbled, yes, very much Thranduil, and his hand weighted down on your stomach.

As soon as he noticed, and you felt it in his chest heaving with another breath and his legs moving under the blanket that covered you both, Thranduil slowly pulled the hand out of your shirt.

The feeling of its weight and the size stayed prickling under your skin, even as he shifted, yawning and groaning quietly, to roll his shoulders.

He pushed himself up on one elbow, using his free hand to trail his fingers over your temple, pointer and middle finger drawing circles that moved all across the side of your face that wasn't nestled into the cushion in a feather-like lightness that, when he reached the bow of your lips, tickled just enough for your mouth to twitch into a smile.

"Good Morning," Thranduil murmured drowsely, sleep still coating his words and tongue.

You answered in humm, signaling – kind of– verbally you were awake, before turning to your other side, stretching your legs along his.

"Morning," your voice was still raspy as well, but you couldn't be bothered to stand up for a glass of water.

Thranduil in the morning was truly an unfair sight, because how could this man have woken up not a minute ago and his eyes were already sparkling like a cool lake in the mountains and in them a look of pure adoration as they took you in.

Sunlight fell through the windows, indicating it must've been a while since the day started and you couldn't have cared less except that the warmth in those rays shimmered in the air around you, resting their golden touch on Thranduil's hair and he looked– ethereal.

Unreal, almost.

But, to the enjoyment of your heart and singing soul, this was indeed real and Thranduil was here on this sofa, loose strands of hair falling on you as he continued the exploration of your in-awe face.

"You know," he started and lost himself for a second, as his fingers brushed your lips again and you swallowed hard, "I don't remember the last time I slept through the whole night." Chuckling and looking around, he added: "And on this sofa as well."

"Wow, and here I thought you would complain about your back," the smile that came from the soft touches of his fingers bled into your teasing, the corners of his mouth tipping upward at the comment as well.

"Mhm, what's that? Swore I heard you say something about my age but that couldn't be, right?" Thranduil's finger followed the bridge of your nose, flicking the tip in one tap as he raised one eyebrow, "You wouldn't dare on a morning this beautiful and barely after waking up."

"What if I did?"

"Then you are awfully brave for a woman at my mercy."

"Your mercy?" you giggled, fully aware you were going nowhere while his large frame towered over you, "First your back, then this– didn't know you're already that senile."

"Oh, now–" Thranduil playfully sneered, leaning over in such a quick motion that his hair fell on you like a curtain, and his other hand landed on the other side of your face, basically trapping you right where he wanted you, "I assure you my mind is still very much sharp and even if we just woke up, I'll not hesitate to throw you into the pool."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a promise."

Chocking on your breath, you opened your mouth in another witty reply, though nothing came to mind.

Thranduil sensed that this time you wouldn't bite back and the grin on his face was satisfied, shifting into smugness: "I'll let this pass once because I admittedly am in no rush to get up," the long line of his body fitted perfectly against yours, the weight a comfortable, if not exhilarating, reminder how much taller he was and his knee nudged yours as he slowly lowered himself more, "But know that I've gathered quite a few tricks in my age that go further than that."

"Yeah?"

Unfortunately and it filled you with deep regret, it got no closer than his eyes brushing over your lips, another chance of a kiss passed right in front of your eyes as Thranduil's phone started ringing on the coffee table, breaking the spell of this lazy morning before it could progress further.

With an apologetic look, Thranduil sat up on his folded legs, taking the blanket with him so it hung over his shoulders in a long, fluffy wine-red coat and exposed you to the chilly air.

"Oropherion," he answered the phone, the sleep disappearing almost immediately from his voice to be replaced by an authoritarian and composed tone that bordered on sharp and sent tingles through your stomach while you finally sat up as well.

Thranduil held the phone in one hand, the other gently squeezed your naked ankle.

It was soothing, to simply let him caress your skin as he listened to the person on the other end of the line, his eyes focused on where his fingers moved absentmindedly, and not care that this morning got interrupted by his work.

"Alright, Feren, thank you for calling me. No, of course–" He cast you an apologetic look, "I'll be on my way soon. Prepare a statement for PR ASAP; tell them I want that published before I'm in the office or– yes, that. No, tell Thorin to fuck off and do what I say, that thickheaded man better has his arse up and going right now."

You pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle the giggles that bubbled up your flipping stomach, there was something about Thranduil cursing the laziness of his partner of the firm while he was still in the clothes of yesterday, hair –while looking beautifully soft– in disarray and by now you knew he wouldn't leave the house before having his cup of coffee and changing at least twice.

He raised one eyebrow at your antics though it only fueled the giggles further.

This cracked a smile on his face, one he gave into with an annoyed roll of his eyes. Thranduils fingers curled around the phone. "Have the papers on my table in five, the statement out in ten and.. Feren? If Thorin isn't there and on my line in fifteen minutes–"

No more words were needed, Thranduil simply hung up and turned his gaze back onto you.

"You, Miss, are glad that I do not have the time," he said slowly.

You, being who you are, stuck out your tongue at him. "Can't help a girl for wanting a calm Sunday. It's your fault that your firm needs you to hold their hand."

All of a sudden, he tugged sharply on your leg and had you once again below him. He smirked at your surprised yelp. "Tell me," Thranduil started lowly, "what sets you apart from them?"

And while you were catching your breath, staring into his bright eyes, he swiftly stood up and left you there, gaping at him as he strolled through the living room.

"Come on, I'll drop you off on my way."

"Oh, the nerve of this goddamn man!"

How you managed to get ready was unfathomable yet somehow you were in Thranduil's car before Legolas and Aragorn had even woken up, once again dressed in one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts, that were cinched by an elastic hair tie.

The hair tie was his as well. It felt comically domestic as you had helped him prepare a coffee to go, standing next to each other in the kitchen, and he had leaned down, long and agile – cold – fingers tying the shorts up in no hurry.

Falling into the familiar seat in clothes that smelled like him and having the sun beat through the window as he steered the car out of the driveway fueled you enough for the day to make up for the fact he hadn't kissed you again.

Initially, the only sounds were the whir of the engine and Thranduil's tranquil, rhythmic breathing.

Then, he tapped on the dimmed display, and orchestral music filled the air from the speakers:

The Carnival of the Animals, the piece of the swan.

Immediately you turned your head to him. "Oh, I love this piece!"

Thranduil smiled and from your position, you saw the dimple in his cheek.

"I feel the same way," he remarked, his smile tinged with nostalgia. "We used to attend the Philharmonic in town every week. My parents enjoyed these outings, but I never quite connected with the other children over discussions of politics and history. Instead, I'd settle into the seat by the balcony railing, immersing myself in the music as if it were the very air I needed to survive," he told you.

You listened to his voice, probably your favorite sound in the world above the deep cello, both lapping over you in quiet waves and you snuggled into the sweater.

There was nothing he could say that wouldn't be interesting to you, not in that voice of his.

No matter if he lectured you and Legolas on something he heard you talking about, or if he commented on current political situations on weekend breakfasts together, scoffing over something written in the papers.

He could chat about his day, throwing around names of people you didn't know and numbers you didn't understand but you would be listening no matter what.

And at that moment in the car, with his voice dripping like honey and talking with the same grace as the poetry of the classics he was praying, you fell even harder for him.

"I used to have such a deep love for classical music that I pleaded with my father to buy me an instrument, something beyond the recorder we played at school. I'll never forget the moment I unwrapped one of my Christmas presents and found myself holding a violin in my hands; it was one of the most cherished gifts my parents ever gave me." Thranduil glanced at you, his grin widening.

"Now, take a guess at which piece I dedicated a year to studying." He didn't wait for a response, nor did he need to. "I practiced diligently every day until my fingers ached and my neck grew stiff, but every ounce of effort was worth it. After a year of dedication, I had the opportunity to perform at the Philharmonic and showcase 'The Swan' in front of my loved ones."

The image painted itself in your mind; a young Thranduil, in one of his fine suits, his blond hair already long enough to flow down his back like water, on stage playing The Swan while putting the beauty and elegance of the animal to shame.

He would stand straight, engaging as always, his long fingers on the strings of the violin and his eyes resting only on the instrument in his hands.

You had seen often enough with what fondness and gentleness he had examined a good book, to imagine how he would examine this violin, sanctified by him, like his dearest object on earth came easy.

"Do you still play?" you asked, not entirely innocently.

Thranduil hummed softly and shook his head, causing a hint of disappointment to spread through you. "Not anymore, not for a long time. I don't think I'll really start again, either. I'd rather go to the philharmonic, I can get much more involved with the music there."

"I understand that. It must sound fantastic live, all these instruments in their full sound."

With a surprised and curious look, Thranduil turned back to you. "Have you never been to a concert before?"

You screwed up your face, eyebrows together and lips curled. "Does the musical from my ninth-grade class count, where half were bad recorders and the other half were even worse singers? If not, I'll have to say no. Never to a concert that played classical music."

It was true what you said, except for that one –disastrous, it must be said– musical you had never been lucky enough to hear classical music the way it was meant to be heard.

So far, your headphones have always had to suffice.

Thranduil clicked his tongue against his teeth, and you wanted to tease him for this visibly privileged outrage when he gifted you a cheeky grin. "Your education in that aspect has been criminally neglected."

"Want to give me a lesson?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

Thranduil, taken aback, swallowed, then caught himself. "Sure," his voice sounded horse, "–what do you want to learn?"

"Everything."

"Everything?" he repeated and you saw the shift back into his usual self, the one that adapted quickly to you taking him by surprise, "That sure is a lot."

You giggled, "Oh, afraid you're not up for it?"

Thranduil's hands curled around the wheel as if the seat he was sitting on wasn't bracing him enough and he needed to hold on to something.

You pushed your hands under your own thighs as well and felt giddy as your nails dug into his sweater.

"You're too sassy for your own good," he breathed out a laugh and threw you a look through the mirror that contradicted the seriousness of that statement.

"In three months, the Carnival of the Animals will be performing right here, at the Philharmonic Hall in the city," Thranduil said. "If you allow me, I would like to take you there."

"Thranduil–," you began, straightening up in the seat, but with a shake of his head, he interrupted you.

"No, I know what you want to say and I want to invite you, love," he said gently yet firmly.

You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That is to say that I could see your pretty head immediately worrying about the tickets. You have this offended and defensive look, like when Legolas once asked you to take a cab or when I offered to take you out to dinner with Legolas and me–I realize how hard it can be as a college student not to think about the money, believe me, Legolas refuses my help more than often."

You gnawed on your bottom lip, immediately throwing his words around in your mind.

"However, I'm not asking you to pay for it." Thranduil turned his head to you for a moment at a red light. His blue eyes shone bright and radiant like the clear sunny skies.

"I want to ask you out, take you out, or whatever they call a date these days."

A Date.

Your eyes continued to linger on Thranduil, even though he'd turned his attention back to the road. You couldn't break away from him.

All at once you were aware of how much bigger than the question of cost this conversation was. It was bigger than this car, pressing against the doors and windows, stretching apart like a bubble gum bubble you were just waiting to burst. It was too big for every word that came into your head, and after chewing on them for far too long, the very thing you were trying to prevent flew out.

"Netflix and chill."

"Excuse me?" The horrified look on Thranduil's face was indescribable, a mixture of pure shock and incredulity at what you had said.

You stammered, a little unsure if you really wanted to explain to him what you meant: "Well, nowadays, you don't really date anymore. So not like in the old days with dates to the movies or ice cream or going for a walk. Oh god, um you just meet to watch movies at someone's house, but you don't actually watch movies?"

"I understand the basic principle," You turned onto a bigger street at the most appropriate moment, you could see the slightest hint of blush at the tips of Thranduil's ears.

You took a deep breath and pressed a button to lower the window a little. As soon as the breeze played with your hair, you felt your body relax. "Good.. that's good. Jeez, I don't know if I would have wanted to go into more detail." A short laugh burst out of you while your head was still spinning around his words.

He never even kissed you but such a step as an official date had never come up as well and you somehow didn't believe that would be what Thranduil wanted.

He could have so much, probably even with just a flick of his fingers or a blink of his wonderful curved eyelashes.

Not that you would tell him that. This would probably be one of your worries that would eventually be slurred by drunken tongues on nights when you could let all your walls down and find home in the arms of your best friends.

"Would you allow me then?" asked Thranduil as he guided his car off the highway, and the light of sky-high glass towers reflected on his curious face.

"What?" you couldn't help but tease him "Netflix & Chill? Quite a bold question Mr. Oropherion, don't you think?" Oh how easy it was to fall back into this game with him, the back and forth.

Thranduil extended his hand to your thigh, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your veins.

After this morning, your body hummed delightfully at being physically close to him again.

"Well, I have to admit to being more of a fan of the classic courting, but if the lady wants to play by her rules, I'll throw away the tickets to the theater and we can pretend to watch a movie," he said, his voice low and in the same teasing tone.

You almost choked on your next breath, so suddenly your heart stopped, only to continue beating twice as fast in the next moment.

You sought his gaze, and it was infuriating that he kept looking down the road. "You already have tickets?"

Thranduil's hand on your leg didn't stay still, his thumb began to stroke small circles over your skin.

"Of course," he said without really responding. An annoying, self-satisfied grin pulled at his lips, even if he tried to suppress it.

Your voice was breathless as you whispered, "And you would really go with me? To the Philharmonic for a real live concert?"

Thranduil gave a theatrical enough sigh to be able to stand on the stage himself. "Now that you ask, I had tickets for the night when they just set up speakers and run everything through Bluetooth, but if you really want to, we can go listen to the Carnival of the Animals live."

Awkward with your words, which you lacked so often because of him, you simply grabbed his hand and beamed at him.

Thranduil turned his gaze from the red light in front of you and smiled at you. His hand turned, intertwining his long manicured fingers with yours.

"I'll take that as a yes? You'll allow me to take you out on a real date and you won't worry your pretty head about anything, but let me take care of everything?" he picked up, looking at you insistently enough that all your insecurities blurred within the cerulean sea of his eyes.

Instead, you leaned back in your seat, grinning, floating on a cloud of Thranduil's scent, the warmth of his hand in yours.

"But only because you begged me."

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toruro · 1 year

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maknae line + making up after a fight

a/n: part one with the argument can be found here and hyung line's verson is here! i think the one for seokmin is like the cutest thing i've ever come up with. like i'm gushing, rolling on the floor, thrashing, crying just thinking about it. hopefully u will feel the same way sorry not sorry :p anyways i didn't have much work today so i decided to work on this earlier than i planned c: please like and reblog if you enjoy this!

w/c: 2.0k

seokmin

the next morning after your fight, both you and seokmin are, naturally, more level headed than before, but the wounds are still fresh. both of you being on the more emotional side, it'll take a bit more than one night's of sleep to *fully* refresh your minds, but right now you guys are as calm as you can be given the circumstances. when you wake up, he'd still be asleep, and you would slip out of bed carefully to make yourself some coffee in the kitchen while you wait for him. it'll take some time, but soon seokmin will be crawling out of bed too, silently joining you in the kitchen as you place the cup of coffee you made for him on the counter. he almost doesn't notice it. almost. when he looks down at the mug, he has to blink twice to realize which one it is. the mug is black with a big fat red heart in the middle, words in white reading out "i <3 you." it was a cheesy souvenir you'd bought him ages ago when you first started dating and went on trip to new york by yourself, but seokmin loved it so much he vowed to only use it on special occasions to "preserve it's greatness." the last time he used the mug was on his birthday around two months ago, tucking it back into it's safe corner in your cupboard to take out on the next special day. right now, his eyes flicker between the mug and your face as you look down, face burning as you wait for his response. seokmin can feel the emotions bubbling up inside of him, but it's not like last night—it isn't harsh, or heated, or angry—no, it's warm and fuzzy. in fact, his heart is swelling with so much love for you that he can't even remember why he was mad in the first place, quickly reaching over and bringing you in for a tight hug. you nearly start crying when you feel his arms around you, choking back quiet tears as he rests his head into the crook of your neck, murmuring soft "i love yous."

mingyu

you wake up before mingyu, somewhat in a haze and trying to cuddle closer to him as he has an arm draped of your waist, before you remember the events of the night before. you'd suddenly be tentative of your next moves because while you're much calmer right now, you were the one who suggested sleeping in different rooms, guilt slowly creeping up your spine. you kind of just lay there for a few moments, turning your head so you can take a look at his face which looks much more peaceful than the frustrated expression that donned his face the night before. you sigh sadly, realizing that you kind of need to solve this issue right now or else you won't have peace of mind, choosing to place a hand on his shoulder and gently tap on his bicep so he can stir awake. it takes a few groans and incoherent mumbles for mingyu to finally blink his eyes open, eyes lazily following your gaze to land on you, taking a deep inhale as you both just stare at each other while laying down. you're the first to speak, "i really wanted to talk. sorry for waking you," you'd mumble sheepishly, realizing that you didn't think of what you actually wanted so say. you're half expecting mingyu to scoff, wondering if his anger from the night before didn't wear out, so it's easy to say you'd be pleasantly surprised when he throws you a half smile, nodding his head and propping himself on the headboard, replying a simple, "it's okay. i want to talk too." the next moments are spent with you both still under the covers but talking, and it's not yelling like the night before, no, it's an actual discussion. it progresses well, and by the end of it both you and mingyu are embarrassed by how simple the solution was, realizing that this whole issue could have been resolved much easier if you were both more...level headed. safe to say that mingyu would feel extremely bad for the rest of the day, being extra clingy and not leaving your side no matter what you do.

minghao

arguments with minghao hardly ever escalate to the point where either of you is still upset or angry the next morning, if at all. of course, if discussion still needs to happen, it will, and that's exactly what would happen the morning after your fight the night before. you'd both wake up around the same time and minghao would encourage you to get out of bed so you could talk about this face to face, sitting at the table. you'd sit down across from each other, maintaining a little distance for the sake of your hearts, and then he'd reach a hand over and hold yours the entire time through your conversation, squeezing it lightly whenever he feels you needed reassurance or a reminder that he loves you and always will. the conversation is over quick, and you're glad the issue out of the way so soon, standing up so minghao can pull you into a deep hug. he'd press your face into his chest, loving the way you instinctively wrap your arms around his torso as he presses soft kisses into your forehead. once he pulls back he'd stare at you for a few moments and murmur, "i love you so much," before leaning down to press a soft kiss on your lips. after that, things would go pretty much back to normal but i like to think that he might just baby you a little extra today.

seungkwan

after making you cry so much the night before, seungkwan would hardly be able to sleep the entire night. he'd try his best to not toss and turn since you were sleeping so peacefully right next to him, but ever time he closes his eyes the image of your tear streaked face pops up into the forefront of his mind and he finds himself crumbling all over again. but as miserable as he'd feel, seungkwan doesn't want to wallow in self pity, instead using all the time that he's awake to brainstorm ways to make things up for you. he is finally able to sleep, luckily, but wakes up earlier in the morning than usual as you're usually up before him. he takes you sleeping as a chance to slip out and into the kitchen where he tries his absolute best to cook something nice for breakfast. he'd be a bit clumsy with it, but the final product would be something very much to your liking, so the slight irritation you feel when you're woken up to the sound of pots and pans clanging against each other would wither away when you saw the meal he prepared for you. once he notices you in the kitchen, he'd grow slightly flustered before putting down whatever kitchen tools he's holding and greet you good morning before encouraging you to sit down. you'd do so silently, not expecting seungkwan to start rambling out an apology so fast and desperate that you'd need to put your hands on his shoulders and say, "baby, baby, slow down, please?" and he'd take a deep breath and realize that it was too much and start over but more clearly. his words are thought through, you realize and it starts a nice and calm conversation between the two of you. give it like twenty minutes and the air would be cleared and the issue would be resolved and seungkwan would have his arms wrapped around you so fucking tightly while continuing to whisper out apologies, causing you to hit his shoulder lightly and tell him to shut up because you forgive him and you love him and that nothing else matters.

vernon

vernon would be up before you, and similar to seungkwan, would be stressing the whole night just out of the guilt. he knows you were frustrated with him the night before, and frankly, he's frustrated with himself now. definitely feels like he could have been more responsive the night before...it's just that his emotions were so clouded that nothing was really processing in his brain. now that he's had the night to rest and think and all, he's ready to really take on the situation, determined to not make the same mistakes as before. when you wake up finally, you'd find him sitting on the living room couch, nervously twiddling his fingers together, jumping up when he notices you. stuttering out a quick good morning, you'd ask him why he's up before you, since that's not normal, causing him to bashfully admit, "i couldn't sleep. i wanna talk to you." you frown at the thought of him not being able to sleep well, but nod anyways, joining his side so you can sit face-to-face on the couch. "i'm sorry," vernon would say once you settle down, "but last night my mind just wasn't working. i know that's not fair to you, but i'm ready to talk now," he explains and you shoot him a small, thankful smile before beginning to speak. you speak your mind in small chunks, letting vernon take it in and respond on his own. things are going much slower than before, but at least you're both talking and it's calm, it's responsive, and most of all, it's getting you somewhere. within around half an hour you'd both be wrapped up in each other's arms now that the issue's resolved. you'd giggle as vernon presses a kiss onto your neck, murmuring something along the lines of, "vernon! we need to eat!" only causing him to shake his head and say, "nuh-uh. i'm keeping you here all day long."

chan

when you wake up, you're still in chan's arms, as expected—ever since you started sharing a bed, neither you or him have been able to sleep well without being pressed up against each other. your back is facing his and for a moment you think he's still asleep, but when you gently try to shuffle out of his embrace to get up, you're surprised to feel him tug bag. you'd look down, whispering, "you awake channie?" and the use of his nickname would have his heart clenching. he'd hum something in response that's supposed to come off as a yes, loosening his hold on you as you both sit up so you can turn to look at him. he rubs his eyes a few times as you shift your body so it's facing his, and as soon as his vision is cleared he notices the frown on your face. you don't look upset or angry, rather...the look on your face is solemn, and he immediately reminded of the night before. "hey," he murmurs, reaching his hand out, "can we talk? like right now?" you nod quickly in agreement, squeezing his fingers back gently. you two begin talking about the situation and at some point you start crying—just a little—but enough to have chan pulling you into your arms to calm you down before letting the conversation resume. you're both determined to not have a screaming match like last night and do everything in your power to make sure that while you're communicating your emotions, things don't get out of hand. it takes a bit of time but the issue is soon resolved, and once even a hint of a smile is making its way onto your face, chan is swooping down to capture your lips to a kiss that's so passionate it has you falling backward on the bed, back hitting the mattress. you laugh lightly and the sound is literally fucking music to his ears, and you both bask in the feeling of each other in your arms.

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majestyeverlasting · 1 year

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I'd Follow You Anywhere

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even when the world is falling a apart, it's not all bad all the time. Sometimes you stumble upon those lightening-in-a-bottle nights that make everything seem like it's going to be okay. Even with monumental changes looming on the horizon.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: TLOU has my heart right now, and I just really wanted to write something. I hope you guys enjoy! There's soft smut towards the end.

This piece contains 18+ content.

He should be asleep. All three of you should be. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this awake. The moon had long come out to brave the sky, a glowing beacon miles above a fallen world. Tonight, you’d managed to slip into one of those rare pockets in time where everything seemed less fractured and more whole.

The classic rock song emitting from the record player has him tapping the beat onto his thigh like a man well practiced. Ellie watches his hand as her head rests on his shoulder, bruised knuckles and all. Another yawn creeps up on her and she stiffles it into his shirt.

They’re sitting on the couch waiting for you.

In the middle of trying to coax him up to dance, you remembered he hadn’t seen you in your new dress. Since he arrived home earlier that evening, the three of you had been caught up eating, laughing, and talking about other things that the dress had slipped your mind. Ms. Wright from across the hall had sewn it for you at a thank you.

She’d been living alone since her husband passed, and you always made a point to check in on her. Sometimes Ellie tagged along too, and enjoyed every second of eating soft mints and listening to the two of you share stories about better days.

“Alright, I’m about to come out,” you announce.

Joel startles when Ellie springs up off the couch and goes to stand behind it so she can cover his eyes. When you walk into the living room to the sight, he’s fighting a smile and losing. Ellie looks beyond proud of herself, and you can’t help but let out a laugh infused with nothing but fondness.

“We’ve gotta do a reveal countdown,” she insists.

Joel has no qualms with that. Your laughter is close and hers is even closer. It’s all he ever wanted these days.

“Take it away.” You motion to her.

“Okay. Three…two…one!”

She keeps her hands over his eyes, however. Joel huffs in feigned annoyance.

Having the one up on him was a luxury only the two of you got to experience.

“You’re really missing out,” you tease.

A squeak escapes Ellie when he gently grabs onto her wrists. “Okay, okay! Don’t break me.”

Next thing he knows, he can see. It takes a couple blinks for his eyes to readjust.

Heat blooms beneath his skin as he tries to determine where to settle his gaze. First it’s your chest and the way the fabric hugs it, then it’s the skin of your legs that remains uncovered beyond the flowy lower half that falls at your knees.

But it’s your smile that does him in. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter.

“You’ve gotta give us a spin now,” Ellie insists.

Joel catches the shy way you wrinkle your nose, as if suddenly registering all the attention on you.

“Just one, baby.” His drawl makes you give in.

Upon making it back around, there’s an intensity to his gaze that wasn’t there before.

“So?” You smooth your hands down the front.

Pushing himself up, he saunters towards you with his broad shoulders moving in an all too familiar sway. His warm hands find your waist and run down the curve of your hips to admire your shape. He no later dips his head to give you a chaste kiss that leaves you looking up at him through your lashes. So little things made sense anymore, but your love for one another was among them.

Ellie could see it. Feel it. The excess overflowed and was the very thing sustaining her. You two were her home, her light in formidable darkness.

As she watches the two of you, an unfamiliar degree of gratefulness weighs down on her and tears gather at her waterline.

She quickly wipes her eyes, and slips out of the living room in case more threaten to spill over. In the hallway, she presses her back to the wall and sniffles quietly enough to assume no one heard. But you do. There’s a Polaroid photo of the three of you taped to the parallel wall. You’re all sitting on the back of the truck bed, and Joel’s in the middle looking famously unimpressed. The beginnings of a smile start on her face.

An unspoken sense of understanding haloes the room when she walks back in. Joel extends an arm towards her as an invitation to come join your embrace. She accepts it as easy as breathing, nuzzling her face into his chest.

With both of you in his arms and music still droning low, Joel closes his eyes through a brief exhale. This is everything he was ever afraid of. Not only having one person he’d lay down his life for, but two. It was the type of fear that ached and consumed, but pushed him through every waking second to fight against the odds and endure, survive.

The type of fear that only existed in the presence of love.

“I’ve got you two,” he promises. “Always will.”

Two abrupt gunshots sound from outside.

Faint apologies arise a heartbeat later, only to be met by someone barking to get back indoors.

Those had been warning shots.

“Curfew breakers,” you murmur.

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but Joel had grown uncharacteristically stiff. In fact, he’d been on edge all week when it came to patrol officers.

Yesterday, a young officer approached you to compliment your contribution to the newest mural in the children’s center, and Joel had pulled you closer to his side without so much as thinking. It was as if he was anticipating punishment to befall the two of you for a reason unbeknownst to you.

You hadn’t asked any questions then, but now your curiosity has been renewed.

Rather than commenting on anything in front of Ellie, you settle on scratching his lower back in that comforting way he likes. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she glances towards the clock. “I didn’t realize it was almost midnight.”

“Tired?” you ask.

“A little. But I’m not gonna be the weak link by turning in first.”

“You’re already the weak link,” Joel says with no bite.

Ellie’s mouth falls open as she pulls away in feigned offense. “I could be the strongest one here but we just don’t know it yet.”

He can’t help but admire that spark within her. “You might be, kid.” He means it.

She disappears to her room after a chorus of goodnights, leaving the two alone.

Joel’s hands return to your waist, this time with a more charged sense of need. He leans in to kiss you, but you cup his cheeks to stop him, beard rough against your palms.

“Hey,” you say. “Is everything okay?

Something flickers across his expression, but disappears like a vapor.

“Mhm.” A distracting buzz of electricity courses through you when he reaches around and gives your backside a firm knead.

His voice is gruff when he speaks next. “So goddamn gorgeous.”

You try to muster the strength to ask if his previous answer was truthful, but his lips finally find yours and all you can think about is his scent, his warmth, the feel of him. He’s a walking incantation that has settled beneath your skin and taken your judgment captive.

In a calculated motion, he breaks from the kiss and sweeps you up bridal style. The butterflies in your stomach grow in number as he carries you to your bedroom, shutting the door with his foot behind you.

With your back flush against the mattress and legs hanging over the edge, you look up at him in a way that’s past innocent, face glowing in the dim light. Your smile is sweet as anything, and your dress has ridden high on your thighs. Joel studies you with a degree of restraint that makes him burn.

His muscles stretch and ripple as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He’s battered, bruised, hairy, and everything you want.

As if at an altar, he drops to his knees between your legs. It’s clear he’s not in the mood for chit-chat considering the immediate way he turns his face to kiss along the skin of your inner thighs. With a calloused hand, he pushes the dress up for more access and his index finger finds the cotton of your panties.

He traces over the fabric, making note of every squirm and breath hitch. There’s nothing rushed about his movements and that makes you all the more sensitive. When you lift your hips, he understands you’re asking him to take off the one article keeping him from where you need him.

The air of the room initially feels cool against your heat, but the warmth returns when he circles your clit and runs his fingers through your folds in a way that makes your thighs jump.

He’s caught off guard when you reach down to push his hand away.

“Can we fast forward?” you breathe. The sincerity of your tone makes him flush as stands back up to his full height.

It felt good to be wanted.

Before he has the chance to do it himself, you sit up and begin working on his belt, freeing it from the loops and letting it fall to the floor with a dull clink. Joel pulls his jeans and boxers down in one go, and you hurry to pull your dress over your head, repositioning yourself on the bed. The mattress dips as he crawls overtop of you, and he takes a moment to palm your breasts before aligning himself at your slick entrance.

You reach up to smooth the furrow between his brows. “And you’re sure everything’s okay?” you ask.

Rather than offering a proper answer, he eases himself into your warmth and you’re forced to welcome him with fluttering lashes and a heavy sigh of pleasure. He feels halfway guilty for deflecting yet again, but you feel so good around him that he’s able to get lost in you instead. His thrusts remain steady and deep so he feels every little detail there is to be felt. You hook your legs around the back of his thighs and grip his biceps so he has no choice but to stay close—as if there was anywhere else he was planning to go. When he feels you clench around him, he picks up the pace.

“Oh, God, yes,” you breathe, closing your eyes. “Just like that.”

Pleasure swells within him like a wave awaiting the moment it can crash onto the shore. He bites back the groans that want to crawl up his throat because he can’t afford being too loud with paper thin walls. The way you look beneath him, all dazed and dreamy, makes it nearly impossible. He’s never met another person who makes him feel this turned on, this desired, this needed.

You were as good as they came. Kind, and principled, and unbelievably selfless. Things were only getting worse in the QZ, and the thought of you—and Ellie, for that matter—falling victim to the immorality of a broken system was something he refused to see manifest. That’s why he had to get the two of you out of here. He already had it all planned out, but had yet to tell the two of you.

That’s why he’d been so on edge.

“Joel,” you quietly praise, breath fanning over his lips.

He hadn’t even realized he’d touched his forehead to yours.

With immeasurable tenderness, he kisses you and reaches between your bodies to thumb at your clit just the way you like.

You shudder beneath him and dig your nails into his skin, leaving behind crescent indents. A few breaths later, the world is fading in and out as you let go, pulsing around his length in strong waves. It takes so much out of you that your muscles have gone limp by the end. Joel finds his own release in the midst of it all and can’t stifle his low grunts in time. But he feels so high and out of his body that he doesn’t care.

When his breathing begins to grow even, he pulls himself out of you and you whimper at the loss. The mattress squeaks as he falls onto the bed alongside you, your gazes remaining on each other. You blink dreamily while he barely blinks at all, afraid he’ll miss something. But you’re being more studious of him than he assumes.

“Now will you talk?” You run a gentle hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp until he shivers. “There’s nowhere else to hide.”

So he tells you about his plans, praying to God that you meant the words you’d spoken to him all those months ago.

I’d follow you anywhere.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated—I promise I see them all.

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431 notes · View notes

meiliarotten · 10 months

Text

Moan

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairing: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is shy and usually quiet in bed. When Medic and Reader have the base to themselves, Medic makes it his goal to get her to be much more vocal.

Tags: Shy reader, voice kink, oral, praise, dirty talk, teasing

Word Count: 3.8

The Masterlist

For as long as you could remember, sex had been a quiet affair for you. Not totally silent, of course. There was always a soft whimper or gasp here and there that would keep things from being outright uncomfortable, but it was never especially loud. Most of this was due to circumstances. The majority of your sexual expiriences tended to take place in locations that necessitated keeping volume to a minimum.

This fact didn’t change when you took up a job as a mercenary. You found it ironic. Mann Co was a company with enough money to hire several people to fight a war over relatively useless land for literal decades, and yet they couldn’t invest in a base without paper-thin walls. Of course, they also probably didn’t plan for you to have an intimate relationship with your team’s Medic, a relationship that would on occasion benefit from a bit of soundproofing.

Medic certainly didn’t make it easy for you to stay quiet either. Usually you were able to muffle yourself effectively by burying your face into a pillow, or by biting your lip so hard that you occasionally drew blood. Both of you had agreed that your colleagues probably wouldn’t appreciate overhearing your little trysts in the middle of the night. Still, it sometimes seemed as if the ex doctor was treating it as a challenge, teasing you and testing the limits of your self restraint.

Tonight was a unique occasion, however. After an especially long streak of victories, the team went out to eagerly drink the night away without a care, no doubt terrifying the common bar patrons along the way. All but two, that is, and those two just happened to be you and Medic. The pair of you had your own method of celebration, a method that wouldn’t include waking up with a hangover- just sore hips, possibly.

It only took a few moments after the others left for you and Medic to set upon each other, caressing and clumsily making your way from the common room to his private quarters. Once there you didn’t pause for a moment. He kissed his way up your jawline before leaning in close to your ear. You felt his breath warm your skin long before he finally spoke.

“I want to hear you moan for me, liebling.”

You visibly hesitated when he said that, shrinking back and glancing around nervously. The soft, simple request made you anxious even though you knew the base had been vacated save for you and the team’s doctor. Medic immediately took note of the sudden change in your demeanor, his tone going from dominant to reassuring within a moment.

“There is no one else in the base besides you and me, so there’s no reason to keep quiet,” he said, reaching out and brushing against your cheek. He felt the heat radiating from your skin, and he wanted to make it more intense, but even more so than that, he wanted to make sure you were comfortable. “I promise, no one will hear us. We’re free to do as we please tonight.”

“I’ll try,” you said, barely above a whisper. “But I’ve always been a quieter person. I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Medic shook his head, looking astonished at the very prospect that you could be a disappointment to him. He pulled you forward again, meeting you halfway with another kiss, gentler, but no less passionate than the previous ones. You grabbed his shirt in your fists as the two of you once again found yourselves entwined, lips parting and tongues sliding before the need for air eventually forced the two of you apart.

“You won’t let me down, meine liebe,” Medic sighed, taking a few moments to let himself breathe. When he finally composed himself, he seamlessly slipped into that more domineering tone that you found so sinfully inviting. “Imagine how nice it would feel to let go, completely free of shame. No prying ears to overhear your pleasure, just me and you.”

It was quite tempting, you had to admit. Anxiety was rapidly being drowned out by arousal in both your mind and body. This was a rare opportunity, and there was no way of knowing when you and Medic would have the base all to yourselves again.

“That does sound nice...” You finally made your decision. The smile that spread across Medic’s face was one of genuine excitement, although there was a hint of lust to it that couldn’t be denied. It sent a delightful shiver down your spine.

“Let’s get these clothes out of the way.” Medic was upon you in a moment, hastily unfastening the button and zipper on your pants while you stripped off your top and bra. Once those were off, you reached forward to start unbuttoning his vest, but he stopped you, pushing your hands away. While he made quick work of your pants, he hadn’t yet removed your underwear, leaving it as the only garment remaining on your body.

You tilted your head in confusion, but your train of thought was thoroughly derailed before you could ask anything. Medic pushed you back onto the bed, leaning over to kiss along the sensitive skin of your neck. You sighed, feeling his hand as it traveled down your chest, over your stomach and further down, until he could drag his fingers over the last bit of fabric covering you. You let out a shaky exhale and Medic chuckled, pulling away from your neck and clearly enjoying himself as he examined your reactions.

“Already so wet for me,” he observed, letting his fingers linger there, stroking you through your undergarments and soaking the material in the process. You hadn’t realized just how aroused you were.

“Medic, please,” you whispered, just loud enough to get his attention. You could already tell that willing yourself to be any louder would be a challenge, but it was one you were becoming much more willing to undertake with each passing moment.

“What is it you need, darling?” He asked, pulling his hand away from you. You squirmed and bucked your hips at the loss of stimulation, but he barely paid it any mind. “Go on, tell me.”

“I want you to take these off of me,” you stammered, pulling anxiously at the waistband of your underwear. “And I want you to keep touching me, please.”

To your relief, Medic didn’t hesitate once you voiced your desires. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, pulling it downward until the garment was removed and tossed to the floor without a care. You suppressed a shiver at the sudden exposure, glancing down nervously. Medic found it cute, how you were still so shy despite how many times he had seen you in such a vulnerable condition before. He looked to you for a final nod of approval before stroking his fingers along your slit, chuckling as he was able to fully experience how slick you were.

“Desperate little thing,” he said, continuing to rub and coat his fingers with your arousal. “Just sit back and let your doctor take care of you.”

Two fingers entered you with ease, thrusting, curling, and stretching. A shudder ran up your spine as Medic sought out and quickly located the spot within you that would soon have you squirming with pleasure. You naturally started biting your lip out of habit, clutching the bedsheets with the effort it took to stifle yourself to mere whimpers as Medic began to work his fingers against your g-spot.

“Liebchen, remember what we discussed,” he said calmly, almost casually. It was a sharp contrast to your current state, as you barely held your composure. The matter wasn’t helped when Medic began to use his thumb to circle over your clit. That was enough to start breaking down your walls, eliciting a harsh cry that you couldn’t even begin to choke back. “Ja, that’s more like it. Just relax and let me hear those sweet little sounds. I know you want to. It must be exhausting to put so much effort into holding back.”

He was right. It almost disturbed you sometimes, how he could read you like an open book. You breathed deep, finally allowing yourself to let go a little, and as you did soft moans escaped you. You hadn’t been lying, you were a quieter person in bed, but even those gentle vocalizations were music to Medic’s ears. He relished every little noise he managed to draw from you with his skilled fingers. Even so, he was confident that he could get you to be louder. Now wasn’t the time for that though. He had to be patient. For now, he would put all his focus on pleasing you.

“Medic,” you stammered his name through a sharp exhale, catching your lover’s attention immediately. “Please, I want to feel your tongue on me.”

It was incredibly forward of you, and that just made it all the more arousing to the doctor. He was more than happy to comply, meeting your gaze with a smirk before moving to kneel on the floor. He pulled you towards the edge of the bed by your hips with ease. You watched as he removed his vest, dropping it beside him without a care. Medic had decided it was getting far too hot for any extra layers. His dress shirt remained on for now, although with the top few buttons undone.

You weren’t focused on his state of undress for long though. The moment the vest hit the floor, Medic got to work, and the sensation of his tongue on your clit had you gasping. He held a tight grip on your thighs, kneading the supple flesh there as he let them rest on his shoulders. He listened to your reactions, paying close attention to what made you squirm with pleasure and what made you whimper or moan. He was positively relentless, and it wasn’t long before you felt yourself getting close.

“Fuck, I’m about to come!” Your face went red at how loudly you had exclaimed, but you didn’t let yourself dwell on the embarrassment. As for Medic, he paid little heed to your warning. He started to moan as he buried his face between your thighs, making it quite obvious that he intended to bring you to the height of pleasure like this.

His efforts doubled in those last few moments, and with a sharp cry you let your orgasm overtake you. Medic continued to lap at you as you rode out your high, desperate for your taste. His grip on your thighs tightened as they shook and clenched against the sides of his head. It wasn’t until you began to pull away from the overstimulation that he stopped.

You laid back, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling, thoroughly blissed out and enjoying the afterglow. The rustling of fabric and the sound of a belt buckle being unfastened was what eventually brought your attention back to the situation at hand. Medic had stripped off his shirt and was making fast work of removing his belt and pants as well. Clearly, he wasn’t done with you yet.

“That was good, liebchen, but I think you can be a bit louder. I want to hear just how good I’m making you feel.” His words were as ominous and yet so very seductive.

You were still a bit ashamed of how loud you were, especially since you didn’t know you could even reach such volumes, but the thought of feeling such pleasure that you abandoned all control was rather exciting. The idea of losing any care for how loud you were was as frightening as it was freeing. Plus, part of you also liked how focused Medic was on his goal, almost treating it like a challenge, pushing himself to make you feel as good as possible.

He was on top of you the moment his remaining clothes were discarded on the floor, snapping you out of your thoughts by pressing his lips roughly against yours. A bite on your lower lip made you gasp, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You could taste yourself on Medic’s tongue, and it made your head spin. Everything about the embrace was needy and frantic. You could feel how hard he was against you, and it only made you more aware of the fact that he wasn’t inside you yet, where you so desperately wanted him to be.

“I want to make you scream for me,” Medic growled when the two of you finally parted, his voice breathless and heavy with arousal. You were just as eager as he was. He had worked you back up after making you come once, and you wanted him to do it again.

You weren’t even sure how to put your desperation into words. Coherent language escaped you as you tried to articulate just how much you wanted him to fuck you right now. Luckily, you didn’t need to say a thing. Medic pressed another kiss to your lips. He entered you just a moment later with a quick thrust, your arousal making it easy. He was sure to break off the kiss in time to hear your breathy cry as he went still.

Medic let out a shaky sigh, simply enjoying how nice you felt around him until you grew impatient. You whined, bucking your hips against him in an attempt to get him to move. Usually he would tell you to use your words, but he had waited long enough for this. Not to mention the litany of thankful noises that he was privy to once he finally began thrusting at a steady pace was extremely rewarding. This was just what he had wanted from you, and now he could begin to let go as well.

Medic had always been loud. Unlike you, he didn’t seem to mind if the others heard him, sometimes to the point that you had to warn him to be quieter. Such caution was not necessary tonight. Medic groaned between leaving gentle bites on your collar and neck, making you whimper. It seemed he was intent on not letting you go quiet for even a moment, although his own voice sometimes threatened to drown out your own. The way he moaned and even growled next to your ear drove you crazy. If this was how Medic felt when he heard you, then you could certainly understand the appeal.

“Harder,” you cried out, loud and clear. Medic stopped short with a look of slight surprise and almost carnal desire, clearly not expecting you to be so bold. You squirmed under the intensity of his gaze, and the lack of movement drew a soft whine as you tried to buck against his hips yourself, to no avail.

“What was that, liebe? I couldn’t quite hear you,” he finally said. You steeled yourself, knowing he was teasing you, and looked him in the eye with newfound determination. So he wanted to play with you? That was fine. You could play along, especially since you knew some tricks that would fluster him as well.

“I said harder! I want you to fuck me harder!” Your voice was definitely raised now, somehow managing to be equally demanding and desperate. Medic shuddered and you pushed further, being even more explicit, intent on working him up until he couldn’t resist giving it to you just as hard as you wanted it. “I want you to be rough with me. I love feeling your cock slamming into me. I need you .”

Medic’s hips were grinding against yours now, and as you continued to whisper filthy requests into his ear he began to move again. He thrust shallowly at first, but soon picked up the pace as he started to give in to his own needs. Still, he remained ever attentive, slowing down when you seemed to be getting overwhelmed and letting you adjust until you were begging him to go faster. And of course, most importantly, he made sure to take advantage of all the spots that had you crying out in ecstasy.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well. Keep telling me just how you want it,” Medic groaned. It was right at that second when a shift in angle struck you just perfectly. Your mind went blank with pleasure and any smugness you had maintained from before melted away as you nearly screamed.

“Fuck, right there! Please!”

You latched onto Medic, causing him to hiss as your nails dug into his back. That hiss turned into a low chuckle as he realized that he had found a spot guaranteed to get some nice sounds out of you. He thrust hard and didn’t even flinch when you scratched red, stinging lines down his back. If anything, the pain had its own appeal, and it let him know just how good he was making you feel.

“Keep begging for me.” Medic’s voice shook as he dealt with the conflicting pain and pleasure you inflicted upon him while in the throes of passion, needy and so very enticing. “I love hearing you plead for more.”

As if you needed any encouragement to keep begging. You barely heard yourself, so desperate for more, you vaguely acknowledged a barrage of “ please! ” and “ don’t stop !” that fell from your lips, feverishly repeated like a mantra. Medic, on the other hand, took every last word in. He didn’t want to miss a moment of this, finally getting to hear you cry out so shamelessly. You had certainly exceeded his expectations.

“Gutes mädchen. I want you to tell me how it feels.”

“It feels good! So good! Fuck, it feels amazing.” You barely got the words out between gasps.

“It’s so freeing to finally let go, isn’t it? To let those sweet sounds be heard?” Medic wasn’t able to hide the slight stammer in his speech as he felt the pleasure start to build. “Oh Gott, you feel so good!”

He slowed down suddenly before the point of no return, no longer fucking you as roughly but still aiming firm thrusts against your sweet spot, making sure not to sacrifice any of your pleasure. He would last a little longer like this, but he still felt so close. Slowly, he let one of his hands trail down your stomach, resting his fingers on your clit, but not moving yet.

“You want me to touch you there?” He asked, barely holding back a groan as he watched how you whined and made futile attempts to buck against his fingers. You were so beautiful when you became desperate like this. “You want me to make you come, ja?”

“Yes!” Your breathing was ragged, and it was a struggle to simply form coherent words. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

“Bitte darling, moan for me. Moan nice and loud, and I’ll let you come.” Medic still didn’t move his fingers, but he pressed just the slightest bit harder, putting just enough pressure on that sensitive little spot to have you reeling but not enough to make you come.

And you most certainly moaned. Harsh, breathy vocalizations that you had never made before were drawn from your throat at volumes you had never dared to venture. You practically screamed, knowing it would satisfy Medic, knowing it would earn you the release you craved.

“Good girl.” His words barely had time to register in your mind, as in that moment he finally began to rub firm circles around your clit in time with his thrusts. That tension finally snapped, sending waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You weren’t even conscious of the noises you were making anymore, but Medic was certainly pleased with them. “Keep going, scream for me, liebchen! Don’t stop!”

His voice was so enticing like this, raising in a way that you had never heard before. Was this how he felt when hearing you? You didn’t have time to ponder that, too preoccupied with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. Medic thrust unevenly a few more times, making you whimper from overstimulation before finishing with a low groan. With your arms wrapped around him, you noticed that he was practically trembling as he came.

He went still, and for a moment you worried that he would collapse on top of you. Finally he gave a shaky sigh, rolling over to lay beside you. The two of you stayed like that for a while, breathing hard, and waiting for the rapid pace of your heartbeats to steady.

However, relaxing proved rather difficult for you. Now that the ecstasy and euphoria of your orgasm had passed, you found yourself becoming a bit paranoid. Every slight noise, while most likely just being the wind or the ordinary creaking of an old building settling was interpreted by you as a sign that the other mercs had returned early. You wrung the blankets in your hands, wrinkling them in a tight grip.

“Don’t let your mind start racing.” Medic interrupted your thoughts. Ever the observant one, he noticed your anxiety returning without you needing to say a word. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against him where you gladly settled into the curve of his body. “No one heard you except me. Do you really think I’d risk letting anyone else hear those delightful little sounds?”

He had a good point. You shook your head and he chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. His fingertips brushed against your scalp, and the sensation sent shivers down your spine.

“Those are only for me to hear. Gott, I love listening to that pretty voice of yours, nur für mich.” You loved the touch of possessiveness he sometimes had in his tone, always striking a perfect balance between attractive and intimidating. It made you wonder if he did it on purpose just to make you blush. “Wasn’t it nice to let go for once, liebling?”

“It did feel nice,” you confessed, knowing Medic would read you like an open book whether you admitted it or not. Of course, that didn’t mean you couldn’t take part in a bit of teasing as well. “I especially enjoyed hearing you,” you said. “I knew you were louder than me, but I didn’t know you could be that vocal.”

Medic seemed to laugh off your comment, but the bright flush in his cheeks was evident, even in the dim lighting of his room. It filled you with a sense of pride every time you were able to fluster him the way he did with you so often. “You know, we can’t make a habit of this. All the others would have heard us if they were here.”

“Natürlich, which is why we should make the most of tonight.” Before you could even process what he had said you were pulled into another kiss, this one deep and breathtaking in sharp contrast to the relatively chaste pecks from earlier. When he pulled away you were breathing hard all over again, looking up at him with renewed lust as he leaned in and you felt his lips brush against your ear. “What do you think, meine liebe? Ready for a second round?”

#tf2 x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #merc x reader #minors dni #smut #tf2 smut #medic x reader #medic tf2 #team fortress 2 #medic team fortress 2 #tf2 medic #medic #tf2 #team fortress two #tf2 fanfiction #cross posted on ao3

165 notes · View notes

disasterofastory · 2 years

Text

The Wanderer (Ivar x Reader)

The Wanderer Ivar x Reader Warnings: nudity, Ivar is a stalker but we already know that

A/N: Dear Anon, I hope it’s close to what you wanted (I don’t remember Daenery’s entrance). Enjoy!

It's already late when you arrive at Kattegat. The stars glint in the dark sky among the black clouds. The heavy scent of the rain lingers in the air, mixing with the salty ocean. A goat cries out in the distance, making a few dogs bark in answer. Being on the road for long weeks can be rather lonely, so you really enjoy these small things. It reminds you of your own hometown. The view of the buildings is familiar and strange at the same time. The village has grown since the last time you have been there.

The loud noises of the feast and the burning torches help you on your way to the Great Hall. You slip inside the robust building without anyone paying attention to your cloak-covered figure. The heat of the fire slaps you across the face, warming you up in mere seconds. Your nostrils fill with the smell of ale and freshly made meals as you look over the hall through your lashes. Your gaze lands on the long table with Lagertha in the middle. The woman is still beautiful with her blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

You can still remember her deadly gaze on the battlefield. Blood splattered across her face. The heavy sword rose in her hand.

Making your way to the main table, you halt in front of the famous shieldmaiden. You watch her expression change as she tries to see through the shadow hiding your face. The soft lines of her face harden, and a scowl appears between her brows.

The Great Hall gets quiet behind you. A few of Lagertha's women reach down to their swords. Their eyes burn you.

A smirk pulls on your lips. "What do I have to do to get some ale here?"

You push the hood of your cloak back, letting the fabric fall from your head.

Lagertha's mood changes immediately. A smile spreads across her lips as she looks over your form.

"Y/N," she gasps, standing up from her seat. "I didn't know you would visit."

"I got thirsty."

Y/N, daughter of Y/F/N. The shieldmaiden. The Wanderer. The fearless woman who belongs to the dirt roads and stormy waves. Your name is well-known among the Vikings. Ivar heard stories about your battles even though you are barely a few years older than him. The warriors who were lucky enough to see you fighting say you are like a goddess among men. You are graceful and deadly. There is gossip about you taking the dead to Valhalla.

Ivar watches you sitting beside Lagertha. Ale sloshes on your hand as you grab the cup with too much enthusiasm. You laugh at your clumsiness, not caring about the liquid dripping down on the wooden table. Your eyes shine with warmth and a bit of ale as you look over the hall, smiling and nodding at the familiar faces.

"Who is she?" Hvitserk asks, looking your way too. Ivar doesn't react but listens closely to what Ubbe has to say about you.

"She is Y/N," Their older brother replies, and while Hvitserk stays in the dark, Ivar immediately knows who you are.

"I didn't hear about her," Hvitserk replies, and Ivar can't help but grunt in answer before Ubbe can open his mouth.

"Because you are an idiot."

Ubbe, instead of stopping their fighting, just smirks. His bright eyes are on his youngest brother, who still stares at you. There is an awe in his icy blue gaze, under the constant anger and defiance.

That's a no.

Ivar watches you drinking and laughing. He can hear your voice as you greet Bjorn with a mocking comment about his womanizer lifestyle. Their half-brother looks you up and down without shame, making Ivar's blood boil in his veins.

"Maybe you should introduce yourself," Ubbe says.

The brunette's frown deepens as he turns his attention to his brother.

You stay in Kattegat for a few more days, enjoying the delicious meals and the warm bed. Sometimes you even forget how comfortable it is to sleep in clean sheets and soft furs. You don't have to worry about wild animals or wilder people.

And there is something else too. Someone else.

Ivar became obsessed with you. The young man can't find the courage in himself to come to you, but he still doesn't waste a chance to watch you from afar. You can feel his eyes on you constantly, and you would be a liar if you said you weren't enjoying it. There is something flattering and exciting about being the center of the young Viking's attention.

You continue your way out of the cold water, not hiding behind your arms or the clean towel as you dry yourself. You let Ivar's eyes wander on your body, stopping at your breasts, lingering on your hard nipple, and continuing their way between your legs. Your skin is covered with long-healed wounds and scars. There is a history for each of them.

You are in the river, ready to get out when you feel it again. It burns your skin and bubbles in your chest with anticipation.

He is here somewhere.

You search your surroundings through your lashes, trying to hide the smirk that pulls on your lips when you notice his form behind the bushes.

After you get dressed in simple pants and a tunic, you grab your things and don't hesitate to make eye contact with the brunette. His eyes widen, but he doesn't back off as a frown appears between his brows. It seems like there is always a frown on his handsome but still boyish face. He doesn't avert his gaze as you get closer, even though the sway of your hips almost makes him surrender.

"You are Ivar, right?" You speak up when you stop in front of him. He sits on the ground, his useless legs tied together.

"I am," he answers. There is a defiant offense in his tone. He is angry at you even before you say anything. The young man is ready for it. He can already hear you mocking him and telling him to stay away from you. A creep. A cripple. A useless Viking. What may he want from a woman like you? A great warrior. A beautiful woman.

"Your brother told me about your… fondness for me."

Ivar opens his mouth to say something, but no words leave his plump lips. The soft skin of his cheeks changes into a lovely shade of pink as he looks away from you. He is embarrassed, and he hates the feeling. It makes him weak and humiliated.

"I'm disappointed you didn't come to talk to me," you continue, leaning down to cup his jaw.

His eyes snap back at you, lips apart. He doesn't want hope to take root in his chest, but your heavy gaze doesn't let him have any other option.

You are more beautiful up close. Your nose is a bit crooked from breaking a few times, and there is a pale line on your cheekbone. An old wound.

"You are?" He croaks out.

Your warm breath fans over his face as you speak. "I have to continue my journey tonight, but I have a feeling we will meet again."

Ivar's heart beats against his ribcage, and his blood drums in his ears when your lips ghost over his. The only thing that keeps him leaning closer is your hold on his jaw.

"Because you and me, Ivar the Boneless," you continue. "We are fated."

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar imagine #vikings x reader #vikings imagine

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how-serene · 15 days

Note

What about Abner doing his best to surprise you on your birthday? He's probably not the best at playing it cool when he has a secret, especially when he's looking forward to doing something special for someone he cares about :)

With Love

Pairing - Abner Krill x Neutral!Reader

Summary - Abner surprises you for your birthday.

Word Count - 872

Warnings - fluff

A/N - Am I writing about snow in the middle of spring?...yes. Hope you like it <3.

Streamers hung from the ceiling, in a variety of bright colors. Pastel colored balloons, and a mixture of confetti covered every inch of the floor, the carpet no longer visible. Abner tied the final balloon around the easel, his hands making quick work of the knot. He stepped back to admire his work, his eyes sweeping over the room. His feet parted the coating of confetti, the balloons bounced off his sneakers.

Is it too much? He wondered, nervously wringing his hands.

The sound of the front door opening caught his attention, as he stumbled out of the room, gently closing the office door behind him.

You stood in the entryway, fingers clinging onto numerous bags. A blue scarf was bundled around your neck, flecks of snow melted into the knitted yarn. The gray wool coat you wore felt damp, as he pulled it off of you.

“I thought it wasn’t supposed to snow until tomorrow.” He said, tossing your coat onto a hook. You set the bags onto the floor, your shoulders sagging in exhaustion.

“Well they lied, apparently.”

He could hear your teeth chattering. Abner took your hands, rubbing his warm palm over your icy skin.

“You shouldn’t have gone out.” He muttered, massaging your knuckles.

You chuckled, “Abner, I’m fine.”

“I know.” He still couldn’t stop the anxiety from blooming in his chest, at the feeling of your frigid hands in his.

“Come on, help me put these groceries away.” You slipped from his fingers and plucked the bags up from the floor.

“Hold on.” He trailed after you, prying the bags from your hands. You frowned, tugging against the bags.

“Abner-

“It’s your birthday,” he exclaimed, hurriedly walking towards the kitchen. “I want you to go sit down, and warm up.”

“You remembered?”

He felt a twinge in his chest at your words, so soft spoken and small. He turned to look back at you, settling the bags on the counter.

“Yea, of course.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in. They wrapped you in their warmth, fighting against the chill still running in your bones.

“Does this mean you have something planned?” You asked, playfully smiling at his flustered expression.

Abner stuttered, conspicuously glancing at the office door. The sweater he wore uncomfortably stuck to his skin as he felt his body heat up. He rubbed his palms over his thighs, searching his brain for a clever lie. Your grinning eyes watched him, causing his thoughts to go fuzzy.

“Uh-

You wrapped your arms around his waist, your strong hold bringing him back into focus.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured, smiling at him. “You can show me after dinner, yeah?”

He nodded, your words soothing his erratic heartbeat.

Abner hummed against your touch, as you delicately tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

“At least let me help cook.” You pleaded, batting your eyelashes at him.

He sighed, letting his eyes wander over your features. At the most simplest times, he often found himself fondly gazing at you. His heart would swell, threatening to burst out of his chest at the sight of you. Perhaps you knew, which is why you didn’t look away either.

He caved, “Okay.”

Abner fidgeted with the sweater, wrapping his fingers around a loose thread and tugging at it. You stood beside him, patiently waiting for him to open the office door. It was just after dinner, the suspense of your inevitable reaction made him want to vomit. He was surprised he was able to stomach dinner at all.

“What if you don’t like it?” He asked, his hand hovering above the doorknob.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“How do you know?”

He felt your hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Because it’s coming from you, so that makes it special.”

He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut as he slowly opened the door. It was quiet, as he kept his eyes closed, scared of your reaction. He could hear the shuffle of your feet as you approached the gift. His stomach clenched, tonight's dinner wanting to lurch up his throat.

“Abner.” You said softly, voice so close to him.

He pried his eyes open, one by one, as you came into view. Tears shimmered behind your lasher, as you broke out into a grin. He stumbled against the doorway as you threw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him close to you. Your body trembled in his hold, as he stabilized you both.

“Oh god, I love it!”

His long arms snaked around your waist, pressing you as close as humanly possible to him. If he listened closely, he could hear your heartbeat thump against his chest. Relief washed over him, nearly causing his knees to buckle.

He giggled at the feeling of your plush lips leaving trails of kisses along his face. Each kiss was left with a ‘thank you’.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect…

You rambled, pulling back to beam at the growing blush on his cheeks.

He searched your eyes, trying to find a hint to prove you were lying.

They twinkled at him like stars, tears clinging to the edge.

“Good.” He said, nuzzling the side of your face.

That’s good.

#david dastmalchian #abner krill #abner krill x reader #the suicide squad #fluff #asks

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tooxmanyxships · 1 month

Note

for the prompts, dando break up and make up? or they get into a bad fight n lando thinks it’s over but daniel comes back n then fluff <3

I'm missing Dando so much lately so yeah. I FINALLY went back into my inbox to look at prompts and just had to respond to this one.

It was so fucking stupid. But weren't all fights between couples pretty stupid?

Those between Lando and Daniel definitely were.

Lando couldn't even remember why they were fighting....

It probably all started with one of them making a joke, that's usually how it went with them, which suddenly turned into an argument.

Then one of them would slip up and say something nasty, most likely Lando; if he was honest with himself.

This was usually settled pretty quickly, because Daniel always forgave him. Lando was aware of that.

He tried not to take advantage of it, but sometimes he thought Daniel forgave him a little too easily.

But not this time.

This time Daniel hadn't listened, no matter how many times Lando said sorry and exclaimed that he didn't mean it.

Maybe he'd taken it too far this time. If only he could remember what he said.....

It was in the heat of the moment.

It was also in the heat of the moment that Daniel had slammed the door as he left the apartment.

He didn't even take his key.

The key was still sitting next to Lando's in their usual spot so they wouldn't lose them.

Daniel was gone.

He wasn't coming back.

Lando stuffed himself into the corner of the couch and made himself as small as he could, folding himself into a ball.

He played with the bracelets on his wrist, which usually calmed him down.

It did this time too until his eyes caught onto that one special bracelet.

His most precious one.

It was simple, but pretty.

DR3 sitting proudly in the middle.

Daniel had the same one. The only difference that his one said LN4.

3 & 4... People sometimes joked that they were made to be teammates.

And they had been. But that was in the past.

Some even said they were meant to be together.

And that--- that's what scared Lando so much.

As much as their relationship was built off of a lot of joking and dishing it out against each other, Lando had the tendency to push a little too hard. Too fast.

He wanted to see when Daniel would break. If he would break at all.

Today he had his answer.

Daniel could break.

Daniel could also leave.

And it was all Lando's fault.

~~~~~~********~~~~~~~

Lando didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, still folded in on himself, forefinger caressing the DR3 on his bracelet over and over again.

Lost in thoughts.

Suddenly he was pulled back to the present by pounding on the door.

The pounding had started off as soft knocks which Lando hadn't been aware of.

He wished he wasn't aware of these pounds either, but whoever this person was, they were relentless.

Lando didn't want to see anyone right now.

"Go away!!!"

Fuck.

When did he start crying?!

"Lando?"

That voice.

No.....

It couldn't be - - - -

"Lan, can you please open the door? I forgot my keys."

Someone was playing a very dirty trick on him here.

"Bear. Please. Open the door."

It's him.

Lando jumped up from the couch and sprinted to the door so fast Jon would be so proud of him.

He gripped the door handle and ripped the door open.

Then he stared.

Stared at a slightly flustered Daniel, who had his hand lifted to pound on the door again and quickly lowered it.

"Finally. I thou----"

Daniel couldn't even finish his sentence because the wind was knocked out of him as Lando propelled himself into his chest.

He was frozen for a second, but he immediately came back to life when the sob reached his ears. And his heart.

"I thought you left me."

Daniel quickly wrapped his arms around the younger boy.

"Oh Lan. Never. I would never leave you. No matter how much you try to push me away."

Sometimes he forgets how well the Australian actually knows him.

"But you...." a sniffle. "You left your key."

"Forgot. I forgot my keys. Couldn't even go for a drive so I just took a walk instead."

That Lando could believe. Daniel was prone to forgetting things like that.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's okay."

"No. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Silence.

"You forgot what you said, huh?"

Lando tensed. "I---"

Whatever he was expecting to happen, it wasn't the laugh that bubbled out of Daniel's mouth.

"Keeps on picking fights with me and then completely forgets about them."

A soft whine. "I don't mean to..."

"I know. I know you don't mean to." He turns his head to press a kiss into Lando's curls. "That's why I always come back."

A rustle. Some shifting. Two sets of eyes meeting each other.

"Always?"

"Always. I promise."

A sigh of relief. Head meeting shoulder. Face hiding in the crook of the older man's neck.

"I love you."

Don't leave me again.

"I love you too."

I never will.

#f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #dando #landan #daniel ricciardo x lando norris #Daniel Ricciardo/Lando Norris #Have some feels

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puphee · 2 years

Note

thoughts on makeup sex with any txt member of your choosing?

😼I'm gonna give my thoughts on make up sex with the choi line !! Before you thank me, you're so welcome

YEONJUN:

Your argument was so stupid that you don't even remember what it was about at this point

You've been ignoring him for a few days, so you've forgotten why you were still so upset with him

He feels really bad though, and not talking to you for a few days made him feel even worse

He knew it was his fault for starting it, and he wanted nothing more than to apologize

But you wouldn't return his texts or calls

He's a little worried at this point, so he decides to just show up at your place and try to talk to you in person

When you open the door and look fine, he feels relieved, and immediately engulfs you in a hug

"I'm sorry, baby. I missed you so much."

You pout standing still for a while before feeling your resolve melt and hugging him back.

"Let me make it up to you, please?"

Make up sex with Yeonjun would have a lot of apologies and "I missed you"s.

He'd remind you how much he loves you and will be really gentle the whole time

Missionary bc he wants to kiss all over your face and to kiss away any and all tears that may slip past your eyelids

SOOBIN:

Soobin had been really stressed with work lately and, although he didn't mean to, he took it out on you

You did not appreciate it and you got onto his case about it, saying you weren't going to put up with it and to get out of your apartment

He realizes he messed up almost immediately after you scold him and kick him out

He feels really bad, especially when you ignore him for the next few days or so

Will continue to send you good morning and goodnight texts even though you leave him on read.

After he gets particularly upset about not talking with you, he'll text you again

"I'm sorry. Please let me make it up to you. I miss you."

You're too curious for your own good, so you respond: "how will you make it up to me?"

"Let me come over. I want to show you how sorry I am."

You let him come over and as soon as he's in your apartment and the door is closed, he has you in his arms and his lips on yours.

You would have put up more of a fight if you didn't see that he had been crying.

He leaves apologies repeatedly against your lips, holding you tight as if he were afraid to let you go (which he is)

You hold onto his shirt when you kiss him back, tugging on it a little.

Eventually he scoops you up in his arms and carries you to your bedroom and just lays with you for a while before sliding his hands up your shirt and squeezing your sides.

Make up sex with Soobin would also be really gentle(as much as he's capable of) and soft

Lots of praise and apologies

Will hold your hands and leave kisses all over your body

Will probably need a few reminders that you still love him tbh

Will probably give you head before anything, and will probably go with a position that's comfortable for the both of you but one that he can still see your face in

BEOMGYU :

You argue because he got jealous

Like, really jealous and it was really uncomfortable

You felt like he didn't trust you and that made you upset

You fought about that and now you haven't talked for a few weeks

Beomgyu's stubborn, and he would have texted, but he didn't want to push his luck

But he gets worried whether this meant you broke up or something,

And he is really panicking about that because he just loves you so much and wouldn't know what he would do if he lost you

So he shows up to your place without any heads up

He kisses you as soon as you open the door, and at first you want to push him away, but you would be lying if you said you didn't miss him and his touch

There wouldn't be much talking, just lots of making out and needy touching(mostly on his part)

Of course he'd tell you that he's sorry and he does trust you, he just was being insecure and he didn't mean to upset you

But it would be a little in the middle of things starting to get heated

He'll tell you how much he missed you and how scared he was, which you'll have to probably reassure him how much you love him and that it's okay, he just shouldn't do that again

He kisses you very feverishly, but tries not to be rough

He's just so needy from not seeing you in so long and he wants to make it up to you so bad

He wants to make you feel good as an apology

So make up sex with Beomgyu will be really desperate and needy

A little faster paced than the other chois, but still as genuine and sweet

Will probably go with a position that you like best, one that would make you feel as good as possible but still be easy to work with

Kisses you over and over

Body worship >>>>

Lots of 'I love you's and needy sounds

#🦋ask : anon #txt hard hours #soobin smut #soobin hard hours #txt x reader smut #yeonjun x reader smut #soobin x reader smut #yeonjun hard hours #choi beomgyu smut #beomgyu smut #beomgyu x reader smut #choi yeonjun smut #choi soobin smut #txt smut

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sublimecatgalaxy · 1 year

Note

hey! Are you okay? I hope so, can I make a request for daryl dixon? something angst but cute at the end as if daryl had moved away from reader(they were a couple) because of leah, and then she leaves with maggie, but at the end of season 10 they meet again. something like that if you want, sorry for the english and the inconvenience, thanks for the wonderful writing

I’m doing well honey, thank you. Please don’t ever feel like an inconvenience, I love this request! Thank you for your lovely words :)

Maggie looks at me, eyes full of worry as I stare at the familiar man standing in the middle of the clearing, guiding new people around a beaten and broken Alexandria. He looks older, hair longer as if Carol decided to let him grow it a bit, but still the same Daryl as I knew before.

"You didn't tell me he was back." I mutter, hands shaking at my sides and I shove them into my pockets, sending her a frantic look. She reaches out to me, looping her arm around mine with a sad smile.

"I didn't know." I allow her to lead me further into Alexandria, occasionally stopping to say hi to friends that we've gone too long without seeing and I let a relieved smile slip across my lips.

That is, until Daryl approaches me while Maggie is talking to Carol.

"You still mad?" He asks, swaying awkwardly back and forth as a dog whines at his feet, obediently glancing up at Daryl before giving me a curious look, head tilting cutely.

"You still stupid?" He scoffs at my rebuttal, hand reaching up to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. "I'm taking that as a yes." I go to move past him but his fingers wrap around my upper arm with a sigh.

"Listen to me, alright-"

"No, you don't get to call the shots right now, D." I snap, holding a hand out to him before snatching my arm from him, a frown pulling on my lips as I fight the tears that want to so desperately rise to my eyes. "You left me, willingly, without hesitation." The reminder hits him like a punch to the gut, his head drooping a bit so he doesn't have to look at me, so he doesn't have to remember the pain that he put me through. "Did she leave you and you remembered that I existed and thought to pay me a visit?"

His eyes lift to mine briefly in a heated gaze and I realize that he never knew that Carol told me about his little fling out in the woods. He thought that the betrayal that I feel is simply from him running away after Rick died but I can tell by the worried look in his eyes that he knows that this is so much deeper than him running away from me.

"I never forgot about you." He promises, stepping up to me in a desperate attempt to be close to me but with every step forward he takes, I inch away from him. "I didn't know what to do after Rick-"

"So you're blaming this on your dead best friend?" His eyes close in frustration, head shaking as a scoff escapes me. "You went out and fucked another woman, abandoned me, and somehow it's Rick's fault." I can't fight the tears now, reaching up to bat them away quickly as Maggie looks over to us and an apologetic look flashes through her eyes.

"I'm sorry." He mutters.

"You're not."

A minute or two passes and I take the chance to look anywhere but him, watching them attempt at building the walls back up, patch together walls on buildings that tumbled down in the fight and share meals together. I've missed this.

"But you're right. She left." Daryl sighs, heartbreak riddling his voice as he shuffles his feet against the dirt beneath us, a bitter smile slipping across his lips. "I couldn't choose her. She asked me to."

"So who'd you choose?" I ask, not even trying to hide the eagerness to my voice, hoping that he'd finally give me the answer that I've been waiting to hear for years from him.

"My family. You." He says almost instantly, shoulders rolling back in relief as if just saying the words lessened the load on his back. I let him step towards me, hair falling in his eyes as he smiles softly. "When Carol would come out and find me, I'd ask her if you were back yet. Every time she said no and it just gave me no reason to come back." He explains and his words make my heart ache so badly that I reach up to rub my sternum, sucking in a gasp of air as my tears dry on my cheeks.

"You didn't come back because I wasn't there?" I ask with a small pout, not missing the fond smile he wears when he looks up at me, eyes flickering back and forth between mine.

"You were my family. Without you there, I didn't wanna go back."

"You're making me a little less mad." I allow myself to laugh, breaking the awkward tension that was swarming around us just moments ago and, though it takes everything in me, I do truly feel less bitter after hearing his explanation. "If you keep saying nice things, I might give you a hug." I offer and his face falls in relief, head nodding as he reaches out to me, pulling me into his arms desperately.

"I love you and I missed you."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres @bungunz

#daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead fic

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rushingheadlong · 2 years

Text

The Worst Best Friend in the World - A Roger x f!Reader fic

Summary: You and Roger have been calling each other the “worst best friend” for years now, but it’s only recently that it’s started to hit a little too close to home - because only the worst of people would fall in love with their best friend like you did.

Tags: ~8700 words, Roger x f!Reader, angst, h/c, friends-to-lovers, soft smut

Notes: Written for a request from a tumblr user who wishes to remain anonymous. Requests are technically closed so I’m not accepting anymore, but I loved this prompt and just couldn’t resist writing something for it!

Read on AO3 here!

1957

“I hate you Roger Taylor! You’re the worst best friend in the whole entire world!”

Years later, when you look back on that day, you won’t remember what Roger did that upset you so badly. You’ll remember running back home in tears but you won’t remember that you cried so hard that you got hiccups, or that you were nearly sick down the front of your mum’s skirt when she wrapped her arms around you and asked what was wrong. You won’t remember what you told her and you won’t remember crying yourself to sleep that night, hours after the fight actually happened.

What you do remember is seeing him waiting for you by the school gates the next morning. Even now, years after the fact, you remember how nervous he looked when he handed you a piece of paper, and you remember how small his voice sounded when he said, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean what I said. Will you still be my friend?”

You remember opening the piece of paper to see a crude drawing of two stick figures holding hands with your names inside a lopsided heart. At the top of the page, written in Roger’s childish script, are the words Best Friends Forever.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

15 years later…

Tonight’s venue is small, and by the time you finally arrive the place is already packed to the gills with people. You can’t see the makeshift stage setup on the far side of the room but you easily recognize the sound of Queen performing, and you’ve been to enough of their shows by now that you know they’re coming to the end of their set. Damnit. You wanted to get here earlier but your fucking boss held you back, and now it’s going to be a nightmare trying to get backstage to meet up with your friends.

So you don’t try to weasel your way behind the stage at all. You instead duck outside and around the back of the building towards where Queen’s old van is parked, figuring that they have to return to the vehicle at some point and you’ll just meet up with them then. Tonight must be your lucky night, though, because you find the rear door to the venue open and you’re able to slip back inside just in time to hear Freddie say goodnight to the crowd.

“Well look who finally decided to show up!” Roger calls out as the band makes their way down the back hallway. “Thought you decided to skip out on us tonight!”

“Nah, my fucking boss just decided to hold me late,” you explain as you follow him and the others into the dressing room.

“And you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself and leave anyway? Worst best friend ever,” Roger teases, and you laugh at the old inside joke.

The two of you have been slinging that ‘accusation’ at each other ever since that fight when you were ten, but apart from once or twice in the middle of heated arguments it’s never been meant with any sort of seriousness. On the contrary there’s a great deal of fondness captured in those three words that doesn’t seem like it should fit with being called someone’s “worst best friend” but it’s because you both keep the joke running that you know your friendship with Roger is still going strong after all this time.

“Hey now that’s not fair. A real worst best friend wouldn’t have shown up at all,” you say, slinging an arm around Roger’s shoulders. He worked up a sweat while drumming and it’s a bit gross to be touching him right now, but it doesn’t really bother you.

When it comes to Roger there are a lot of things that don’t really bother you, even if they probably should.

Roger laughs. “No, I think that’s just called being a bad friend.” He playfully elbows you and adds, “C’mon, get off me so I can get changed.”

You nod and let go of him, even though that’s the last thing you want to do. No one asks you to leave the room, neither Roger nor the rest of Queen, and you’ve long since stopped raising the subject yourself. You’re Roger’s old mate from school - practically one of the guys - and so none of them seem to think that maybe they should want you to step outside while they drop trou.

That means that you’re free to lean against the doorframe and ogle the boys as they change. Or at least that's what you'd be doing if you had the stomach for ogling your friends, but you don't. It just doesn't feel right for you to be eyeing up Roger like that when he's made it clear - through actions, if not words - that he doesn't feel the same.

There is one advantage to your position by the door, though. You’re the first to hear the sound of giggles and hushed whispers floating down the corridor, and when you glance in that direction you can see the two girls clearly trying to work up the courage to come talk to the band.

“Head’s up,” you tell the boys. It’s just enough of a warning for Roger to zip up his trousers and throw on a shirt, before the girls are hovering nervously at your shoulder.

“Um, hi there!” one of the girls says. “We saw your show and just wanted to tell you that it was fantastic! You guys were really brilliant out there.”

“Thank you,” Freddie says. “It’s always lovely to hear what the fans think of our music.”

The girls seem to take that as permission to move further into the small room, pushing past you without so much as a ‘pardon me’. You roll your eyes behind their backs and try to send Roger a Can you believe this? look, but he doesn’t see it.

Because while the brunette takes a seat by Freddie really does seem eager to talk about Queen’s music, her blonde friend has made a beeline for Roger - and judging by the look in her eyes and her hand on his arm, she has other things on her mind than the show she just watched.

And, even worse, Roger seems to be perfectly happy to entertain her advances.

This is a side of Roger that you’re still trying to get used to. He tried dating a few girls when the two of you first got to uni, but the relationships never really worked out and eventually he gave up on dating altogether. Or at least that’s all that you can assume happened, given that you’ve long since stopped seeing the same girls more than once or twice.

If you’re being honest with yourself - which you try not to be, at least not where Roger is concerned - it makes you uncomfortable to watch him with other girls. You know that the attention he receives is unavoidable, especially as Queen keeps gaining a proper following, but why does he have to respond so eagerly every time a pretty girl flirts with him? It’s not that you’re a prude, and god nows you’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if you started spouting off against of pre-marital sex, but it’s just… it’s just…

The girls waltz past you with another flurry of giggles, pulling you from your thoughts. You hope this means that you can get back to the plans you had already made with Roger, but those hopes are immediately dashed when you see the lovestruck look on his face as he watches the blonde leave.

Then he glances your way, and immediately winces at the expression on your face. So much for trying to hide your annoyance.

Roger gives you an apologetic grin and tries to explain himself. “Ah, Y/N, I wasn’t- I mean I know we had plans, but-”

“Oh, go on then,” you say, jerking your thumb over your shoulder towards the door behind you.

Roger perks up a bit. “You don’t mind?”

You do mind, but you’re not going to admit that to him now. “No, but you’re going to owe me one for this. You now that, right?”

“I’ll buy you dinner later this week to make it up to you,” Roger promises.

“Sounds perfect,” you say, though there’s a part of you that wishes that ‘dinner’ meant more than just a simple meal. Except Roger is grinning at you, that bright and beautiful grin that you love so much, and so it’s hard to really be disappointed with his offer. “But you’re still the worst best friend for leaving me like this!”

“I know,” Roger says. It’s an apology for leaving, and a thank-you for letting him, and because it’s Roger you don’t need anything more said than that.

Because you do know. You know that you’re only uncomfortable with his flirting and hookups because he’s never looked at you that way before.

And you know, beyond any doubt, that he never will.

XXXXX

When you were sixteen your mum had put her foot down and insisted that you go to at least one school dance that year. It wasn’t that you hated socializing with your peers or that you objected to getting a bit dolled-up (though you did object to the dress that your mum wanted to put you in); it’s just that school dances are always either boring or awkward, or more often than not a miserable combination of the two, and you had better things to do with your time than suffer through that.

You were in the middle of bemoaning that fact to Roger when he suggested, “Why don’t we just go together then?”

“Weren’t you listening to anything I was just saying?” you asked with a laugh. “Because I think us going to a dance together would definitely make things awkward!”

“I didn’t mean that we should go together-together,” Roger said. “Just as friends. That way when things get boring we can sneak away and find something better to do.”

"I'm pretty sure they don't let the students sneak out of the dance like that."

"And I'm pretty sure that as long as we're sneaky enough they'll never even notice!"

And in the end, they never did.

You and Roger put in enough of an appearance at the dance to make it seem like you were there. Just enough that, should your mums cross paths with one of the chaperones and get to chatting, no one would have anything to say to raise suspicions. But at the first opportunity the two of you snuck out the back door and disappeared into the Cornish night... which really meant that the two of you wandered down to the football pitch and sat on the damp grass, uncaring of the mess you were making of your nice clothes.

You and Roger spent the rest of the night just laughing and talking about whatever came into your heads: school, exams, your holiday plans and Roger’s band rehearsals… It was going to be a busy summer for the both of you and you were worried about how much time you’ll have to spend together, but Roger swiftly put those fears to rest.

“I’ll drop the band before I drift away from you,” he said firmly.

“No you won’t! You love the band!”

“I do, but I lo-” The rest of his sentence was cut off by Roger clearing his throat, but you knew him well enough to guess what he had been about to say.

At the time, you were happy that he didn’t say I love you more and instead rambled on about how your friendship was more important than any band would ever be. You were both sixteen, that age where you stop saying that you love your friends and start saying those words to the person you’re dating instead. Roger might have saved the conversation by steering it back towards safer topics but your burning hot cheeks and the flush on Roger’s face were a testament to the moment of awkwardness that almost was.

Now as you think back on that night, you wonder if your embarrassment wasn’t because the both of you were awkward teens - but rather because you were already a little in love with Roger. And not at all in a platonic way.

You can’t pinpoint the exact moment that you fell in love with him, or even the first time you consciously realized that you had these feelings at all. Maybe they’ve just always been there, another constant in your life just like Roger has always been. You wonder if that means that you’ll always love him then, and whether you’re prepared to always feel as shitty as you do now every time that you have to watch Roger take home a girl who isn’t you.

Sometimes you think back to that night you spent out by the football pitch instead of inside dancing and you imagine what it could have been like if Roger had actually said the words, I love you. Would you have had the courage to respond as if it wasn’t meant platonically? Would that have changed anything between you, or would it only have ruined the best friendship with the worst best friend you’ve ever known?

Sometimes you imagine how things could be if Roger says I love you now. Sometimes you fantasize that his confession turns things a bit steamy, but you know that’s all you’re ever going to have: Just your fantasies, and nothing more.

XXXXX

The next time you see Roger is at Queen’s rehearsal a few days later. He told you to stop by when they were done so he could buy you the dinner he promised, but for once you had nothing else on your calendar so you decided to swing by at the start of practice so you could say hello to the rest of the guys as well.

You must have arrived just after Roger, though, because the first thing you see is him kissing another girl just outside the band’s practice space. It’s a blonde again, but not the same one from the other night. She’s taller than the last girl, or at least wearing higher heels, and wearing an outfit that makes her look like she just walked off the pages of a Biba advert. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, anyone with eyes can see that, and your stomach twists with a white-hot jealousy as you watch her blow Roger a kiss goodbye before she finally leaves.

“Hey, Y/N!” Roger calls out. You quickly pretend that you weren’t glaring daggers into the back of that girl’s head and turn to look at him instead. “You’re here early. Didn’t have anything better to do?”

“Just didn’t want you skipping out early when you owe me a dinner,” you say. Roger laughs, and his good mood gives you the courage to ask, “So who was that then? New girlfriend?”

“New girl, at least,” Roger answers.

“Is she going to be sticking around?”

“Dunno.” Roger is still grinning but there’s a growing look of confusion on his face as well and he asks, “What’s with the twenty questions? You don’t usually care this much about who I hang out with.”

You shrug, trying to feign an air of nonchalance that you don’t entirely feel. “Just curious, that’s all. What, am I not allowed to take an interest in my friend’s life anymore?”

“Ass,” Roger says, laughing. He elbows you playfully and adds, “C’mon, let’s get inside before they send Brian out to see what’s taking so long.”

Roger seems to have already brushed off your questions but you still feel rattled as you follow him into Queen’s rehearsal space. He has a point, after all; you don’t usually interrogate him like that and it worries you that just seeing him with another girl can get under your skin like that.

You know you can get a bit jealous of the girls that he takes home but you can’t let Roger know that. If he finds out about your jealousy - if he found out how you really feel about him - you really would become the worst best friend in the world. Except, it wouldn’t be much of a joke at that point at all.

Luckily Roger doesn’t seem to suspect anything. If he was ever suspicious about your one-too-many questions earlier, it’s faded by the time rehearsal is over and the two of you head out. One quick stop for takeaway later and you two end up back at his flat, where you bicker good-naturedly about what to put on the telly while you eat and try to steal bites of the other’s food behind their back.

You aren’t in any rush tonight to return to your own flat. You love being able to spend time with Roger like this, just the two of you, just like the old days. You finish eating, and you’re perfectly happy to stay on the cramped sofa with Roger’s knee digging into yours and let the hours of the evening tick by. By the time you finally, begrudgingly, make a comment about needing to head home it’s late enough that you almost regret waiting this long to leave, if only because you hate walking home in the dark.

“You know you can always stay the night,” Roger tells you.

“I know,” you say, but you also know that you never will. Not anymore, not when you know that you’d just be lying awake on the couch wishing you were in bed with Roger instead. “But I’ll sleep better without springs poking into my back.”

“You can take my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch,” Roger offers.

Your heart skips a beat but you manage to hide it with a laugh and say, “A mattress spring digging into my spine isn’t much better than a couch spring, Rog! Now, do you remember where I put my wallet?”

“I hid it so you wouldn’t be able to leave.”

“Worst best friend.” You smack his shoulder playfully as you walk past and add, “You better return it by the time I get back from the toilet, or I’m taking your wallet home with me instead!”

You’re still chuckling to yourself as you finish up your business. You can hear Roger moving around in the living room and you’re certain that he’s grabbing your wallet from wherever he stashed it. Still, there’s a part of you that thinks it would be a little funny if you walked out with Roger’s wallet in your pocket instead.

You move over to the sink to wash your hands - but then you see something on the counter that makes you stop short.

There’s a hair there, a long, bright red one that definitely does not match the hair of anyone you’ve seen Roger with recently. In fact you can’t remember ever seeing Roger go home with a redhead before. You always knew that there were probably more girls around than you had actually met but you weren’t prepared to have the evidence of that thrown in your face at the end of an otherwise perfect night like this.

Suddenly you can picture her perfectly in your mind’s eye, checking her hair quickly in the mirror before joining Roger in the bedroom or redoing her makeup the morning after the fact. There’s a dark smear on the countertop that could be eyeliner and you furiously rub it away with your finger until the white porcelain gleams again. You take a petty joy in removing any evidence that there’s other women in Roger’s life, even if you know that won’t change anything about your relationship with him.

XXXXX

If you’re being honest with yourself, which you’re still trying not to do, you bought the makeup because of Roger. You just couldn’t stop thinking about all the girls that he takes home and comparing yourself to them, and even though you can’t afford a new wardrobe to look more stylish or larger heels to make yourself look taller you can afford to duck into Biba to pick up a few new items of makeup to try out.

You don’t think you can pull off some of the bolder looks popularized by today’s models, but you’ve always had a deft hand with eyeliner and it’s easy for you to copy the crisp cat-eye look in the magazine pages. The blue eyeshadow isn’t your usual color but it does make your eyes pop, and with the addition of lipstick and liner you think you could almost be mistaken for Twiggy. At least, from a distance. And at a night.

Still you have a spring in your step as you head out to meet Queen ahead of that night’s show. You don’t know if this will be enough to get Roger to see you in a different light or not, but the appreciative looks you get from others as you make your way towards the dressing room are a welcome boost to your confidence nonetheless.

“Look at you, Y/N!” Freddie says as you walk into the room. “What’s the special occasion, then?”

“No special occasion,” you tell him. “Just felt like getting dressed up tonight, that’s all.”

“Well you look very nice,” John says.

You beam at him. “Thank you!” You lean against the wall and ask, as casually as you can, “I take it Roger’s running late tonight?”

“Him and Brian both,” John says, with a slight roll of his eyes. “Hopefully they’ll be here soon…”

Freddie cocks his head and says, “Oh, I think they will be.”

Now that Freddie has pointed it out you can hear the faint, but steadily growing louder, sounds of Brian and Roger arguing drifting down the hall towards the dressing room. Judging by the looks on Freddie’s and John’s faces this is an old, recurring argument of theirs, but that doesn’t do much to tone down the passion in their voices as they bicker about some facet of one of their songs. Brian walks into the room first, gesticulating so wildly that he almost hits John with his guitar case, and Roger is right on his heels, talking over him and completely oblivious to his surroundings.

“Alright, alright, that’s quite enough for one night!” Freddie says. They don’t pay him any mind, though, and so he claps his hands and says, louder this time, “Hey! Cut it out!”

They both jump slightly. Brian mumbles an apology and starts getting his guitar ready, while Roger says, “Sorry, Freddie, but you know that the song needs- Holy shit, Y/N!”

Roger does a visible double-take at the sight of you. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open in surprise, and you have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from laughing.

“Something wrong?” you ask, voice dripping with faux-innocence.

Roger shakes his head, a gesture of someone trying to pull their thoughts back together rather than an answer to your question. “No, but what’s on your face?”

The question stings more than you want to let on, and your stomach sinks. That wasn’t the reaction you were hoping to get from him.

“It’s makeup,” you snap and, before you can think better of it, you add, “Thought you would’ve been used to it from those girls you keep taking home.”

“I’m only used to girls who look good with their makeup on, not one who try to imitate a clown,” Roger says.

He’s grinning, like he just cracked a hilarious joke, but you don’t find it funny at all. It just hurts, more than anything you can remember Roger ever saying to you before. He looks at you, waiting for you to retort with a similar sort of jab, but as tears start to prick at the corner of your eyes all you want is to get as far away from him and this situation as possible.

“You know sometimes Roger you really are the worst fucking friend in the world,” you say, as you gather your coat and storm past him out of the room.

“Jesus christ, Rog! Do you ever think before you say something?” you hear John snap at him behind you, but you don’t stop or turn around.

You hurry out of the venue, needing to put as much distance between yourself and Roger as you can so he doesn’t see you crying. You don’t know what you were thinking, trying to get this sort of validation from him. That’s not the sort of friendship you two will ever have, so why did you even put yourself in this position in the first place? You wipe furiously at your eyes, not caring that the gesture will smear makeup all over your face. Why should you care about that anyway, when your original look apparently made you look like a clown to the only person whose opinion you cared about?

When you get home you wash your face and throw out the new makeup you bought, because you know you’ll never be able to stomach wearing it again. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to stomach seeing Roger again; the thought of losing him from your life still terrifies you, but it’s clear that your feelings for him are getting out of control. You can’t even begin to think of how you’re going to explain away this reaction when you see him again… and as the night drags on, you start to wonder if you even should see Roger again, or if you should take this as a sign that your friendship with him has finally reached an end.

XXXXX

You’re woken abruptly by the sound of loud, insistent knocking echoing through your flat. You blink against the bright lights, and it takes you a moment to realize that you must have dozed off on the couch. You don’t know what time it is, only that it’s still dark outside, and you’re sleepy enough that your spat with Roger is the last thing on your mind as you shuffle over to the door to see who’s bothering you at this late hour.

The answer - and you really should have seen this coming - is that it’s Roger standing there on your front steps. He’s sweating and breathing heavily and still in his stage clothes, and despite the hurt you still feel your stomach swoops at the sight of him.

“Y/N, hey, can I… Can I come in?” he asks hesitantly. “Can we talk?”

You grip the door a little harder. “It’s late. What are you even doing here?”

“Trying to apologize to you,” Roger says. “I wanted to come by earlier but there was the show, and Freddie said I should let you cool down first…” He sighs and gives you a remorseful half-smile. “Probably should’ve waited until the morning, I’ll accept that, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Apology accepted. You can leave now.”

You try to shut the door, but Roger quickly stops you. “Hey, c’mon now, Y/N. I’m really, really sorry. You looked great with the makeup on, honest.”

“Yeah, like a great clown.”

Roger winces at the reminder of what he said to you. “No, that was just me being an ass. I thought we were just teasing each other like we always do but I crossed a line there and I am so sorry for hurting you. You looked beautiful tonight. I promise you did.”

Somehow the compliment hurts worse than the earlier insult did. “Don’t say that,” you tell him.

“What? Compliment you?” Roger asks. “It’s true, though. You did look beautiful with the makeup on.”

“Stop it,” you say. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”

“It’s not a lie,” Roger says. “You did look great with the makeup. But you always look gorgeous without it too.” You shake your head and Roger huffs, and asks, “Why don’t you believe me? Just because of what I said before?”

“No, because you don’t say things like that to me!” you snap. “I’m your friend, I’m one of the guys, and we don’t compliment each other like that! So if you’re going to start doing that now then you can fuck off and not come back, because I can’t-”

You cut yourself off before you can either say something that you’ll really regret, or start crying like a baby in front of Roger. You try to shut the door again but he sticks his foot in the way, and he doesn’t even flinch when you slam the door uselessly against the side of his shoe anyway.

“Y/N, what the hell’s going on?” he asks. “You’re not acting like yourself. Did something happen?”

He looks and sounds worried and that kills you inside. You hate being the cause of his concern, and you hate knowing that the two of you are just going to keep ending up here no matter what you do - maybe not in this same exact situation, but you know you’re only going to keep being hurt the longer you try to bottle up your feelings.

“What happened is that I fell in love with the worst best friend I could ever have,” you tell him tiredly. “And I know he doesn’t feel the same so I hate hearing him call me beautiful when I know he only means it platonically.” You sigh, and lean heavily against the door, and add, “So can you just leave me alone now? Please?”

Roger stares at you, mouth agape in open surprise, but with his foot still stuck in the door so you can’t even close it in his face.

“Please,” you repeat, a little quieter.

That seems to shake Roger out of his stupor. His gaze becomes a little more searching, like he’s trying to read your expression to make sense of everything you just admitted.

“Do you mean me?” he finally asks. You don’t respond, which is probably answer enough for him, because he huffs in frustration and says, “C’mon, Y/N, let me in. I think we need to talk.”

You don’t want to. You want Roger to go away and let you lick your wounds in private, so that the next time you see each other maybe you can pretend that none of this happened and you two can go back to the way things used to be. But you know nothing can ever be the same again, and trying to push back this conversation will only make things worse. So, despite the fact that your heart is in your stomach, you reluctantly nod and open the door to let Roger inside.

Normally you like having Roger in your flat. You like spending time with him and when they’re at yours you can at least guarantee that none of his bandmates will be unexpectedly interrupting you. Tonight, though, you can feel yourself tensing up as Roger walks into your living room and takes a seat on your couch.

He glances back at you, and offers you a crooked smile. “You going to stand there all night, or do you want to sit down too?”

You shake your head. Your place is small and the only place left to sit is next to Roger, and you don’t think you can stand to be that close to him while having this conversation. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

Roger’s face falls, and you immediately feel guilty.

“However you think I’m going to react, I promise it’s not like that,” Roger tells you. “I’m not mad at you or anything.”

“But you should be!” There are tears pricking at your eyes again but you try to blink them back as you continue, saying, “God, Roger, I’m so sorry. I know we joke about it all the time but this really does make me a terrible friend, and I know that and I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen and I never wanted it to change things between us-”

“But what if I want to change things between us?” Roger interrupts.

You flinch at the question and wrap your arms around yourself, as if the gesture can help you physically hold yourself together, but that’s not enough to stop a tear from slipping down your cheek. If that’s what Roger really wants then you don’t know that you’ll be able to change his mind, and your heart is already absolutely shattered at the prospect of losing him.

“No, no, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that,” Roger says quickly. He stands up and takes a small, abortive step towards you before he realizes that that might make the situation worse and he slowly sinks back down on the couch.

“What I meant to say,” Roger says, soft and gentle, “is that I want things to change because I’m also in love with you.”

Time seems to freeze around you. Your breath hitches in your throat and your watery eyes widen in surprise and you wait for Roger to say something else, to say anything else, to give any explanation at all - but he doesn’t, and somehow you find your voice enough to croak out, “What?”

“I’m in love you with,” Roger repeats. “Have been, for a long time. That’s why I stopped dating, because how I felt about them couldn’t hold a candle to my feelings for you.”

“But… those girls you take home…”

Roger ducks his head in embarrassment. “I was trying to forget about you,” he admits. He glances back up at you and adds, sheepishly, “Didn’t really work too well, though. Even when I was with them I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Why?”

He blinks at you. “Why… what?”

“Why would you think of me when you already had the prettiest girl in any room on your arm?” you ask bitterly. Despite what Roger’s saying now, you still remember all too well how it felt to compare yourself to those girls and always finding yourself coming up short.

“But I didn’t have the prettiest girl in the room. That’s why I had to settle for them instead.” Roger studies your face and, slowly, he asks, “Y/N, did you really think that I didn’t notice how beautiful you are?”

You can feel your own face starting to flush now and you point out, rather hotly, “Well you never said anything! I was right there and you never once seemed to notice me like that!”

“Guess I’m a better actor than I thought,” Roger tries to joke.

You’re far too upset for it to land properly. You’ve been making yourself miserable for ages now by comparing yourself for those other girls, and for no reason at all! You’re embarrassed that Roger seems to have picked up on your insecurities like that, and angry that all of this could have been avoided if you had been less of a coward and just said something-

“I’m so, so sorry, Y/N,” Roger says. The apology, thankfully, interrupts your rapidly-spiraling thoughts before they can get much worse. “I was so worried about making you uncomfortable that I guess I went too far in the opposite direction, and I’m so sorry for that. I never meant for you to feel unnoticed. Believe me, I’ve always seen you and you’ve always been the best distraction in my life.”

Your face must be bright red by now with how hot it feels, and all you can think to say is, “You could have said something, you know!”

Roger laughs softly. “Yeah, alright. That’s fair enough. Guess the least I can do then is finally say something now.”

He stands up again and, though your heart is racing in your chest, you somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to meet his eyes.

“Y/N, I love you,” he says. “You’re gorgeous and funny and the worst best friend anyone could ever ask for, and I have wanted to kiss you for years.” He takes a step forward, this time with confidence, and asks, “Will you let me start making up for lost time now?”

XXXXX

Time seems to slow down at Roger holds out one hand towards you, waiting for you to make the next move. Waiting for you to confirm that, yes, you really do want to take this next step together with him.

It’s a question that he hardly needs to ask. You’re moving before you even find your voice again, uncurling from the ball of tension you had wound yourself into and reaching out to lace your fingers together with Roger’s, before finally answering, “Yes.”

You take a step towards him, or maybe Roger uses your clasped hands to pull you in. You don’t really know and it don’t really matters, because the end outcome is still the same: You, pressed close against Roger, one of his hands on your hip, as he leans down to kiss you.

It isn’t exactly the kiss of your dreams. Your heart is racing so quickly that you’re nearly trembling, and maybe that’s what makes the angle of the kiss just a bit awkward and off. Roger laughs nervously and tries to adjust but somehow that just makes things worse, and he finally ends up pulling away altogether after only the barest brush of his mouth near yours.

Roger’s face is red and he nearly trips over himself trying to apologize, but you don’t need him to do that. “Rog, it’s okay,” you assure him. “Guess we’re both just nervous, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roger sighs and offers you a crooked smile, and asks, “Wanna give it another go?”

You nod, and this time you lean up to meet Roger halfway in a kiss that’s much more coordinated than before.

It still isn’t exactly perfect - but it is pretty damn close.

And when Roger pulls back, several long moments later, you can see a hunger in his eyes that makes it clear that this is only the beginning of everything he wants to do with you.

It’s that look that wipes away the last of your insecurities, because it’s a look that makes it clear that Roger really does want you. And suddenly it doesn’t matter what other girls he’s been with before or how you measure up against them. All that matters is that he’s with you now, and he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to let you go.

“I think I could spend the rest of the night kissing you, y’know,” Roger says. His voice is low, almost a purr, and the sound of it is nearly enough to make you weak in the knees.

“Then why don’t you?” you ask.

Roger’s hand tightens slightly on your hip. “Because there’s no reason to rush things. I want to do things properly here. I want to take you on dates and buy you flowers and-”

“And,” you cut in, “we’ve known each other for most of our lives. If anything we’ve been taking things slow up until now, so if you want to kiss me again…”

“I want to do more than just kiss you, though,” Roger admits, as if he actually thinks that’s going to make you pull the breaks now.

You let go of his hand, but only so you can shift even closer to Roger and drape your arms over his shoulders. “Then why don’t you?” you repeat, this time in a low murmur.

Roger inhales sharply. “Y/N… Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you say, without any hesitation. “And if you leave me waiting now, you really will be the worst-”

Roger interrupts the rest of your sentence with another kiss, a bit more forceful this time, a little more heated. He pushes up the hem of your shirt a bit, his fingers just teasing along the skin of your stomach, but that’s enough to get you to whimper against his mouth. You’re painfully aware of the fact that you’re just in your pajamas, and definitely not wearing a bra anymore. If Roger moves his hand just a little bit higher…

“Bedroom?” Roger asks, his hand still resting just above the waistband of your sleep-shorts.

You nod, and despite the fact that this is your flat you let Roger lead the way into the bedroom. He obviously knows where it is since he’s been here before. He’s even slept in your bed before, when the two of you were two pissed for it to matter, but tonight you’re both clear-headed and sleep is the last thing on your minds.

Roger kisses you again, and this time when his hands toy with the hem of your shirt there’s a purpose there that makes you shiver.

“Can I?” he asks. You nod again, and lift your arms so Roger can carefully remove your top.

You have to fight the urge to wrap your arms around yourself to hide your breasts, but Roger doesn’t give you any time to feel self-conscious.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says. If it wasn’t already clear from his voice that he means it, you can see how his eyes darken in appreciation and when he presses close for another kiss you can feel his growing hardness against your hip. “Lie down on the bed for me?” he murmurs against your lips.

You pluck at the top that he’s still wearing and say, “Only if you take this off.”

You’ve seen Roger shirtless countless times before over the years but this time is different, because this time you don’t have to hide your staring. You watch with open appreciation as he joins you on the bed and settles between your spread legs, and all you can think to say is, “You’re gorgeous.”

Roger laughs. “Stealing my lines now, Y/N?” he teases. He slides one hand up your body, palming your breast and eliciting a quiet gasp from you which he quickly swallows down with another kiss, because apparently he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to spend the rest of the night doing that.

He trails kisses down your neck, across your collarbones and along the tops of your breasts. He swipes a thumb across your nipple as he kisses down your sternum, and you can feel yourself start to throb with anticipation as he moves down the planes of your stomach until his lips are just above your waistband. And it’s there that he lingers for a moment, pressing kisses into your navel but making no moves to keep things heading south.

You reach down and card a hand through Roger’s hair, pushing it back away from his face and making him glance back up at you with a questioning look.

“You don’t have to eat me out if you don’t want to,” you tell him. You know from experience that that can be a sticking point for some guys, and you would never push Roger to do something he didn’t want to do.

But Roger is quick to reassure you, “No, no I definitely want to. I was trying to think of a romantic way of asking, but since you said it first…” He plucks at your waistband and grins up at you. “Wanna take these off so I can eat your pussy and blow your mind?”

His phrasing of the question makes you laugh. You like that Roger can keep things light-hearted and humorous in bed. It helps keep your nerves and insecurities at bay as you lift your hips to allow Roger to remove your shorts and panties, leaving you fully bared beneath him.

“Beautiful,” Roger murmurs, appreciative, as he presses a soft kiss just below your navel. Then another even lower than that, and you spread your legs a bit wider in anticipation of him finally moving down between them. He does keep moving down your body but not where you want him to go. He kisses down one of your inner thighs, then up the other one, seemingly unaware of how wet you’re becoming.

“Rog- oh,” your complaint is cut-off before you can even say anything, as Roger suddenly licks a broad stroke over your core, ending with a small flick of his tongue against your clit.

You moan and grab at the blankets beneath you as Roger begins to eat you out in earnest. He’s so fucking good at this and the reality is so much better than your fantasies ever were. Roger holds your hips down and laps at your core like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. His clever tongue finds your clit and he alternates between teasing licks and light suckling, the combination driving you absolutely crazy with need.

You’re flushed and panting and absolutely incoherent with desperation. You want to come so badly… but you don’t want to come like this.

Somehow you manage to let go of the blankets so you can gently push Roger away - something that’s far easier said than done, when Roger’s mouth feels as good as it does.

He does stop but he gives you a confused and worried look and asks, "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, god no," you say quickly, and a look of relief immediately crosses Roger’s face. “But I don’t wanna come until you fuck me.”

Roger groans and unconsciously grinds his hips down against the mattress. “Fuck, Y/N, are you sure? I’m, ah, I’m probably not going to last long this time-”

“I don’t care,” you reassure him. You card a hand through his hair, and shiver as he nuzzles against your inner thigh. “I’m already close. I just wanna feel you first."

"Well I'll never say no to that." Roger kisses the inside of your leg, before sitting up and asking, "Condoms?"

"In the drawer."

Roger nods and grabs one, along with the small bottle of lube that you had stashed in there. You're not sure that it'll be needed given how absolutely soaked you already are, but you can appreciate the care he shows in the gesture. Roger is clearly a thoughtful lover but almost to a fault; he somehow manages to shimmy out of his trousers and underwear before you can even offer to help undress him, and you have to pluck the condom out of his hand to stop him from putting that on himself too.

“Let me do something here,” you say, teasingly. You tear open the small packet, and any reply that Roger would have given is lost in another groan as you slowly roll the condom down over his cock.

You can’t resist giving Roger a few strokes, relishing the weight and feel of him in your hand. “How do you want me?” you ask him.

He stills your hand with a gentle touch and says, “Lie down on your back. I wanna see your face.”

Your heart is racing in nervous anticipation as you settle back down on the bed. Roger grins reassuringly as he braces himself above you. “Breathe, Y/N,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, slowly and carefully, and breathing is the last thing on your mind because all you can think about is how perfectly Roger fills you up. You cry out and rub your cheek against the pillow beneath you, trying so hard not to come as Roger finally comes to a stop, buried to the hilt inside you. He’s breathing heavily and trembling faintly, and you know that neither of you are going to last long once he starts moving again.

“Ready?” he asks after another minute.

You nod and barely manage to breathe out a needy, “Yes,” before Roger carefully pulls out, and thrusts back in. All you can do is moan and cling to him as he starts fucking you, slowly at first but quickly picking up pace. He’s not rough but there is a desperation to his movements, like he’s barely able to hold himself back this much. He groans and mouths at your neck, and you dig your fingers into his back so tightly that you just know they’re going to bruise, but right now neither of you care about that.

You only let go of Roger to try to touch your clit so you can finally, finally come, but Roger bats your hand away and replaces it with his own.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, panting, as his clever fingers rub over the head of your clit. “You gonna come for me, babydoll?”

“Roger,” you moan. You clench around his hard length and he groans above you, hips stuttering slightly, but he doesn’t stop his thrusting or the motion of his hand on your clit. “I’m gonna- fuck, Rog, I’m-”

You cry out as your orgasm washes over you. You clench down around Roger, setting him off only a few moments later as well. He grinds deep inside you as he comes and he ducks his head to muffle his groan in the crook of your neck. You’re breathing heavily and you shudder as Roger’s every movement sends sparks of overstimulated-pleasure racing down your spine. He finally pulls out when your sporadic clenching becomes too much for him to stand any longer, and once he disposes of the condom he collapses bonelessly next to you on the bed.

There’s a moment of near-panic where you wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You just slept with you best friend; there’s no coming back from that. Everything is going to change between you and Roger now - the one thing you were always trying to avoid - and there’s a part of you that is terrified about what happens next.

But then Roger laughs breathlessly and rolls over to face you, slinging one hand casually over your waist as he snuggles close to you, like it doesn’t even occur to him to be anything but affectionate with you. You breathe a small sigh of relief, and the smile you give him in return is bright and genuine.

“Would it be forward of me to say that I already want to do that again?” Roger asks. He’s smiling lazily at you, looking like the cat that got the cream, and it makes you want to kiss him breathless all over again.

“I don’t care if it’s forward or not, because I was thinking the same thing,” you say. You just came but with Roger pressed hot and naked against you all you can think about is getting your turn to worship him with your mouth and hands.

You lean up to kiss him and Roger meets you with the same passion and intensity that you’re feeling yourself. He drops his hand to cup your ass and encourages you to grind against him, which you do eagerly.

“Christ, Y/N, you drive me crazy,” Roger murmurs, the words nearly lost against your mouth. “What sort of friends are we, if we can’t keep our hands off each other for five minutes?”

“Oh the worst best friends, for sure,” you say, trying to suppress your giggle. Roger’s answering snort of laughter disrupts your angle and throws you off the rhythm of your grinding. You huff and add, “Of course, you’d be the best boyfriend ever if you moved your leg back to where it was…”

“Boyfriend?” Roger echoes, immediately perking up. He doesn’t move his leg back but before you can complain about that he rolls the two of you over, so you’re on your back and he’s on top of you once again.

“Yeah, boyfriend,” you say. “At least, I thought that’s where things were going.”

“They were,” Roger confirms, grinning down at you widely. “That wasn’t a complaint. I just liked hearing you call me your boyfriend.”

“Well you’re about to become the worst boyfriend again if you don’t do something-”

The rest of your complaint is lost to a moan as Roger moves his hand between your bodies, and starts you off on round two.

#long post //#my fic #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor x reader #text #roger

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rainbowpufflez · 15 days

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Bo got one singular note on his last post so here’s Gus and Lys’s breakup scenario he randomly wrote one day

It’s not like Augustine and Lysandre hadn’t had squabbles before. Little things tend to build up in relationships and sometimes things bother someone more than they usually would. But this was the first fight where things got heated. Where something was, different.

Augustine doesn’t remember how it started, what he must’ve said that caused Lysandre’s mood to shift. He remembers watching Lysandre’s muscles stiffen and his gaze go distant, brows furrowing down along with it. He remembers Lysandre making a snide remark, something that implied that Augustine was beneath him. And so it started.

Soon they were both yelling. While they both had issues communicating to each other what they needed, it had never gotten this bad before. They always found a way to calm themselves before exploding. However, they were past that point this time.

Words fell to the floor and meant nothing. Time seemed to stretch on for thousands of years between them. A never ending battle, where Augustine bared his horns in a defensive state and Lysandre squawking out shrilled calls in attempt of explanation.

“You don’t understand!”

Augustine remembers Lysandre choked out. When had they both started crying?

“Oh and how do I not understand?! Have I not been understanding?! Have I not loved you with all my heart and soul?!”

He replied with a harsh gesture back at himself. It felt like there was a ticking time bomb between them and it was on its last second.

Then it slipped out.

“Because I’d KILL for you Augustine. Because I’d DIE for you.”

The room went still.

Before Augustine even could process what was said, he shouted back.

“I NEVER asked you to do that.”

Lysandre took a step back, it seemed he realized what he said as his muscles stiffened again. And Augustine’s response only made it worse. He coiled into himself.

“Augustine, I-“

“Get out.”

He didn’t expect that response. He moved, still stiff. His talons were no longer ready for attack, instead they were opened palm out. A last attempt at solace.

“Augustine please I didn’t mean that—“

“I said get out.”

Augustine was still on defense. His hooves dug into the floor as he stood firm. He didn’t look at his counterpart. He just waited.

“Alright.” Lysandre eventually responded when he realized that it was futile to work it out now. “I’ll leave.”

There was a small shuffle, a collection of things. A bag, his keys, his coat. No words were spoken between the two as he made his way to the door.

As Lysandre reached the door he turned to face Augustine one last time. “Gus… I… I love—“

“Out.”

And so that was that. Lysandre’s brows furrowed down again at his words, not able to hide a bitter, hateful look. He gave a firm nod then swung open the door and left.

Augustine was left in silence in the middle of the room, holding himself in an attempt to not break down. But instead of mustering up any last remaining tears, or truly processing what Lysandre had said, he just felt a wave of exhaustion overcome him.

He found himself falling back on the couch, gripping at a throw pillow with a gaudy checkered design. A design Lysandre hated but he loved.

His energy drained, he found his eyes closing. And with the last remaining energy he wondered.

Had he always been that way?

#come get ur angst PerfWorldshippers #that’s why I’m here anyway /hj #I’m not too confident in my writing ability but yknow I hope yall like it!#idk how to tag this tho #Bo describes them like the legendaries cause it’s funnieee #uh-oh they’re breaking up (they need to)#Lowkey was inspired off of a song I have on their playlist #Boooo Lys ur soooo dramatic /aff #get these French people outta my brain #/j #professor sycamore #lysandre pokemon #perfectworldshipping #writing #one day I will have art again #rainbowpufflez writing #ig I’ll make a writing tag in the off chance I ever post more of my writing

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farfromstrange · 1 year

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hi can i request for angst w no comfort, matt murdock fic wherein the reader died i like angst 🥲, specially your work "angel on the roof" thank you !!!

Thank you so much for your request, lovely! I was so excited (that sounds horrible in this context) when I saw it and I was even more excited when I read what you requested (Yeah, it still sounds horrible). Angst is my forte, and I've really been in an angsty mood lately. So, I wrote this in two hours and I cried while writing it. I hope you like it! (And I also hope you're doing okay, sweetheart.) This is not about suicide like the other hurt/no comfort fic, but it still hurts the same. I hope I could live up to your expectations!

Back To December | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: He fell for you hard and fast, but all good things eventually slip through Matt Murdock's fingers, and he is left alone all over again.

Warnings: ANGST, hurt/no comfort, Character death, mentions of blood, there's a really creepy guy at the beginning (but no sexual assault!), yeah this is just angsty as fuck

Word Count: 3.2k (I got carried away)

It’s a cold December afternoon. The remains of this week’s snowfall are covering the ground and it’s cold, so cold, but he can barely feel it. Something else, something colder, something far more painful is creeping up his spine. It’s not because his clothes are soaked or the snowflakes that have latched onto his hair. He feels as if the floor has been ripped out under his feet, and it has been a long time since he last felt this way. Loneliness has become his closest companion over time and he got used to always losing and hardly ever winning. Over time, he got used to grieving, he got used to being left, and he got used to a painful hollowness in his chest that eventually started to occur more often. The hole in his chest has always been there, but merely a few days ago it had been somewhat filled.

Matt Murdock has never experienced much happiness in his life. He tried to fight the demons in his head, but eventually, he succumbed to them. He succumbed to the claws that tore at his chest and dragged him down into an endless abyss. He used to associate the color gray with his life because when he thought about it, there has never been much color. He got used to existing rather than living until someone stepped into his life that was anything but dreary.

It was in summer, he remembers, the third of July when he was walking the streets of Hell’s Kitchen on his way home from work. The noise of the city moved into the back of his mind as he tried to focus on anything but the deafening sound of injustice and everyday life. They often blurred together and mixed when he wasn’t focusing, and sometimes that was worse than when he purposely focused on his surroundings.

He was just casually walking when he heard the distinctive fast sound of footsteps straight ahead. He tilted his head curiously, not sure if it was just another teenager playing tag with their friends in the middle of the night or someone walking fast, or perhaps someone who needed his help. It was then he stretched his senses out to judge the situation, but by the time he focused on the erratic heartbeat coming his way, the person who it belonged to already stood in front of him.

It was the third of July, he knows, when you came into his life.

You were just walking home from work when a man emerged from behind one of the cars parked along the street of the shop you were working at. You had closed early, which was rare but not impossible, especially not with the heat so heavy that no one wanted to set foot outside. Even with air conditioning, you felt like dying every time you went to work.

You tried not to think too much about the stranger, your keys already clutched tightly in your hand, but when you sped up, the man sped up too. It was then your fight-or-flight response kicked in. You were a terrible fighter and would have broken your thumb before you could have caused any serious damage, so instead, you ran. You ran until the streets got lighter and finally, God finally, someone else walked the street you were on.

Not paying much mind to who the stranger was, you stopped right in front of him. Your hand caught his sleeve - you felt guilty because well, if the glasses hadn’t been an indicator, his cane surely was, and using a blind guy to get out of being mugged or God forbid, possibly even raped, felt wrong but he seemed like the kind of guy that wouldn’t mind helping. It was something about him that made you feel safe, almost.

“I need you to pretend we know each other,” you said entirely out of breath, one of your sweaty strands of hair caught on your dry lips.

He frowned, tilting his head in the direction of the other man’s steps and he realized just what you were running from.

“Please,” you begged, and he could only imagine the panic in your eyes.

He licked his lips. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, just- oh, for fuck’s sake! Kiss me.”

“Sorry, what?” Matt stammered. He thought of many things, one of them being completely screwing his disguise and beating whoever was following you into a puddle until he couldn’t walk anymore, but your request was… odd and a complete surprise, at that.

The more he thought about it though, it made sense. The man would only ease up if he saw Matt as your boyfriend and not a strange blind guy.

You looked at him expectantly and the closer the man behind you came, the faster your heart beat. If he wasn’t willing to help you, you would have to run again.

Fortunately, he caught himself fast enough to pull you in by the waist - his strength surprised you - and pressed his lips to yours. That he would do it, you never expected. It had been a weird request, of course, but the only thing you thought of that would make a possible rapist turn the other way.

You caught yourself on his arms, leaning into the kiss as if it were real, and partly it felt like it. He was an amazing kisser, you noticed, and if this had been a date you would have thoroughly enjoyed it, but the only thought in your mind was getting rid of the man that was following you. Or had been following you, anyway, because upon seeing the kiss that looked more realistic than it was, he stopped and turned back around.

When the stranger pulled away, you forgot how to breathe for a second. Your cheeks flushed, the blood rushing to your head immediately, and you pressed a hand in front of your mouth. Matt thought it was cute, although he had to contain himself from hunting down the man that even led you to make such a rash decision in the first place. Perhaps it was the fact that he was blind that made you believe he was on the good side, and the kiss seemed to have saved your ass, which he was glad about because fighting someone right in front of the eyes of an unknown stranger was not on his to-do list. The kiss hadn’t been either, but it had already happened and the awkward silence made matters worse.

Your breath hitched in your throat again. “I’m so sorry,” you said, muffled through your hand.

“Um,” Matt forgot how to speak.

“I just wasn’t sure what to do and you know, most men don’t take no for an answer and I thought- God, I am so sorry. You probably think I’m a psycho now.”

He quickly caught himself again. “Oh, no. No, I absolutely don’t think that,” he said. “I was just… surprised?”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I promise I’m not usually like this.”

“You were scared, I understand.”

“I really didn’t know what else to do.”

It was the truth, and the more he spoke to you, the more he realized your heartrate was going down. You were safe.

“Okay,” you bit your lip, “Okay, I should probably go. Nice meeting you. I’m just gonna-” as you distanced yourself, you pointed behind yourself in the direction you were originally headed, “Yeah, I’m just gonna go.”

“Wait,” Matt heard himself object to your attempt to leave.

You halted, surprised he would even want to talk to you after what happened. A small smile rested on his lips. The same lips you had just kissed.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The first time he heard your name was on July third, the night dark and hot, and it was the same night you kissed him for the first time. It was a kiss out of desperation, a way to save yourself from the grabby hands of a stranger, and yet, when he asked for your name, he received an answer.

“I’m Matt,” he introduced himself.

July third was the day you came into his life and from then on, you refused to leave. His senses got used to your scent, your taste, and the feel of your skin under his fingers when he had first kissed you. His ears got used to the sound of your voice, and the feeling of your name on his tongue became natural.

One meeting turned into two and eventually, only a month after, in fact, he realized he had done the one thing he never expected himself to do ever again: he fell for you. He fell fast and hard, the first tint of color in his dull life, and the pain in his chest got a little more bearable with you by his side. You became the light in the darkness, the one person he could always turn to, and when you found out who he was - who the man behind the black mask was, you didn’t run.

You found out one night when you used your key to get into his apartment. He hadn’t answered any of your calls and he felt guilty, but then you stood in his apartment just as he walked through the door. He had a huge gash on his side and he was sure he wouldn’t make it to the couch in time. When he heard your heartbeat and the way it jumped when you saw him, he was sure death would be kinder than having to listen to you leaving, but the anticipated moment of rejection never came.

The light of his life stayed. You had dropped everything to hold him up. You patched him up and you held him as he writhed in pain, and when he was finally patched up and safe, he caught your wrist.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked him.

He hissed, not sure if it was because of emotional or physical pain, but perhaps both. You sounded small, worried almost, but the sound of your heartbeat was the most familiar to him and so he knew that you weren’t scared, you were merely curious.

And that was when he knew that he had fallen head over heels in love with you.

“I wanted to protect you,” he said.

The thought of losing you had been his greatest fear. You were the color he desperately needed, the reason for him to keep going. He thought that, with your help, he could make it. He thought his life could finally be normal.

But even the most beautiful of flowers die eventually. It’s a slow death, usually, a constant process of withering. With you though, it was fast and it was the hardest thing he ever had to do. You weren’t a flower, you were human and he realized that too late one night.

On July third, he swore to protect you, always. He swore to save you, to hold you and take care of you until his dying breath. On the third of December though, his worst fear became reality, and suddenly, the tint of color in his life was flickering like the billboard outside of his apartment that you had often complimented. The tint of color in his life, the beautiful flower, the light that kept him going, stood right in front of him and he barely had the time to open his mouth when the shot rang out.

Why did you have to follow him, anyway? You were foolish but you had been so worried, you stormed out of your apartment, determined to find him. The rooftop you finally found him on was dark just like his life had been before you.

You were so relieved to see him alive, you didn’t notice the dark shadow on the floor or the clinging of metal that filled the air. “Matt!” you called out, but his mouth opened and instead of words, you could hear the faint blow of a gun.

The shot rang out and for a moment you thought it hit him. For a moment, you were worried, and then the sharp pain tore through your abdomen and you knew, the shot wasn’t meant for him.

His arms caught you as you fell. Matt wasn’t sure what was worse, the feeling of your blood running through his fingers as he pushed on the gaping wound on your abdomen or the erratic sound of your fading heartbeat as it tried its best to beat for you, to supply your body with blood, but it couldn’t pump so fast as to catch up with the speed you were losing it again.

“Matt-” you smiled when you saw his face. “You’re safe,” you said. “I thought you weren’t safe.”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he told you, and he tried hard not to sob - your heart had become his favorite song, a symphony that was unique in itself, but now it was running out like a broken record. The sand in the hourglass ran faster than he could catch you.

You choked. The missing fear in your voice told him that you knew. Oh, you knew you weren’t going to make it.

“You foolish, foolish- Jesus,” he bent over you, his hand still tightly pressed against your abdomen, but the sharp pain you had felt was gone. You just felt numb now. “I told you to stay home,” he said. His voice cracked at the end because now even he knew, deep down, that you weren’t going to make it out of this.

And he had just found you. It didn’t seem fair.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “I was just-” you coughed again, and he could taste the copper in the air from where it ran down the corner of your mouth. “I was worried,” you breathed.

He shushed you again. “It’s okay,” the first tear descended his cheek and met with yours, “You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get you out of here and fixed up, okay? Hey-” Your eyes drooped, but he held your face with such force, you felt compelled to open them again, but you were tired. Oh, you were so tired.

It was your time to tell him, “It’s okay.”

Your body was wracked with a terrible wave of shivers and even though he was holding you tightly to his chest, his body was just cold air to you. Everything was cold.

“No, don’t close your eyes! You have to stay with me, sweetie, okay? Just a little longer.”

“I can’t.” And he knew you couldn’t.

“You don’t get to do that, not yet. It’s not time yet. We have so much-” he grunted in the back of his throat. “Remember you told me about the pyramids in Egypt? You wanted to go there,” he said, and at this point, he was crying more than he was smiling. “So you have to stay awake, okay? Stay awake for me, baby.”

You reached out your weak hand, touching his cheek. There was blood on your fingers and it smeared on his cheekbone. Your touch was cold. You used to be so warm and now you were simply cold, and your heartbeat turned into tiny beats after another.

“We both know I’m not gonna make it,” you said with all the strength you had left.

“No,” he was determined, “Don’t say that. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Matthew-” the call of his full name was almost unfamiliar. “Matthew, listen. Listen to my heart.”

“I am, baby, and it is still beating, that means there is still time. I can save you. I can-”

“No, you don’t understand,” you said. Your hand moved from his cheek to the left side of his chest. “I’m always going to be here.”

“Stop,” he sobbed. “God, don’t do this to me. You can’t do this. You have to hold on.”

“It’s time,” you said.

“No, baby, please-”

“It’s time for me to go, Matthew.”

“No.”

Your hand dropped, your muscles too weak to hold your body up anymore. Thud, thud, thud. He focused on your heartbeat, but he soon realized that it wasn’t yours, it was his. His own heartbeat was louder than yours, but it had the same beat, it played to the same rhythm as yours. Your bodies aligned, but the blood, oh the blood. Your scent was overshadowed by the smell and the taste of pure blood and it made him sick.

“I-” you choked again, but the sentence you wanted to say needed to be said, no matter how strong those claws were that were just waiting to pull you underwater. “I love you,” your voice broke like fragile glass upon impact, “and I always will.”

His forehead fell against yours. You were so cold. Matt held you, he held you to keep you warm, but you were getting colder by the minute and your blood seeped through his fingers, through his shirt, and that was when he realized.

“No,” he desperately felt for your heart, but the familiar melody was gone. He couldn’t feel you, he couldn’t touch you, he couldn’t smell you. He could only hold your limp body as the life left your body and your soul with you.

On December third, you died in his arms. On December third, he had to deliver your body to the hospital, but you were long gone when they found you. He knew you were gone, but he had held you for a while longer, trying to find the life inside of you, trying to keep his hope alive, but on December third, you died, and with you, all the color in his life faded into the darkest of blacks.

Matt Murdock remembers the day he met you and he remembers the day you died. As he is standing over your grave now, the snow feels numb on his soaked clothes. What is creeping up his spine is worse than the cold of December. The pain of losing you is colder than snow, it’s colder than anything he has ever felt before. The cold has crept into his heart and frozen whatever life had been left inside of him. You died and he couldn’t save you. He had to bury you because he just couldn’t save you.

You were the light of his life and Matt lost that, too, like he has lost everything in his life. It's then he truly starts to believe that everything he touches is supposed to rot and die. Everything he has ever touched, no matter how beautiful, has turned ugly, dark, and gray, and then eventually, dead. Cold, dark, and dead.

You were an explosion of wonderful colors but now you were gray, just like his life. A gray stone on the cemetery behind Clinton Church, your body cold, your blood branded into his skin and he cries. He stands at your grave and cries because you’re still in his head, you’re still in his heart, and it kills him that a memory is all he has left of you. He longs to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you like he had many times before, but you’re gone.

His sweater smells of your perfume, his sheets smell of your bodywash and your essence still lingers in the air of his apartment, no matter how many times he opens a window, and then there is your name that suddenly everyone seems to have. He searches for you when it rings out, but you’re not there.

On December third, you died, and with your memory lingering everywhere, he would go back to December all the time. And it breaks him to know you’re not there.

#tw: death #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x gender neutral reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock fic #daredevil fic #hurt/no comfort #matt murdock angst #this is pure pain #request <3

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