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cashmoneyyysstuff · 3 months

Note

So, that deja vu fic got me thinking.. and what if katsuki has a childhood friend (obvi friends w deku too) where he is always trying to impress her and class 1-a notices or ( if you’d like them older ) the agency notices and starts betting on when he’ll confess to her. turns out, she actually confesses first and everyone is happy (and slightly disappointed… nobody got their money) 😋😋

Also, when i saw the notification “@cashmoneyyysstuff started following you” i have never hit a follow back button so fast 😭🫶

Remember you’re amazing, take care of yourself, drink water, stay safe, and know that you are loved ❤️

WAAAA @itzjustj-1000 this is soo cute ! especially since katsuki being a loser n tryin to impress us instead of just confessing is honestly adorable. ALSO ALSO ur LITERALLY THE SWEETEST !! ur the loveliest it's a given i had to follow u !! i tried to honour ur request as best i could, i hope you like it ! also say it w me yall: WEEWOOO WEEWOOO CHILDHOODFRIENDS TO LOVERS ALEEEEEERRTTT (yall r forcing my hand atp (not that im complaining tho))

fem reader, katsuki is a whipped little loser, katsuki likes getting praised by reader but acts like he doesn't challenge (fails miserably), kaminari n sero are little shits, m*neta (he doesn't say anything creepy don't worry <3) everyone is in their 2nd year in this one. lemme know if i missed something else !

for as long as izuku midoriya could remember, you and kacchan have always been a packaged deal.

deku remembers all the way back in primary school, how kacchan would bend over backwards to impress you, spending his days trying to win your praise like he was collecting it. whether it be showing off how good his reading skills were, or showing off his newly acquired quirk to you at any given chance. (away from the eyes of the teachers, of course)

or even with silly things. like the time he showed you how long he could hold his breath underwater. it didn't matter, as long as he could show it off to you, he would.

deku remembers how pride would fill his childhood friends face, cheeks practically glowing and a smile basically reaching his ears. a simple "woooah, you're so cool kacchan !" had the boastful blonde giddy for the entire day, chest puffed out as he walked ahead of everyone, with you right next to him, of course. (you were the only one worthy enough to stand by his side after all)

and though he spent his time trying to win your praise, he also needed your attention constantly. katsuki constantly demanded your attention. he's the only one who's allowed to sit next to you in class, you're always the one he picks first when it's time to pick teams to play dodgeball. he's your partner for every project and you're the one who walks beside him when you and your friends go venture out in the woods to go out on your adventures. and even though they would usually take place in the park, katsuki always claimed he'd be the one to protect you if anything were to happen.

as kids, deku was probably the only one who noticed how hard katsuki tried to impress you.

and he's probably the only one to notice how he still does it now.

"sooo...kacchan totally has a thing for yn, agreed ?"

"mhm. definitely."

"yup."

"'m suprised you just noticed that now, kaminari...actually i'm not really suprised." jirou drawled, twirling one of her earphone jacks around her finger.

okay, so apparently he isn't the only one who noticed.

kaminari pouts "i noticed ! i noticed, like, ages ago !" he huffs into his folded elbows on the desk " i just wanted to see if you guys did !"

"you'd be stupid to miss it." sero cuts in smoothly. their grouchy homeroom teacher somehow ended up absent, leading to an impromptu free period. which in turn caused for loads of gossip he had somehow gotten roped into. kirishima, kaminari and sero were talking about you and katsuki, happily chatting off about something they couldn't hear from where they were sitting.

"maaaannn, bakugou's way too lucky, scoring such a pretty girl. what's he got that i don't ?!" kaminari whines. kirishima shushes him lightly, afraid to rouse the attention of a certain blonde they just so happened to be talking about

"now that i think about it.." sero wondered, leaning onto kirishima's shoulder "midoriya, you guys are childhood friends, right ? have they always been..." he cuts himself off, pointing over at you both with his chin for midoriya to look back. ".. like that ?"

you're chatting about something that's apparently funny or exciting, with katsuki listening along attentively, his head resting in his palm like he's admiring you. his full focus entirely on you, as it usually was.

you're using your hands a lot while you're talking and deku recognizes it as the thing you do when you've gotten to the juicy part of the conversation, deku almost wishes he could listen in, then remembers it's not good to be nosy and shakes the thought away. every once in a while katsuki interjects with a subtle smirk on his face and his remarks have you either giggling or playfully pouting at him unable to hide your smile. the playfulness in his heavy lidded red eyes remains at any reaction you give him, though. kacchan's worked on his poker face over the years but it seems he can't control himself when it comes to you.

izuku realizes he's been openly staring for too long and quickly turns back to look at sero who raises an eyebrow, awaiting a response.

izuku chuckles to himself "yeah, pretty much." he hums, playing around with the ends of his tie as he speaks.

"oooouu~" kaminari sings, suddenly lifting his head up from where it was hidden into his shoulder with a sudden burst of energy, startling kirishima. "juicy details about kacchan, i'm in !"

"i don't know if it's exactly 'juicy'" izuku sweatdropped, chuckling awkwardly. "but kacchan and yn have always been really close. when we were younger, kacchan would always be seeking out yn's attention. he'd be really possesive..or protective over her, i guess ?—it was all pretty harmless though." he recounted, smiling softly at his childhood memories nostalgically pouring into his mind.

both kirishima and sero let out quiet hums when he finishes while denki simply pouts "s'not as juicy as i thought it would be" he huffs petulantly, receiving a knock on his head from jirou who hisses a "he told you that, idiot"

kirishima places his head into the palm of his hands and sighs dreamingly "man, that's so cute. bakugou's been a major softie for yn for so long.." he clenches his fist and izuku thinks he sees a little tear in his eye "so manly !" he exclaims through his sharp teeth.

"yeah, i don't know if 'manly' is the word i'd use to describe someone who's been whipped for so long and still doesn't have the balls to confess" sero ribbed, snickering to himself with denki joining in shortly after.

"hey, don't be assholes !" jirou shot "i think it's kinda cute y'know ? not really..manly..but—cute." she said.

"how much you wanna bet he's not gonna confess until graduation?" kaminari challenged.

"wouldn't put it past 'im." a voice suddenly chimes in. the five of them all turn their heads left, right then down at the voice that came from none other than mineta, who had somehow wormed his way into the conversation.

"and what the hell do you think you're doing sneaking into our conversation, freak" jirou sneers, glaring down at mineta who had already dragged his chair over, including himself into the group.

mineta decides to ignore jirou as he places his arms onto the desk seriously like he's imitating some type of mafia don. " bakugou's never gonna confess any time soon, he's too much of a pussy" he waves off nonchalantly "i bet he won't even have done it by the time we've finished school ! "

" and i bet you wouldn't say that to his face !" kaminari guffaws and the purple haired boy sputters. izuku can't hold back his grin as he watches them bicker.

" kacchan's always been pretty..sure of himself" he settles "i don't think it'd take him that long to confess" he guessed, pressing his thumb onto his chin "though maybe the fact that he's so sure of himself could hold him back.."

ah, there he goes again.. the rest of them thought as they watch midoriya babble on and on into theory land.

denki suddenly slams his fists on the desks, startling everyone. he sucks in a breath "alright ! i bet a thousand yen and the entirety of my lunch box that bakugou won't confess by the end of this year !" he exclaims, not too loud but loud enough so everyone in the group could hear him.

"oooouu~ what're we betting on ?" mina chimes in, suddenly appearing behing jirou and in turn startling her. she flashes her a little glare causing the pink haired girl to offer a weak apology and a hug.

"kaminari just bet a thousand yen and his lunch that bakugou won't confess to yn by the end of this year" sero smirked, clearly enjoying the drama

" ou, that sounds fun ! lemme join in too !" the pink skinned girl pleaded giving her best puppy eye and pout combo.

"sure ! just don't come cryin' to me when you lose" kaminari agrees, playfully jabbing at his friend.

"this is so stupid. i'm not betting money on this.."jirou scoffs rubbing at her temple. "c'moooonnn, don't be chicken, jirou ! " denki whines

"mhmm, c'moonn jirou give into peer pressure !" mina joins in, wrapping her arms around the purple haired girl and swaying her side to side.

jirou groans before finally conceding "..five hundred yen. that's all you're getting from me." she concludes sourly crossing her arms.

" i'm gonna go with kaminari's and say his balls won't drop 'till graduation" sero says simply, smirking almost mischieviously at the display of sudden chaos. he looks a little too pleased, izuku sweatdrops.

"i'm not betting on my bro, that's so unmanly." kirishima refused " i say just let them go at their own pace" he finishes, receiving a nasty look from his chaotic classmates.

needless to say kirishima gave in to peer pressure soon after, offering a modest 1,100 yen by this summer for his friend to confess.

"well i stand on what i said, i don't think he has the balls to say it at all. and i put that on all the money in my pockets ! " mineta proudly spoke.

"how much is that, like, one fruit roll-up ?" mina deadpanned, not missing a beat causing the group to erupt in laughter. mineta's objection's falling on deaf ears.

meanwhile, katsuki notices you've stopped talking all of a sudden. it takes him by surprise as you were so into it a minute ago. "what's up ?" he asks. his question snaps you out of your trance and you jump slightly, turning back to look at him "oh , nothing ! they just seem to be having fun " you gasp, a smile crawling up on your face as you look back at your friends having a good time.

katsuki on the other hand has a slight pout forming on his face, displeased at how his loud mouthed friends distracted you from your conversation. and from him he thinks, but that makes him feel like a snot nosed little kid again and his expression turns even more sour.

"tch. the fuck are those losers so loud for" he grumbles under his breath. you catch it though, and you giggle. his eyes brighten and his brows unfurrow the slightest bit when he hears it.

"don't be such a buzzkill katsu, s'not their fault you're no fun." you jest, chuckling to yourself when he scowls at you.

"fuck off ! m'not a buzzkill" he rolls his eyes, huffing indignantly "an' i'm plenty of fun" he finishes grumpily. you laugh a little more, covering your mouth with your hand when you catch a peak of him narrowing his eyes at you making fun of him. he simply rolls his eyes and sighs, shaking his head. he'll let it slide, he always does with you.

"right, right. my apologies, sir dynamight" you chuckle, bowing slightly at him, he huffs out a laugh "that's sir lord explosion murder god dynamight to you" he snorts. you throw your head back and laugh and katsuki feels the same pride he used to feel when he'd found something cool to show you back when you were brats. his stomach feels fuzzy and his head feels clouded the way it used to when you'd offer him your big, bright sparkly eyes and a "you're so cool kacchan !"

god, it never failed to remind him how much of a whipped loser he was for you.

and unfortunately still is.

you scoot your chair a little closer to his and katsuki has to use all of his might not to blush at the sudden proximity, as miniscule as the distance between you both was to begin with.

"well okay then, sir lord explosion murder god dynamight" you say rapidly, laughing to yourself. katsuki let's out a breathy chuckle, it's cute. he's cute. " i'm sure it doesn't mean much, but i at least think you’re plenty fun to be around"

katsuki feels his heart skip a beat too many.

you whisper, like it's a secret. you're in your own little corner while all your classmates are chatting away yet you say this to him like it's something between you and him. batting your eyelashes up at him. god, it's like you're out to kill him and honestly katsuki thinks for a second he wouldn't mind dying by your hand.

he's such a whipped loser.

he can't think straight. you're sitting so close to him, you're lips are glossy from that lip gloss you always have on you. you smell nice, katsuki feels like a creep for smelling you like you aren't a breath away from him.

"yeah, well.." he utters lowly. he licks his lips, feeling himself grow dizzy as he watches you watch the movement intensely and swallows. his adam's apple bobs and he can feel himself blushing like an idiot. " i don't think you're all that bad either" the end of his sentence comes out a little breathy, he barely realizes he's speaking. like his body is deciding for him, he doesn't mind much.

you give him a sweet little smile and your eyes shine like stars and you look up at him like he's everything, like he's the coolest. he wants you to look at him like this all the time.

you suddenly lean in and kiss him, right next to his lips, just at the corner. it lasts for about 0.3 seconds but katsuki feel his entire body exploding from the inside like he's let off his quirk onto himself.

"i take it back actually" you start "you're super cool to be around, kacchan." you whisper bashfully. katsuki huffs out a little laugh once his heart had stabilized itself a little bit, a small smile growing on his face—

" AW MAN? WHAT THE HELL ?!"

you both turn to the sound of your electric classmate, sporting a little pout on his face. proceeding to get dog-piled on by your other classmates surrounding him, causing him to let out whines and moans of complaint.

"i-ignore him !" mina waves off nervously "just keep doin' what you were doin !— i mean, we weren't watching or anything !" she splutters.

"nice one." jirou deadpanned sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "look, we don't mean to pry or anything, but who kissed who first ?"

at that, katsuki's cheeks flare up, turning a damn near violent shade of pink. he's about to yell obscenties at his classmates, about to tell them it's none of their business when-

" i did !" you giggle, a cat-like grin on your face

"you sneaky fuckin minx-" katsuki growls, shoving his index fingers into your sides and you let out a squeal mixed with a giggle. you're quickly drowned out by your classmates releasing a group groan, with sero and kaminari yelling and booing at katsuki, who in turn starts threathing them, his hands crackling and popping.

you don't exactly know what's happening, but you can't help but feel extremely joyful and happy.

"soo.." mineta starts "since i said bakugou wouldn't confess first doesn't that technically mean i-"

" IN YOUR DREAMS ! "

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natailiatulls07 · 7 months

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please more leclerc!reader with her brothers !!

Let her go

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - Y/n is getting married and her older brothers is learning to let her go

Warning - Herve Leclercs death, poor translation of French

A/n - I know I haven't finished the golden trio but look I've been wanting to post a written fic for a while now and I have seen so many brothers first look tiktoks so thats what you're getting today!! 😚

2017

Herve Leclerc was on his last days when he called his three sons to his hospital room. "Papa? Is everything okay?" Lorenzo asked of his dying father.

"My three sons as you know I'm nearing my last day and I only have one thing to ask of you..." The three brother surrounded their fathers bed, Charles and Lorenzo sitting in seats on each side of the bed with Arthur sitting at the feet of the hospital bed. "I want you three to step up and take my place in protecting, caring and loving your sister"

Herve adored his sons equally but he had a different sort of adoration for his youngest. Since her birth, he has always thought of her as an angel. "Of course...we'll do anything you ask of us Papa" Charles answered his fathers orders, alike their father they also felt that level of undying adoration for their younger sister.

Charles had sat Y/n down on the plush couch in their Monte Carlo childhood home. "Chérie...Papa died last night" It broke the twenty year old's heart to see his sister find out about their fathers death. He could see her eyes gloss over and fill with salty tears.

He took her into his arms as she started to sob. "He loved you so much, and he said he will watch over us always..." He could feel himself breaking down at his sisters reaction. But Charles knew it was coming.

The twenty year old Monégasques knew it wouldn't be easy for anyone, not for their mother, not for him, Lorenzo, Arthur or her. But they would do what they always did, push through and come out stronger.

2023

Waking up today, all three of the Leclerc brothers knew it would be both a hard and joyous day for them. It was the day they would have to give away their sister, the sister they promised to their father they would cherish, protect and love in his place. But today they'd need to give her away to the love of her life.

They were staying in the childhood home, back in their childhood bedrooms. When planning her wedding with her fiancé, Y/n insisted they have it in Monte Carlo. Of course her fiancé agreed, knowing how she wanted to be close to her late father on her wedding day.

Getting out of his bed, Charles made his way down to the kitchen where Pascale and Lorenzo were sat eating breakfast. “Bonjour” He announced his presence before making a start on his coffee.

“So where is the bride?” Turning to look at his mother, Charles wondered how Y/n was feeling this special morning.

There was a audible sigh from Pascale. “Well your sister couldn’t sleep last night so I imagine she is currently still sleeping” Both Lorenzo and Charles had concerned looks on their faces.

Noticing their concern, Pacale continued "She couldn't sleep because she was too excited. Don't worry no cold feet" She knew every single one of her children, Pascale knew all too well that her three sons would be overly worried for their sister.

The two oldest sons just nodded, concern evidently gone.

There was a knock on the front door. Charles, who was talking with Arthur on the sofa, got up to answer the door. Behind the door stood, the maid of honour and the rest of the bridal party. "Hello Ladies, how can I help you?" Charles joked before stepping aside letting them in.

"We're here for the special bride, where might she be?" The maid of honour asked as she looked around the open plan kitchen and living room where Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo currently sat. After hearing the question, Pascale quickly pointed up the stairs to which the excited party followed.

After watching the girls running upstairs, Charles moved to sit back down on the couch. As he sat down, all the Leclerc brothers and Pascale could hear was the sounds of excitement.

It had been a few hours since the bridal party arrived and everyone had now gotten ready. Standing on the balcony was Arthur, Lorenzo and Charles, all facing away from the balcony doors and more towards the Monte Carlo harbour.

Y/n insisted they do a first look for the brothers, so that’s why she was stood just behind her three older brothers. “Maman are you filming?” She asked of her mother who stood off to the side filming. Pascale nodded. “Okay, you guys can turn around now”

Turning around, each brother now faced their Y/n. She was dressed in her long white gown, hair done and makeup perfected. Tears welled up in their eyes, they could remember the day she was born and how they watched her grow up into the incredible woman.

“Oh chérie tu es si belle” Arthur was the first pipe up from their stunned state, walking towards her before bring her into a careful hug.

Soon enough Lorenzo followed, hugging his sister. “Je t'aime tellement petite princesse” Even now when she was just about to get married, he still used his nickname for her. The same nickname he has used since her birth.

After stepping aside, Charles was the last one to break his stunned state. “Cha Cha…?” Y/n called out for him, everyone knew he was the closest to her, that he loved her the most.

“Mon rayon de soleil…” Finally he stepped forward, taking her hands in his. “Je suis si fier de toi” Through his tears was a soft smile the same smile he had when Y/n started high school, when Y/n graduated and when Y/n was born.

The next question meant so much to Charles, even more than anything else. “Cha Cha…m'accompagner dans l'allée?” She was asking him to take their fathers place and walk her down the aisle before giving her away.

In that moment, he really felt like he had accomplished the one thing his father asked of him and that was to take his father place once he was gone.

Nodding aggressively, Charles crashed Y/n into a hug. “Oui oui oui bien sûr!”

#formula one #formula one x reader #formula two #formula two x reader #charles leclerc #arthur leclerc #lorenzo leclerc #charles leclerc x sister #arthur leclerc x sister #lorenzo leclerc x sister #charles lechair #lando norris #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #carlos sainz #lewis hamilton #oscar piastri #ferrari racing

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fic-over-cannon · 5 months

Text

Always and Forever

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason tries to end things after a bad patrol. you won’t give him up without a fight.

tags: f!reader, smut, kissing, biting, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering (mention) cock warming, orgasm denial (kind of), belly bulge, size kink (if you squint), overstimulation, creampie (if you think this is misproperly tagged please let me know) minors and ageless blogs do not interact

rated e (mdni) | wc: 5.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing smut (or a fic of this length) so please be gentle! if you find jason a little ooc, i’m still working on getting his ‘voice’ right, so just consider him one of the many versions we’ve all come to love. this started as a single smut scene and grew feelings and a bit of plot from there. this was definitely a labour of love so i hope you all enjoy it!

“We’re done. Us. All of it. You’re free to leave.”

The modulated voice of the Red Hood startles you. It’s nearly six in the morning, and you’ve been up since three when Jason didn’t return from patrol like he promised. He’s still in his Hood gear, hasn’t bothered to take off the helmet or even the boots crusted in who knows what. The leather jacket has taken a beating, and in the dim light of your apartment living room it glistens damply like he was caught in the earlier rain. He won’t even look in your direction, hands fisted at his sides, the darkened leather of his gloves taut across his knuckles. Jason didn’t come home like he promised and now he can’t even bear to look at you as he tears your heart in two. It’s understandable then, that when your voice returns to you and you can breathe around the lump in your throat, that your voice shatters the silence.

“Look at me. Look. At. Me.”

Only the way that his body locks up, somehow tenser than before, deflates you. A whole night’s worry and frustration drained away.

“Jay? Please take off the helmet and look at me.”

His black curls are matted to his forehead with sweat. His one white streak is dark with it,. Somewhere along the way he must have ditched the domino mask, because the sight of his bare face twists something tight in your chest. His beautiful eyes are red rimmed, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw. He looks at you the way a dying man looks at salvation. Realization dawns slowly for you.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain, did you?”

A sharp nod, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t look away. Now you’ve noticed, you can’t stop. There’s a faint blood spray on the front of the helmet, barely visible from where Jason’s placed it on the counter. The leather jacket is soaked through with blood, darker splotches on his tac pants from where it’s followed gravity. The grime on his boots now looks rusty, though that might just be your imagination. Jason’s come home hours late covered in blood and is telling you to leave. This time, your voice is startlingly gentle.

“Jay we talked about this. You promised no life altering conversations when you’re covered in blood, remember?”

At the time, had been a joke. A promise made after a close call, when Jason was still loopy from sedation and painkillers and insisting he was going to duel Doc Leslie for your honour. Finally lucid, he had sheepishly promised no more dramatic ultimatums when he's covered in blood.

“But you need to—“

“No. You promised. What’s going to happen is you’re going to leave all your gear at the front door and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’re going to tell me if you’re injured and let me fix you up if you are. Then you’re going to shower. Then, and only then are we going to have this discussion.”

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

He caves at the way your whole body sags under the weight of one word. Carefully toes off his boots and socks, peels the stiff tac pants off, and lays his top and jacket on top of the whole pile. Reveals a smattering of bruises down his arms and along his rib cage. To get to the ensuite he has to walk past you and through your shared bedroom. The heat of him passing by has you turning after him, a star caught in his orbit, words curling to ash on your tongue. It’s only when he’s firmly out of sight that you allow yourself to collapse into the couch. Head lolling back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Blankly you watch the headlights of passing cars loom and fade across the ceiling.

You do your best not to cry but wet trails burn down your face. You dash them away, but it does nothing to make you feel better. You don’t know if you’ll survive the coming conversation, a litany of “he doesn’t love me anymore, or at least not enough to keep me” is running through your head. Something is wrong, you think. Usually after a rough night, Jason can’t get enough of you. He comes home to your shared apartment and holds you, needs to feel the touch of your skin and the heat of your breath to truly know you’re alive. He's never the most talkative on the worst nights, but he always reaches out. Mumbles into your throat just to hear your replies, get you to distract him with chatter about your own day. He’ll act like he’s touch starved, press his split knuckles to the back of your hand, pull you into him until his nose is buried in the crook of your neck, pet and touch whatever bare skin is in reach. You're used to shaking off the vestiges of sleep to Jason between your thighs, fingers and tongue skillfully opening you up before he slides his cock inside, splitting you open just to feel you tighten around him. Tonight he hasn’t even reached out to hold your hand.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Jason stands in the doorway to your shared bedroom. Wet from his shower, the streetlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the water still beading on his skin. The bruises look less stark now. You look at him and feel love. You look at him and see the man you gave the most vulnerable parts of yourself to, ready to hand them back to you on a platter. Rolling your head to look at him properly, you notice he hasn't bothered to dress, wrapped in a towel like he couldn't wait to put off this conversation a moment longer. Your eyes meet, and it snaps whatever trance he's in. He shuffles over to you, eyes asking for permission to join you on the couch. The couch dips under his weight, and you turn on your side to face him, legs curling up to your chest.

"I'm glad you're home."

You reach out to brush his face, aching to remind yourself that's he's real but he shies back from the motion, denies you both the comfort of contact.

"Don’t. I'm not— I'm not good for you. We can't— I'm not gonna do this to you anymore."

"Do what to me Jason?" you ask, genuinely puzzled "Be us? I chose this, I chose you, and I have kept on choosing you from the beginning. I don't understand." By the end, you're truly pleading, begging with your voice and eyes and body for him to explain this to you. To explain why he's trying to make this choice for you.

"Bein' with me puts you in danger," he says slowly, carefully. "You think you know what you've signed up for but you don't. Not really. I painted a target on your back and now the worst of Gotham are gonna come sniffin’ at your door. You're never gonna be safe with me and I don't want to be the reason why you're hurt. You deserve better than me and a life of looking over your shoulder. I can't give you that, I'll never be able to give you that."

And oh, that hurts. The way he says it, dripping with self-loathing and certainty, cracks your heart open. It speaks of long held fears and convictions that he will never be good enough, that he is too broken and too dangerous to be loved.

"Did something happen tonight?" you ask, searching for a reason, anything, that would have brought old wounds to light.

"What?" Tension laces his body tight. There's a wild look in his eyes, shifting closer to green than blue.

"Jay, you made all of those risks clear to me before we were even real friends. So, what happened tonight to make you so sure that you'll be the death of me?"

Something about the way you state the question so matter of factly unsettles him enough to reply. "Heard some chatter down at docks about Black Mask setting up a new warehouse. Tonight was just supposed to be easy. Just about fuckin' with him, get B and Wing time to gather evidence on his new operation. He was waiting for us, probably set the whole thing up as a trap. Did a whole melodramatic monologue too 'bout how if we were gonna threaten his operation — the only thing that means anything to him — then turnabout’s fair play."

He's paused in his remembered anger, hands flexing against the couch cushions. You nod, trying to encourage him, not wanting to break the spell that got him talking in the first place. But you really don't like where this was headed. When he speaks again, its in a whisper.

"He knew your name. He knew who you are to me and he knew your fucking name."

The fear that jolts through you at that statement is matched by the intensity in his eyes. Distractedly you notice that you can’t feel your fingers. Heart racing, the only thing grounding you is the weave of the cushion under your cheek.

"Okay, we can— we can handle this. It'll be difficult but I can—"

"He's dead," Jason interrupts.

"He's what." All trains of thought come to a crashing stop.

"I killed him."

Its a confession and a plea for forgiveness wrapped in one. He can't quite look you in the eyes anymore, his whole demeanor screaming shame. Stunned and wide-eyed all you can do is drink him in, this incredible, ridiculous man. Car headlights cut through the shadows, lighting up the planes of his face and catching on the still too-green of his eyes. Somewhere along the way you've moved closer. His face is only a breath away and in the silence it feels unbearably intimate.

You can't help blurting out, "Can I kiss you?" The thought of being unable to touch him any longer is utterly unthinkable. Not when he's right in front of you, lips parted and waiting for you to pronounce judgement over him. He nods, shyly, and then you're in his lap. His face is cradled in your hands, eyes wide as he looks up at you. His lips are warm when you finally give in to the urge to taste him. They're rough from where he's bitten them but they're pliant against yours. Drawing back, you rest your forehead on his, unwilling to be any further apart.

"He had your name in his fuckin' mouth and I couldn't let him live for that. So yeah, I killed him. Him and every one a his lieutenants in the room that heard." Jason pauses, tries to gauge your reaction, continues on more self-consciously. "B and Wing couldn’t stop me and I didn’t want them to. He was a threat to you and I didn't know. You could have died and I wouldn't even've known what to protect you from." He tries to pull back from you, but you don't let him. Lets his motion pull you along with him, hands still cradling his face.

"Is that where all the blood is from? You're not hiding any injuries besides the bruises from me?" you ask worriedly. He's done it before, but you'd hoped he'd learned to trust you better. Jason goes to remove your hands from his face and you don't resist. He presses soft kisses to each of your palms before folding them to his bare chest right over his heart.

"Fuck sweetheart, I tell you that I've just killed a roomful of men and you want to know if I'm okay? You're not angry that I killed, again?" And oh he looks so ready for you to reject him. Waiting for you to turn away, to call him a monster, for your love to turn to horror.

When you speak, the words come out slowly, each syllable weighed out with care. "Am I bad person if I say that I'm grateful?" You can feel his heartbeat speeding up under your hands as you speak. "Because I am Jay, I'm so, so grateful. I'm grateful that I'll never have to worry about a bullet in the dark or getting taken off the street. Mostly I'm grateful that I won't be used to hurt you. But I'm also so very sorry Jay that you had to kill again." He shudders at that, closes his eyes and squeezes your hands tight tight tight. "I know that you were trying so, so hard not to kill, to live by your family's rules and I'm so sorry that you had to break that promise to yourself. Can you forgive me for putting you in that impossible position?"

"I— I don't need your forgiveness, not for this. But don't you see? I'm the reason you were danger. If I hadn't a been quick enough, if there's ever a day when I'm not fast enough, then you'd've died." At that he stops, swallows thickly, like he's considering a world where he doesn't save you. "This doesn’t end just ‘cause Black Mask’s dead. It’s every enemy the Hood has ever made knowing that my heart’s walking around outside my body.” And that, that makes your breath catch in your throat. Stuns you enough that you’re not fully prepared for what he says next. “So this, you and me, it's gotta be done. I'll move out tomorrow, pack things up later. I won't leave you unprotected, I'll— I'll still patrol but you won't have to see me again. You can have a clean start."

Now, now you are angry. Pushing off his chest you lever yourself upright, forcing him to look up at you. Straddled across his lap your balance is precarious at best but you need him to see you, to realize that what you say next is what you mean with every wretched part of you.

"No."

"No?" He's looking up at you, glazed eyes and mouth open wide with shock.

"No. Jason Peter Todd you do not get to make this decision for me." With every word you push your finger into his chest for emphasis, your whole body shaking with the force you're putting behind your words. "I knew the risks because you told me about them. I decided that I could live with them if it meant having you. I told you always and forever. I meant it then and I mean it now. So this, you and me, it’s over when I agree it is. I gave you my fucking heart and this is me not accepting it back. You tell me I’m free to leave anytime, well I’m not.” His hands have fallen to your hips where they clench and unclench. “You haven’t been able to keep me out of your sight lines for more than three minutes tonight. You can’t go a day without touching me, feeling me up and getting your cock wet. I know you don’t sleep half so well if I’m not in your bed and neither can I. I know the way you look when you think nothing you’ve done has ever been good enough and the face you make when you feel like a hero. I know you to your bones and you know me. You want me to live a life that you’re not a part of, well I won’t." Suddenly fed up with the chafing of the towel on your poor inner thighs you try to shift, when you feel him hard under the thin layer of the bath towel. You feel Jason freeze up, time crystallizing around you before speeding back up like a poorly wound tape.

“Off. Off now” You start pawing at the blasted towel unsuccessfully, before giving up and going for your own sleep pants. You’re half way through wiggling them off before Jason’s brain catches up with you and then he’s scrabbling to tear the towel off and get you bare. You grab his hardening cock and guide it to the entrance of your cunt. You’re still not slick enough for this, didn’t spend ages getting opened up on fingers first, but you’re desperate enough to make it work. His hands around your thighs are like iron, clinging to you like a life preserver. You take it slow, letting gravity do the work of spearing you open on his cock, unable to take him to the hilt in one swift motion the way you ache to. Jason’s a big man, always towering over you in size, and his cock is perfectly large to match. Already the stretch is just the other side of painful, the thickness of him cleaving you in two. You gasp like you’ve been punched with every inch downwards. By the time your hips meet his pelvis his stomach muscles are clenched and twitching from the effort of not just fucking up into you and taking what he wants. His fingers are buried in the couch cushions. Deliriously you wonder if the cushions will still be intact by the end of this conversation.

"So tell me again," you pant, "tell me why you think you can just walk away from me and all the love we have like it's nothing." Jason groans at your words, buries his face in your throat, hips still twitching with aborted thrusts.

"Please, please baby. Let me move— shit, let me make you feel good. God, sweetheart you're so fucking tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me." The growing roll of his hips is distracting. He's so fucking thick, this position making him feel like he's somewhere in your stomach, every flex of his muscles bullies him deeper, threatens to shake all the thoughts out of your head. That just won’t do. You take back control with a soft hand on his chest pushing him back until he's leaned right back against the couch cushions.

"You started this conversation Jay. It’s not done until you finish it. Besides, you’re the one that wants to put a stop to all this." You punctuate your words with a single calculated grind of your hips, make him claw at your hips with abandon. Revel at the weight of him inside of you. Trail your hand up his chest so you can thread your fingers into his damp curls. "Why should I let you move, hmm? Give me that list of reasons, and maybe I'll let you fuck me when we're done talking." His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the colour of his eyes anymore.

It takes a few false starts before he can put a coherent thought together. "Being— being with me makes, oh god, makes you a target. People'll go through you, tryna hurt me. You're gonna get hurt cus'a me, could die fr'me." He's trembling all over now, words slurring together and gasping for air. He settles a little when you run your other hand down his chest to trace his y-shaped scar, lean in and kiss him slow and sweet. Nip and tease at his already abused bottom lip.

"Love that ship went and sailed the first time you talked to me," you say. "There's no putting that back in the box and hoping everyone will forget that we were us." Taking your time, you mouth along his jawline, feel his hand slide under your shirt to come settle on the small of your back. "Say we split up, what then? Doesn't matter how often you swing by, someone'll always try and find a way. Tonight was just a reminder. How does breaking both of our hearts make that go away?" Nuzzling into that sweet space below his jaw, you can feel the way his pulse races and cock twitches in you. All the while you keep your hips tortuously still, warming his cock with your cunt, enjoying the stretch of him. A tug of his hair gets him talking again.

"I'm not a— not a good man. I've killed a lot a people, don't even regret most a'em." He can't look at you as he says it, eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder. His hand on your back flexes, fingers tightening around your hip bone.

"Didn't we just go over this? Jay I'm glad you killed those men, and if that makes you a bad person so am I." This time its him that goes in for a kiss, latches on to the plush of your lips, licks his way inside. Cradles your skull and pulls you closer, has to stop kissing you to gasp when that shifts his cock inside of you.

"Sweetheart, you're the best person damn person I know," he breathes into your mouth. Traces over your cheekbone with the tip of his nose. "You're the best fuckin' thing to happen to me. But you shouldn't hafta decide if you're okay with me killing people. Shouldn't be something you gotta think about at all." There it is again, that tinge of self-loathing. And that's what it’s really all about isn't it?

"You're not making me do anything. You think I didn't know who I was saying yes to when you asked me out to dinner? That I was unaware of Hood's brand of justice? That unlike your family, I didn’t already approve of your methods? Love, I was grateful for you before you'd even walked into my life." Its a confession you hadn't said out loud before, but maybe you should've. Something about your faith in him has Jason whining at the back of his throat like a wounded animal. He tries to buck his hips but freezes when the hand in his hair forcefully tugs his head back, exposes the vulnerable line of his throat.

"Can't just say that sweetheart. Can't just say that and not let me fuck you full." Another tug at his hair has him moaning, the cords of his throat standing out. "C'mon, c'mon. You're so wet and so warm for me. I'll make you feel— feel so good." On the last word he tries to thrust up but you were expecting this, dig your knees into the couch to leverage up off of him at the same time he moves forward. You bite down on the soft skin of his throat before pressing a kiss to the forming bruise. Let go of his hair to clasp the side of his neck, rub your thumb over the hinge of his jaw. Let his head fall forward to your chest, resting his brow on your collarbone.

"I said after our conversation, didn't I? And those aren't your only reasons, are they?" you tease. "You can fuck me whenever you want Jay, you just have to be honest first."

He’s torn, you can tell. Caught between chasing his pleasure at the steep price of his darkest fears, but also wanting to do right by you, as misguided as this attempt is. But he’s been so truthful so far, deserves a reward for how good he’s been. So you clamp down, hard, feel his cock brush against that soft part of your gut that makes you shiver with pleasure. Enjoy the punched out sound that wrings from him. Grind your hips down in a filthy circle, once, twice. Then just as suddenly stop. Let him pant and shake, breath warm in the contours of your throat.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so small you can barely hear him. "M'scared." He shudders as he says it. Something in the curve of his spine screams vulnerable, sparks an itch in your fingers to touch and so you do.

"Think 'm too broken for you to love. Think 'm too broken to love you right. Scared one day that the pit's gonna burn too bright and I'll hurt you." Like a broken dam, the words come tumbling out so quickly now. All you can do is keep stroking his back, this giant of a man rendered so small in your arms. "That I'll wake up one day and it'll be my hands covered in your blood." The hate and self-loathing is almost palpable, an oil slick shadow creeping along the floorboards. You could cry from the way his voice shakes and cracks.

“Oh, love.” And this time it’s your voice cracking. “I’ve never thought of you as broken. There’s never going to be a day where I think you’re too broken for me to love. If the day ever comes that you do break, I’ll pick up all the shiny pieces with my bare hands if I have to. I’ll put you back together again even if it cuts me open because that’s what we do Jason. You don’t think there aren’t parts of me I’d rather smooth out too? You don’t have to love me perfectly to love me right.” He’s straightening up now, trying to get a better view of your face, needs to see the truth of your words. His arms have moved around you like a vice, holding on as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. “You’ve never hurt me Jason. Scratch that, you’ve never hurt me before tonight and your stupid, noble attempt to break up with me. But not once have you laid your hands on me and not once have I been afraid of you.” He tries to interrupt, opens his mouth to speak but you’re not finished. You lay finger over his lips, force him to let you say your piece. “But I know that the problem isn’t my trust in you, it’s yours. Besides Black Mask and his thugs, did you hurt anyone else tonight?” At the shake of his head you continue. “There you have it. Even tonight, when you had every reason to spin out of control you didn’t hurt anyone you didn’t mean to. So talk to me. We’ll figure this out. Hell, we’ll find you a therapist if that’s what you want. So trust me, at least, even if you can’t trust yourself.”

You’d swear there were tears in his eyes if you didn’t already know never to trust the early morning light. It’s past dawn now and in the silence Jason looks like something out of a fairytale. The weak golden light makes him look so alive, so vibrant. He sits there still as stone, holding you tight in his lap, dumb with the weight of your love and acceptance. His grin, when it breaks over his face, is a little watery but possibly the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.

“There’s really no scaring you off, is there?” It’s a weak joke, but he’s trying.

“No. There isn’t.” If your words don’t convince him then the tone of satisfaction ringing through them would. Pushing at his shoulders you maneuver him as close to lying down as you can manage on your old couch. Tearing off your oversized sleep shirt (stolen from Jason of course), you’re finally as bare as he is. Perched over him, you enjoy the view of him splayed out like an offering. Reaching for his arm, you find his hand, place it on the curve below your belly and lace your fingers over the back of it. You push his palm down into you to feel the hard swell of where his cock is curving you out, carving out a place in your guts and moulding your cunt to the shape of his cock. You can see the exact moment his restraint snaps when he realizes he’s feeling himself through you. Let him jack knife up into you, feel the way his hardness moves under his palm. Enjoy the way it feels to finally have him drag his cock through you. But he’s trying to be respectful and you haven’t given him the go ahead yet. He restrains himself to shallow rocking motions, unable to stop himself completely, but the effort this is costing him is clear by his straining muscles and wide eyes.

“You paying attention Jay? This—” and this time you clench down on his cock as you press his hand to the shape of your womb just to hear him choke, “is yours. And you left it aching and empty for hours. You made such pretty promises earlier.” For this last part you lean down real close, brace yourself with an arm over his shoulder, wanting to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. “And our conversation just ended.” He takes it as the permission it is and slams into you, deeper than before like you can feel him in you throat. Hands an iron grip around your waist, pulling you down to meet each sharp rolling thrust. Bullies his cock into you until he finds the angle that has sparks running under your skin, keeps hitting that angle with all the precision and aim of a sniper with his marksmanship. At this angle, his head’s at the perfect height to mouth at your breasts. You can feel him smiling around a nipple as he listens to you moan, only detaching to give the other breast the same kind of enthusiastic attention. Your arm finally gives out, falling down onto his bare chest. Limp, you let him manoeuvre him how he wants you, a rag-doll for your mutual pleasure. All the while he doesn’t stop fucking into you, any semblance of earlier control gone.

“Fuck, sweetheart you don’t know— don’t know what you do to me.” He’s gasping between each word, but the meaning of them still makes their way to your blissed out brain. The slick drag of his cock head along your clenching insides making everything else fade away. You can feel your orgasm building, heat pooling and growing with every thrust. Jason can feel you tightening up around him, knows the signs of your body so well. He starts circling your clit with his fingers, alternating pressure with his thrusts. The long drag and stretch of his cock, almost too much for you to take, never falters. It bumps up against your cervix, fills you up so completely that there’s room for nothing else but it and the pleasure it rips from you. Your release tears through you like wildfire, and for a moment dark spots cloud your vision. You know that you’ve clamped down, tight and hot and slick by the punched out groan from Jason, the way his head falls back onto the couch. But through it all he still keeps pumping into you.

He bites and sucks at your throat, a distraction from your over sensitivity. He leaves your clit alone, stops assaulting all your senses so viciously. Listens to you mewl from how sore and sensitive you are from having taken his cock nearly dry, having held it in you for so long before getting your cunt battered by it. “M so sorry sweetheart. Didn’t wanna hurt you. Gonna— gonna make it up to you. For the rest a m’life.” Now he’s rutting into you, all rhythm and finesse gone in pursuit of his own pleasure. Fire is running through your veins, gathering in your cunt and burning you whole. Your legs are weak and trembling where Jason’s placed them, hands trailing down your thighs to hook under your knees and pull your legs wider. Like this you’re trapped, pinned against him by the spread of your cunt, clit wet and grinding against his pubic bone every time he fucks back into you. You’re so close to another orgasm, quicker than you’ve ever been before.

“Please— Jay please, don’t— don’t stop. Need you. Need you har— harder. Jay. Jay” Jason being Jason, obliges. Your whole body jolts from the force of him inside you. You’re so frustratingly close, dancing on the knife’s edge of oblivion. Jay’s close too. You can tell by the way his breathing speeds up, the way he wraps one arm over your shoulder to keep you in place as he fucks your cunt raw. What sends you both over the edge is Jason taking his other hand and pushing down hard on the swell of your abdomen, the both of you feeling his cock kick and spurt inside of you. Heat paints your walls, and it’s that combined with all consuming pressure of his cock remaking you in his image that has you crying out your orgasm. Jason doesn’t pull out right away. Stays inside you and lets himself grow soft. Kisses featherlight over your face and eyelids. Strokes your flanks and combs his fingers through your hair. Soothes you into a light sleep.

When you wake up, it’s to full sunlight streaming into your bedroom. Turning your head, Jason meets your gaze, propped up on an elbow to watch over you. The both of you are still naked under the blankets but he must have cleaned up the mess between your legs. He pressed a kiss between your eyes before you can get too swept up by your thoughts.

“Hiya sweetheart.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles like this. You think they’d make him look kind when he’s older. “I’m not going anywhere now, I promise.”

“Always?”

“Forever.”

#dividers by cafekitsune and saradika #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x fem!reader #fem reader #angst with a happy ending #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #jason todd my beloved #sunnie writes 🌻#jason todd #smut #mdni

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aurora-starwars · 1 year

Note

hi, could i get jake sully x fem reader where reader gets hurt badly, like loses a leg, if your not comfortable with that then np<3 tysm

I Cannot Lose You

Pairing: Jake Sully x fem!reader

Summary: Reader gets injured on a hunt, jake is not ready to let go

Word Count: 1465

Warnings: slight strong language,

A/n: I hope this lived up to your expectations! Also thank you for requesting! Here is the fic! <3333

Masterlist

This was not the situation that [Name] thought she would be in when she agreed to teach Jake Sully to hunt.

Ever since Jake Sully had fumbled into [Name]’s clans territory, he had been a pain in her ass. From the moment she saved him from being eaten by viperwolves, to the hunt they were currently on, Jake had been nothing but a Skxawng. Though throughout [Name]’s intense training and Jake proving to be learning very fast, he still stayed true to his promise of being an empty cup.

Which has led them to the situation they were today. Neytiri had told [Name] of the hunt and how it would be a great test of Jake’s training, as to hunt as one of the people was a great honour and showed great skill.

Now unfortunately for [Name], Jake Sully’s skills in hunting were not the problem. As anyone could guess, it was his idiocy.

As [Name] heard the familiar sounds of a Hammerhead herd, she quickly tapped Jake shoulder pointing to the herd she could now see in the distance between the trees.

“There. That is what we will hunt.”

“Hammerheads? But they are so big and there are so many!” Jake practically whined, a determind look quickly taking over his face.

“It is not easy, but I will show you how to kill.” [Name] stated, firm look in her eye as she watched the look on Jake’s face.

Rolling her eyes, she jumped how from off of the tree branch to a branch below. Jake following not far behind, albeit much less graceful.

Approaching slowly towards the herd, [Name] hid behind a tree, watching as Jake went to do the same.

She let out a slow breath before starting, “Be very calm, stay very still. We do not want to disturb the herd, we only want the one that is farthest from the herd. That one we will hunt.”

Jake looked around the tree quickly to see which of the Hammerhead’s [Name] was talking about. [Name] flicked him in the head before letting out a quiet hiss.

“I said quiet.” [Name] whisper-yelled. “Now follow my lead.”

[Name] began to slowly walk across a branch directly over the hammerhead they would hunt. She lined up her arrow, Jake following suit, taking a deep breath they pulled back the string creating tension as they carefully aimed at the target.

“Be careful not to alert the herd.” [Name] hissed quietly. Jake only took a deep breath in acknowledgement.

“Aim for the eyes.” She whispered, hardly any sound coming out of her mouth as she focused on the hammerhead.

Jake carefully aimed at the eye closest to him.

“When say ‘now’, we shoot. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now!” [Name] commanded.

Jake and [Name] fired their arrows at the same time, hitting both the eyes individually. The Hammerhead cried in pain, throwing it’s head back the hammer shaped head hit the branch the two were stood on. While [Name] had a firm stance thus staying in place, Jake did not, resulting in is fall. As Jake fell out of the tree and on to the ground beside the dying Hammerhead, [Name] yelled in fear and frustration. She quickly jumped down beside Jake where he was getting up slowly. His fall wasn’t very far, but it sure did make a noise.

A Jake got to his feet, he found exactly why [Name] standing in front of him protectively. In front of them was the entire her growling and gearing up to charge. She hissed at them and Jake could only stare at the herd seemingly about to charge.

“They won’t charge if you show no fear, they fear you. But I do not want them to fear us, we must get out of their way. Jake slowly walk behind the hunted Hammerhead.” [Name] explained as calm and clearly as she could, careful to not trigger the Hammerhead herd.

As Jake took steps back, he stepped on a stick, breaking it. That sound seemed to have echoed around them. The Hammerhead herd was quick to respond, running at full speed toward the two.

“Run! Run!” Jake yelled.

“No! Do not move!” [Name] commanded.

Jake stood still, remembering his past experience with this animal. After a moment the herd seemed to have lost interest, looking away from the two and continue eating the vegetation.

Jake let out a breath of relief and began to walk towards [Name].

“Damn, that almost was the end of us.” He tried to joke but [Name] wasn’t having it.

“You are like a baby! You are fumbling and bumbling around, are you out of you mind!” [Name] sighed, he was going to be the death of her.

[Name] climbed on the hammerhead, pulling out her spear from behind her.

“Oh come on. We are not dead though! And look! We got the game!” Jake tried, trying to ease the tension.

[Name] quickly stabbed through one of the pierced eyes, muttering a goodbye and a short prayer to Eywa.

“Come on, we have let the clan know so that we can make full use of this Hammerhead.”

It was just as they jumped down from the hammerhead when all of the hammerhead herd came running at them.

“Now we run!” [Name] yelled, starting to run away.

“What why now!?” Jake yelled in fear and confusion, following quickly behind [Name].

“They are not charging at us, they are running away!” [Name] yelled desperately.

“Shit” Jake swore.

The herd was encroching fast, the two could not out run the massive Hammerhead herd.

“Run to the side!”

“Where?!” Jake yelled back.

“Up that tree to the left!”

Jake looked to the left finding a large tree only a few feet away. Jake made a beeline, jumping on a low branch and climbing higher. He looked down to see if [Name] was close behind only to have find her at the bottom of the tree, leg bleeding violently.

“Fuck, [Name].” Jake swore again, jumping down to pick her up. He put his arms around her back and under her legs and jumped on the tree, trying his best to climb with someone in his arms. When he go high enough to be out of the way of the hoard, he took a closer look at the Na’vi in front of him.

A dumb look came over his face as he stared at her face.

She still looks beautiful even when she’s in pain.

A groan from [Name], brought him out of his head. He sat down on the tree and moved her so her back was resting on his knee. He observed the wound in front of him, it was bad, very bad. Ripping some vines from the tree, he tied the skin above the wound tight in hopes to slow down the blood flow.

Calling his Ikran, he held her close hoping that she wouldn’t bleed out on the way back. He looked down at her, and frowned.

“Please don’t leave me, I’m not ready.”

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

When [Name] awoke, it was well after eclipse, the night life around her glowing. She found when she tried to move, a bolt of pain rippled up her leg. Her sudden groaning in pain seemed to wake up the avatar beside her for a moment before he fell back asleep.

[Name] rolled her eyes, of course he was sleeping.

The healer walked in moments later, seemingly having heard her pain.

“He has been here the whole time.” The healer began, cleaning up some of the wound before continuing.

“He wouldn’t leave your side even if we tried, and we tried.” She sighed. “He is a stubborn one.”

“That he is.” [Name] agreed softly, smiling at the sleeping body next to her. She lifted a hand to move the hair out of his face.

“You’ve got a good one there.” The healer added before walking away, [Name] swore she could she a faint smile on her face.

Just then Jake started to stir again, lifting his head and blinking his eyes getting used to the light.

Just as he saw [Name] was awake, he jumped up and gave her a quick run down.

“Fuck! You’re okay!” Jake beamed, throwing his arms around [Name], holding her close.

“I thought you were going to die.” Jake muttered softly, tightening the hug.

The hug was tight but it was also soft, a gentle touch like Jake was trying not to break her.

“I thought I lost you…” Jake whispered and [Name] would have missed it if she wasn’t so close.

After a moment, [Name] arms slowly came up to Jake’s back, holding him in place.

It wasn’t long before [Name] was holding him just as tight. A soft smile on her face.

Jake might be a Skxawng, but he was her Skxawng.

A/n: Thank you so much for reading! <3333

Master-list

1K notes · View notes

vickiee-mcmuffin · 11 months

Text

Reunited

Word count: 3.1k

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Female Reader

Trope: Explicit Smut, Fluff? (18+ Warning, Minors DNI)

A/N: Here's another fic that was on ao3 for like a day because it flopped so I deleted it. Let's hope it doesn't flop here too. 🫣😅

Summary: You have the honor of being one of Christine's bridesmaids at her wedding. But when you notice a certain person has been invited, it brings back heartbreaking memories.

You woke up with a soft, little yawn. The warmth and comfort of your bed were addicting, your soft pillows far too inviting. But you had to get up. There was no time for sleeping. The day ahead was big. Christine – one of your good friends – was getting married. And Christine had been kind enough to offer you the role of one of her bridesmaids. You were honoured by the gesture.

You sat up in bed, eyeing the bridesmaid dress that was hanging on the door handle of your wardrobe. It was a gorgeous dress, and you couldn’t wait to slip into it. You jumped in the shower, did your hair and makeup, and put on the expensive dress. Nodding at your reflection in the mirror, you then made your way to the church. Soon, Christine would be a married woman, and you would be standing right there by her side.

There was a crowd already forming around the old church building, but one person stood out in her flowing, crisp white gown: Christine. Your heels clicked on the cement as you ran up to the other woman.

“Christine, you look so amazing,” you said in a shocked whisper. It was the truth. Christine looked stunning.

“Oh, thank you, Y/N,” beamed Christine. “So do you. I’m so excited for today. The day has finally arrived.”

“It’s gonna be such a good day,” you nodded.

You, Christine, and the rest of the bridesmaids stood there talking, with time passing by quickly. Soon, it was time for Christine to walk down the aisle and marry her soon to be husband.

Lining up with the bridesmaids, you sucked in a sharp breath, ready to enter the church. The music suddenly started, the doors opened up, and you heard a few gasps. There was a bridesmaid in front of you, and you quickly followed behind the other woman, taking slow steps with Christine not far behind you. Your eyes scanned the crowd, noting all the happy faces. You noted that Christine’s family were all the way at the front wearing teary smiles. The groom’s family was on the opposite side of the aisle, also with wet eyes. But it was the man a few rows up that really caught your attention. You could have sworn you almost went stiff right then and there.

It was Stephen Strange. Just the sight of him was enough to make your heart race. Christine and Stephen had been together many years ago. He was the man you used to spend so many days training with when you were at Kamar Taj. He was the man you had very quickly grown to love. He was the man you had kissed that night, after a hard day of training, when it was just the two of you all alone in the library at Kamar Taj.

But… He was also the man who had completely and utterly broken your heart. And ever since you shared that wild, heated kiss in the library, he seemed to want nothing to do with you. Stephen had been avoiding you ever since the incident. And because of that, you left Kamar Taj, the action breaking your heart in the process.

Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself to focus. You looked ahead, so desperate not to see his face. You just walked down on the aisle, focusing on your job as a bridesmaid. That’s what you were there to do.

You took your place at the front of the church, watching on in silence as Christine and her future husband exchanged their vows. It was a wonderful moment that was sealed with a kiss. The crowd cheered, celebrating the new husband and wife.

Life was good for Christine and her husband.

******

You sat alone in the reception room. It was beautifully decorated, with food and drinks galore. There was so much to do and so much to celebrate, but you sat by yourself, sipping on an almost empty wine glass. You let out a sigh, hating that all of the old memories of you and Stephen had hit you like a truck.

Looking up at the crowd, you spotted a beaming Christine. And you just had to ask. You needed to know why she invited him.

“Hey,” you greeted her.

“Hi,” Christine smiled. “Sorry, I’m trying to be a good host and mingle here and there. Just trying to talk to everyone. Are you okay?”

“Why… Why did you invite Stephen?” you asked quietly. You were straight to the point, so eager to understand.

Christine shrugged. “Well, it was mostly my husband’s idea… Why? What’s the issue?”

“Stephen… Stephen and I had grown really close before. I thought there was something between us. We kissed one night. And it was such a wonderful kiss. But after that, it was like he forgot all about me. He stopped talking to me. He got all cold. I don’t know what I did to offend him. He… He really did break my heart,” you sighed, your eyes shutting as you felt an ache in your chest. “And seeing him here is hard. I’ve been upset ever since I saw him in the church. I still love him, Christine.”

Finally opening up your eyes, you watched as Christine sent you a kind, warm smile.

“You should go talk to him, Y/N,” Christine said.

You gave your head a furious shake. “No way. He probably wants nothing to do with me. He’ll just break my heart again. I don’t want to deal with that all over again.”

“Y/N, stop being so silly. I bet that Stephen was just scared about loving someone. You won’t know until you talk to him…”

The advice wasn’t bad, but you had yet to move. You stood there, biting at your bottom lip, contemplating what Christine was telling you. Could that have been true? Was Stephen just scared? If so, why didn’t he just tell you that instead of completely breaking your heart?

Christine let out a loud sigh. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him then.”

Christine moved far too quickly for you to even tell her to stop. You looked on with wide eyes, watching the back of the other woman’s head. She made her way to Stephen who was at the bar, by himself, slowly sipping on a drink in his hand.

Biting at your bottom lip, you watched as Stephen and Christine talked. You so badly wished you could read lips – or minds. They both stood there, talking to each other for a good five minutes. Then finally Christine walked away, making her way back over to you. Eager to know what they discussed, you opened your mouth to speak up, but Christine simply walked past you, a bright smile on her face. Following the woman with your eyes, you just watched as Christine made her way to her husband. You slowly turned, wondering what on earth had just happened. What did they say to each other?

“Y/N,” a voice said from behind you.

Stephen’s voice. You didn’t have to turn around to know that it was him. You knew his voice so well. Turning around slowly, you were met with Stephen’s dark eyes. You weren’t surprised to see that it was him. It was your first time seeing him up close in such a long time. As usual, he looked good. Too good. You weren’t sure if your cheeks were flushing red as you looked at him.

He cleared his throat. “Hi, Y/N…”

“Hi,” you replied, your voice quiet and laced with nervousness. The room suddenly felt so warm.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. And yourself?”

“Oh, I’ve been doing alright,” he nodded.

You were certain that it was the end of your conversation. That you were going to exchange quick pleasantries and be on your way and then never speak to one another again. It was quiet between the two of you, the silence rather uncomfortable. You wondered how long you would have to stand there, taking in his eyes.

“Can we talk?” he asked you.

Deep down, you were screaming out no, certain history was going to repeat itself. He was going to break your heart and leave you in tears. But you still loved him. Loved him with everything in you. Of course, you were going to talk to him.

“Yes,” you let out with a whisper.

It took just seconds for the change to happen. You heard a sizzle in your ears, the music and noisy conversations suddenly fading as you were met with quietness. You had shut your eyes during the madness, and when you opened them you found yourself in the New York sanctum. All alone with Stephen.

You looked around the space, wondering why he had brought you back there even if he just wanted to talk. It would have been a lot easier to have a conversation there.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen suddenly said with a heavy sigh.

You finally looked at him. At his wet eyes and furrowed brows and his tightly pressed together lips. It was obvious he was upset. That he was sorry about something.

“What are you sorry about?” you asked him quietly.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” he admitted. “After that night in the library. And Kamar Taj. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Tears quickly formed in your eyes. A fresh wave of pain hit you. He was admitting. Acknowledging what he had done. And it was like experiencing the heartache all over again. You hated the feeling. Hated that you couldn’t control your emotions – but he had hurt you so much.

“You broke my heart,” you told him softly. “That’s why I left Kamar Taj. I figured you wanted nothing to do with me after that…”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he murmured back to you, that look of pain still on his face. “I was so scared.”

“Scared of what?” you shrugged.

That was when Stephen took a few steps closer to you. He eyed you intensely, staring at nothing and no one but you.

“I was scared to love someone after what I had done to Christine. I had been a complete jerk to her. I hurt her. I completely blew it with her all those years ago… I was so scared that I would lose you too, Y/N.”

The tears started to fall after that. You could no longer hold them back. Why couldn’t he have just told you that before? You wished he had. You could have worked it out, could have talked about it, could have fought for your love for one another.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me you were scared?” you whimpered. “We could have just… We could have just figured something out.”

“I was scared you would have just left me…”

Shaking your head, you made sure to say your next words clearly. “I wouldn’t have just left you… Because I loved you.”

Stephen leaned forward, his warm, trembling hand cupping one of your cheeks softly. He used his thumb to wipe at your tears, rubbing at your skin as he looked at you. “I know… And I love you too. Maybe… Maybe we can figure this out again? But this time… together.”

Smiling at him with wet eyes, you nodded. “Yes. Of course. Yes, yes, yes… But… Why have you suddenly changed your mind?”

He smiled back at you, his eyes twinkling. “Christine told me not to be afraid of letting someone love me. And when she said that, I realised that it was you that I wanted to be with.”

Beaming up at him, your heart started to race when Stephen moved in, closing the gap between you. He pressed his lips to yours softly, and it took you just seconds to kiss him back. It was as wonderful as you had imagined in your head. You wrapped your arms around his back, and Stephen mimicked your motions, pulling you up against his own broad chest. You stood there kissing, your tongues slowly dancing together, with Stephen slowly guiding you toward his bed.

You both landed on it, your lips still attached, with a soft thud. You were growing wetter and wetter with each heated second that passed, your hands running up and down Stephen’s back, wanting to feel all of him. You felt exactly how you felt when you used to train together at Kamar Taj. You felt that need, that want, that hunger.

Pulling away from his lips with a gasp, you and Stephen both looked at each other with dark eyes. The room had grown hotter, and you knew then and there that you wanted more.

“Please make love to me,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“Are you sure?” he sucked in a sharp breath.

You nodded. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He smiled at you, his eyes twinkling again. “Okay.” Leaning down, he gave you another soft, slow kiss before getting off the bed and standing up.

You were about to pull off your dress, but you let out a shocked gasp when Stephen waved a gentle hand in your direction, and then a second later, both yours and his clothes had been removed.

You licked your lips at the sight of his bare form, watching as Stephen got in the bed and crawled over to you. Spreading your legs open, Stephen got in position between them, giving you a long kiss. When he pulled away, he looked down at you seriously.

“Are you sure you want this?” he wondered.

“Yes,” you moaned. You had never been so sure of anything in your life. “Please fuck me. Please, please, please.”

It took him just a second to make his next move. He pushed into you, filling you up with his cock. You moaned at the sensation, loving the new feeling of him stretching you out. Stephen grunted above you, and you fell in love with the noise.

He didn’t move. Just stayed there with his cock pushed deep inside of you. But then he looked down at you, eyes ever so dark.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Please move, though. Please. I wanna feel you.”

He listened to you. He began to pump in and out of you slowly, soft grunts escaping his lips with each movement. You joined in, letting out your own noises of pleasure before you pulled him in for a quick yet passionate kiss.

“You’re so big,” you whispered against his lips. You kept whining as he thrusted in and out of you, but you needed more. “Oh, please go faster.”

Once again, he listened. The tip of his cock met that sweet spot deep inside of you, forcing a shrill cry out of you.

“Oh, Stephen!” you squealed, wrapping your arms around his back. You scratched his back, letting pleasure take over. The sounds of your moans mixed in with the noises of skin slapping skin. That was all that could be heard in the bedroom: the sound of the two of you making love.

Stephen kissed you for a moment, his moans loud. “You feel so good.”

“Please don’t stop,” you begged in response.

“I promise I won’t. God, I promise I won’t stop.”

He kept moving, kept taking you, and you looked up to watch him closely. He was sweating and his hair was sticking to his forehead. You were certain he was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You couldn’t help but kiss him, and he kissed you back, your tongues dancing together for a long moment.

“Please fuck me harder,” you pleaded when you pulled away from him. “And faster. Please.”

Stephen lifted himself up, his big hands on either side of your head, a look of total darkness in his eyes. He looked so serious, so lost in lust. And then he pumped into you exactly as you had asked: hard and fast, his movements so wild and quick. You cried out his name, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Reaching down, you held the warm covers tight, pulling at them as you moaned. He kept fucking you, and with each and every thrust, you found yourself getting closer and closer to your peak. Your orgasm was blossoming; it was just seconds away.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whined. “Please don’t stop!”

He nodded down at you, fucking you harder and faster and deeper, giving you every inch of his cock. It was with one hard thrust that you lost it, your orgasm hitting you suddenly.

“I’m cumming!” You came around his length, coating him with your juices as you squealed. It felt so good. So hot. Your pussy was gushing around him as you lost it, drenching his length.

“I’m so close,” Stephen muttered, still pumping you full of his cock. He was grunting above you.

“Mm, please cum inside me. You can do it. It’s safe. Please,” you whimpered. You were slowly coming down from your high.

It took Stephen just four thrusts into you before he lost it. He came with a deep grunt, emptying himself inside of you, your pussy milking every drop from him. Licking at his lips, he kept moving, kept giving you his length and every last rope of cum he could give you. Then he pulled out and collapsed right then and there on top of you, the both of you breathing hard and fast. You had to catch your breath.

It took a moment, but Stephen rolled off of you and pulled you to his chest. He stared down at you, his eyes focused on your own.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Stephen gave you a bright smile, and you both leaned in close, sharing a sweet, soft kiss. You nuzzled into Stephen’s chest, loving the feeling of his arms wrapping around you tighter and harder. He felt so warm, so cosy. He felt like home. You were beyond happy to be there in his bed, in his arms, having just made love to him. More importantly: you were happy to just be with him, and you were especially filled with delight after you had worked things out and could finally be together.

“So, do you plan on coming back to Kamar Taj?” Stephen asked in a hopeful tone.

You looked up at him, staring into his blue eyes. “I’ll think about it, but I think you owe me a few dates and more of this before I make a decision,” You smiled, teasing him.

Stephen chuckled, and your heart soared from hearing that sound and finally seeing him happy with you. “Deal.”

You smiled at him again before leaning in and kissing him softly. He kissed you back before you pulled away. “I love you, Stephen Strange.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Stephen told you.

You shared one final kiss before you fell asleep in Stephen’s arms, happier than you had ever been in your whole life. It was the ending you had craved for so long, and you finally got it.

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ineffabildaddy · 4 months

Note

Hi sam! since the new year is approaching rapidly, i wanted to ask my favorite creators (that includes you! your fics and your posts delight me) how they look back on their 2023 tumblr year and which blogs made them happy to be here. i am very happy to follow you and hope you'll have a great 2024! 💘

hi!!! thank you so so much for this, a few months ago i couldn't even imagine being so active in the tumblr community again, let alone anyone's favourite anything!!!!

i've been very fortunate to receive the warmest of welcomes back to tumblr after a 7-year absence, and i've received so much support for my writing (and my shitposts lol) that this whole experience of finally joining the good omens fandom has genuinely given me a newfound confidence in my creative self, and in myself as a whole💙

in terms of the blogs that make me happy to be here... they are many!!! i shall put the rest of this post under the cut

@raining-stars-somewhere-else thank you for being my first go friend and now one of my closest buddies!!! i can't wait for us to finally write that fic together (lol) and for us to get up to some irl london shenanigans at some point✨ ur hilarious and kind and so correct about literally everything and i love u. literally everyone needs to read ur posts bc they're so well-thought out and unique. also your fics are really moving and human (even though they're about crowley and aziraphalekldfjgjl) and i adore them

@sad-chaos-goblin we literally just Get Each Other, same brain and all, and i absolutely love it!!! i couldn't ask for a better horny consultant bc after all it is Our Pornography™. you're also just an extremely understanding, open and lovely person, not to mention very fun and exciting to be friends with hehe. ur headcanons are so fucking interesting (and sometimes sad, how dare u do this to me) and i'm looking forward to hearing more when u eventually get round to writing all those fics you've got ideas for<3

@foolishlovers i'm really really happy we've got to know each other better over the past couple weeks!!!!! your xmas fic is one of my absolute favourite fics ever and i'm in awe with your skill and craft, i hope to write something as well-rounded and enjoyable as that someday<3 also you're one of my favourite posters, so fucking funny and u just make points left right and centre. i hope we can share our writing and our thoughts about life in general more in 2024!!!

@crowleyslvt i'm very happy i barged my way into your dms to be horny on main bc i definitely wouldn't've explored half the things i've explored in my writing if not for our discussions and your encouragement!!! i absolutely love talking writing and sexy headcanons with you, but above that i love that i'm now mates with such a talented, considerate, hilarious kiwi lad. i am honoured to be one of the little guys in ur phone who gets to hype up u as an exceedingly great porn writer but also as a legend in general

@voluptatiscausa no one understands my feralness for michael sheen like you do. i can go batshit insane in the dms over ms and dt with u and that space is important to me dlgkljdgldfjgl. i'm really glad i started reading ur writing this year bc it's very enjoyable, but it's also healing for me as a person who's [whispers] a traumatised and cripplingly shy person in terms of sex lmao. thank you for bestowing it upon ao3, and by extension, upon me!!!! also tho, you're a really nurturing and interesting friend to have, not to mention a Very Cool one so continue to be that pls and thanks

@bowtiepastabitch i've felt very honoured to hear about parts of your life as you share them with me - Knowing The Lore is so important to me and i'm humbled that you've trusted me with some of the stuff that's been happening in your world<3 on another note, your fanart may be quick but it's never shitty, it's always so expressive and fun and gets my brain Thinking Thoughts. i can't express how wonderful it was when you made a wee bit of fanart for one of my fics, and i hope i continue to see ur creativity shine✨

thank you to my favourite blogs for Existing Throughout 2023 (some of whom i know i can call friends, and the rest of whom i'd like to call friends in the future!!!) @sabotage-on-mercury @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @ineffableigh @celestialcrowley @queer-reader-07 @crowleyraejepsens @teddybearbutchh @crowleyholmes @ineffable-rohese @createserenity @quoththemaiden @procrastiel @sentientsky @genderqueer-hippie @beelzzzebub @lineffability @fellshish @greenthena @brainwormcity @opscuritas @tangerine-ginger @iammyownproblematicfave @crikey01 @crawley-fell @vroomvroomwee @bildads-shoes @shoemakerobstetrician @romansmartini @wraithee

i know i'll have forgotten people so i'll add em as i remember em hehehehe

#kinda good omens #personal #asks #ineffabildaddy

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moondirti · 1 year

Text

serpentine (you're my collar)

masterlist || part two

pairing: Bodyguard!Din Djarin x F!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 5.7k summary: din is hired to keep you safe. he gets more than he bargains for. warnings: enemies to lovers, coercion (not by Din), mild gore, canon typical violence, unspecified age gap, light sadism, brat-taming, punishments, virginity loss, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, brief mentions of vomit and drugs/alcohol, fluff. notes: as a thank you for 100 followers, here's bodyguard Din! Partially inspired by Rescue Me by @charnelhouse, a truly beautiful fic

The hallway to your room smells like liquorice roots; a caramelised heaviness that cloys up on his tongue. Din thinks it suits you – the perfumed air becomes sickening after too long of a pause in its presence.

You're beautiful. Insufferable.

In front of him, you strut with a petulance becoming of your status, nose flared and held high. His steps are short, heavy in contrast to your clicked ones, but purposeful all the same. He is to remain behind you; a shield for backstabbing dangers, an eye for oncoming ones.

Some eye. Currently, his are pinned on you, tracking your curves up to the planes of your face. Your cheeks look rounder than usual from his vantage point – no doubt pulled in a pout. He briefly considers wiping it off, but he can’t decide what he’d like to see in its stead – a fight he constantly returns to. Your smile, while stunning, could never sate him like your cry.

Din believed there’d be more honour in private work.

Perhaps it was an ingenuous fantasy. He’d been too burnt out, exhausted after another week-long trek on some backwater planet, to give it much thought. All he knew was that bounty hunting had kept to its demands while he grew older; eventually, the drawback to his rifle put a strain on his back, and his joints started to ache for longer after a fight. The truth became too sore to ignore; he wasn’t as agile as he used to be.

The guild wasn’t sad to see him go. With the Mandalorian off the field, they had a better chance at the higher-paying assignments. Even Karga, who he expected to be disheartened after losing his best player, waved him off with little more than a few contacts should he ever need the money. ‘I understand how it gets, but you’re an asset, Mando. I have connections that can get you good work outside this business.’

He’d been onto something. Din discovered rather quickly that he didn’t have much to offer but his brawn. That’s how he got here; your father’s was the first number on the list.

He expected a typical job; an escort to a large banquet, a surveillance officer to a merchant's estate. But, as advisor to the Coruscant representative in the New Republic, your father had plenty of security for himself. Din was more than perturbed to find out that the real reason his expertise was required was to play babysitter to his spoiled daughter.

He can’t stand you.

“If you let me out tonight, I can pay you double what papa does.” You titter, abruptly turning to face him once you reach your bedroom door. Din almost trips over you; he tells himself it’s for the sudden halt and not the disarming purr you shoot his way.

“Doubt that.” He gruffs, inputting the code to unlock your door. The numbers chirp beneath his thumb, the melody far too familiar at this point. 9-2-5-8. He catches you sneaking a look in your peripheral. His free hand pushes your curious gaze away.

“I’m a fully grown woman, Mando. You don’t need to lock me in.” You snap, tongue sharp with harsh cynicism. But the words slide off his metal shell and drip down to splatter at your feet; your attempt is futile, the routine hasn’t changed in the week since it was introduced.

Nevertheless, unprecedented irritation seeps through his grated reply. “If you acted like one, this wouldn’t be necessary.” Truthfully, Din never realises you’ve crawled under his skin until you’re already in it, burrowing – latching – onto all the baser parts of him. He’s dealt with every quarry in the book, he’s smart enough to recognise the bait you cast. Yet, somehow, his anger always supersedes his logic when it comes to that mischievous little grin.

“Papa doesn’t know what’s good for me.” You attempt again. The faux innocence in your wide eyes doesn’t match the savage sneer that begins twisting your expression. Din’s stomach flips. You’re gorgeous.

“Sneaking out every night is hardly a healthy habit.” He folds, again, feeding into the amusement you indisputably gain from your back-and-forth. Before you can comment on it, he punches your entryway open, gesturing inside. “Go on.”

The beginnings of a whine scratch up your throat as you bat his hand away. “You don’t understand! It isn’t like that this time.” He can’t help the scoff that cracks through his modulator; even if you aren’t lying, he doesn’t get paid to hear you out.

“I don’t care. So long as you’re going out with those friends of yours, it’s all the same.” It’s harsh, a needless jab at your choice of company. But it isn’t exactly false, either. Though Din doesn’t see them much, he deals with the aftermath of your drunken raves far too often for him to look upon your friends with any sort of favour. It’s the mess you make – the demands that he hold your hair back as you hurl into a bucket – and not the worrying influence they have over you. No, that’s none of his business. He’d be surprised if you aren’t the instigator of their chaos, anyway.

“That’s not fair. I can get you fired, you know.” You hiss, protesting with jerky movements when he pushes you into the space of your chamber. His body fills the door frame before you manage to weasel your way out.

“Sure, kid” The scent is thicker here; candy, syrup to his senses as his helmet fails to filter it out. He’s made a conscious effort to stay out of your actual room, never traversing past the self-made boundary of his post right outside. As such, he takes a quick moment to look around, his helmet fixed in place while his gaze wanders.

It’s large, naturally – he expects no less of a wealthy politician's daughter. Furry carpets and polished wood furniture decorate the space, set across a backdrop of the Coruscant skyline from beyond your large observation glass. A four poster bed takes up the wall to his right, sparkling gauze curtains pulled back to reveal your plain white duvet. Din’s chest tightens at the sudden urge to tie each of your limbs to a corner, spread-eagle underneath him.

“Well?”

His attention snaps back to you. Your arms are crossed over your chest, brows furrowed in irritation. You’d been complaining. When don’t you?

Whatever it is you said, he doesn’t want to hear it. He knows what his answer will be regardless.

“No.”

He steps back, taking in the way your shoulders tense. A sick bit of satisfaction gnaws at him when the door clicks shut. Your subsequent, frustrated scream is melodic.

While he stands guard, Din imagines taking you from behind.

He’s past the point of young credulity, he isn’t going to lie to himself. The Mandalorian fosters a carnal desire for you that seems to multiply with every foolish act. It’s off-putting – objectionable; hate and lust make a bubbling poison in his gut.

He fantasised about bending you over his lap the day you got arrested for spice possession. You’d used your call to contact him during his time off. Mando, you cried, Papa can’t find out. He was new enough to the job to fall for the act, making the needlessly difficult journey to Uscru district to bail you out. He had even used his own credits – worried that drawing from your account could arouse suspicion. So when you showed your appreciation by badgering him to drop you off at another bar, his mind lit up with images of you shivering before him, your skirt rucked up above your hips, ass on full display. You’d burn if he were to spank it like he wanted to. A girl like you, who’s never known true pain – the thought of handing it to you was the trigger to a wild, insuperable obsession.

There was the time you brought a feral tooka home, intent on domesticating it. Your resolve hadn’t lasted long after it scratched your arm bloody, though, which left Din to deal with your little pet. On his way home from the shelter, he reflected on the lust that shot through him upon seeing you marked and discovered that he’d very much like to leave complementary bruises along your wrists.

A snowballing sadism. When you crashed your speeder, he pumped himself and pretended his fist was your face. Your mascara had run so prettily when you’d sobbed to your father for another one – he pictured that the salty tang of his own sweat were your tears pooling onto his tongue.

You’d gotten into a fight, once. He recalls it clearly, as he’d been the one to break it off. While cleaning your bloody nose, Din longed to press you down on his knee. You should’ve seen the other girl, you’d chortled, but he was too busy envisioning your cunt leaking with a ruined orgasm.

Childish. Impatient. Reckless. You’re a hell of a lot to deal with, constantly driving him to the brink of insanity in a way very few have managed before. It’s a little bit harder to admit to himself, then, that he doesn’t like your pain so much as he likes the idea of instilling a lesson in you. Call it recompense for the lack of discipline you’ve faced in your life so far. But he’d never act on his whims. That’s all they are; cracks of cold compulsion. Din is better than that.

Another clatter sounds from within your room. You’ve been making a ruckus for the better part of an hour, now.

He sighs. He shouldn’t worry; you’re safe – secured by one of the highest suites on Coruscant and a Mandalorian as your private guard. What you do in your free time isn’t his concern. Still – Din readjusts the blaster on his hip and it feels funny in his hands. Heavier than he remembers it. It’s been so long since he’d had practical use for the weapon. If something did arise, will he be able to protect you as well as he once could have?

The emotion that arises at the notion is uncomfortable, unknown – different to his lecherous ire.

A clatter, a swoosh. The rush of urban noise grows louder from behind the door. You’ve opened a window. Din recalls the furnished balcony he’d made a note of earlier and relaxes slightly. You probably needed some air.

Guilt unfurls in him suddenly. Din isn’t sure why. It isn’t like it was his idea to lock you away for a rebellion so inconsequential. Maker knows he was worse during his early adulthood; he had all the confidence of a rancor with none of the wisdom to match (the consequences of which are part of the reason he’s listed as a wanted man on the galactic criminal index). He’s able to recognise your ill humour as another effect of your age – you’re still a young thing. And you’d mentioned you had something special to attend to. In a moment of weakness, he contemplates letting you out tonight; if he did and picked you up before the hour sinks too late, what great harm can really come of it?

There’s the roar of an engine somewhere nearby. It’s a sound synchronous enough with Coruscant's bustling humdrum that he doesn’t think much of it until it gets louder, closer, so that he can discern the exact model by the rhythm of its purr. A twinge of uncertainty flares in him. The airspeeders shouldn’t be this high up; law regulates they maintain a mid-level altitude.

Better safe than sorry, Din forfeits to his instincts and unlocks your door, taking one large step in to look around. Your bed is currently playing host to a mess of sparkling dresses and boots that hadn’t been there before. Your vanity is no better; fluffy brushes and lipsticks clutter the top.

He was right, though. You are on the balcony, but with half a leg dangling off the edge of the railing. Din stills, watching as you balance precariously on one heel and try to hop over to the airspeeder that awaits you.

For a split second, he finds himself unable to move. All hints of sympathy drain at once at your brazen display, and when you look back at him and cackle – promptly accepting your friend’s outstretched hand to pull yourself onto the vehicle – he curses the day on which you were born.

The driver – a man he thinks he recognises – begins to steer away from the building. Din jolts into action, running up to your terrace; his temple is pounding now, a rush of blood supplying itself to his adrenaline, yet he’s much too late when he reaches the edge. You’re a good distance away now, moisturised skin gleaming with the artificial neon lights that line the airway. He barely catches a glimpse of the licence plate before your group bolts away, slinking between high-traffic, leaving nothing but the echo of your roguish giggle and a Mandalorian, whose vision starts to redden with pure, unbridled anger.

You probably reckon you’ve gotten away with it, but if the ice-hot inferno broiling in Din is anything to go by, it’d be a miracle if you last an hour.

He finds you at an afterhours club with fifteen minutes left to spare.

It’s a humorously easy feat; you make it so that Din actually thinks he’d have managed it in spite of his skillset. Sure, he has the benefit of his head’s up display, which tracks fuel trails as well as footprints, but he was able to deduce your destination on account of your predictability alone. The entertainment sector – of course. Where else would you be? You seem to prefer the strobe of multi-coloured lights and the incessant chatter of strangers over the comfort of your own home.

Technically, he locates the speeder first. The sleek vehicle you were whisked away on is unabashedly parked on the side of a very public avenue. Its chrome paint job reflects his own armour as he surveys the exterior – this specific model hasn’t been released to the public yet. He doubts even your friends, who are rich within their own right, can afford it.

Din takes a second to think back to its driver. He thought he’d recognised him as one of your group, but the resolution didn’t fit quite right, not even at the time. He’d looked sorely out of place with them, in both age and behaviour. Combed back hair, dressed in a tight-tailored suit.

It finally strikes him when he looks up at the name of the club it’s stationed by. Synko’s Niterie.

Gil Synko. A major patron to the Black Sun Syndicate’s division on Coruscant. His was one of the many names your father had warned Din about – a strict order to avoid him at all costs exclaimed over a holo-projection of his face.

And you had just… run away with him. Willingly? Are you really that stupid?

No. His conscience supplies. You’re not.

A mad panic swells in him as he pushes through the line of people waiting to enter. Two guards man the door, blasters clutched deftly by their sides. He’s handled worse, but he doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself. Din trusts he won’t need to maim anyone to get you out. So he turns right around to sneak in through the back door. Apart from a heavy lock, which he shoots with his silencer on, there’s nothing else standing in his way.

He enters through a narrow corridor. The walls pulse, vibrating, the sound of muffled synthwave travelling in muted thrums from the next room over. A bathroom passes him, the door cracked slightly open to reveal flashes of sweaty bodies pressed into one another, someone’s breathy moan catching a lull in music. When he steps into the main area, the immediate onslaught of ravenous drunks is demobilising. Din has to recalibrate, adjusting his helmet to dim unwanted noise, before he thinks to push them aside.

He can’t spot you between the crowd, but your friends are huddled on a white leather couch, just beyond the VIP line. One of them – Hela, he believes her name is – catches his gaze from across the room. Her powdered face drops, and Din has exactly one minute to decide what to do when she waves over security, pointing to him with an accusatory finger.

He doesn’t have to, but he does. He punches the burly man that marches towards him, a curled fist meeting his nose with a loud crunch. It should be incredibly satisfying – finally, a taste of real action after months of glorified babysitting – but his mind hums with a sole intent. He doesn’t register it as he kicks and flips attacking scouts, embodying a fury he has reserved just for you, as something far more potent is thrown into the mix. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth; overwhelmingly vulnerable, melted confidence around his nerves. As Din chokes out a woman who tries to shoot him, he grasps that the migraine-inducing, stomach-churning emotion is worry. He’s worried for you; for the silly girl who forgoes any and all consequences for her own quick fix of happiness.

The club is empty by the time Din is done, the marbled floor a gruesome painting of broken limbs and spilled blood. He isn’t discouraged by his failure in staying discreet – if anything, he stomps with a new purpose when approaching your friends. Hela squeals and begins to throw her drink at him, but his hand closes around her wrist in a bruising grip before she can.

“Where. Is. She.” He grits out. A ragged exhale tears through his modulator. His fingers tremble the smallest bit – frenzied, afraid.

The girl starts to cry. The others must think they’re slick as they slowly inch away from the scene, but it’s Din who lets them go.

“I won’t ask again.” He tugs at her arm unceremoniously, rougher than he means to. Hela’s face crumples.

“P-Private lo… lounge. In– In the back,” She starts, hardly able to get the words out at all. Still, she manages a loud wail when he releases her, her head bowing to tuck underneath her forearms. The sight inspires a prick of regret in the Mandalorian. He can’t ponder on it.

He quickly discovers that the ‘private lounge’ is really just a corner sectioned off with velvet curtains. Din, who hasn’t paid any previous mind to the odour of the place, perks with the hints of your perfume. It washes over him, the presence of it more reassuring than it’s ever been.

“How about… we take it slow, okay?” Your voice follows, pouring out a pitch higher than natural. His new-found ease dissipates just as quickly as it manifested.

“C’mon baby, I got you into the most exclusive club in Coruscant. Why don’t you show Gil some appreciation?” A man drawls in response. Din’s tart temper relights with a vengeance. A sharp inhale, the ruffle of fabric, and he rips the partition aside, nearly blind, his vision singled in onto one slimy fuck spread across the couch.

He has a second sense for you as you jump away, nails curling into the fabric of the seat. Your lips purse into a thin grimace, but you don’t stop him when he pulls Synko up by the collar, throwing him up against a wall. His skull smacks the concrete – it isn’t enough. Din forces him down onto the ground, placing a knee over his chest for leverage as he beats the face into a pulp. Over and over. Heavy punches meet teeth, armoured knuckles cut into skin. Blood, watered down with tears, run down the wrinkles on his weathered skin.

“Mando,” If it wasn’t for the way you pull his shoulder back, he wouldn’t have heard the faint mutter. He pauses, his helmet tilting a fraction to the side to take you in. You’re unharmed, but you’re shaking, exposed legs covered in goosebumps. “Just… Jus’ let him go.”

“Do you have any idea who this is?” His question is a ferocious whisper. Part of him doesn’t want to scare you any more than he already has.

“He owns the place.” You wring the material of your skirt, shrinking back when Din stands to his full height, a boot keeping the man-in-question in place.

“He’s also aligned with the Black Sun. You know, the little crime syndicate your father has so vocally opposed in the past?” He taps his foot to Synko’s back. The man lets out a near-death wheeze.

“I–”

“And I assume his intentions with you were beyond just a one-night-stand, kar’ta.” The nickname slips with little awareness. “Go out to my bike while I take care of him.” He shifts to face the unconscious lump, but not before he catches you falling slightly backwards, stumbling over yourself.

“But–”

“Go.” He punctuates. And for once in your life, you listen to him.

Din has no reservations about entering your room this time around. He shoves the door open, flouncing in as you trailed after him. He hasn’t spoken a word since they left the club, and still doesn’t, not until you brush the clothing off your bed and sit with a dismayed plop.

“Don’t tell–” You begin.

“Quit.”

Shivering at the command, you wrap your arms around yourself. He’s surprised at the lack of attitude or exasperation in the motion – he can only detect a quiet resignation he knows all too well. You look older now, here. He locks onto the eyebags you’ve tried covering in concealer and the shadow of a frown line he’s never noticed before.

He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it close. It’s difficult not to act on his irritation, it’s more digestible than everything else swirling within him. Not disappointment – no, he’s never really held any expectations of you to be obedient, but just… the uncomfortable remnants of desperation. While you’re right in front of him, breathing, living, even if it’s a subdued version of your usual zesty self, Din can’t get the concern out of his head. And if his slightly askew empathy is anything to trust, you must feel ten times worse; physically, you’re unharmed, but the mental toll of the evening should be damn near destructive. If he were to pace around and berate you, he wouldn’t be able to do so with a sound mind.

His silence stretches for a moment too long. You sniff, a withheld sob weighing your voice down. “I’m sorry.” It’s about the most sincere thing he’s ever witnessed come from you. Din gives you a single nod.

“Not your fault, ner kar’ta.” He shifts closer to you. Your glossy eyes have to strain up to meet his visor. “He… didn’t do anything to you?”

You shake your head and bite your lip. “No. I– I thought I wanted to. That’s why I went. But he was… so scary up close. You came in just on time.” You break eye contact, head tilting down to survey his clenched fist. Gently – so gently he hardly feels it – your hand wraps around his. Your warmth emanates as you squeeze the leather of his glove, before adding: “Thank you, Mando.”

The acknowledgement strikes something in him, burrowing deep into an undiscovered need. He longs to show you that he’s on your side, that you don’t need to constantly fight him, so boldly – somewhat impulsively – he kneels down on one knee to match your height. “Din. It’s Din.”

Your lips part. He dithers; did you even care? But then your face breaks out into that decidedly brilliant smile, and he softens once more. “Din.”

He represses the ache that arises for the way you voice his name. “Do you need anything?”

You start to turn his offer down, but his fingers interlace yours and the pretence dies on your tongue. “I… I don’t know.”

“Tell me. It’s yours.”

“I want…” You break off, searching for something beyond his beskar helm to latch onto. You manage to do so with little effort, your eyes locking onto his. That, alongside Din’s encouraging hum, fortifies your conviction. “Want you to be my first.”

His heart stutters, his hesitancy skyrocketing. It’s not like he’s unwilling, of course not; you’re the harbinger of every visceral instinct in him. Impish, beautiful, terrifying – he’d be ready to give you anything you need, forfeit to whatever you want. It briefly occurs to him that he’s doubling back on his promise to never again fall susceptible to your wicked charms, but something in your admission feels raw. Unfortified. You peel your persona of solid stone with the one request, revealing a piece of yourself to him, just as he did you. He didn’t think you were a virgin.

He hangs back, his thumb rubbing placating circles onto your knuckles.

“I don’t believe I’m the right person to do that, mesh’la.” At the furrow of your brow, he expands. “I’m much too old for you, sweet girl. You deserve to experience that with someone you want.”

“I want you.”

“Maybe tonight has knocked you off kilter. You can’t just settle because I’m the first to give things to you straight.”

“No, that’s not–”

“You need to reflect on this for longer than just a couple minutes.”

Your expression hardens. “Don’t you dare start with that.” You snap, regaining your moxy. Din jostles at the shift in your tone. “Just because I made one mistake doesn’t mean I’m fucking stupid.” At that, he cringes. He hadn’t realised how his admonishment came across – it certainly wasn’t meant to sound like he was criticising your lapse of judgement with Synko. “I want this because I want you. Plain and simple. You… You’re so– Just… I need this, Din. Please.” You gulp, the end of your declaration tapering off with a waver. When Din’s shoulders square, your free hand pulls his head forward so your forehead touches his. “Please.”

Your presence is overbearing. Candy, liquorice sweet – you’re a tooth-rotting, saccharine girl. He’s overcome with the temptation to suck onto you and see if you spill caramel or the sour tang of petulance.

Din finds himself inclined towards the latter.

“Yeah, alright. Of course, sweet girl.”

So he delicately pulls away from you, fingers trailing down your arms as he does. He watches you flutter with excitement and chuckles quietly to himself. This free-fall into unabashed affection is a dangerous pursuit; Din couldn’t care less.

He makes a point to draw your curtains shut, effectively cutting off the rest of the planet. It’s less for avoiding distraction than it is to dampen any light – he could fuck you in his armour, he’s done so with countless women before, but you look especially soft like this. Bitten lips, trembling thighs. To feel every bit of you pressing into him excites him more than anything else, greater than the prospect of you blubbering in delicious pain. Din lacks that sadistic angle right now.

The lamp on your nightstand is the last to go. Before he shuts it, he takes a moment to look at you, sitting criss-cross atop your bed, wide eyes curiously following his every move, and feels a staggering adoration. He trusts you could unleash hell again and his heart won’t waver. The room plunges into darkness.

When his helmet joins the pile of armour he’s discarded — tucked away beside your own clothes — your nose nuzzles his cheek. Everything triples; your scent, the wet warmth of your breath meeting his. You giggle when his stubble scratches you, and his growl actually carries, no longer concealed behind a vocoder. Your pulse skips at that; drumming up into his palm as it smoothes over your neck. He likes exploring the evidence of the effect he has on you – a smooth reflection of his own.

You taste like lollipops and the bite of lemons when his mouth closes over yours. Din relishes in its edge, suckling on your tongue while you moan into his mouth. He kneads the flesh at your waist, your skin slippery with sweat, and parts your legs by sitting between your knees. He’s hunched over you like this, your body splayed underneath him. The thought sends a rush of blood to his hardening cock.

“Perfect. So–” He nibbles on your lower lip. “Fucking–” He kisses you. “Perfect.”

“D-Din,” You whine, your hips lifting, your pelvis bumping into his stomach. The feverish heat of your core practically singes him, spurring his hand to delve between the meat of your thighs.

A finger slips through your lips, coating itself in slick. A second joins in soon after, and the both of them rub through your folds slowly. Teasingly. You keen, nails digging into his shoulders while he brands your neck in hickeys, and despite himself, Din lightly pinches your clit in reprimand. You quickly collapse under the action, jaw hinging open above his head to allow you to let out a louder moan.

“Be patient, beautiful. Gotta be patient for me,”

“S’not fair. Just– just fuck me already,” Your legs kick out. Din chortles in amusement.

“You sure?” He sits back on his haunches, grinning as he guides your hand to close around his erection. While he can’t see your reaction, he can envision that adorable scrunch of your nose that you do when you’re proven wrong. He has it in him to laugh at the picture, your shock at his size palpable in the air, but then you grip a little tighter around the base of him and he chokes.

“You’re so big,” You whisper, jerking him nervously. Your hand is dry – it catches the ridges of him, but he likes the minimal pain that blooms. He reciprocates, pressing a little harder down, his callouses scratching the tender skin of your cunt. “Will you fit?”

Smiling, he returns to your lips. “We’ll make it fit, yeah?”

You nod against him. “Yeah,”

But you can’t fully understand what he means, for you gasp when he presses your legs up against your chest, his body shifting downward so he’s facing your most intimate parts.

Din sorely regrets the dark. He bets you look ravishing, coated in your own juices. His creed hangs like an afterthought as he makes a mental note to eat you out in the light sometime, eager to watch you unravel. But for now, he settles, his mouth closing onto you, engulfing your heat completely. Your calves cross over his back, caging him in, completely discrediting the way you pull his hair and beg him to slow down. He doesn’t. He nurses on you, his tongue lapping at your messy folds. Your broken mewls only work to motivate him as he drinks from you – salty musk, addictive, rejuvenating.

“A–Ah! I think I’m gonna c-cum,” You call out after a while, and his arms wrap around your legs to keep you in place as he doubles his efforts. His nose presses down on your clit, the dextrous muscle of his tongue breaching you so you can gush directly onto it.

“Mmfgh– c’mon, sweet thing. Come for me.” He rallies, voice muffled. The vibration from his words tips you over the edge, it seems, because you force his head impossibly further into you, grinding down onto him while you scream your pleasure. You surge, the confirmation of your orgasm spurting out. Your honey spills into his mouth – Din spreads you a little wider, insatiable, trying to catch the liquid that soaks your bed.

And he doesn’t stop, not even when your arms flop down onto the bed and your legs lose their strength. You stutter weakly, but he continues his charge, only this time, he begins to press a thick finger into you. You draw him in, a vacuum, greedily taking his digital as it crooks inside of you. He unearths that spongy part of you, one that has you tensing your muscles and silencing your complaints. If he keeps going at this rate, you’ll cum again – he wants you too.

When he’s able to fit it in snugly, up to the knuckle, and you start to rock onto it with rekindled enthusiasm, he adds another finger. You hold onto his wrist as he does, breathing heavily. The stretch shouldn’t be too unpleasant, but he waits for your signal before he begins scissoring the two. It comes in the form of a tap on his wrist.

A long groan escapes you as he carefully preps you. Your walls contract, molten, adjusting to his attention. “Fuck.”

“Easy now, little one.”

“I can’t handle it anymore, just take me already.” You’ve taken to that demanding cry again, clenching down on him. Din tuts.

“Bossy.” It’s said with no malice. He removes himself from you, thumbing at your hole as he sticks the digits into his mouth, revisiting the flavour he’s quickly grown addicted to. When he’s sure he’s gotten all of it, he spits on the swell of your cunt, rubbing it in for extra measure. The lewd squelch that erupts as a result is almost enough to make him burst.

“Spoil me.” He’s moved up to face you again. Your indignancy disintegrates at the husky timbre of his tone.

“You know I will.”

Din lines his head to the dip of your cunt, the bulge pressing into you.

“Ready?” He’s elongating this now, just for the sake of it. He loves the way your breasts press into him when you heave impatiently.

“Yes, yes! Please just do it,” You adjure. His chest rumbles with amusement.

And then he pushes in, the soft plunge of his hips assuring it isn’t too much all at once. Your body curls, wrapping around him once more. He can almost feel your mind reeling, absorbing this new sensation, which makes him all the more devoted to spearing you open, one inch at a time. When he’s fully situated, he lets out a groan of his own, diverting his efforts into not spilling into you right here. You’re skin tight, liquid fire – solidifying with each clench and melting away again with his small thrusts.

“Hey.” Din prods, capturing your wrinkled forehead in a kiss. “How’s that?”

“S’good. Amazing. Y-You’re–”

“Big?”

“Mmnnn… Yeah.” You sigh.

Your breath smells like liquorice roots and citrus; a unique lightness that puffs new life in him. Din thinks it suits you – the sharp fragrance nestles itself deep within the recesses of his favour and makes its permanent mark.

You’re perfect. His.

part two

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moomv · 5 months

Text

—till death do us part ; chapter four - loose strands of time

when a girl vows to save an ever-destined agency from death, even if she's been trying 106 different times and even if she's died 106 different times in the process.

-series masterlist

-word count. 2.7k

-genre. fic, comfort/angst, eventual romance

-tags. fem.reader, maybe ooc dazai??, small panic attack, mentions of blood

You were running out of time.

You question now why you hadn’t started to act earlier. You question why you hadn’t started to plan sooner.

You curse yourself now why you had been swayed by the sentimentality of beginning a new life, why you had done what you had.

Foolish.

You knew the consequences if you didn’t act, you knew how it went, you have been doing this 105 different times, you knew, so then why?

Foolish.

You shouldn’t have brought yourself into the public by going with Osamu, you shouldn’t have followed Akutagawa and you shouldn’t have had met Fyodor.

Foolish.

Now you were out of time, the strings of fate squeezing every crevice of you, killing you with every breath it made, the guillotine of fate swung upon you for defying the all-knowing god.

Foolish.

Your lungs protested against every action you took, your stomach squeezed with the prospect of losing to him again.

You weaved through the few people that occupied the street before catching up to Ranpo’s side, your hand still firmly latched onto his, the chill of the evening seeping into your clothes.

“Where are you taking me?”

He looked back down at the case file he held before answering your question, “A case.”

You nodded, “Yes, but why all of a sudden?”

He stopped midway down the street, “Wait- which way was the train station again?” he turned to you expectantly.

You smiled before taking the lead, “Seems things never change.”

He huffed behind you, “I could if I used my ability. But it’s such a hassle when I have you.”

You laughed, placing your hand on your chest dramatically, “I’m flattered,”

You could practically see him smile behind you, “You should be, it’s a great honour you know.”

You smiled, “Oh, of course.” you turned a corner just as you spoke, in the end coming into contact with the train station, a sea of people exited and entered the underground entrance. You turned to the brunette, “Here we are, where do you need to go?”

“Kanagawa.” Ranpo let go of your hand and took out a lollipop from his pocket before opening the wrapper and folding the case file and shoving it into his pocket, he looked at you, “Want one?”

You shook your head, “No, I’m okay.”

He shrugged, before going back into motion and into the train station, you took a deep breath as you entered the sea of people, close behind Ranpo’s form.

“What’s happened in Kanagawa?” You asked, he rolled the lollipop around in his mouth before answering, “Murder case.”

“Murder case?” You asked back.

He hummed, “Which way?”

You pointed to a set of staircases, he followed where you directed before answering your previous question, “Something about a murdered man, probably his wife that killed him.”

You pulled him in another direction, before frowning, “Are we meeting anyone and does Fuku-san know?”

He nodded, “Yes and yes.”

“Who are we meeting?” You questioned.

Ranpo looked at you before sighing, “Do you have to ask so many questions?”

You directed Ranpo to the station, “Here and yes I do.” he huffed, “Police. Now stop asking so many questions!”

You sighed, “Yes, yes.”

Finally you the two of you arrived at your train’s location. Patiently the two of you waited for the arriving train, the crowds of the evening filling the room slowly, workmen and women, children and high schoolers, everyone and all and you regretted that Ranpo had to choose now for this little case.

You never really did well in crowds, ever since that one incident. They always felt all-consuming, drowning you in each person, suffocating you till nothing was left, leaving you feeling breathless and dizzy.

It wasn’t always so bad, sometimes you did okay and sometimes you were fine, but why is it so bad now?

You went behind Ranpo, you could feel your head get a little bit lighter, the world meshing together in a fog of noise and people. You gripped the hem of your sleeves in an attempt to ease your body and chain you back to reality. Why, why, why, now? Why is it happening now?

You placed your head onto his shoulder to try and drown out the deafening noise of the outside world, you took another deep breath, the air burned your lungs, setting you aflame with invisible fire.

Ranpo turned around and with one look at your state, grabbed his hat and placed it on your head, effectively covering your face and line of eyesight, hushing the rampat world that sat outside you and him.

You were grateful in that moment that he was so intuitive.

“There, there, [Name]-chan, it’s okay.” His voice was quiet, a soothing calm to your storm, you took in another breath of air, the world clashing together in a fight for your attention.

He grabbed your hand again and then quickly walked away from the crowds of people.

You arrived at a small nook, a bench and a vending machine sat in the little area. He sat you down on the nearby bench, while he went to grab drinks from the vending machine.

The soft clang of coins and the beep of the vending machine filling in the noise. He came over to your side with a drink, gently he placed it in your hands before sitting down on the bench next to you with an exaggerated sigh.

You took another breath, the world easing back together, thread and needle till you were only left with the ringing in your ears. “Sorry.”

He opened his drink before answering, “No need to be sorry, I should’ve known.”

You tightened your grip on the can, “But-”

He tilted his head to look at you, his eyes open, all-devouring seas that you couldn’t help but drown in. “It’s okay.”

You looked up at him, your eyes widened before you looked back down, the spinning of the world coming to a sudden stop, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. “Still… I’m sorry. I became a burden again.”

He closed his eyes, a childish smile suddenly overtaking his lips, “You could never be a burden to me.”

Your hands gripped the can of your drink before easing into a delicate hold. You turned away from him, a small making itself home on your lips.

You hated the end of each life the most.

When the fateful time came you were left with left with only a sense of failure. Failure at your own duty, you were supposed to protect them so why couldn’t you? Why do you always end in failure? Why-?

You have asked yourself that question a thousand times over, turning in your mind like a forever broken tune, a tune without melody a tune without words and forever did you come to the same conclusion that it was just fate’s sick way of taunting you, taunting you with forever what if’s and imaginary scenarios- What if… it says, that you joined the agency with a different ability and what if you never had to go through the hardships you’ve had to endure. What if… your parents never died and you happily lived with them, oblivious to the truths of the world and the cruelty you wouldn’t ever learn.

What if- you died that day and never came back, you died and you were in death’s embrace, shielded away from fate’s hands and shielded away from the world. What if you weren’t dying right now?

You could feel the bark of the tree behind you dig into your back, you could smell the metallic tang of blood in the air.

Distantly you gazed at the sky, fluffy grey clouds and the sweet smell of soon rain on the horizon, how cliche, you think, to die in the rain.

“[Name]-chan.” You hummed at your name, your thoughts filtering in through your mind in soft recollection.

“What is it Dazai-san?” Your eyes flickered to the brunette, his face was smoothed out in a look of serenity, his eyes softened with the weight of your death on the near horizon, it almost looked like he didn’t care. But you knew he did, you knew that seeing you die and not being able to do anything because of the chance of his ability activating was crushing him.

“” Dazai-san? ”’ He mocked your earlier words, “I thought we were closer than that.” A sliver of a smile appeared on his face, you smiled back at him.

“What is it Osamu?” you tried again and in the end pleasing the brunette.

He looked down at his intertwined hands, “Promise me you won’t try to meet me when you go back.”

You looked back at the approaching clouds, rain would soon dampen the ground and earth, you wondered if you would be alive to feel it. “I promise.”

Dazai looked up at you, quick surprise flickering in his eyes before settling on realization, “You knew?”

“Of course, I knew. I have lived countless times Osamu, this wasn’t our first meeting.”

His eyes widened before he burst out into melancholy laughter, “Of course, you knew, of course.”

You looked down at your reddened shirt, “I only have a few minutes left. I can’t feel my hands anymore.”

Dazai stopped laughing, quietness stretching around the two of you in heavy weight, you sighed. “It’ll be okay.” you didn’t know if you were comforting yourself or him but nonetheless the words felt like a soothing balm on an aching wound.

You looked back out at the sky again, “It’ll be okay, I’m used to this.”

He stayed silent so you took that as your cue to continue, “It never is easy dying, even if I know I won’t really be dead.” you took in a shuttering breath, “That was the hardest part, not being able to die. You never know the luxury of it until it's been taken away.”

“But I’m okay as long as I get to see everyone again, see you again. I’m okay dying for you till the end of the world, as long as I get to be by everyone’s side, by yours… I’m okay.”

“Why you?” He spoke it as though thought rather than question. His words hung heavy in the air, thick with a multitude of unsaid words shared between the two of you, if only you had more time, if only-

You took in a deep breath before gently shaking your head, your hair swaying with the movement, “I don’t know.”

Dazai hung his head, his hair covering his expression, you wondered what he looked like, what his face read. “It’s not fair, is it?”

You smiled, “No. But if I can protect you all I don’t care if it is.” each word you spoke got quieter and quieter, your voice mixing in with the soft wind of the air, each second your vision got darker and darker, fireflies of night consuming your vision whole.

He sighed and brought his head back up, slowly he stood up and walked over to your slouched form, “How cruel this world is to you.” his voice was soft, a delicate blanket that draped over your body in warming comfort.

Your eyes eased shut, once more death kissing you with frosted reassurances that now felt futile in the weight of your ability, futile in the weight of eternity.

The sun peacefully shined in the distance, alighting the world in warm hues of yellow. You basked in the presence of it while Ranpo talked to the police officers.

“The wife did it.” He stated it matter-of-factly, the officer in front of him swallowed hard before gesturing to another officer, a silent command.

Ranpo took off his glasses and pocketed them. The officer in front of him nodded twice, “Right.” he noted down on the notepad before swallowing again, “...The evidence?”

“In their garden shed, a knife with her fingerprints and his blood.” Ranpo turned to you afterwards, you sighed already knowing what he wanted. “Things really don’t change, hm? You're still the greatest detective it seems.”

Ranpo laughed, “Of course I am!”

You smiled gently, your heart all too aching to see his smile forever bright, forever radiant. “Good job, Ranpo.”

Ranpo beamed before pulling his hands behind his head and sauntering off, “Let’s go, [Name]-chan, I want to try out the new bakery near the agency.”

You nodded to the officer, “Case solved, yes?”

He straightened up, “Yes! Thank you for your help.”

“You really should be thanking…” You looked in the direction of Ranpo, he was silently watching the exchange, impatience laced within his features, you sighed. “Ah, never mind. That will be all. Have a good day.” You dipped your head before walking over to Ranpo.

Ranpo took your hand once you were close enough before starting to walk down the street.

“I didn’t bring my wallet you know.”

Ranpo huffed, “Fine. I’ll buy them this time then.”

You giggled, a smile easing its way to your lips, “Ranpo buying me a treat? How unheard of!”

He huffed again, false exasperation filling his breath, “It won’t happen again. Don’t get used to it.”

You came up to his side, before smiling at him, “Thank you, Ranpo, truly.”

He stayed silent, his eyes focused on the street ahead of him, his eyes pure emerald, you admired the colour before looking ahead again. Warm comfort filling every bone, you were glad you were back. Back within their embraces of warmth and never-ending affection, back within their words and protection, truly, if it was for them, you would do anything.

You had first met Dazai at the beginning of your 13th life, 13th attempt.

You were still new to going back, you were still new to everything, your ability, everyone forgetting you and dying, you were still new at it.

You had met him when the sun descended into the horizon, darkness stealing away the world in temporary bliss.

You had just gotten back from getting sweets for Ranpo. He was sitting by the window, Kunikida was talking his ear off, comical shouts coming from the blonde. Dazai was smiling, a loose type of smile, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The rest of the agency was empty, except for you four. You dropped the bag of sweets on Ranpo’s desk, he gleamed happily up at you before digging into the bag.

You walked over towards the two, “Who is this?” you asked the blonde. He stopped shouting at the brunette and spun around.

Quickly he straightened himself and pushed his glasses up, “New agency member. [L.Name]-san meet Dazai, Dazai meet [L.Name]-san.”

You titled your head to the side, “Dazai? Have we met before? That name sounds familiar.”

He blinked a couple of times before getting up and gently grabbing your hand, “No, I would have remembered a beauty like you.”

Kunikida quickly hit him with his notebook, a comically loud thunk echoing in the room, “Show some respect, you idiot!”

You smiled, “No need to be so harsh, Kunikida, I don’t mind. What’s your first name, Dazai-san?”

“Dazai Osamu,” Gently he rubbed the back of his head with his hand.

“[L.Name], [Name]. It's a pleasure to meet you, Dazai-san.”

Dazai smiled, “As it is to meet you, [L.Name]-chan!”

Kunikida huffed, “You don’t need to show so much respect towards him, [L. Name]-san,” he glared at the brunette, “he doesn’t deserve it.”

Dazai blew air, “How cruel, Kunikida-kun!”

You laughed, “It only feels fitting,” sheepishly you rubbed the back of your neck, “I’d feel awkward otherwise.”

Kunikida pushed his glasses up, “You’re lucky you scoundrel. But if I ever catch you harassing [L.Name]-san again, you’ll get more than just a warning.”

Dazai held his hands as though guilty, “Yes, yes.”

You giggled before walking over to the brunette and you held out your hand, “Let’s work together well, Dazai-san.”

Dazai smiled this time and this time it reached his eyes, molten brown that seemed to quell all other senses. He took hold of your hand, “It’s a pleasure to work with you, [L.Name]-chan.”

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#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd angst #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #kunikida doppo #kunikida x reader #bsd imagines #bsd fic #₊˚ʚ writes ₊˚✧

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commander-krios · 4 months

Text

A Divine Dream

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: An invitation to a Grand Ball. A returning hero. And the man who'd gotten away. Words: 5798 Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, Ballroom Dancing, Banter, Happy Ending, Love and Hope, Second Chances, Mild Language, Background Wyll/Karlach

Read on AO3

This fic was written for @Cozy_Bossi to go along with a piece of art they made a few months ago of Dammon and Rolan. I've attached the picture and their twitter on AO3 so that you can follow them for more wonderful art!

Also, I hit 200k words posted for 2023!

Your presence is requested at a Grand Ball in honour of the rebuilding of Baldur’s Gate by his eminence, Duke Ulder Ravengard.

The invitation was written in elegant script, looped letters in golden ink that glittered in the light. He knew he should attend. Most likely, his absence would be noticed and considered rude among the upper circles of the city. He was the master of Ramazith’s Tower and Baldur’s Gate’s newest archmage, yet he had much to still do, even a year after the destruction of the Absolute. With a sigh, Rolan tossed the parchment on his desk amidst mountains of scrolls and books.

The movement caught Cal’s eye. His brother glanced up from his book, scrunching his face in concern. “Another solicitor?”

“If only.” Untying his hair from the elaborate braid he’d started to wear recently, he brushed his fingers through the strands, combing the knots out. “There is a party for the Duke in a tenday. I’m expected to attend.”

“A party sounds fun.” Cal reached for the paper, glancing it over quickly before a grin appeared on his face. A grin that Rolan didn’t like the look of. “And Ravengard is fair and honorable. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

“The horror.” Rolan muttered, the sarcasm not lost on his younger brother. “I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather be doing than getting dressed up like a prized peacock and prancing around a dance floor.”

“Is it because you don’t have a date?” Cal teased, setting the invitation face up in front of Rolan again, the golden script mocking him.

“A date? Have you seen the type of person that tries to woo me? Hardly any of them are worth the time or effort.”

“So you’re saying that some of them are worth it?”

“Please spare me.” The invitation sat open, a temptation despite his objections. How long had it been since he’d left the Tower to merely socialize? His work as archmage brought him to many drawing rooms in Baldur’s Gate, not to mention his travels across Faerun visiting with other archwizards. He wasn’t locked away in Ramazith’s Tower like his predecessor had been. No, he frequently took on apprentices, delved into research with other wizards in the Realms.

But his patience for frivolous things, for frivolous people, had waned in the last months. What use was making connections, social or otherwise, when the one person he wished to see had left for Avernus nearly a full year ago?

Cal shifted in his seat, bringing his book closer as if he planned to continue reading, but his eyes were fixed on a singular spot on the page. He knew what this was. Cal craved life outside of the tower walls. Lia was well established with the Flaming Fist. She had friends and dates and hobbies that kept her away for days at a time. Cal had put his life on hold to stay behind and help Rolan with the organization of the Tower, of everything Lorroakan had left behind. He worked in Sorcerous Sundries most days, only going out on the occasion when Lia insisted.

After everything they’d been through to get to this point, Rolan knew he owed his brother this.

With a sigh, Rolan rested his elbow on the desk, cupping his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on his brother. “Cal.”

Cal glanced up curiously, the shadow of a grin twitching at his lips. “Yes, Rolan?”

“Did you want to go to the ball with me?”

In his excitement, Cal slammed the book shut hard enough that the entire table shook. Rolan cast a spell to stop the ink pot from tumbling to the floor. It floated, suspended in mid-air before he snatched it and returned it to the safety of the desk.

“I know you’re excited, but please be careful.”

“Sorry.” Cal said with a sheepish grin. “Should we invite Lia?”

“I suspect she’ll be there.” Rolan cleared away the texts, standing and replacing them to their spots on the bookshelf. He didn’t want to discuss the ball, or the Flaming Fist, or anything when he knew how easily it could lead to places and people he wasn’t ready to talk about yet. Friends that were long gone and most likely would never return.

“Right. Flaming Fist and all.” Cal stood as well, stretching to relieve his muscles from sitting in one place so long. “Should I check in on Tolna before bed?”

“No.” He said, realizing his voice was sharper than was necessary. Forcing himself to be gentler, he turned to his brother, putting on his best smile. The frown on Cal’s face only proved he was still terrible at it. “I’ll do it. I should secure the vault and check in on a few things anyway. Go. Get some rest.”

Cal hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but decided better of it. “Alright. You’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Rolan nodded, but he knew no matter how much help he needed, he wouldn’t bother his brother’s well deserved rest. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he gathered up his loose hair, tying it back like he used to do when they traveled the dangerous roads of the Storm Coast. If Cal noticed, he didn’t comment on it. “Of course. Now off with you. I have work to do.”

Cal knew better than to argue with him, it wasn’t worth the trouble. Even if Rolan was in the wrong, it took practically pulling teeth for him to admit it. When his brother finally exited through the portal, the wizard of Ramazith’s Tower was left in the echoey silence.

~~~~

Duke Ulder Ravengard’s estate was lavishly decorated with red and gold hangings, perfectly shined silverware, the glow of hundreds of candles creating the perfect romantic atmosphere for the couples that had already taken to the dancefloor. Gowns made of delicate fabrics in colors of indigo and crimson, lavender and silver, each one more beautiful than the last, billowed and swayed with each movement. Elaborate beading, expensive jewelry, fashionably coiffed hair…

Rolan still couldn’t believe he was here with the nobility as an equal. All of his ambition and dreaming never prepared him for this new life: the opulence, the respect, the wealth of knowledge at his hands. He knew how lucky he was for such a chance, he’ll always be grateful to Wyll and his friends for helping him acquire it.

With a wave of his hand and a quiet recitation of a well-known spell, stars sparkled across the ceiling, falling in wide arcs of light and color, and a smattering of applause went through the room at the sight.

Cal inhaled sharply beside him, eyes fixed on the magic until it disappeared, wonder and appreciation on his face. “Wow. That never gets old, does it?”

Rolan smiled softly, clapping a hand to his brother’s shoulder, enjoying the way his eyes lit up at the light show. Almost like old times. “I’m glad you convinced me to come. Now, go. Enjoy yourself. I am going to see if Lia is here yet.”

Cal met his eyes, hesitating. “Are you sure you want me to leave you?”

“I can handle some nobles, Cal.” Rolan held back a laugh at the incredulous look on his brother’s face. “I’m not that insufferable, am I?”

“Well…”

Pushing gently against Cal’s shoulder, he wasn’t surprised when he burst into laughter. “Get out of here, you menace.”

Cal was still chuckling as he melted into the crowd, in search of whoever he knew among the guests. The Flaming Fist was here in force, silent watchers in the corners of the room, although most threats to the Duke or the city had long disappeared with the destruction of the Elder Brain and the deaths of the Chosen Three. Baldur’s Gate, like much of the Storm Coast, hadn’t experienced peace such as this in years. He hoped it lasted.

Rolan had no difficulty finding Duke Ravengard in the crowd, he and Counsellor Florrick speaking to nobility and common folk alike, neither being barred from the Upper City as was once the norm. Now, everyone had a voice in the rebuilding, in the life that was going to bloom here, and Rolan was grateful to be part of it.

Perhaps there was hope, after all. Hope for a better future, for a happier one. A future where he didn’t have to regret or question the choices he’d made.

A future where he finally made a life for himself.

His sister was at her post near the back of the room, the refreshment table not far from where she stood. When Lia noticed his approach, a smile spread across her face, waving in the direction he’d come from.

“I knew you had to be here when the magic show lit up the room. Can’t stop showing off, can you?”

“I did it for Cal, if you must know.” He replied flippantly, reaching immediately for the Arabellan Dry and pouring a large glass full. “He is here, somewhere.”

“Probably searching for Lord Guthmere’s daughter.” She teased, pretending to be at attention when he glanced at her. “They’ve taken a liking to one another.”

“Please, Lia. Let’s not make enemies of the patriars of the city already. I don’t want to be chased out by a mob because you and Cal cannot be discrete.”

She was silent as he sipped the wine, watching the people of Baldur’s Gate flirt, dance, and stand a world apart from them. Even if he was considered among them, Rolan doubted he would ever feel as comfortable among the glitter and gold than he was in the Sundries library, discussing spells and history with other wizards, most notably Elminster and Gale, both of whom visited him frequently over the last year. It’d been quiet, informative, and immensely enjoyable.

“You look weird.” Lia said, barely concealed mischief flirting across her face. She wore her Flaming Fist uniform, the crimson fabric and silver iron looking right on her. He would never admit it aloud, but he was proud of the woman she’d become.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t still irritate him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He brushed a hand over the rich blue robes he wore, enjoying how the golden threads shone in the light. Rolan had spent days searching for the perfect set of robes for the Duke’s ball, only to end up in Facemaker’s at the last moment to find something worthy of an archmage. “This was an expensive purchase.”

“You might want to ask for your money back.” She teased him, motioning to the ensemble. His frown deepened. “Half of it is missing.”

Rolan sniffed in irritation, lifting the goblet to his mouth again.“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Hells, you’re sensitive tonight.” Lia rolled her eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t roll all the way into her skull. “I was joking, you idiot.”

“It’s difficult to tell when everything you say is a joke.”

She stared at him until his lips twitched, a smile curling his lips without his permission. Lia snorted a laugh, shaking her head but the expression on her face was approving. Figured.

“Why are you over here sulking, anyway? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would love to get to know the fabulous Master Rolan.”

He gazed into the wine glass, the dark burgundy liquid holding no answers to what plagued him. Only he knew and like hell would he explain any of it to his sister.

He diverted her attention instead.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying less about me and more about protecting the Duke instead?”

Lia rolled her eyes, nodding to the Duke in question. “As if anyone is going to get past his entourage. Most of the Fist are here for the appearance of protection. Absolutely no one is going to hurt the Duke with a wizard prodigy, a Harper, and a damned vampire spawn protecting him.”

There was no doubt about that. The Duke’s son had left Baldur’s Gate to his father’s benevolent rule, but hadn’t left him alone. Many of his companions had either stayed in the city or visited frequently, to the point that they were welcomed guests at Ravengard’s.

“I suppose you have a point.” Rolan conceded before taking another sip of wine, refusing to meet his sister’s gaze. The last thing he wanted was to see her smug grin. She may have won this argument, but there would be plenty of those tonight and he wasn’t going to concede victory so early. “But then again, I am also here to protect our beloved Duke. Lest you forgot.”

“Could never forget a head that big.”

Rolan held his tongue when there was movement ahead, a gathering of the patriars and their guests as the familiar visage of Duke Ravengard appeared, calling for their attention as if his very presence didn’t immediately call for it. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed even Lia had snapped to attention, her chin held high and her focus entirely on the man she worked for. He’d never seen her so disciplined before.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one to truly benefit from the time they’d spent in Baldur’s Gate.

“Now that everyone has gathered, it’s time I explained why I asked you here.” Ulder Ravengard stood slightly raised above the crowd, a goblet of wine in his hand, Florrick and a few of his closest council standing a few feet off, watching with much less anxiety than the rest.

Whispers broke out, speculation running rampant. Ravengard raised his hands in supplication, a genuine happiness on his face that Rolan hadn’t seen much of since Wyll left for Avernus, and the guests fell silent, waiting with bated breath for his announcement. Rolan sighed quietly, trying to still the anxious flutter of his hands. He folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands against his body, trying to ignore the foreboding that tickled at the back of his mind.

“It’s been nearly a year and yet, I never gave up hope that my son would return home to Baldur’s Gate. To us.” Rolan didn’t miss the whispered ‘to me’ that Ravengard spoke under his breath. “And for the first time since that day against the Netherbrain, he isn’t alone. Please aid me in welcoming back the Pride of the Gate, your hero, and my son. Wyll.”

Applause and cheers mixed among the patriars, all turning as one as the enormous ornate doors opened once more to admit their heroes. Wyll Ravengard stood at the front, looking as much the hero as the Blade of Frontiers ever had, dressed in an impeccable doublet of black and gold, a prince among patriars.

The tiefling barbarian, Karlach, stood beside him with their arms linked, a radiant force with her wide smile and affectionate laugh, eyes sparkling with a fire that always burned within her.

Rolan hadn’t heard a single scrap of news regarding the tiefling with the infernal engine until now. Her return to Avernus was kept quiet among the companions and the few people who knew of her affliction. Duke Ravengard’s mood had soured considerably after Wyll left with her, refusing to let the woman he loved suffer alone, but tonight, there was a new light within the Duke… within them all. A happiness that Rolan hadn’t seen in so long.

Wyll’s infectious laughter and wit immediately drew people to his side as it always did. He was surrounded by his usual friends, those that had helped him end the Absolute plot. The silver-haired cleric held a goblet of wine and a rather beautiful smile on her face. The wizard of Waterdeep with his jovial laughter and light hearted, yet silly jokes. The pale vampire who was the life of the party, taking in the attention with the air of a man who’d done this sort of thing his entire life. The High Harper and the former First Druid stood side by side farther back, discussing something at length with the Githyanki, supplied with all manner of drink and entertainment, preferring to shield themselves from the golden light that radiated from the savior of Baldur’s Gate instead of basking in it.

But none of them held the allure of the one who stood within the confines of their circle, out of place among heroes but never far from Rolan’s thoughts.

A tiefling blacksmith with a heart of gold and a smile to match it.

Dammon’s radiant smile was all the more blinding with the joy reflected in his dazzling blue eyes. He watched Karlach and Wyll with the pride of a friend, the affection of a brother. They had been his constant companions for nearly a year and yet, Rolan was jealous of the bond he’d so clearly built with them.

It was then that Rolan realized what their return meant. Karlach was no longer burning up, the fire of the infernal engine stifled in her chest.

They’d done it.

“It sounds like father has been telling tall tales about our exploits.”

“If anyone deserves to be a hero, it’s you, darling.” Astarion cooed at him, lifting a glass of wine to his lips. “Just take it before he decides to build a statue or something. The man is relentless.”

Karlach laughed, a harsh loud bark that was full of so much love and joy that it nearly broke Rolan’s heart. How he missed her vibrant personality, despite how loud and perhaps a tad bit boisterous she could be. Wyll took her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles, a gesture that felt too intimate for the setting.

He ignored his friend’s teasing and instead, tugged Karlach closer, slipping his free arm around her waist, their combined hands coming up in the imitation of a dancer’s pose. “Let’s lead this dance, shall we, my love?”

Karlach responded, but Rolan didn’t care what it was she said, what any of them said, not when Dammon had noticed him staring. Realizing his mouth was hanging open, he snapped it shut, blush crawling up his neck and cheeks to the tips of his ears. Dammon smiled at him kindly and approached as the heroes of Baldur’s Gate continued to the dance floor, ignoring the two of them completely.

Rolan’s gaze swept Dammon’s body, taking in the new piercing hanging from his pointed ear, the dark blue doublet with fancy cloak, gold clasps glittering in the light of a thousand candles.

“I didn’t realize you’d returned. This is quite the surprise.” Rolan said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, but knowing he immediately failed when Dammon glanced at him, curiosity winning out over anything else. He swallowed with some difficulty, a lump sitting painfully in his throat. Might as well have been his foot.

“Yes. It was… recent. Very recent.” Dammon cleared his own throat, suddenly captivated by the sight of the dancers. Avoiding his gaze, most likely. “Karlach is doing much better than I expected. Better than I had hoped. I’m proud of how far she’s come. She deserves a happy ending.”

And what of us?

Rolan’s shoulders stiffened as his gaze sought out the subject of their conversation. She was laughing loudly, her voice carrying over the music and the chatter. Rolan could acknowledge that she deserved this, both she and Wyll did, but he was still angry that Dammon of all people took that responsibility on to himself. To leave for the Hells, the very place they’d escaped from such a short time ago, to put himself in danger for a woman he barely knew. Only because of the infernal engine she carried.

He took advantage of Dammon’s distraction to study him. The doublet he wore was a rich ocean blue, only highlighting the azure of his pretty eyes. His blond hair brushed his shoulders when he turned, watching a particularly handsome couple spin across the dance floor. The corners of his mouth tipped up, his expression gentle, softening his features. Longing thrummed beneath Rolan’s skin, the desire to reach out and comb some of that blond hair from his face, to tuck it behind an ear, if only to trail one of his claws across Dammon’s jaw.

“I suppose they all do. They did save us, after all.” Rolan forced the words out, trying to bridge the gap between them, the one that he had created when they’d last spoken. Because despite Dammon deciding to help Karlach’s mission in the Hells, Rolan was the one who’d taken a step back, reexamined things. He decided to leave the fleeting touches and longing looks behind him.

Rolan didn’t want to be left alone picking up the pieces of his heart when Dammon didn’t return. For a year, he’d been right. Dammon was gone, he wasn’t coming back, the Hells had torn him apart or had broken him. And if he did come back, what would be left? Would the man he cared for even still be in there, somewhere?

Rolan knew he wouldn’t survive that. Not after everything they’d fought against, fought for.

Dammon played with the edge of his cloak, the fine fabric shimmering with each movement. He was lost in his mind again, the revelry echoing in a sea of sound and color, a kaleidoscope of chaos. “Everyone here is a hero, in their own way. Even you, Rolan.”

He snorted, resisting an eye roll at the almost compliment. “Of course I am. My greatest achievements being almost getting killed by goblins and shadow creatures only to end up abused at the hands of a megalomaniac. You have a strange definition of hero.”

Dammon glanced up at his confession and Rolan realized too late what he’d admitted. He couldn’t meet the blacksmith’s gaze, this time he was the one to stare out into the crowd. “Lorroakan did what?”

Shit.

“I… Karlach told me about the aasimar, but not-”

Rolan waved the concern away, trying not to feel embarrassed at how easy it was to talk to Dammon. Like old times, indeed. “It’s fine. I’m fine. If it makes it easier to swallow, I helped to throw him from the Tower.”

“It does not.” Dammon sighed, closing his eyes and breathing slowly as if to calm himself. “If I had known, if you’d told me-”

“It changes nothing. Lorroakan is dead and I’m the new Master of the Tower. It’s taken a lot of work but it is mine now. And the Realms’. Knowledge shouldn’t be hoarded.”

Dammon made a noise low in his throat. A strangled laugh. At least, that’s what he thought it was.

“Is something funny?”

“I didn’t expect you to see the silver lining in such an awful situation. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always had confidence in excess.”

“Confidence or not, I’ve had plenty of practice surviving. We both have, it seems.”

Dammon bit his lip, concentrating on the words for what they were, a truth that was impossible for him to refute. They’d both done quite a bit of surviving over the last few years. Together and not.

And that was the problem, Rolan realized. Despite everything he’d gained, the safety and security of his position, the wealth and knowledge at his fingertips, the wonderful lives that he always swore he’d provide for his siblings, he was still in survival mode. A difficult habit to break, for sure.

“Rolan, I-”

Clearing his throat, Rolan cut Dammon off before he could get anything else out. The last thing he wanted was a heart to heart in such a public place, with the man who he, once upon a time, wanted something more with. “I apologize, but I really must return to the tower. It’s excellent that you’re well, Dammon. Truly. Perhaps, in the future, you can regale me with tales of your fight in Avernus.”

A brief flash of uncertainty crossed Dammon’s face before he hid it behind a smile. The blacksmith was always levelheaded, more so than Rolan ever was.

Rolan turned away, intending to disappear into the crowd without another word, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks before he could take a single step. “Ah, here you are. The man I was looking for. Where are you off in such a rush?”

Wyll. Of all the people who could’ve caught his escape, it had to be the one whose disappointment would hurt most.

“I’m terribly sorry for leaving so soon… there are things I forgot that must be done, tonight-”

Wyll tsked, shaking his head with a frown on his face. For a brief moment, Rolan felt like a child again, being scolded by the matron of the orphanage he’d been abandoned at. The expression always rankled and this was no exception.

“The Archmage of Baldur’s Gate must stay for one dance. Come, I haven’t seen you in nearly a year and you’ve been standing here stiff as the statue my father said Lia had commissioned of you.”

“She did what?”

“I must insist that you enjoy yourself.” Wyll smiled kindly, nodding towards the dance floor. Rolan’s heart thudded dangerously fast in his chest at the thought of twirling among the other guests. Dancing wasn’t one of his strengths. He couldn’t recall ever having to do so. “Please. Think of it as a favor to an old friend.”

Damn him.

“I’m sure I can enjoy myself quite well with another glass of wine.”

Dammon coughed, covering his mouth with a hand, eyes staring at his feet. Rolan easily saw the smirk he attempted but completely failed to hide. So this was an ambush, was it?

“You mustn’t leave us so soon, Rolan.” Wyll continued as Karlach joined them, the fitted ebony gown looking even more stunning up close. She slipped her hand into Wyll’s, the joy of being to touch her love clear on her face. “There is plenty of fun left to be had.”

“But, I don’t have a partner.” Rolan responded, a smug grin aimed in the direction of the blacksmith. Dammon’s eyes widened slightly, as if he realized where Rolan’s thoughts had gone. If I have to suffer this madness, then so do you.

“Crazy idea!” Karlach interrupted, a grin breaking out across her lips, excitement sparkling in those glowing golden eyes. “You and Dammon could dance. Together. Because if it’s one thing I know after all of this crazy shit, it’s that everyone needs a chance to find that special person that makes them better. And Dammon here,” Karlach nudged him with an elbow, a grin that could light the Hells on her face. “Well, let’s just say he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since we left for Avernus.”

A blush colored Dammon’s cheeks at the revelation. “Karlach!”

“Was it a secret?” She asked, seeming genuinely confused and Rolan might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so embarrassed. “Come on, the two of you are irritatingly obvious and if I have to throw you into a wardrobe until you finally just f-”

“What Karlach means to say is-” Wyll cut her off, tugging her away from the two of them with a laugh. But not before throwing one last look at them. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Karlach’s laughter faded into the murmurs of the crowd, the son of an Archduke and the tiefling barbarian he loved finding the time to enjoy their lives now that the latest crisis had passed. Rolan released a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest ease only a little, a new fear warring inside of him. With a quick glance in Dammon’s direction, he wasn’t surprised to see the blacksmith studying him.

“I think that was the most polite threat I’ve ever had aimed at me.”

Rolan laughed, feeling breathless, and perhaps a little dizzy. It was definitely a threat, but one he might actually not be afraid of the consequences of. “I guess we have only one option then. That is, if you’re amenable to a dance.”

Hells, was he really doing this? He didn’t even really know how to dance a proper waltz.

Dammon raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Is that what you want?”

The man was so annoyingly handsome, with his light hair cascading around his face and striking blue eyes that haunted Rolan so many nights since their first meeting in Elturel. And here they were, both alive and settled in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by friends, living the future they’d only dreamed about. Dammon was watching him intently, a soft grin curling his lips in a way that left Rolan’s insides feeling like pudding.

Holding his arm out in invitation, he tried to quell the erratic beat of his heart when Dammon linked their arms together, fingers brushing softly against his forearm.

Dammon was alive. After all of this time. The Hells hadn’t destroyed him, hadn’t changed him. His eyes were still kind, soft, beautiful. And to touch him after everything...

The room was too warm, too crowded, too bright, but when Dammon turned to face him in the midst of it all, everything faded to background noise. The only thing Rolan could see was the hypnotic azure of his eyes, a golden ring around his irises that was the same color as a noonday sun. There was a pink flush to his cheeks, the candles in the chandelier above highlighting the gold in his blond hair. Dammon was ethereal, dazzling, and too good for him.

The orchestra began its song, the music swelling around them as Dammon took the lead, free hand sliding to Rolan’s waist while the other gripped his hand gently. Then, without warning, they were moving, no, gliding, across the dance floor, their feet barely touching the ground as they went. Rolan knew there were eyes on them, he felt them burning into the back of his head, but the look of unadulterated bliss on Dammon’s face kept his attention.

There was nothing more beautiful to him than the sight of Dammon’s smile as they spun in the complicated dance, his face flushed in exhilaration, a laugh on his lips that came out awed, delighted.

“You’re good at this.” Rolan said, forgetting himself in the moment. He felt weightless as Dammon changed direction, stepping even closer. Blush creeped up his neck at the soft brush of their chests and his breath caught in his throat. “Uh, dancing, that is.”

Dammon chuckled, barely able to hide the smile on his face. “You are kind to say that. I admit, it’s been a while.”

The music picked up speed, a tempo that had the rest of the dancers spinning madly around them. Dammon’s gloved fingers tightened on his hip, digging into his waist and if his hands weren’t protected by the thick gloves he wore, his claws would’ve drawn blood. Rolan clenched his hand against Dammon’s shoulder, letting the music distract him from the sudden uncomfortable feeling flooding through him. Closing his eyes, he let Dammon lead him through the dance, each twirl and sway of their bodies, each tap of their feet to the rhythm, each brush against the other’s body nothing short of intoxicating.

Rolan wanted to stay in this moment indefinitely, free of responsibility for the first time in months, with the air rushing by as he realized how much he truly did enjoy dancing. At least, he did in the arms of a man who clearly knew what he was doing.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Dammon’s question pulled Rolan from his mind. He opened his eyes to find his friend watching him intently. His eyes begged for understanding, for a chance to be vulnerable. Rolan, at least, owed him that much. “

After a beat, Dammon realized his breath, tilting his head slightly to watch out for other revelers, focusing on everything but Rolan’s face. Almost as if he couldn’t bear to see his expression at his revelation. “I didn’t believe I would survive the trip to Avernus. I’d accepted that the Hells would be my tomb. That I would never see the sky again. Never see my friends from Elturel again. But whenever Karlach or I started to doubt, the Blade of Frontiers was there filling our heads with hope.”

“That does sound like him. Irritatingly so.”

Dammon laughed, a soft sound that loosened the butterflies in his stomach and he nearly felt as if he’d be sick. “If there is one word to describe Wyll Ravengard, it is hero.”

“A hero, yes, that’s for certain.” Rolan snorted, leaning forward to glance around them. Guests were still coming and going, and would be well into the night, and for a moment he contented himself with watching the glittering jewelry and fabric, the gilded gold and gemstones, the dancing lights above. It was lovely to behold, this moment of peaceful bliss.

“Do you have an issue with heroic types, Rolan?”

The question brought his gaze back to Dammon and the smile that greeted him there. He was teasing, eyes hooded and sparkling with laughter, and they twirled again, in their own world where no one else but them existed. “Depends on the hero we’re talking about. But to answer your question. No, I don’t have an issue with them. Not anymore.”

With a shake of his head, a breathless laugh escaped his lips, but he didn’t once take his eyes from Rolan’s. “Well, that’s excellent news because I’m dancing with my hero. To be fair, I almost feel like I'm dreaming.”

Rolan might’ve scoffed if the admission didn’t shock him. “Me? A hero? I think the Hells scrambled your brain.”

Dammon rolled his eyes, but sidled closer, their bodies touching again as they danced. “You saved us in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. I wouldn’t be here if not for you so… thank you.”

Rolan broke eye contact, staring at where their hands were entwined. Maybe… this was a second chance. Maybe there was more here than either of them expected. Perhaps, together, they could figure out what that was.

With a smile, he returned his gaze to Dammon, thoughts of a divine dream dancing in his head. A dream that he refused to imagine for so long that he craved it as much as he did the wine in his goblet. His hand tangled into the golden locks that brushed Dammon’s shoulders, enjoying the shiver that ran down his spine at the silkiness.

“If you’re staying in the city, I’m certain I’ll need your heroics to save me. From a stuck cork in a wine bottle, perhaps?”

Dammon laughed, the sound a balm for the soul but did little for the erratic beating of his heart in his chest. “I’m sure I can handle that.”

Yes, quite the divine dream.

#my writing #bg3 #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #rolan x dammon #dammon x rolan #wyll ravengard #karlach #wyll x karlach

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millersdjarin · 1 year

Text

Some Invisible String

Chapter V: One Single Thread of Gold

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (afab)

Rating: E (18+ only!)

Summary: Ten years after Reader left Joel for reasons he still doesn’t know, they find themselves together again in a town called Jackson. Joel has questions he’s too afraid to ask; and Reader dreads having to give the answers.

Chapter length: 4.2k

Warnings/Tags: injury recovery, light angst, SMUT, crying during sex (but in a happy way), happy ending, unprotected p in v

Chapter Four (Previous) | Series Masterlist | Fic Masterlist

notes: final chapter! thank u for reading, i hope you enjoy ❤️

ps since tlou has new fans from the show (YAY!), just a heads up that this is post TLOU part 1 and following the details of game canon vs tv show canon, so spores for example. so, spoilers ahead for the story ❤️

“See? Told you she wouldn’t believe us.”

“I do,” I find myself saying, blinking at Ellie and Joel in their kitchen like each of them has just grown a second head. “I do believe you. I just…holy shit. You can breathe in spores, and everything?”

“Yup.”

I stare at Ellie with wide-eyes. Her sleeve is rolled up, revealing her bite. I never thought I’d see a healed bite from an infected. “Jesus,” I breathe out. I reach down for her arm, then ask, “Can I?”

Ellie nods and lifts it up to meet me, letting her forearm sit in my hand. I run my finger over the scar, feeling its raised bumps and wrinkles, completely dumfounded by the fact that this is an actual infected bite but it’s not red and angry, threatening to turn its victim at any minute; it’s been there for a year and a half. It’s healed, just as if it was from a dog, or something. Except it is absolutely, without question, the kind of bite that should’ve rendered her a clicker by now.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I let her arm go. “I assume you don’t tell anyone about this?”

Rolling her sleeve back down, Ellie shakes her head. “No. We agreed it’s safer that way. Only a few people know.”

Something warm spreads in my chest. “I’m honoured to be one of them,” I give her a smile, hoping it comes across as genuine as I mean it to. “My lips are sealed. It’s pretty amazing, though, right? Did you get bitten when you were with Joel?”

“I…no. No, it was before that. We actually met because we…”

Gently, Joel continues for her, “We were going to the Fireflies. They thought she was the key to finding a cure, but…it didn’t work out.”

The vaguest hint of a frown works its way onto my face. I study Joel where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, delicious arms folded over his chest, his jaw working away. I’ve never been able to describe what it is about him that I pick up on when he’s lying. All I know is that I know a lie from Joel when I hear one.

He looks at me like he knows that. Like he’s saying Not now.

“Damn,” I say to Ellie, then offer her a smile again, “you got a badass scar, though. Not that you can show anyone it, but still.”

She laughs a little. “I guess so.”

“So you came all the way from Boston to Wyoming together? How the hell did you manage that?”

“A whole lotta luck,” Joel says with a wry smile.

“And teamwork,” Ellie adds.

I laugh. “I’m impressed.”

“You survived on your own, too,” Ellie says. “That’s also pretty badass.”

“It’s very badass,” I agree, but resist a shudder at the bad memories from the last decade that instantly pour into my mind.

“We should get you sitting down,” Joel says, gesturing to my leg. It is starting to throb; we’ve been standing here talking about all this for a while.

I nod and start hobbling to the living room. Joel puts his arm around me to help, and to be honest I probably don’t need it, but I will take any opportunity I can get to be close to him. Our kiss from this morning is still fresh on my skin like it only just ended. I can feel his lips, his breath, his hands; a perfect ghost of him all over me.

“Ellie, why don’t you go get the horses ready, then we’ll head out for a ride? I just gotta talk to Tyler over here before we go.”

My heart leaps in my chest.

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Who the fuck is Tyler?”

Joel gives me a smirk.

“That’s what he used to call me,” I explain with a nostalgic smile, remembering the first time he called me it. “I’m from Tyler in Texas. When we first met, all we knew about each other was we were both from Texas.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” Ellie laughs. She points her thumb towards the back door and says, “I’ll go get ready to ride. Do you wanna come with us?”

“I should probably get some rest,” I reply. “But thanks.”

Then, when Ellie is gone and out of earshot, I turn to Joel where he stands by the living room window. He’s got one thumb hooked over his belt, the light from the window shining around him, making him into a lovely silhouette. I’d ask him to come closer, to kiss me, to even just hold my hand, but I have a question first.

“So,” I say, leaning back against the sofa, “why’d you lie back there? About the cure?”

Heavily, he sighs. Steps over to me, sits down, rubs his hands over his face.

Then, he tells me.

“And…she doesn’t know,” I clarify after the whole story is out there in the open. Like a mist in the room, lingering, waiting for my reaction.

“She doesn’t know.”

I exhale. His hand is sitting on his knee now, his other running over his beard with his elbow propped on the arm of the couch.

I’m not surprised he did that for Ellie. Rushing through an entire army of Fireflies to save her life. I’m not surprised in the slightest, and I also know why he kept it a secret.

What I am, though, is so fucking in love with him that it hurts my chest; and this only makes it stronger. I reach out and take the hand on his leg, threading our fingers together.

“Do you feel that you did the right thing?” I ask, looking at his side profile.

“There ain’t a doubt in my mind,” he answers without hesitation, then turns to look at me. “I’d do it a thousand times for her.”

A smile tugs at my lips as my chest blooms with affection. I squeeze his hand, trying to come up with words that don’t just sound cheesy, that don’t sound like I’m making fun of him. “Who knew you were so soft?” I ask. Which, okay, is partially teasing. But not entirely.

He chuckles. The smile on his face is so precious to me, and I think I’ve seen it more in the past week I’ve been here than I ever did in our five years together back then. He just looks so light. Still weighed down by the weight of this world, of course, and not without his own grief or fears; but, God, he smiles like he means it. Like he’s not afraid to anymore. Like the fear of the smile ruining everything has lifted from him.

Naturally, I can’t get enough of it.

“I think you did,” he answers my question, sincere.

“Hm, I think the Joel I fell for was a little rougher around the edges,” I smirk, fully teasing now as he turns his body towards me and leans over me, brushing his hand over my cheek.

His eyes locked onto mine, he rasps, “I can still be rough around the edges. If you want me to be.”

With my hand on the back of his neck, I lean in and kiss him. Because he’s so fucking handsome, he’s here, he’s Joel.

There are still thoughts in my head that keep trying to push through; thoughts of doubt, of worry, of fear. I don’t know where this is going, where I’m going, or what I should assume about either of those things.

But with his lips moving against mine, I force the thoughts away, because I’ve waited so long for this feeling and I’m not about to ruin it as soon as it’s started.

“I gotta go,” he says against my lips, rueful. He lifts up his thumb and smoothes it over my bottom lip. “We’ll pick this up later?” He asks, hopefully flicking his eyes between both of mine.

I nod, biting my lip. “Please.”

When Joel gets back, he makes us dinner.

The three of us sit around the dining table in the living room, a candle in the middle of the table, flickering along with the fireplace across the room. It’s been two decades since I had a home-cooked meal like this; sitting at a table, inside a house, safe and warm. With people I know and trust.

Ellie and I talk about movies and music, teasing Joel for his taste in both. We talk until it’s late and Ellie is yawning while Joel tells her that maybe she should get some sleep. She protests, claiming she’s ‘not even tired’, to which Joel responds, “I’ve heard that before.”

But after a while, she gives in to the tiredness so obviously weighing at her, and stands up from the table. “Alright. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Thanks for dinner, Joel.”

“Night, Ellie,” Joel says, watching her as she walks towards the living room. “Sleep well.”

“Night,” I say with a smile. Ellie gives us both a wave, lifting her arm up high without turning back, and then she’s up the stairs and gone.

I look at Joel, and warmth settles in my chest. The light in here is warm, mostly coming from the dim lights in the living room now, along with the candlelight flickering over Joel’s face. It casts highlights and shadows and I want to reach out and touch them with my fingers, with my mouth.

Reaching across to him, I run my fingertips over his knuckles, and he smiles, twisting his hand so he can take hold of mine and squeeze.

“You want some wine?” He asks into the comfortable quiet.

“Love some,” I reply. “Can’t remember the last time I had any. Decent stuff, at least.”

He pours a deep, red wine into two glasses, and when he comes back to the table, he doesn’t sit back on his seat. Instead, he pulls away a chair and turns to me, perching on the edge of the table, his legs at the same level as my shoulders. Then he holds up his glass for me to tap mine against.

I do. “What are we toasting to?” I ask, looking up at him from under my eyelashes, drinking in more than just the wine; his heat, his hard thighs so close to my face, the way he’s looking down at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. Like we’re not living in the end of the world. Like we’re just on a regular date at his house, drinking wine after sunset.

“Think we got a lot to toast to,” he says after taking a sip. With his spare hand, he reaches out, and brushes some pieces of hair back from my face. “This, right here, for one.”

Smiling, I lean into his touch, closing my eyes. My lips press into his palm before he lays it on my cheek. “Agreed.”

His lips spread into a small, contented smile. I put my spare hand on his waist, then slide it around so it’s pressed against his back. We just drink our wine like that, sitting with a hand on each other, existing in one of the only quiet moments we’ve ever had together. It’s just us, right now. It could be that nothing else exists. Just us. Just him, leaning against the table, gazing down at me like I’m something precious he can’t take his eyes off of.

When I’ve finished the last of my wine, I put my glass down on the table, and make use of my newly freed hand to rub it up his thigh. He sighs, swallowing the last of his.

“You wanna go to bed?” I ask, letting my voice run soft and sultry.

“I’d love to,” he says, “just one thing first.”

“Hm?” I hum, pressing my forehead into his thigh, right against the denim of his jeans. His hand slides back into my hair, gently playing with it. I can feel heat rising in my belly, a need to be closer to him just thrumming through my veins.

“Don’t tell Ellie, but I’ve been working on a little somethin’ for her. The shed out back, Tommy and I have made it into her own space just for her. I thought she’d appreciate having a place to call her own.”

I look up at him and smile. “She’ll love that.”

Joel nods. He stares at me for a minute, pondering. “And…since we’re talkin’ about living arrangements…”

Dread shoots through my stomach, piercing through any of that rising arousal that his touch had ignited.

He doesn’t want me to stay.

That has to be it, right? He’s been thinking about it, too, ever since I got here. I don’t blame him; how can he ever trust me again? How can we ever—

“I was wonderin’ if you wanted to move in.”

Oh.

Well, that brought my racing thoughts to a shuddering halt.

He seems to take my silence as apprehension, because suddenly he’s nervous, trying to explain himself, “Only if you want. I know it’s…I know a lot has changed, especially today, and I really was going to offer for you to live here before we…you know.”

I swallow down the lump of emotion that has made itself at home in my throat. I’m just staring up at him, wide-eyed, probably looking like I’m on the edge of tears.

He wants me to stay.

Fucking fuck, he doesn’t just want me to stay in town; he wants me to stay with him.

“You…” I stammer. “You want me to…”

He holds up a hand like he’s trying to calm a situation, one that actually doesn’t need calming, but the look on my face probably suggests otherwise— “Now I know it’s sudden, and if you want to ask Maria for your own place, she’s already suggested some…or…unless you don’t want to stay here at all?” Doubt creeps into his features, a jolt of anxiety I so rarely see.

“No!” I manage to squeak out, tightening my grip on his jeans. It doesn’t seem to clear anything up for him; he just frowns. “I mean, no, I…I don’t want to leave,” I say, finding that I mean it. Why wouldn’t I mean it? Why the fuck would I ever want to leave this place? And now that I have Joel…

Fuck, I have Joel.

There are no words. None that are good enough, big enough, to express the overwhelming feelings that are bubbling up inside me.

Instead of talking, I stand up, lean into him, and kiss him.

He makes a pleasantly surprised noise, his hand staying on the back of my head as he lets my lips press to his, my hand going to mirror his. I open my mouth, feel him sigh when he opens his too, moving our lips together slowly but passionately. Desperately. Because it’s the only way I can think to tell him how I really feel.

Maybe in another life, I’d have said it’s too soon. That we’re rushing into things.

But we live in a world where one of us could die any day. And after everything, after all this time, I don’t want to waste any more time.

If he’ll have me—I’ll have him.

“So is that a yes?” He pulls away for a second and gives a nervous little chuckle. His thumb strokes at my cheekbone, his eyes looking down into mine, glowing in the candlelight.

I nod. “Yes, it’s a yes,” I say. The heat is back in my belly again, feeling his knee pressed up between my legs, his face so close to mine and breath blowing against my mouth. “Yes, it’s a fucking yes, Joel. God, I—” I kiss him again, because I can’t not. “I can’t believe this.”

He laughs into my mouth and kisses me quiet, bringing up his other hand to cradle the other side of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair again like they did this morning. I sigh, unable to resist, and melt at his touch. At his mouth. At him.

“Joel,” I say, breathless, “Joel, will you please take me to bed?”

He laughs again, a breathy chuckle that brushes into my mouth before trailing down my neck along with his lips, pressing closed-mouthed kisses all along my jaw. “Can you make it up the stairs?”

“For this, yes.”

When he pulls back, he’s grinning, showing his teeth and the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. I dive in and kiss at each line, each mark of his life, everything he’s been through, all his laughs and tears and shouts and smiles—

“Joel,” I find myself whimpering against the corner of his mouth.

His hands, steady on my waist, squeeze me. “You alright?”

Tears are stinging in my eyes and nose. I try to swallow them back, press my nose into his neck. “Take me to bed,” I beg again, this time in just a breathy whisper, “Please.”

His hands are precious and gentle on the back of my head again, cradling me in his warm palms, his fingertips threaded into my hair. I’m sitting on the end of his bed and he’s bending down to kiss me, my head craning up to meet him as best I can. I’d strain to reach him forever if that’s what it took. If the only reprieve from the stretch was his hand on the back of my neck. It would be enough.

He pulls away from my lips for a second and breathes against me. “Goddamn,” he curses.

I stroke his forearms, running my fingers through the hairs there. “Yeah,” I breathe, “yeah.”

“You know how long I’ve wanted this?” He asks.

I didn’t used to. I thought he’d never want this. Want me.

But now…

I nod, and pull him down further, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. “I think I do.”

Carefully he backs me up along the bed, crawling on top of me as I shuffle up towards the pillows. I try to kiss him as we move but it ends up too clumsy and my leg kind of hurts as I’m crawling backwards, and he chuckles at my efforts, settling above me once I’m lying down.

The backs of his fingers trace down my face. He gazes down at me, his eyes glittering in the warm, dim light of his bedroom. I want to dive in, devour him, let him devour me, feel him as close as possible because I’ve wanted it for so fucking long—

But he’s so soft above me, so comforting and familiar and new all at once, and I could just as easily just stare at him like this forever, the look in his eyes, gazing like I’m something he wants. Something he needs.

“Do I have something on my face?” I tease, just a little shakily, not sure what else to say. “You’re staring.”

He shakes his head once. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

I smile up at him, press my hand to his cheek. “Me, neither.” My other hand moves around to the back of his neck, and I dip it down below the collar of his shirt, feeling at the heat of his back, pushing it down as far as it’ll go. He stifles a moan, letting his eyes flutter closed. “Joel,” I whisper against him, pressing our foreheads together, “how many times do I have to ask you to fuck me?”

His breath hitches, catching in his throat. “You technically haven’t asked me that at all yet, darlin’,” he replies after a beat.

“Well, then, I’m asking you now,” I pull away to meet his eyes again. Lightly, I curl the hand that’s under his shirt, running my fingertips over the small of his back, digging them in just a little. “Please, Joel. Take me. I’m yours. I’m—”

He dives in before I can say anything else, opening his mouth against mine and kissing me with a new, fevered urgency. He holds himself up above me with his palms on either side of my head, and at the feeling of his tongue brushing against mine, my hips instinctively buck up to try and find some friction.

Without moving his mouth from mine, he shifts his legs, gently using his knee to push mine apart and then settling it there between them. Slowly, as he kisses me so quickly and passionately that I only just register what he’s doing, he slides his knee up and presses it against my centre.

It feels fucking incredible. I’m throbbing already, pulsing for him, desperate for more friction. Another instinct, to grind down against his thigh, pushing myself further against him as he kisses me like his life depends on it.

One of his hands moves a little so his fingertips are brushing over my temple, pushing bits of hair away from my face. I let the hand on his cheek slide back into his hair, taking a handful of it and pulling, revelling in the choked moan he lets out against my mouth. The vibration of his voice is intoxicating, and I wonder, not for the first time, how it’d feel against the place that his knee is currently pushed against.

My hand on his back scrapes again, digging my nails in probably a little too hard, but he doesn’t complain; his lips break away from mine with a loud smack, and I’m about to protest, about to pull him back in when they start to messily trail down my jaw in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. I gasp, my mouth falling open. His mouth is so warm, so wet, I can hear him breathing through it with his nose right up at my ear, can feel the heat of his thigh where it’s pressed against me—

“Joel,” I gasp out as his mouth settles at the pulse point on my neck. He starts to suck, and I can feel just enough of his teeth that I know it’s going to make a mark, the suction pulling sparks of pleasure from my neck all down my body.

He hums in approval as I put my other hand on his waist, above his shirt this time, but starting to ruck it up, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans.

“Joel, please…”

“Mm?” He trails his lips, open and hot, back up to the underside of my jaw, and waits there. “What do you need, darlin’?”

“I need…”

Pulling himself away from me, he takes a careful hold of my hands, withdrawing them from both under and over his shirt. He takes them, entwines our fingers, then presses them down against the pillow on either side of my head. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he promises in a low, husky voice that I have literally dreamed of hearing say that for God knows how long—“just tell me what you need, darlin’, and I’ll do it.”

My mouth suddenly dry, I swallow, gasping for air even without his lips on me. He licks his own, glancing down at my mouth, hungry. “I already told you,” I say, breathless and squeezing his hands, “I need you to fuck me.”

One side of his lovely lips quirk up into a smile. He leans down, kisses me, this time soft and close-mouthed. Then he presses our foreheads together again, and his breath is hot and fast against my face. I want to lean up into him, kiss him again, feel the burn of his beard against my skin, let it mark me up. But before I can, he whispers, “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for too damn long.”

Then his hands are leaving mine, and he leans back, pulling far enough away that I can feel the loss of his body heat. He sits against my thigh, one of his still pressed just not quite hard enough to my middle, and I’m just about to pull him back down again when he takes his hands and starts to unbutton my shirt.

Oh, fuck.

The way he does it so carefully, calloused fingers working expertly on each one, just slow enough that it drives me insane. He watches his fingers, hunger growing in his eyes, licking his lips with every inch of my skin that he exposes.

Then, when all of the buttons are undone, he first meets my eyes for a quick moment with a grin, then takes hold of each side of my open shirt and flings them aside, revealing my bare stomach and bra.

“Oh, darlin’,” he exhales, gazing at that part of me like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. All I can do is lie there, watching him watch me, feeling as his hands press against my navel, slowly sliding up my ribs, to the curve of my breasts, back down again. “You’re so beautiful.”

Sudden, unexpected emotion bubbles up in my throat.

I never thought any of this would happen. Hell, I thought I was going to die not two weeks ago.

When I left Joel, I thought I’d never see him again. And I thought that, even if I did, he’d not want anything to do with me.

And yet here we are, and he’s not just here, he’s mine, touching me with such care and desire and lust and I, God, I can’t put into words how it feels to have him like this—

“Hey,” his soft voice breaks me from my tumbling thoughts. His eyes leave my torso, and I swear to God I feel the lack of their heat. He meets my gaze instead, a soft frown of concern creasing his forehead. “You alright?”

Frantic, I nod. I need him to know that I’ve never been better. I have literally never, in my life, felt like this. I reach up for him, taking hold of his face and bringing it down to mine, not quite pressing our foreheads together. “Joel,” I whisper. He lifts one of his hands from my stomach, brushes the backs of his fingers down my face. “I’ve literally never been happier.”

He smiles. A beautiful little tilt of his lips that has me feeling just as much heat between my thighs as I do with his touch—

Speaking of, I grind down on him again, and my eyes flutter closed at the sensation. I need more. I need more, but he’s still hovering over me, concerned, and I realise that he’s not just brushing his fingers over my cheeks to touch me, he’s brushing away tears.

Tears.

I’m fucking crying. We’re supposed to be having sex, and I’m fucking crying.

Humiliated, I feel my cheeks flush bright red and immediately rush to wipe away the tears. “Sorry,” I croak out, finding more tears in my throat ready to fall, “God, I’m—I’m sorry, I’m fine, I promise…”

He keeps stroking my face. For a moment he watches me, and I can see in his eyes that he’s not judging me. He still looks a little bit worried, but as he looks between each of my eyes, he asks, soft, “Are you sure?”

And I nod in an instant. “I really am,” God, I can’t believe I’m crying. I’m still crying. “It’s just…” The weight of the last decade—fuck, the last two decades, who are we kidding—feels like it’s weighing me down and lifting all at once, suddenly washing over me in a wave that I can’t find my way up from and I don’t know if I want to.

Joel nods like he understands. Leaning down, he kisses away the newest tears on my cheeks. “It’s a lot,” he says, gentle. “I know. After everything.” The hand that isn’t on my cheek moves from my ribcage, instead taking a hold of my hand again, and putting it on the pillow by my head like before. “I’m here, darlin’. Alright? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Feeling just a little pathetic, I sniff. “I’m alright,” I promise him. My hand finds purchase on the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

He gazes down at me for another long moment, his free hand stroking at my hair. I close my eyes into the touch, focus on him, his breathing, his body over mine, protecting me. Keeping me there, because it’s the only place I want to be.

“I just love you,” I find myself whispering with my eyes still closed. At the confession, a small shot of dread shoots through my stomach in an instant, and at first, I can’t quite bring myself to look at him. But as the silence stretches on, I have to.

I open one eye first. A part of me expected him to get up and leave.

But I don’t know why. Because instead, he’s just staring down at me, a new softness on his features that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. His lips quirk into a small smile. His eyes are glistening, disbelieving. “I love you,” he breathes out. I feel the words on my skin, sinking into my bones.

Relieved, I close my eyes again. Then I feel him kiss me, soft.

“I love you,” he says again. ��I always have. I always will.”

Feeling a fresh wave of tears threaten to fall, I nod and press my nose into his cheek, grasping on to the back of his head like it’s a lifeline. It kind of is. “Can you please be inside me before I embarrass myself by crying again?” I whisper into his ear, not totally unaware of the fact that I sound even more like I’m crying now. Which, I’m not. I don’t want to cry anymore. I’ve cried enough.

His chuckle is breathy and warm against the shell of my ear. “‘Course I can,” he gently nips at my earlobe, then in one smooth movement, he pushes his knee right up against my still very clothed pussy and I let out a cry. Pleasure shoots through me, and the tears subside to make way for a gasp that pulls out of my lips.

It all happens very quickly, and yet very slowly, after that.

One minute, we’re both still clothed and kissing slowly and softly. The next, I’m tugging off his shirt, he’s unhooking my bra, putting his head between my breasts and kissing the centre of my ribcage with an open mouth. I undo his belt clumsily, push his jeans down to his ankles. He kicks them off and climbs back on top of me as soon as he can, helping me out of my own jeans. It takes a bit of working around my bandage, a distant pain still throbbing away over it.

He looks up at me and raises his eyebrows. “You tell me if this starts hurting,” he says, not a suggestion.

I nod. “I will.”

He wastes no time getting back to my lips, one of his hands travelling all-too slowly down my body towards my centre. I ruck my hips up into his touch, and soon his fingers are pressing against my bare skin, right above my clit where I need him.

“Joel,” I say, “touch me. Please.”

He obliges without a word, sliding the tips of his two fingers down through my folds and towards my entrance, gathering wetness. I hear the slick of it, feel it, and he takes it up to my clit before pressing there in earnest.

“You tell me if it don’t feel good,” he murmurs against my lips. “Need this to be good for you.”

Desperate, I nod, clutching his head with both of my hands as I press my hips up into his delicious touch, the circles he’s making around my clit.

His fingers are inside me, then, thumb pressing against the precious bundle of nerves that he seems intent on pushing on.

“God, Joel, that’s just—that’s just right,” I gasp.

He smiles against my mouth and keeps going, slowly pumping two fingers in and out of me, stretching them apart a few times to get me ready. The sheer anticipation of having his cock inside me is enough to have me pulsing, getting wetter and wetter by the minute.

He readies his cock, holding it against my entrance. Looking into my eyes, he smiles, and presses the tenderest of kisses to my lips. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you…” the words fade off into a breathless whisper as he slides inside me, past my folds and right to my core, so hot and warm and wide and, God, fuck, it was so worth the wait—

I cling to him, scratch my nails down his bare back. As he starts to thrust, slow but not hesitant, he attaches his mouth to my shoulder and sucks. With one hand stroking my hair, he brings the other back to my clit, working it in time with his thrusts.

“Jesus…God, you feel so good…” he grunts against my neck.

“Joel,” I plead, “please…harder, faster…I need you…”

My words pull the loveliest of moans from his throat and it’s like he melts beneath them, beneath my breath and my hands, pushing himself further inside me so the head of his cock is reaching as high as it can go, gently pushing against my cervix. Before he starts going any faster, he pauses, panting in my ear, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Joel, I can take it…”

“Your leg…”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts. Joel, please…”

He lets out a shuddering breath.

Then, he does just what I ask him to do.

It’s not painful. But it is a lot.

His dick hits the highest point inside me he can get to, and it’s so sensitive, it feels like he’s fucking up into my belly button, thrusting so hard that it meets resistance at the top of each curve of him inside me—

His finger gets harder against my clit, too. And, fucking hell, if it wasn’t intense before, it’s fucking overwhelming now.

Not-quite-painful pleasure sparks through from deep inside me to every inch of my body.

“Darlin’,” he gasps, opening his mouth against my neck in pleasure, as his pants get more frantic and his thrusts more erratic. It feels so good, and I’m just pinned underneath him, my left knee pressed into his hip, the other leg still flat on the bed.

His thrusts are jolting me, and there’s definitely pain coming from my wound, but it’s absolutely nothing compared to the feeling of him inside me, fucking me into the mattress as I feel the sweat on his skin—“Darlin’, you feel so good, wrapped around me like this…wanted you for so long, so fuckin’ long, thought about this so many times with my hand on me—” he keeps spilling words, filthy words, into the place where my neck meets my shoulder, and I lap it all up. His voice is like sweet, husky syrup to my ears and I hold him there with his words buzzing into my skin, letting them carry me away to a place where it’s just the two of us, just his cock sliding in and out, fucking me just like I always dreamed of it, his finger still rubbing earnest circles over my clit—

It comes over me suddenly, builds up unexpectedly. “Joel! Joel, I’m gonna…”

He kisses the shell of my ear, all hot breath and wet spit, “Do it, baby, come on my cock…come for me, darlin’, I gotcha…”

And I do. Pleasure rises and rises and rises and then drops, a strangled cry finding its way out of my throat before Joel presses his hand over my mouth to swallow the sound. He moans along with me, and when he lifts his head from my neck, the look on his face keeps me riding my orgasm for just that little bit longer. Totally relaxed in pleasure, his eyes fluttering as they struggle to stay open, his mouth hanging open with spit glistening on his lips. He comes, then, inside of me, and it spills down my thighs with each push back in and out.

I stroke the back of his head as the aftershocks from my high milk his pleasure out for as long as they can. I can feel the release of his muscles, the last of his orgasm fading and leaving him flushed and hot and lovely inside me.

I pant against his cheek. He breathes against mine, fast, taking deep breaths. He’s still inside me. I don’t want him to ever not be.

So when he goes to pull out, I twist my leg at his hip so my foot presses into the base of his back, anchoring him there. “Stay,” I say, pleading, “please. Just for a minute.”

Wordless, he nods, and leaves precious little kisses all across my face and neck. Peppers them down my chest as far as he can go with the way I’ve got him pinned in place. I could keep him here forever. Inside me, on top of me, all around me. His hair is wet with sweat, beads of it dripping down from the back of his neck and onto my breasts.

Jesus.

“Joel,” I whisper. It feels like I’m only ever going to be able to say his name again. “That was…Jesus, Joel, that was good.”

Breathy, he chuckles. “Better than good,” he says. Then he pulls away, and I feel the cold nip of the air start to tickle against my skin, the wetness between my thighs getting cooler. Goosebumps raise on my skin, and Joel notices. “Sorry, darlin’, I’m gonna have to pull out now. Get us cleaned up a bit and warm.” He sounds genuinely sorry, stroking my face as if in consolation.

I sigh, but I know he’s right. Nodding, I give him one last, long kiss on his mouth. “Hurry back,” I say when he climbs off of me and heads into the bathroom.

Hearing the gentle slosh of water, I close my eyes, and feel the cool sheets beneath my skin. There’s a mess between my thighs, dripping down onto the sheet. We should probably have put a towel down. But.

I am about to tell Joel as much when he comes back in with a warm, wet washcloth, but then realise he’s brought a towel with him, too. Too little, too late.

“We made a bit of a mess,” I say, letting my head loll towards him on the pillow. He chuckles in the quiet dimness of the room, the low light flickering over his bare skin.

“Nothin’ we can’t clear up,” he replies, settling between my legs again. Carefully, he wipes at my skin with the washcloth, clearing away my own wetness and his release. I sigh, enjoying the warmth, the way he rubs absently at my knee with his spare hand. He cleans himself up next, then tosses the washcloth across the room.

“Scooch,” he says gently, pushing at my hip. “I’ll put a towel down.”

“Joel, I think you’re about a half hour too late with that,” I smirk, but do as he asks so he can lay the towel over the mattress, spreading it as far as he can.

“We can clean the sheets properly in the morning,” he announces, the grabs the comforter from the floor—I don’t even remember when it got there—and carefully brings it up over my body.

I sigh into the cool fabric and feel the mattress dip beneath Joel’s weight. He crawls into bed beside me, and soon his arms are pulling me against his chest.

I settle with my head over his ribcage, my leg hooked over his as he lies on his back. The covers are pulled right up to my neck, and I take a moment to pull the corner over the top of Joel’s chest, only just avoiding my face.

“Joel,” I say, quiet.

“Hm?” He murmurs as his hand absently rubs circles into my shoulder. His eyes are closed, his other hand propped under his head. When I look up at him, he looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, blissed-out and content. It’s such a beautiful sight that I debate resisting the tiredness in my body and just staying up to watch him like this.

I lift my hand, take hold of his cheek. Turn him to face me, then lean in and kiss him. “I’ve always loved you,” I whisper against his mouth. “I need you to know that.”

His eyes crack open to look into mine. “I always loved you, too,” he strokes at my bottom lip with his thumb. “Now, come on. Let’s get some sleep, alright? Been wantin’ to hold you to sleep for a long time.”

Warmth blooms in my chest. I kiss him again, just once, and snuggle in closer before putting my head back where it was.

And, just like the invisible string that seemed to tie us together all this time, I sit comfortably in this space, letting all the tangles and the knots in my mind unravel. What’s past is past, and we’re here now.

After everything, after the good, the bad, letting this thing between us come back from the dead—

We’re here.

{❤️end❤️}

notes: ah i can't believe it's finished ❤️ thank you SO much for reading and enjoying this fic with me, all your responses have made me so happy and i'm just so glad it's brought some of you joy. i hope you enjoyed the final chapter! i'm considering maybe writing some one-shots set in this universe at some point, or some little drabbles, so keep an eye out for those :)

love u, take care of yourself! ❤️

ps: as always this is post-apocalyptic and a fanfiction but in real life don't forget to always practice safe sex babes!

taglist below

@rosymythologies @lover1307 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @pinkrose1422 @lavenderhhze @abbyhaslongshorts @trippoverrt @emilianamason

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller story #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #my fic #my fic: joel #my fic: joel smut

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cupidskissx · 11 months

Text

✨Azerbaijan Abnegation✨

Monaco Malaise Part 2

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Max Verstappen

Word count: 16,976

Chapters: 2/2

Warnings: Angst, Conflicted Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, Light BDSM, Fluff if you squint

Summary:

Charles stares at him intently, “Last time was an anomaly.” Not for the first time, Max recalls the awkward swell of humiliation after Charles had told him to stop. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle at the memory of everything that followed, “Yeah, that better not happen again.”

After Monaco, Max thought he’d made up his mind about Charles, and their little arrangement.

They’re in Azerbaijan and Charles is everywhere: in his head, in his messages, in his hotel room…

Will Max be able to hold onto his resolve, or will his attempts at self-denial only prolong the inevitable?

Chapter 2:

This week has been correction after correction, managing the fierce oscillation between wanting Charles and wanting to stop wanting him, and now he has his arms full of opposite lock. Charles, yet again, has a front row seat to watch Max spin out of control towards the barriers.

Authors note:

Technically I’ve been working on Part 2 since June last year. After failing miserably writing it in Charles’ POV I abandoned it. Then I started to re-work this fic back into Max’s POV in October.

To see it finally posted in honour of Monaco, and Monaco Malaise, makes me a little emotional, I sincerely hope you enjoy it!

Read on Ao3

The intention is to one day write the Part 3 I’ve had in my head since June last year, but that’ll be a long way away. I hope to see you back here for a refresher if I ever manage to finish it. As always, you're welcome to dive into my DMs so we can swoon over Lestappen together!

#this was a long time coming #thanks for being patient anyone who was waiting for this x #I really do hope you enjoy it!#lestappen #max verstappen #charles leclerc #Azerbaijan Abnegation #Temptation’s Trajectory #Monaco Malaise Part 2 #fic #2021 Azerbaijan GP #will I still be writing about the 2021 season in 2024 #most likely #almost certainly #hope you’re still interested in part 3 by then

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sorryjustafangirl · 1 year

Text

babe for the weekend

a/n: this is a little different than what i usually write, in terms of boy and structure but i am really really proud of how it turned out, so i hope y'all like it too! the title comes from Taylor Swift's ''tis the damn season" and it quite inspired by it. this is for @broadstbroskis, one of the very first writers i starting following on hockeyblr. it was an absolute honour to write for her in @antoinerousselssel's winter fic exchange and i really really hope she enjoys it (and all its Swiftie references <3)

pairing: morgan rielly x fem!reader

word count: 8.8k+

warnings: a few swears, holiday setting (although not crazy prominent), childhood idiot friends to lovers?

disclaimer: this is a piece of fiction and this beautiful gif is not mine! p.s. i know he got engaged recently (to the figure skating love of my life Tessa Virtue; congrats to them!) but i was too deep in the fic to switch it when i heard the news. hope you still love it!

Morgan had been getting you out of trouble since the day you two could walk. You’d knock over a vase, and he’d find a way to blame the dog. You’d convince him to mattress surf down the stairs, and he put it back while you stalled your mom so she wouldn’t know. He would tell his mom that she “saw you walk up the stairs after dinner like hours ago” when you only snuck in his window four minutes before.

That didn’t end when he left to play junior hockey or when he got drafted and you moved across the country for school. Despite being in the same city, you relied less on him to bail you out as you got older, but every once in a while, his number was on speed dial to decipher if a guy was phishing you or for a 2am pickup from the club.

Granted, you’d saved him just as many times. You’d posed as his girlfriend to save him from puck bunnies and more than once told his mom it was you he was out with, instead of the girlfriend he wasn’t supposed to have. Every other week, he’d call with a question he was too embarrassed to ask his own mom (“is $10 too much for a carton of orange juice?”).

You just never thought he’d be bailing you out like this.

As the youngest of four kids (and the last single one), your parents were overbearing about your love life to say the least. But in the holiday season? It dialed up to 11.

“Are you sure you’re alright though? We don’t want you to be feeling lonely.” Your mom brought up at the end of your weekly Zoom family call, complete with all your siblings and grandma.

“For the last time, I am not lonely. I have great friends, I have a good job at an ad agency, and my credit card is paid off. I’m doing great!”

“But it’s a big city, darling. You’ve been out of school for years and you still haven’t told us about any guy. Or-or girl, if you’re into that,” she tried to reason.

“Mom, she isn’t lonely because she’s getting some!” Ben, your youngest brother, chimed in, making you cringe.

“Grow up, dork,” Julie, your eldest sister, said at the same time your older brother, James, said “Nice one!”

“Kids, you’re making Grams blush, can you knock it off?” Your dad chimed in. Ben’s face flushed but that didn’t stop James from poking the bear.

“Just think Mom, there’s less people to feed at Christmas!”

“That’s what you take out of this? Your sister could be at risk for depression.”

“I don’t have depression!”

“You always talk to me with an iced coffee, I do get a little concerned.” “Rude!” “Hey! Ruby drinks iced coffees too and she’s not depressed.” “She’s in a relationship with you, I’d rethink that.” “You aren’t depressed when you’re in happy relationships, that’s what I know.” “Grams, that is not true.” “That’s what Cynthia at book club said!” “None of that changes the fact that your sister hasn’t had a boyfriend in a long time and I’m worried about her!” “She’s not that old Brenda.” “She’s not seventeen anymore Thomas, our daughter is getting older and if she wants kids–” “Kids? Mom, she doesn’t even have a boyfriend.” “That’s my point!” “Who said she wants kids?” “Julie, you’re a mother, you should know every woman wants kids!” “Grams, that isn’t true.”

All of their overlapping voices seemed to get louder, rattling around in your brain, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I have a boyfriend!” You blurted and the screen silenced. You relished the small moment of quiet before the sound exploded again.

“What?” “Yes!” “Who is he?” “Is he coming home with you?” “What’s his name?”

“Woah, woah. One at a time please,” you nervously laughed.

“What’s his name?” The smiles on your mom and Grams faces were so wide it was starting to freak you out and your brain froze. What’s a boy’s name what’s a boy name what’s a boy’s name??

“Morgan.”

Your brain blurted out the name before you realized its implications.

“Morgan?” Your mom’s smile widened. “Like our Morgan? The Rielly’s boy?”

Shit, shit, shit. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

“If they couldn’t get together in high school, no way it would happen now. I say it’s different.” “There’s lots of Morgans in Toronto! It’s a big city.”

“Yeah, I call bullshit on this whole boyfriend thing,” your older sister Julie chimed in.

You felt blood starting to drain from your face “What?”

“Oh c’mon! All we have is a name? You don’t want to share his job or what he looks like? You can’t even tell us if he’s coming back with you. You’re just faking it.”

“His work is busy, we haven’t decided if he’s coming back yet!”

“Two weeks before the holidays?” She raised an eyebrow and you pursed your lips.

“Fine. I was going to surprise you instead, but yes he’s coming back with me. And he has blond hair. Happy?” Julie only shrugged but you could hear your grandmother rejoice in the background of the call. “Look, I have to go but I’ll see you all in two weeks.”

“With Morgan! Oh, I’m so excited to meet him!”

“Yes. With Morgan.” You ended the phone call and flopped into your couch pillows before letting out a scream.

Where were you going to find a Morgan with blond hair to act as a fake-boyfriend to meet your family across the country?

-----

“Just call your Morgan.” Your best friend, Ivy, said as the two of you sat in Fran’s, the best diner for burger and fries past Jarvis street, for your regular lunch chat.

“No, it’d be weird! He’s known my family for a long time and we’re friends.” You shook your head while munching on your fries.

“Those are exactly the reasons you should take him! Plus, you said his name. I don’t get why you’re making it into this big deal about taking him.”

“Because it is!”

“But why? It’s not like you’re in love with him,” She said, dipping her fries in ketchup.

“About that…” You trailed off, biting your lip waiting for her reaction.

She dropped the food before it could get to her mouth. “No!”

“Look, it was when we were in high school! I was about to tell him when we moved out here, but then he was saying how there was so much on his plate and he was feeling a lot of pressure and I just didn’t want to add to that, you know?” You took a bite of your food before continuing. “I didn’t want him to resent me for telling him at such a crucial point in his life.”

“And now?”

You shrugged. “I think I’ll always have some sort of feelings for him. He was my best friend growing up.”

“You’re going to have to be really good at hiding those feelings when you’re posing as boyfriend and girlfriend with him.”

“Who said I’m asking him?”

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “Where else are you going to find a blond-haired Morgan to bring home to your family across the country in less than two weeks?” You threw a fry at her, which she grabbed and put on her own plate. “Besides, there’s no harm in asking. He can always say no.”

-----

“Yes.”

“Really?” You asked a little too loudly, putting your coffee mug down a little too harshly, gaining the attention of others in the cafe the two of you routinely catch up in. But you didn’t care. You were expecting a little more skepticism from Morgan when you proposed him playing a fake boyfriend role in front of your family.

“Yeah, ‘course. It’s my job to bail you out of trouble, isn’t it?” You playfully kicked him under the table. “Besides, I haven’t seen Vancouver or your family in a while. It’d be nice to go back to the old times.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” You said, instinctively placing a hand on his arm laid across the table. “Okay, so I don’t know when your season ends but I’m hoping we can fly out for like three days maximum, so it’ll be quick, and we can use your job as an excuse so that’ll be good. For the story, obviously we just went out one day after being friends for a long time, so that’ll be easy. You asked me out. Five or six months is a good timeline for them not knowing but also you coming home so let’s stick to that. You can’t tell your parents because my mom will be furious if Shirley knew before her. Um, Ben, my little brother – you know him–, he’s bringing his girlfriend Ruby, but she’s chill so you’ll get along with her a lot. Drew, my oldest nephew, he’s Julie’s kid and then Charlie and Julie had Rebekah the year before last and Izzy, who is James’s wife, just had baby Taylor a couple months ago so the house is going to be chaotic. You should be writing this down, you know.” You slowed down to notice that Morgan was just staring at you. “I just said so much stuff you need to remember.”

“I know your family. Trust me, it’s going to be fine. I’ll remember all that,” He assured you, placing a hand over your arm like you had done to him.

“Are you sure? I just..I can’t have this go wrong. Julie already suspects the legitimacy of this…fake relationship.”

He squeezes your arm and sends you one of his smiles that makes your heart swell. “We’ve got this in the bag.”

-----

You’d both decided that it’d be easiest if you came to the airport together, so you said you’d pick him up from morning practice. You were waiting in the parking garage at the arena, scrolling through your phone, until you heard footsteps. Looking up, you see Morgan, Mitch, and Willy walking towards you. You give them a shy wave, and they all return with big grins, like they knew something they didn’t. Morgan came up to you, swung an arm over your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Bye guys, safe travels,” He shouted over his shoulder, the two of you walking towards your vehicle. Once they were out of earshot, you turned to Morgan.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“That forehead kiss!”

“Oh!” His smile grew a little. “I was practicing for this weekend. Was it okay?” His slight concern made your heart beat faster and you could feel heat starting to go to your face.

“I mean, yeah, but like won’t the guys think that, you know, we’re—”

“Believe me, the guys already think we’re together.”

“What?!”

He laughed. “They asked about my plans for the holidays and I said I was going home with you. They just assumed we were dating and it felt like a lot of work to correct them. It’s okay, I promise.”

“If you say so,” you hummed. You unlatched yourself from his arm as you approached your car but Morgan stopped in his tracks and started to laugh.

“You’re still driving this old thing?” He was referring to your blue Honda you’d had since high school.

“Excuse me, you named this thing and Louise is still in great shape so of course I still drive her. Now get in.” He holds up his hands in surrender. You buckled yourself in and turned the engine over. The dash lit up like a Christmas tree and the radio was uneven again, so you hit the console a few times before it started to come out of both speakers.

“Great shape, sure.”

“Shut up.”

-----

Despite the busyness of the Toronto Pearson International Airport during the holidays, the two of you seemed to breeze through security and boarding. It wasn’t until you stepped onto the airplane, you’d realized just how much anxiety you got from flying.

Morgan offered to put both carry-on bags in the overhead bins and you gladly took him up the offer. You slid into your seat, immediately putting on the seatbelt and making it tight against your hips.

“We aren’t flying just yet,” He teased, sliding into the seat next to you.

“I know, it’s just that I–nevermind, it’s silly.” You murmured with a strained smile.

“No, what is it?” You met your eyes and you took a deep breath. This was Morgan, your Morgan. He’d seen you cry after you got root beer up your nose and he only laughed a little.

“Airplanes give me a lot of anxiety and I hate takeoffs. It’s just really nerve wracking for me.”

“Okay, well I’m right here. Would it help if I held your hand?” You shyly nodded, and Mo grabbed a hold of your hand, lacing your fingers together and rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. You tried to take deep breaths but after the safety presentation, and the plane started to taxi, it got shallower and the grip on Morgan’s hand got stronger.

“I think it's time for a distraction. Want to help me out here?” He said, turning his body towards yours as much as he could. You nodded, trying not to focus on the bouncing of the wings outside your window.

“What kind of pet names do you like?”

That was…not what you were expecting but it certainly is a distraction. “I don’t really know? I didn’t name our dogs, Julie or my parents did. Why?” You look over to Morgan to see him quietly laughing to himself. “What?”

“I meant like, romantic pet names. So I can play this boyfriend role right, you know?”

“Oh,” you said, feeling your face heat up. “Uh, I don’t really know. My past boyfriends weren’t really into those.” You continued to take deep breaths as he pulled out his phone.

“Okay, cool, I’ve got a list and we can just go through them?” You nodded and he started.

“Honey?”

“We aren’t fifty years old Mo.”

“Sweetie?”

“I’m not five either,” you joked. At your attempt at humour, you say Morgan’s face lit up.

“What about sweetheart?” Your grimace made him laugh and he moved on. “Kitten? Dear? Babe? Sugar plum?”

“You can call me babe. For the weekend, of course. I like that one.”

“Of course, babe.” He winked. “And look, we’re in the air already. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You looked out and the clouds were level, the city skyline peeking through like a scene out of a movie. You look back at him to see him already looking at you. Unable to say everything you feel for him in that moment (platonically, you tell yourself), you squeeze his hand.

-----

As you touched back in Vancouver (still holding Morgan’s hand for safety purposes), it started to feel real. Real you were back in the city, real Morgan was here, and real that you were supposed to be acting like you’re in love.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Hold my bag for me?” Morgan asked, once you’d deplaned and entered the airport. You nodded and shooed him off, finding a place in the nearest lounge to wait for him. You pulled out your phone and started to catch up on messages when someone beside you cleared their throat.

“Sorry to bother you but did you go to Prince of Wales Secondary School in Vancouver?” You turned towards the voice to see someone so familiar but couldn’t put a finger on who.

“Um, yes. How did you know that?”

“I’m Abigail Brown. I think you were my lab partner in high school chemistry?” As soon as she said it, it was like everything rushed back to you. The two of you were good friends but just fell out of touch as years went on.

“Oh my gosh yes! Oh my gosh, hi! How have you been?” You got out of your seat to give her a hug.

“I’ve been really good! My girlfriend and I are headed to London for the holidays.”

“Oh fun! I’ve come back for the holidays with my uh..” You trailed off, thinking of what to call this arrangement. “Morgan Reilly, do you remember him?”

“Yeah, totally. Did he come back with you?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah, we’re here together.”

“No way, that’s so sweet! Back in the day, everyone was wondering when you two would get together!”

“Oh, really?” You asked, surprised. You had thought that your crush on one of your closest friends was pretty discrete.

“Yeah, a lot of us thought you’d be a cute couple. Turns out we were right,” she winked and nodded her head behind you. You turned to see Morgan coming back with two Tim Horton cups in his hands – one hot coffee for him and one Iced Capp for you. You tilted your head at his thoughtfulness.

“My flight is boarding now, but it was so nice to see you again!” Abigail said, waving briefly to Morgan before leaving with her girlfriend.

“Yeah, you too!” You called after her. “Is that coffee for me?” You asked, a wide smile on your face.

“Because it is so ridiculously early, it is,” he said, placing it in your hands. “Who was that?”

“My high school lab partner. She thought we were together, actually.”

Morgan gave you a puzzled look. “Isn’t that what she’s supposed to think?”

“I mean, I guess, but we’re really just pretending for my family, so I didn’t think she’d think we’re together.” Morgan only hummed at your response and grabbed his bag.

“Ready to head to your parents' then?”

Like coming home, the two of you navigated through the airport easily and were on your way to your parents house in no time. Outside of the Uber, looking up at your childhood home, you felt your nerves getting the best of you again. The warm Christmas lights and the three cars in the driveway should’ve calmed you down, but instead had the opposite effect.

“Okay, so, again, we’ve been dating for five months, you asked me out. We kept it a secret, so your parents don’t know either. Ruby is Ben’s girlfriend. Drew and–”

“–Rebekah are Julie and Charlie’s kids. Rebekah is two years old. James married Izzy and their baby, Taylor, was born last month,” He finished with a smile. “Told ya I’d remember it. It’s going to be fine, let’s just go see your family?” He held out his hand for you to take and you cautiously placed it in his. He tugged you up to the front door, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to ring the doorbell. He left it over your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Trust me, we’ve got this.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek but before you could process what he was playing at, your mom had opened the front door.

“Oh, it is our Morgan! Thomas, I told you it was going to be him! Oh, come in, come in,” she ushered you in and your family all appeared, saying their hellos, taking your bags up to your room, placing drinks in your hands and leading you both into the living room. You settled in beside Morgan, your thighs touching each other as he reached over to entangle your hand with his.

“So, Morgan, my daughter hasn’t told us anything yet! How long have you been together?” Your mom said, once everyone was back together and catching up with the two of you.

“Couldn’t have been too recent if you brought him home with you,” Julie said, her skepticism showing through.

“Can’t be too long either since she never told us about him!” James said, nudging her.

Before you could get a word in and defend yourselves, Morgan spoke up. “We started dating five months ago. Might seem a little fast to come home for Christmas but I remember your family pretty well from when I was little. Plus, the schedule lined up really nicely this year so we figured, why not? But we decided to keep it to ourselves for the first little bit, with my job and everything. It can be a really hard adjustment. Especially with the media, I didn’t want them to freak her out.”

“Aw, how sweet of you.”

“Who asked who out?” Ruby said, curled up next to her boyfriend.

“She asked me.” Your heart stopped as Morgan deviated from the plan you’d created. “It was nice, though, so I didn’t have to rack up the courage to ask her the same thing.” He turned towards you, meeting your eyes. To your family, you were recounting your first date and how you’ve been in love since. But Morgan was trying to get away with changing the story and you were civilly throwing daggers at him.

“That’s nice. But you’ve got to get dressed, we’re still going cross country skiing this afternoon.” Julie said, standing up.

“Why?” you whined. “We’re tired from traveling.”

“Then exercise will be good for you. And it’s tradition, you can’t deprive Morgan of that.” The smile she sent you was fake and you could tell, narrowing your eyes at her.

“Yeah, babe, don’t deprive me from family traditions,” he commented, earning a small poke to his side, but you nodded, going to find your warm clothes.

-----

Cypress Mountain was where your family always skied on Christmas Eve. It was a tradition passed on from your grandfather, who’d done it with his father, and your family liked to keep it alive. It was a thirty minute drive, forty five in Vancouver traffic, so your head fell to Morgan’s shoulder. Soon enough, he was shaking you awake.

“We’re here, sleeping beauty,” He said softly, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Ready?”

“The better question is if you’re ready. I’ve been doing this for years,” you laughed, getting out of the car and walking towards the lodge to get Morgan skis.

“Please, I’m an athlete. I’ll be fantastic.” He grabbed your hand and your heart started to beat faster at the cute gesture, only to notice some of your family behind you, watching the two of you. Of course, it was only for show. What else would be for? You reminded yourself.

Twenty minutes later, and you were still watching Mo struggle to clip his skis in, trying not to laugh when he fell over.

“‘I’m an athlete, I’ll be fantastic’” you said, mocking him and he pouted. You unclipped your own skis and held your hands out to help him get up.

“The key is this little latch here,” you said, guiding his foot into the ski. You did the same with the other before getting yourself ready.

“Where would I be without you?” He said, as the two of you, slowly, moved to the track.

“Probably still be on the ground,” you said with a cheeky smile. You knocked his poles with yours. “Want to go this way? It’s easier than the track they’re doing,” you said, referring to the rest of your family.

He looked up at the hill your family, including your little nephew, were already halfway up and shook his head.

“If this is a family tradition, and I’m supposed to be part of your family, I should do it with them. We can join them, I’ll be okay.”

Morgan was right, for the most part. He got the hang of it pretty quickly, and soon enough you were both caught up to your family. He was smiling, and talking with your dad and brothers. You had time to catch up with Ruby and Charlie, who you never really saw in the family Zoom chats.

Until you rounded the corner and saw Morgan standing to the side. You didn’t understand why until you saw what was ahead – the hills. For your family, including daredevil Drew, it was easy. But for a beginner like Morgan? You understood why he stopped.

“If you want to turn back now, it’s okay. They’ll understand.”

He shook his head again. “I’ve got to sell this boyfriend thing, don’t I? Just…can you go first?” You nodded and made your way down, gaining some speed before slowing down and stopping at the base to watch him.

“You’ve got this, Mo, just do it!” You told him. He nodded at your words and came down slowly, mimicking the way you had just conquered the hill. His eyes were determined, the way you saw he was on the ice, and your smile got wider as he made it down successfully.

“Yes! You did it!”

That was, until he caught an edge and very ungracefully tumbled to the ground.

“Well, you mostly did it. I thought you were supposed to be coordinated!” You said in a joking manner, maneuvering over to where he was trying to get up.

“I don’t usually have these long things attached to my feet!” After his attempts, he held his hands out and you helped him stand upright again.

“Are you okay? It looked like you fell pretty hard.”

“My ego is bruised more than anything,” He mumbled.

“Why? None of them saw your wipeout.” You nodded towards your family who were all ahead and had no idea of what had happened.

“But you did.”

“It’s not like you have to impress me,” You said, waving it off and starting to move along the trail. He only huffed, settling into pace beside you.

-----

After making it back to the lodge in one piece, you all traveled back to your parent’s and sat down for a family dinner, albeit quick, as the kids’ bedtime was long ago. You helped your mom with the dishes while Morgan had “bonding time”, as he called it, with your brothers and Dad.

“I’m glad you brought Morgan home, sweetheart,” she said, breaking through the quiet sounds of washing dishes. “He’s a catch and you seem really happy with him.”

You blushed, involuntarily, and nodded. “I am really happy when I’m with him.”

There were sounds of protests and laughter, so you peeked your head around to see Ben on the couch leaning over Morgan’s lap to ruffle James’ hair, only to get caught by Morgan in a loose headlock. Your dad was laughing at their antics and you joined him. It was nice to see Morgan be so carefree, especially with the stress of the season.

“Hey!” Ben got your attention. “Your boyfriend is bullying me, tell him to stop!”

“Maybe you deserved it,” You said, moving to be behind the couch. “Morgan is usually right.”

Morgan looked at you and only let Ben free once you gave me a small nod. You leaned down over the couch, wrapping your arms around his chest. At the slight display of affection, James gagged but thankfully, Izzy came down and whisked away her husband. Ben left shortly after that and you noticed Morgan’s head starting to drop.

“Okay, we’re still on Toronto time a little bit,” You checked with Morgan, who was nodding along. “So we’re going to hit the hay, but Mom, I didn’t see the spare blankets for the pull-out couch?”

“Oh, you don’t need them, Ben has them.”

“What?” You asked, removing your hands from Morgan so he couldn’t tell how clammy they suddenly got. “Where’s Morgan going to sleep?”

“In your bed. It’ll be better for his back.” She answered.

“Where am I going to sleep?”

“In your bed.” She sighed when she saw the shock on your face. “Look, we trust Morgan. Besides, it’s a big bed and your dad and I aren’t under the impression you haven’t already slept together.” Her bluntness made you choke on your breath and Morgan patted your back, answering for you.

“Thank you Brenda. We'll be good, I promise.”

“I know you will. And if you aren’t, know I’m not above telling your mother,” She said with a smirk. “Now, goodnight.”

You both said your goodnights, and headed up to your room. Morgan shut the door behind you and you immediately started apologizing.

“I’m sorry, I was certain she’d send one of us to the basement. She never let Charlie or Izzy sleep in the same room with my siblings until they were married,” you said, rummaging through your suitcase for pajamas.

He waved you off and took a look around your room. It hadn’t changed much since high school, your parents leaving it unchanged for when you came back. The photos in the frames and on the walls were faded and each childhood trophy and trinket was covered in a small layer of dust – not enough for it to be untouched, but enough for it to be preserved.

The sound of you digging through the closet for extra pillows broke him away from your walls. There were two blankets spread out on the floor and you dropped the pillows you’d found on the space above them.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed,” You answered. “You can get changed in the bathroom.”

“Why aren’t you in the bed?”

“Because you’re sleeping on the bed, hotshot. Can you please get changed, I want to sleep.” He huffed but nodded, slipping out of the room. When he came back to see you curled up on the floor beside the queen sized bed, he let out a small sigh and moved towards you.

“I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor. Please come sleep on the bed?” He said, standing over top of you.

“I…I don’t want it to be weird.” You said, suddenly interested in the fraying fibres of your blanket.

“It’s not going to be weird. I promise. Please?” You turned to see him with his puppy-dog eyes and you started to break.

“I don’t know Mo…”

“I’d feel better if you slept in the bed, babe, please? For me?” At that, you relented, nodding your head. He helped you up, gathering the blankets from the floor and laying them over you in the bed.

He slipped in beside you, a large margin of space between the two of you. It was silent as you got comfy and you turned off your side table light. Morgan hadn’t followed your lead, so you looked over to see him looking at his side table.

“Remember when we took this picture?” Morgan said, pointing to the only frame on the table. You didn’t even have to look at the photo to know which one he was referring to. It was the last day he spent in Vancouver before the draft and it was a few days before your graduation date. You’d taken your car to the North Shore and hiked to Lighthouse Park. The serenity of being able to see far into the ocean and see the downtown skyline was the place both of you had gone to clear your mind. You’d taken a silly selfie together but it was the one physical memento of your last time together in Vancouver. It was when you almost confessed your feelings to him.

“Of course I do. It was a good day.”

“Do you think about it a lot?” He asked, and you turned your body to face him.

“I mean, sometimes, yeah. Do you think about it a lot?”

He nodded, his eyes fixated on the picture. “Yeah. Reminds me of when life seemed normal.”

You stayed silent for a few moments, watching his eyes begin to get hazy looking at the picture. “Are you okay, Mo?”

He just nodded curtly, and turned off the light. “Goodnight.”

You couldn’t lie and say his behaviour didn’t feel like a thousand cuts to your heart but you said goodnight before turning to face away from him, like he’d done to you.

-----

The sun shining in from the window woke you up in the morning. You started to stir, stretching your arms and legs, but stopped when you felt arms around you. You slowly turned your head to see Morgan close to you, his arms wrapped around your waist. Sometime during the night, he must’ve moved to start cuddling you. You thought it should feel weird, being so close to your friend like this, but all you felt was a sense of calm. Being hyper aware of his arms, you shifted slightly to face him.

You took the opportunity to look at him, really look at him. Not on the TV, through his hockey gear, not in the cafe when he was conscious that anyone could recognize him, but when he was just him. The sun was shining on him, giving his skin that soft golden glow. The lines on his forehead were almost nonexistent and his beard was filling out nicely. He looked so peaceful here, like he wasn’t one of Toronto’s biggest stars. You looked at him, your face softening as he started to stir under your gaze.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” you teased in a quiet voice, the same way he’d done to you yesterday.

“Hmm, what time is it?” His voice was raspy and it took everything in yourself not to kiss him right there.

“Early,” you answered and he hummed in response. He slowly opened his eyes and must’ve noticed how close he was to you because his eyes got increasingly wider. His eyes met yours and when he didn’t see any panic or disgust in them, he relaxed, a small smile coming onto his face.

“Morning babe,” He said, pulling you a little closer to him.

“Nobody’s around, you don’t have to call me that.”

“What if I want to?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide in shock and your lips parted. What did he say? It might have been a shock to your brain, but your body seemed to long for a closeness to him. Your heart wasn’t beating faster, no, it seemed to slow down, as if the idea of a relationship with him was the only thing to calm you.

You noticed his eyes glancing down at your lips and you swallowed. Was he…what was he doing? He started to lean his head towards you and you felt yourself leaning in as well. He was close enough you could feel his breath hot on your face and see the grey flicks in his eyes. You started to close your eyes, his hand caressing your waist from under the covers, and —

“Auntie, Auntie! He came! Santa came! You have to get up! Come see!” Drew yelled through the door, pounding away as if you didn’t hear him. You broke away from Morgan, the small bubble popped by your nephew.

“We’ll be right there Drew!” you yelled back, rubbing your forehead and getting out of bed. You left Morgan in bed, running downstairs to start some coffee, desperately needing to clear your head. What just happened?

“Morning, sweetheart!” You sighed as your mom walked into the room, too chipper for how early it was. “I’ve got the pajamas for you and Morgan.”

“Morgan too?” It was a tradition to dress in matching pajamas on Christmas morning but you didn’t think it was something your parents would enforce for him.

“Yup. Go get changed, I want to take photos soon.” She placed the two pajama sets in your arms and you trudged upstairs. You figured Mo was still laying in bed so you didn’t knock, just charged right in. Maybe you should’ve knocked. But then you wouldn’t get to see Morgan shirtless. Your brain short-circuited until you saw him looking back at you and you shut your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to knock! My mom wanted me to give you these. Matching pajamas and photos before gifts is a family tradition.” You tried to pull out his pair with your eyes closed but Mo just laughed when he saw you struggling. He came closer, his distinctive cologne invading your senses. He took one of the pairs, hopefully his size, from your arms.

“You can open your eyes, it’s okay.” You slowly opened one eye to test the waters, to see he was still without a shirt. You stared at him as long as it is socially acceptable to look at your best friend shirtless, before rushing out of the room to get changed yourself.

You beat Morgan downstairs, and got started on the coffees. After buying him many hungover wake-up coffees, you knew his order by heart. You brought them out to the table, your sister and her family having their portrait taken in front of the tree.

Mo came up from behind you, wrapping his arms around you and taking a whiff of your coffee. He recoiled at the hint of chocolate.

“Yours has vanilla creamer, don’t worry,” you told him, taking a sip while watching Taylor get her first family photo in front of the tree. It was so nice to see the smiles across your family’s faces as you had this tradition. When it became Ben and Ruby’s turn, you noticed Drew starting to get a little antsy, his eyes fixated on the big box with his name on it.

“Okay, sweetheart, yours and Morgan’s turn,” your mom said, clearing the area for you two to sit.

“Oh, Mom, Drew’s looking a little antsy. We can skip ours–”

“No!” Mo interrupted you, taking one last sip of his coffee before tugging you along to sit in front of the tree. You gave him a look and smiled shyly. “It’s our first Christmas together. I want a picture. Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” You turned to the camera, plastering a smile on. You were pretty close to him, your legs touching and his arm around your shoulders. Near the end, Morgan pressed a kiss to your cheek and you blushed, the sound of the camera clicking long forgotten as you stared into his eyes.

“Auntie, can I please please open my presents from Santa now?” Drew said, once again interrupting the moment between you and Morgan.

“Of course, baby, but you have to open the ones from me and Morgan next, deal?” He shrieked and scrambled over to the boxes, ripping into his wrapping paper. You stood up, grabbing your coffee before watching your nephew and niece on Christmas morning.

“Look at how cute you two are together,” She said, tilting the camera towards you. The first one was a cute photo. Morgan had his lips pressed against your cheek and your face was scrunched up in joy. She switched it to the next one, where the two of you were looking into each other’s eyes. He had the softest, earnest smile on his face. “I swear, I haven’t seen any people so in love since Ben met Ruby. I’m so glad you brought him home.”

“Thanks, Mom.” You put on the best fake-smile you could, and turned back to the kids, trying not to think about how they two of you did look in love. But it wasn’t real and your stomach sunk. You took a seat on the couch, talking to Rebekah about her new doll and watching Drew drive his toy cars across the coffee table.

“Who are these from?” you dad asked, holding up some small packages wrapped in blue paper.

“Oh, those are from me sir.” Morgan spoke up from behind you, moving to sit beside you. “There should be one for everyone.” Your dad nodded and handed them out to everyone while you turned to your fake-boyfriend.

“Mo, I told you you didn’t have to bring anything,” you said, eyeing everyone tearing into their small gifts.

“Now what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?” He winked at you, before turning to see their reactions. You were glad you’d turned too.

Everyone was holding up a different variety of a Toronto Maple Leafs keychain. Ben held one with a bottle opener on it and Drew held one that had skate on it. Some of them had the shape of Ontario with them or a special spinny part in the middle.

“You’re really banking on us liking you, eh?” Julie said, holding up her Rielly jersey keychain.

“I’m planning on sticking around for a while. I figure you’ll be fans sooner or later,” he laughed off your sister’s hazing and assured your parents it was the least he could do. He turned to you. “And I didn’t forget you either.”

“What? No. Babe, I thought we were doing gifts back in Toronto?” If you’d known, you would’ve gotten him something, but he seemed unfazed. He brought out a medium box and placed it in your lap.

“Are you sure? I didn’t bring anything for you,” you whispered to him. He just nodded and told you to open it. You ripped into the wrapping paper, opened the box, and tore out the tissue paper only to stop.

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” He said, his face growing. “Bring it out, let’s see it.”

You lifted out of the box a dark wash denim jacket, the same one you’d been trying to rationalize buying for the past three months. It was your size and you couldn’t help but run your fingers over the seams, tracing the buttons.

“Check the inside,” Morgan said, leaning over your shoulder. You turned your head to see him slightly blushing, and you turned to the jacket’s inside as quickly as you could. Inside there was a small label stitched in. Upon closer inspection, you read what it said and your breath hitched.

You’ve got a smile that could light up this whole town. Don’t forget it. Love, your Morgan

“Mo, I don’t even know what to say. This is-this is perfect. I love it, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, before slipping out of the room, both empty mugs in his hands. Your heart started to beat faster again, and as you stared down at the inscription, you had to remind yourself that it didn’t mean anything special. He was acting like your boyfriend, but he wasn’t your boyfriend. This was all fake, and this must’ve been a part of it; a show for your family to make sure you didn’t get in trouble.

You shoved those feelings deep inside you, instead focusing on the Christmas spirit your family had. The living room was full of laughs and someone had turned on the Christmas music. Morgan came back and sat beside you, his arm resting comfortably over the back of the couch and you couldn’t help but curl into his side. The kids came over and asked to play with Morgan and he eagerly agreed, switching from playing cars to dolls to lifting them up to play the airplane game. Like the Grinch, your heart grew three sizes watching him interact with your family – the way he was so patient and sweet with them meant everything, even if he was just pretending.

Later, your Grams arrived and Morgan was quick to win her over as well. You bit your lip, trying to stop from smiling so wide as you watched him help her with her coat, and lead her over to where he was sitting.

“Do you mind holding her for a few minutes?” Izzy said, coming over with Taylor in her arms.

“Of course not! Come ‘ere, darling girl.” You rocked the baby in your arms, sometimes looking over to where Morgan was. Sometimes you even catch him looking at you. You took Taylor’s little hand and waved at him, and he over-enthusiastically waved back, making you laugh.

“You picked a good one, you know? The two of you are really adorable together.” Izzy said, coming back to take her daughter from you.

“Thanks Iz. He’s just…” You trailed off, trying to describe the situation. “I couldn’t imagine doing all of this with anyone else.” And it was the truth. From the plane ride to skiing to the gifts this morning, you couldn’t fathom bringing back a stranger and pulling this off in the same way.

“Sounds like you’ve found the one then.” Her comment made you choke on air and turned into a full coughing fit. Before you knew it, Morgan was beside you, his blue eyes full of concern.

“Are you okay?” His hand was rubbing your upper back as you continued to cough. You nodded as best you could, and he turned to get his cup. When you seemed to be finished, he handed it to you.

“Here, drink. It’s water.” You gulped down the water and sighed.

“Thank you.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good, thank you. I’m just going to get my lip balm; will you be okay on your own for a while?” You asked, placing a hand on his arm.

“It’s your family, not war,” He laughed. “Go, I’ll be fine.”

You smiled at his comment and gave him a quick cheek peck before making your way out of the room. In the bathroom, you took a breather, trying to stop your cheeks from blushing. Whatever you were doing with Morgan, it felt real. But it wasn’t, and you had to keep reminding yourself of that before you got hurt.

When you exited, Grams was standing outside the door.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize someone was waiting,” you said, quickly leaving the bathroom but she waved you off.

“Oh, I haven’t been here that long. But dear, my goodness, that Morgan. He’s a keeper, dear. You hold onto him, you hear me? With him, you’ll be happy for the rest of your life.” She said, patting your cheek before walking past you to the bathroom. You stood in shock for a moment at her words, before taking a deep breath and moving on.

You were just friends.

You repeated that to yourself as you sat next to him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. You repeated it again when he moved your legs into his lap, caressing your ankle. You said it again when he snagged the race car, arguably the best Monopoly piece, only to give it to you, taking the lame iron for himself.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” Julie said, tapping your shoulder, just before Monopoly (another family tradition) started. You nodded, and lifted your legs out of Mo’s lap. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before following her into the kitchen.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to apologize.” You furrowed your brows a little bit. “You know, for thinking your relationship was fake? It was wrong for me to think your relationship wasn’t serious but…I was just trying to look out for Mom and Dad. You don’t see how worried they get when you say you don’t have anyone in that big city. You’re the youngest, they’re always going to worry. And it’s just …You never even remotely told me about anyone and I didn’t want you to be faking it, just to get them off your back. But I was wrong and I’m sorry if it seemed like I was doubting your relationship. He’s perfect for you, and you seem really happy together.”

It was everything you’d been wanting to hear – that even the most skeptic of your family bought your lie and was happy for Christmas. But no relief came like you thought it would; only a lump forming in your throat. “Thanks Julie, that…that means a lot. Would you excuse me please?”

You slipped out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time. You paced around for a few moments, before sitting on the edge of your bed, placing your head in your hands. You’ve gotten in too deep now and it’s going to hurt everyone — yourself included — when you have a ‘breakup’. Your mom will resent Morgan, sweet sweet Morgan, and he’ll probably get chewed out by his own mother, and it’ll all be your fault. You did this to your family, to Morgan, to yourself.

“What’s wrong?” Morgan said, leaning against your doorframe.

“Julie thinks we’re dating. Like for real. They all do. ” At your words, he pushed off the wall and sat beside you on the bed, his hands dangerously close to touching yours. You move them into your lap before you can’t function.

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes.”

“I thought that was the whole point of this? To make them think we’re dating?”

“No, it was. It’s just….” You trailed off, looking down at your hands.

“It’s just what?”

“It’s too much, okay!” You stood up and turned to face him. “Like you’re here. You’re in Vancouver again, with me again, in my parent’s house like we’re fifteen again! You can’t be around like this and expect me not to think about the road not taken! And it doesn’t seem to bother you! And I don’t like lying! I don’t need to be lying to both our families, your teammates, my friends! I don’t need to be lying to myself that I don’t enjoy this! It feels wrong. I know we lied a lot as kids, but it feels different this time. It feels like people are going to get hurt and I don’t think I was prepared for that.”

He took a moment. “We don’t have to lie, you know.”

“What do you mean? We’re fake dating; fake indicating lies.” You crossed your arms across your chest.

He took another moment, taking a deep breath. “We don’t have to be fake dating. We could…be dating for real.”

“What?” you whispered.

“Can I be honest here? Like really honest?” He asked, and you could only nod slightly. “I thought you would’ve got your head out of your ass by now. I thought you had feelings for me.

"Why do you think you said my name? You could’ve said any other name but you said mine. You could’ve found any other Morgan in Toronto but you asked me. You could’ve come clean to them! There were a thousand ways you could’ve gotten out of this but you didn’t! I thought that meant we had something special; that you were finding excuses to bring me here.” He sees your blank, shocked face as a sign to continue.

“And now that we’re here? Back in our hometown? It just all rushes back to me about how I didn’t tell you how I felt. Then I spend the days doing your family traditions and seeing you so happy with Drew and Rebekah and thinking that I could’ve had this a long time ago. But I was a coward and I don’t know if I can make the same mistake again.”

“What are you talking about?” You said breathlessly.

“When we were at Lighthouse Park that day, I almost told you I loved you. But I didn’t. And I went to Toronto and tried to forget the huge regret I’d made. I can’t- I can’t do that again. I love you. I have loved you since we were kids. I didn’t want you to be tied down when you moved out so I didn’t say anything and I tried to forget how I felt about you. But in two days, you’ve made me fall for you all over again and I can’t go back to how things were. I won’t. I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend when I am irrevocably in love with you. I want this,” He stood up and walked closer to you, his fingers reaching out for yours. “I want this to be real.”

“Mo…holy shit.”

“Yeah. It’s a lot, I know.” He went to step back, to give you space after everything he said, but you held onto his hand tighter.

“No, like holy shit, I was going to tell you I loved you that day too.” One of your hands traveled to rest on his cheekbone as you caressed his soft skin. “I didn’t want to give you more pressure as you started your career; that wouldn’t be fair. But some part of me has always wanted this to be real.”

“Really?” The corners of your mouth started to lift up as you nodded. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, ever the gentleman.

“Please.” And less than a second later, his mouth was on yours. Maybe it was a good thing you waited so long, because this was better than anything you could’ve imagined at eighteen. His hands found your waist, and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

When you finally pulled away for air, you pressed your forehead against his. “Wow.”

“You’re telling me.” You giggled at him and played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Guess you can tell the team we’re dating for real life now.”

He laughed and pulled you in for another kiss. “For real life, eh?”

“For real life. As long as you’ll have me. ”

“Forever then, babe.” He winked, squeezing you tight. “Now let’s go join the family, yeah? Gotta beat my in-laws at Monopoly.”

His antics had you in laughter all the way down the stairs, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. There was happiness because of him.

taglist (join here): @heatherawoowoo @4ambagelbites @typical-simplelove @2manytabsopen @stars-canucks @lorrmorr @fallinallincurls @plds2000 @barzysandhughesbaby @yummygoldenfood @drei-mrssvechii @bananarantanen @pulpfixion

#the winter fic exchange 2k23 #morgan rielly #morgan rielly imagine #morgan rielly fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl x reader #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #abby writes #fun fact i have had parts of this idea since i heard the song for the first time and im so glad to finally get it all out there for this <3

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doodle-pops · 11 months

Text

A First Time For Everything

Argon x reader

Request: Hi! I was wondering if I could plop in a request for either Argon or Galdor (no preference for headcanon or fic). Super fluffy and romantic picnic maybe? With some kissing 🥰 I'm a sucker for impromptu swimming in the river or something with s/o as well! Thank you!

A/N: Went with Argon instead :)

Warnings: none, it's all fluff

Word: 2k

Synopsis: It's the first time you and Argon are spending time unchaperoned, so he decides to make the most out of the moment, starting with a kiss.

“And then…and then he raced down the corridor until he ran into the door and the bucket of flour fell all over him.” Argon gripped his stomach howling in laughter as he rolled across the sprawled blanket on the grass, relaying the prank he and his siblings did to Turgon. You on the other was mimicking his said actions as the story was told to you. Tears were springing from the corners of your eyes as you tossed your head backwards releasing another laughter.

“W-what h-h-happened…next?” You were struggling to catch your breath to allow for a proper flow of words to follow through. Taking deep gulps of air and looking up into the sky, you tried to silence your laughter until you felt another wave coming down.

Argon next to you hadn’t even found the time to process your questions because he was still rolling around, clutching at his stomach. Turning about, he rolled until he was off the blanket and in the grass, collecting dirt on his attire. He was finding it a lot harder to retain his composure since he was there at the sight of the incident, and everything was replaying in his head. Releasing a few more howls of laughter into the open expanse, he paused to take deep gulps of air before going silent.

“He chased us about with a broomstick before tripping over his feet on the last treader. He went flying… swoosh, before crashing into the door.” Argon lifted his hand to wave them through the air, describing how his brother tripped and flew into the door.

This caused the both of you to return to your previous state of laughter, rolling and howling on the blanket while clutching your stomach and tears rolling from your eyes. You always knew that Turgon was clumsy but didn't think that he was awkward to that extent. You had the honour of meeting his brother in the past when you were invited to family dinners and saw how tall and lanky, he was, so you understood how funny it must have been for them to witness their brother chasing them and then falling — a pile of long limbs messy lying about. Just thinking about that and visualizing it sent you into another wave of laughter.

Rolling onto your stomach and pressing your face into the blanket, you muffled your screeches to avoid sounding like you were dying. Raising his at the sound of your laughter, Argon rolled over till he was lying at your side and watching you die of laughter. It was moments like these he enjoyed spending with you where you were equally carefree and happy, and away from chaperones. He could see the natural joy and excitement on your face instead of the façade you’d put up. As much as he wasn’t someone who was outgoing and heavily affectionate like the rest of his siblings, he always appreciated the joy your eyes held whenever you both spent time together and he made the attempts. To him, this was the best form of affection he loved to give and receive from you.

Watching how your eyes crinkled until they appeared as moon crescents or how you teared up from the enjoyment of the story caused him to smile brightly, proud of his work. Reaching his hand to brush a stray strand that slung to the sides of your temple, he moved to trace the outline of your face. It was a sight he found fascinating; the shape of your face was beautiful. He calls it your work of art, as though you were an artist.

“Are you alright? You seem to sound as though you’re still dying over there.” He had leaned his face closer to yours, speaking directly into the sides of your face. He kept his face close, watching how your head would move up and down as you took in the air to calm down.

When you finally managed to catch your breath, you shifted your head to face his and felt something wet colliding with your lips. Shooting your brows into your hairline and widening your eyes, you stared at your lover who wore a blanket expression on his face — you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The kiss truly surprised you because he wasn’t one who was still open about physical affections without blushing or curling in on himself. Continuing to stare at him some more, you raised yourself on your forearms to lean in closer.

“Did you just. . .kiss me?” At the question, you saw how his eyes widened at the realization of his actions. Averting his eyes elsewhere, embarrassed by his actions, he hung his head downwards.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I hadn’t meant to.”

“No, you don’t need to apologize, I liked the kiss. I was just surprised you kissed me first.” You sat upright and took your hands to cradle his face. Leaning in, you rubbed your nose against his which made him crinkle his nose in response and cast you a playful frown. He always commented on how that act of affection made him feel like a mushy and that he found it weird — not that he didn’t tell you to stop.

“So, you’re not, shocked that I kissed you first?” His hands came up to rub the tingling sensation, left behind by your nose rubbing.

“No, I’m not.”

Nodding vigorously at your confirmation, he moved closer and outstretched his hands to pull you in for another kiss. It was short and sweet like the first one and you tasted the cherries he was eating on his lips. Pulling away, leaving only a centimetre of space between you both, your eyes were still closed while he was gazing at your face, deciphering if to go in for another. Calculating his response and deciding to follow his mind, he swooped in to capture your lips in another kiss, this time with more enthusiasm. Raising his hands to cup the side of your face, deepened the kiss one last time before pulling away for air.

Panting and giving him a little smile, you leaned in to peck him on the lips again before you slung your arms around and pulled him down for a hug. Hiding your face in the crook of his neck, giggling, you refused to show him how bright your face was after the kiss. He was lucky you kept your face hidden because his face was the same shade as the poppy flowers in the field. Wrapping his arms around your waist in response to your hug, he rolled you two off the blanket and onto the grass laughing merrily. He was pleased with his confidence allowing him to make the first move without breaking a sweat. Now, if he kept this up, he’d be able to deliver more affection to you openly the same way you do.

Giggling along with you while rolling among the flowers, you planted more kisses on his face and watched how he’d bury his head deeper in your neck.

“Are you blushing? I thought you wanted to give me kisses Káno?” You giggled some more trailing your hands down the sides of his chest until they rested on his waist and then wiggled them into his sides. Squealing at the contact, he pushed himself out of your arms and flung himself away from your wandering fingers that were ready to deliver torture. Sitting on his hunches a foot or two away from you, he was heaving with his hands placed on his chest.

“This…this is why…I’m never going to try that…again. No more kisses for you.” His left hand was waving about dramatically with the largest smile plastered across his face.

You could not help but allow mischievous intentions to overtake your body and act accordingly as it saw fit. Staring at him huffing and puffing about your unfairness, your body was positioning itself to pounce on him as he continued to rant. You could tell that he was unaware due to your body being sat in a kneeling position, resting on your hunches, and targeted on his. In between, your eyes would dart to the little stream of water that ran behind him, observing for rocks to ensure you don’t injure either of you. When you were ready, your eyes glowed with naughty intent as they stared at him with predatory instincts to attack. Due to his long limbs and unconscious awareness, it was the easiest attack you struck on him as you tackled and knock his lanky body backwards, sending you both screaming into the stream.

His girlish screams intensified when he collided with the cold spring water that soaked his bone through his thick clothes. The royal blue tunic grew darker the longer he sat in the cold rush and absorbed its chilliness. You on the other hand were rolling in the spring water, curling in on yourself as you wheezed about his wet cat appearance. To say the least, your lover wasn’t too happy about being caught off-guard and the butt of your prank. He even gave small splashes of frigid water to you while you continued to howl in the water.

“Oh…are you upset my love?” you mocked. Your hands clutched your stomach as another round of laughter slipped through your throat and was released into the cool air.

Disgruntled by the round of attacks you’d been giving him today, Argon wasn’t pleased with being the centre of attention for pranks and jokes, not when he was the master of them. You weren’t sitting too distant from him, and due to the gift of having extra-long limbs, it was easy for him to cast a playful scowl before launching himself at you. Lucky that the stream wasn’t deep, you simply fell backwards and sank a little deeper into the freezing water with the sound of you shrieking. Gracelessly clinging to Argon’s tunic, it did little to prevent your body from becoming entirely soaked like his.

Smirking down at you while you sulked, he mocked, “Are you upset my love? Aw, don’t be. A little spring water is good for naughty people like you…wash away all the mischievousness.” Following his words, he brought his hand over your head and doused you in cold water and held you down so you couldn’t escape.

“Ah — Argon, that’s cold!”

“Should have thought about that before throwing me into the stream!”

“Well…” you laughed while struggling to remove his steel grip around your waist, “…you were asking for it — ah!” He threw more water onto you, pouring large quantities over your head and thoroughly soaking. At this point, the two of you were dripping wet from head to toe from the period you were rolling around in the water.

Releasing you when he felt your fingers returning to his sides to tickle him once more, he retracted his form and scurried away, fearful of another tickle match. Rising to his feet, he turned to inspect you when he heard you whining at him.

“No! . . .wait don’t go! Let’s sit a bit in the water and relax!” you suggested, showing off how fun it was to lie in the stream of spring water and bask in Laurelin’s luminescence. Growing quiet and studying you, his face morphed from concerned to confused to acceptance. Of all the suggestions you could have made, you chose the one that would cause some discomfort, yet bring more bliss to your unchaperoned date. Exhaling with a deep shake of his head, Argon glanced between the picnic layout in the grass not too far away and then your unbothered body lying peacefully in the chilly waters. It was strange to witness him for the first time acting as the mature one while you threw yours away in exchange for childlike fun.

Skipping over to where you lay, his towering figure blocked out Laurelin’s glow, even when he crouched. Stretching a hand out to brush your tresses out of the way, he grinned once he saw you looking back at him. “Impromptu swimming in a stream?” he mused.

“No. Impromptu swimming with my Argon.”

Masterlist

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#argon x reader #argon imagine #argon scenario #argon fluff #arakano #arakáno #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fic #silmarillion fluff #middle earth x reader #middle earth fluff #middle earth imagine #nolofinweans #house of fingolfin #x reader fluff #x reader insert #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

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