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mads-nixon · 7 months

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Epiphany Pt. 12: You're On Your Own, Kid

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Title inspo - you're on your own, kid: taylor swift

A/N: this is my first post on my hbo war side-blog! yay! this chapter is the calm before the storm, y'all. this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Ill-equipped and poorly supplied, (y/n) and the rest of Easy do their best to survive in the frozen Ardennes Forest of Bastogne.

Warnings: description of injury, very soft lew

December 20, 1944: Ardennes Forest, Belgium

The forest lay under a heavy blanket of snow, the silence only broken by the occasional gust of icy wind, quiet conversations, and the all-to-familiar whistling of incoming shells. (Y/n) sat on the edge of her foxhole, her breath visible in the cold air as she gazed out at the German line. Through the veil of swirling snow, she couldn’t make out their silhouettes, but she knew they were there. It was a landscape of paradoxes: serene yet charged, beautiful yet deadly.

With her gaze still fixed in the white haze, she felt a surge of frustration and anger rise in her. It was fueled by the knowledge that the Krauts had the supplies that they desperately needed. It was a cruel twist of fate that Easy was hungry, cold, and struggling, while the enemy, albeit just across the way, had the sustenance and warmth they lacked. They had a few missed supply drops to thank for that.

The air was frigid, cutting through layers of clothing and seeping into her very bones. (Y/n) hugged herself, arms wrapping tightly around her body in a futile attempt to capture a semblance of warmth. Her gloved fingers, numbed by the cold, clutched at the fabric of her uniform, seeking refuge in the familiar touch.

“(Y/n), remind me to never complain about the heat again,” Skip jested through chattering teeth, a weak smile attempting to mask his discomfort.

“Yeah, this makes those Georgia summers seem downright pleasant,” Don added with a forced chuckle, the words barely leaving his blue-tinted lips.

Skip waved a hand in front of (y/n)’s distant gaze, breaking her trance and pulling her back to reality. “Earth to (y/n). You with us?”

Shaking from her thoughts, she turned towards the group, forcing a chapped smile. “Yeah,” she muttered, pushing herself up from where she sat in the foxhole, trying to get blood circulating in her numbed limbs. “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t get lost out there,” Malarkey called out, his voice tinged with concern as she swung her rifle onto her shoulder.

“A walk in a winter wonderland,” Skip chimed in, his grin mischievous as he wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that code for, ‘going to see your favorite captain’ by any chance?”

A playful scoff escaped her lips in a huff. “Shut up, Muck. I can’t feel my toes, so I’m going for a walk to fix that.”

Malarkey shrugged, feigning innocence. “Yeah, sure. Have fun on your walk.”

The woman shook her head fondly at her friends as she slowly walked away from the foxhole. Her limbs didn’t want to work correctly, so she found herself doing a pitiful half-limp around the forest as she attempted to get some blood flowing to her feet.

Despite her and Nix’s efforts to be discreet, the Toccoa men who had watched them from the beginning couldn’t be fooled. While nothing was openly acknowledged, there was a shared understanding that something was going on between the couple. Only Harry and Dick knew for certain, and only because they grilled Lew when he returned from Paris.

Maybe she would pay her favorite Captain a visit.

“Hey, Cripple!” someone called out. Groaning, (y/n) turned to face the voice, ready to retort when the very ground beneath her seemed to tremble and shudder violently. An explosion erupted from behind her, a deafening roar as the shockwave threw her off balance, sending her to the ground in a heap.

She curled into a protective ball, her hands instinctively shielding her head as the world was swallowed by chaos. The relentless barrage of mortars painted the sky, their descent announced by menacing whistles. The once serene forest became a frenzied battleground, trees splintering and snow erupting into wild flurries.

Amidst the disarray, a call pierced through the mayhem. “(Y/l/n)! Over here!”

Scrambling to her feet, her heart raced with adrenaline and drowned out the pounding explosions. She didn’t spare a moment to see who called, her focus solely on getting to cover. (Y/n) snatched up her rifle from the snow-covered ground and sprinted towards the direction of the voice, her heavy breaths misting in the frigid air.

As she ran, her foot caught a fallen tree branch and she was sent tumbling into the freezing embrace of the forest floor, awkwardly landing on her arm. Pain flared in her wrist as she fought to get to her feet, panicking at being exposed without cover. Then, like a savior, a hand extended towards her and hauled her into a nearby foxhole.

Joe Liebgott’s face appeared in front of her, and his eyes reflected the same fear and helplessness that she felt. She let go of her rifle, allowing it to rest in the snow as she clamped her hands over her ears, desperate to drown out the deafening noise that assaulted her senses. (Y/n) clenched her eyes closed, seeing refuge in the darkness as Joe pulled her tightly into his body, shielding her from the relentless barrage. The concussive blasts continued, each one sending shockwaves through the ground and dirt, snow, and ice raining down on them. She held on, feeling the frantic rise and fall of Joe’s chest against her, praying that it would all stop soon.

Seconds, minutes, hours, (y/n) didn’t know how much time had passed when the earth-shattering blasts ceased. A few gentle pats on her helmet were the only indication it was over. Slowly, she released her grip on her ears, the painful ringing subsiding to the backdrop of her ragged breaths as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You alright?” Joe asked, his concerned gaze scanning her for injuries.

(Y/n) nodded, wincing as she flexed her wrist, attempting to brush off the debris clinging to her skin. “I’m okay.”

His eyes narrowed, shifting from her face to her arm and then back again. “You sure?”

“I just landed on it weird,” she replied, clenching her teeth against the searing pain that radiated up her arm with every movement.

“Let me get Doc, (y/n),” he offered, about to get up, but her good arm shot up and pulled him back down.

Sitting up, she carefully retrieved her rifle and climbed out of the foxhole, cradling her aching wrist to her chest. “I’m fine, Joe. Thank you, but I need to check on my foxhole.”

“Alright, be careful,” he called after her as she made her way back toward her foxhole, her chest tight with anxiety. As the shock and adrenaline from the bombardment began to fade, the reality of (y/n)’s situation settled in: her wrist was not just a minor discomfort. What had initially felt like a sharp jab upon impact turned into a persistent, gnawing pain radiating from her wrist and traveling up her arm like tendrils of fire.

Each movement she made, whether to clutch her rifle or steady herself against the uneven ground, sent surges of pain shooting through her hand and forearm. With each passing second, the pain seemed to intensify, becoming an unrelenting companion in the desolate frozen landscape. Her fingers, once nimble and deft in handling her rifle, now felt like lead, unresponsive and clumsy. The smallest tasks, like brushing off the clinging snow or gripping her canteen, became monumental efforts, each movement a harsh reminder of the shelling. A simple flex of her wrist, something that she took for granted in the past, was now an act that set off sharp jolts of pain. (Y/n) found herself trying to ignore the pain, focusing on the task at hand, but the throbbing in her arm seemed to pulse in sync with her heartbeat, making it impossible to overlook. She knew she should probably see Roe about it, but she heard he didn’t have much to work with. So, she made the choice not to burden their already diminished supplies on what was likely just a sprain.

After a while, she found herself approaching the spot she’d left Malarkey and Skip, scanning the area for signs of life. The once-snow-draped ground was now a maze of impact craters and debris. As she reached the foxhole, her heart swelled with relief seeing Skip and Don huddled inside, still in one piece.

“Hey,” she called out, her voice cutting through the eerie calm. Relief washed over her as they looked up, their faces lighting up at the sight of her.

“(Y/n/n)!” Don exclaimed, a hand clutching his chest dramatically. “We were worried!”

Muck tossed his helmet towards her, a hint of concern on his face. The helmet collided with her wrist, causing her to stifle a cry. “Take a look at this crap, (y/n). They peppered my helmet!”

Gently cradling her wrist, she examined the shot-up helmet in her lap, a half smile playing on her lips. “Good thing you weren’t wearing it, Skip. Was everyone okay over here? I ended up in Lieb’s foxhole.”

“Wasted my dagum coffee,” Smokey lamented from the foxhole ahead of theirs. “It was a whole helmet-full, too.”

A chuckle bubbled from her lips as she watched him setting his contraption back up. “I’m sorry, Smoke. Next time, you should tell the krauts to wait until you’ve had your coffee to shell the crap out of us.”

“You know, I might just do that,” Smokey mused, staring out at the German line with a faraway look. “We need a break.”

“Oh, (y/n),” Don interjected, fishing for something in his pockets. “Do you have any morphine in your aid kit from Holland? Doc’s looking for some.”

“Mine got used up when I got hit,” she replied, her mind drifting back to that night outside Arnhem. “That feels like so long ago now.”

Skip, ever the calculating one, counted on his fingers thoughtfully. “It’s only been what, three months?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, staring into the forest as she contemplated the whirlwind of events since that time. Between getting shot, going to the hospital, then Paris with Lew, and now Bastogne, a lot happened in those three months.

Their conversation carried on, but (y/n) was lost in her thoughts. Her life had changed drastically in this span of time, the most significant development being her newfound relationship with Lewis. A mere week and a half had passed since Paris, yet it felt like a lifetime. Memories of the quaint cafes and charming streets danced in her mind, a reminder of what they were fighting for…a return to a life untouched by the horrors of war.

A crunch of snow behind her snapped her back to the present. She grabbed her rifle, swiftly turning, a surge of pain shooting up her arm. A grimace contorted her face as she eased the strain, her aim dropping as she recognized Lip.

“(Y/n), Winters wants to see you,” he relayed, crouching beside her.

“We’ll catch up later, alright?” Don patted her shoulder gently, a worried look in his gaze as he looked down at her wrist.

“Duty calls, boys. See ya later.”

She pushed herself off the snow with her good hand and started following Lip toward Captain Winter’s tent. As they walked, she saw the destruction the various shellings had left in their wake. Trees were downed everywhere, feet-long splinters littered the snow, and there was the occasional red stain of blood on the white ground.

“Can you believe it’s just a few days till Christmas?” Lip’s voice broke the silence, filled with nostalgia and yearning.

She nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? I remember my last Christmas home so vividly…and now, here we are two years later.”

He glanced at her, a fond smile on his face, despite the flicker of sorrow in his eyes. “My wife, JoAnne, makes the best gingerbread cookies on the planet, and I can just see her in the kitchen, working her tail off to make them for our family Christmas party.”

(Y/n)’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “What I wouldn’t give for some gingerbread cookies,” she sighed. “It’s just…well, being away from family at this time, it’s tough. But at least we have each other, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding ahead of him. “Here we are.”

“Thanks for walking with me, Lip,” (y/n) grinned, approaching the foxhole.

“You’re welcome,” Carwood grinned. “And (y/n), get that wrist checked out.”

Her mouth slightly agape, she looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m not as clueless as the others. Get it looked at.” His eyes held a genuine concern.

Nodding at him, she walked up to the hole where Dick was crouched, writing a letter. “Captain Winters, sir?”

He looked up from his letter, and an uncharacteristic smirk formed on his face when he recognized her. “(Y/n). Nix wanted to speak with you.”

A flush colored her cheeks as she stood there. “Oh, alright. Where is he?”

Winters nodded to the hole ahead of him. “I’m right here, so please don't try any-”

A blanket was thrown off the adjacent foxhole and Nixon popped out, his dark hair a mess atop his head. “Gosh, Dick, we’re not gonna do anything,” he hissed, rolling his eyes.

Embarrassment coursed through (y/n) at the implication, and she brought a hand to her face, wishing she could disappear. “Yes sir,” she stammered, her voice slightly uneasy as she walked over to Lewis.

“Are you crazy?” she asked, casting anxious glances around the forest.

Nix shrugged and pointed to Winters. “We’re fine. Dick’s gonna keep a lookout…right Dick?”

“I’m going to be writing my letter,” Winters replied, not looking up. “And I’m not seeing this.”

“Thanks, pal,” Lew called, extending a hand to help (y/n) into the hole.

“Alright,” she muttered, unable to keep a nervous smile from playing on her lips a the thought of some time with him. She started to take his hand with her hurt one, but quickly switched hands, letting the other painfully dangle at her side. He gave her a questioning look as she took his hand, but (y/n) just shook her head, dismissing his concern. To her surprise, he seemed to let it go.

Nix’s foxhole was a decent size, and (y/n) carefully tried to settle against his side without showing her injury. He pulled the blanket over the top of the hole, insulating the space and giving them a sliver of privacy. Looking around, she spotted an empty pack of Lucky Strikes and his silver flask in the dirt beside her.

“I really like what you did with the place,” she grinned, kicking the empty box with her foot.

Lew chuckled, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her close, placing a soft kiss in her hair. “Yeah. Interior decorating was always Blanche’s thing.”

His warmth seeped through her frozen uniform, and she sighed contentedly, resting her head on her shoulder as she closed her eyes. The throbbing pain in her hand seemed to slightly fade in his comforting presence.

“How are things on the line? We still get artillery back here, but it’s not as bad as up there,” he asked quietly, leaning his head atop hers.

“It’s not good, Lew,” she mumbled into his neck. “We’re running low on everything, and the krauts seem to have an endless stream of artillery. It’s like they’re not even affected by the cold or anything. We’re just holding our ground and doing what we can.”

He tightened his grip around her, attempting to offer some comfort. “But you’re holding up okay?”

A half-hearted smile tugged at her lips, tinged with sadness. “We’re surviving, but it’s getting harder every day. The men are tired, Lew. We’re all tired. We’re all hungry. We’re all cold.”

“I know, doll,” he sighed. “Sink and General McAuliffe stopped by earlier, and they didn’t have any good news. Last night, I took a walk on the line at about 0300 and I couldn’t find the 501st on our right flank. I had to pull in 2nd platoon to fill the gap, but the General seemed like he couldn't care less.”

(Y/n) groaned. “His relentless optimism kills me. At least Sink is realistic.”

“‘Hold the line and close the gaps’, was all he said. And that 1st battalion just pulled out of Foy with krauts on their tail…so there’s a bunch of crap coming our way.”

“Of course there is,” she grumbled, bringing her knees up to her chest.

Lew’s thoughts became consumed by worry for (y/n) and what was going to be thrown her way. He gently traced circles on her back, trying to find the right words. “I can’t help but be worried about you, (y/n/n). Knowing you’re out there every time I hear a shelling, it’s…it’s tough.”

She sat up and turned to face him, her eyes reflecting the same fear. “I know, Lew. I’m scared, too. But I’m doing what I can to take care of myself and the guys. We watch out for each other.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his voice. “It’s just hard being here, not able to do much, not even being able to be with you when you’re out there facing the worst of it.”

“You’re doing more than you think,” she said, gently touching his arm. “This helps me so much.”

Lew brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, his cold fingers gentle on her warm cheek. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t take any extra risks…please.”

(Y/n) looked into his eyes, finding a sea of emotion. “I promise,” she replied, her voice equally soft.

Nix leaned in, slowly closing the distance between them, his eyes flickering to her lips before meeting her gaze once more. Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss as Lew cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow down as they kissed, a sense of calm washing over them. As they pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the chilly air.

“Have you been able to keep warm at all?” Lew asked softly, his fingers tracing over her gloved hand gently.

(Y/n) nodded, trying to keep her discomfort at bay. “As warm as one can be out here.”

Lew noticed her wincing slightly and, concerned, his hand unintentionally brushed against her injured wrist. She gasped, tears brimming her eyes as pain shot through her arm.

His eyes widened, fear coursing through him as he quickly retracted his hand “(Y/n)? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

(Y/n) leaned her head back against the hard wall of dirt behind her with a thud. “I tripped during the shelling earlier and landed on it wrong,” she whispered, voice trembling as she cradled her wrist.

“(Y/n),” Lew sighed, his heart aching at her pain. “Have you seen Doc?”

She shook her head, tears welling up. “No, not yet.”

He reached for her hand slowly. “Let me see it, sweetheart. I’ll be careful.”

She hesitantly extended her gloved hand to him, a single tear leaking down her rosy cheek. “You’re okay,” he cooed, holding her forearm with one hand while the other carefully slid the glove off.

“Shit,” Lew muttered, his brows furrowing at the sight of her wrist. “This is bad, (y/n).”

His concern deepened as he saw the extent of the injury. He had expected it to be sore, maybe a minor sprain, but what he saw made his heart clench with worry and anger. Her once delicate wrist was now swollen to nearly twice its usual size, the skin on her palm and wrist discolored in ominous hues of deep purple and angry black.

“(Y/n/n),” he said gently, his voice soothing to her distress. “We need to get you to Doc. This could be broken.”

The tears finally fell from her eyes in a mixture of pain and frustration. “I know,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “But the medics are already low on supplies, and they need that for others that are worse off.”

Lew cupped her cheek tenderly, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “Just because someone may be worse, doesn’t mean you can’t be looked after, too. Let me take care of you, please.”

(Y/n)’s expression softened, touched by his sincerity. “Okay,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

He held her wrist gently, a tenderness in his eyes that melted her worries, even if just for a moment. He brushed a feather-light kiss on her injured wrist, a silent promise that he’d take care of her. Nix helped her slide the glove back on, ensuring it offered some support for her wrist. He then threw off the blanket and helped her to her feet, his arm securely around her for support. She wasn’t going to let her injury hold her back, but she knew she needed to get it checked before it got any worse.

Winter’s eyes widened at the pair’s dramatic exit from the foxhole. “You alright, (y/l/n)?” he asked, eyes furrowed in confusion.

“She hurt her wrist,” Lew replied, glancing at Dick who nodded in response. “We’re finding Roe.”

They found Gene in his foxhole, staring off into the forest, a cigarette hanging from his lips. “Hey Gene,” Nix called, catching the man off guard. He jumped slightly, turning around like a deer in headlights.

He sighed seeing who it was. “Captain Nixon, what can I do for ya, sir?”

“(Y/n) here took a tumble during the shelling. Her wrist is pretty banged up.”

Roe nodded, motioning for her to sit down on the edge of the foxhole. “Let’s have a look, chérie.

She did as told, taking a deep breath to brace herself for any pain. The cajun carefully peeled off the glove from her injured hand, revealing the purple and black bruises. The medic furrowed his brows at the sight, his experienced eyes evaluating the damage. He lightly prodded along the wrist, feeling for any unusual shifts in the bones beneath.

“I’m worried there might be a hairline fracture here,” he explained, his voice carrying a tinge of concern. “But I can’t confirm it without a proper x-ray, and we don’t have any equipment like that back in Bastogne.”

(Y/n) nodded, bracing herself for what she knew was coming. “So, what can we do?”

Roe began to secure her wrist carefully with a makeshift splint, wrapping it snugly to provide some stability and reduce the risk of further damage. “Right now, we’ll immobilize it as best as we can. I’ll wrap it up, and you need to keep it still as much as possible. Ice will help with the swelling.”

Smirking at the situation, (y/n) couldn’t resist a touch of humor. “Well, at least we’ve got an abundance of ice around,” she quipped, waving her good hand at the frozen forest surrounding them. “Nature’s icebox, right?”

Lew chuckled at her attempt to lighten the mood. “The best ice supply in Bastogne,” he replied, playing along.

As Gene finished the wrapping, she flexed her fingers slightly, testing the newfound stability. The pain had dulled a bit, and it was a relief, albeit a temporary one. They thanked Roe and went on their way.

“I’ve got to go back to the boys,” she said, peering up at him as they walked.

Lew nodded. “Take it easy, alright? Your arm can’t heal if you keep using it.”

“Yes, sir, Doctor Nixon,” she grinned, fake saluting him with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

They made their way to her foxhole, and Lew resisted the urge to give her a kiss, aware of the many eyes watching. Instead, he gently patted her helmet, a gesture that he’d decided was his new favorite because it sent the front of it down past her eyes.

“Malarkey,” Nix called out, waving his over. “Don’t let this one overdo it. Roe said she needs to take it easy.”

Though he was confused, Don nodded. “Yes, sir.”

With a subtle wink, Lew turned and left for his own foxhole.

“What happened to you?” Skip asked, eyeing her wrapped wrist as he appeared next to Don. “Did the Captain take care of you?”

(Y/n) laughed under her breath, watching Lew’s figure disappear into the white haze of the forest. “I’m alright.”

Malarkey’s eyes widened as he turned to Muck. “She’s not denying it, Skip!”

“I knew it!” Skip exclaimed triumphantly, the corners of his mouth curling into a grin. She began to walk away when Don gasped suddenly.

“We have to tell you about Hinkle!”

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mads-weasley · 2 years

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Here With You

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Hey y'all! I've never written for Nix, but I wanted to try, so here it is! I hope you enjoy it! I do not own any of the rights to these characters.

Summary: During the liberation of Eindhoven, (y/n) and Lew finally share a sweet moment, but it is soon shattered by a drunken local with one thing on his mind.

Warnings: attempted assault, mentions of blood, fighting

(y/h/c) - your hair color

September 1944

The streets of Eindhoven were filled with celebrating Dutch, bright orange flags waving from every window. (Y/n) couldn't help but smile at the sight of a people who were under oppression for so long becoming a free town once again.

As she walked through the happy mob, she made sure to stay right with Lew and Dick.

"Can you believe this?" Nixon asked, looking around them in awe.

She smiled up at her husband. "It's crazy. I know."

Taking her hand, he sent a smirk her way, knowing no one would notice the couple amongst the chaos of the celebration.

Their intelligence had suggested that the Netherlands and Holland were nothing but old men and kids, but they were all wary to accept that. Once they were there, though, the men let their guards down and enjoyed the festivities the town provided.

Pushing through the crowds, people grabbed at them and kissed her cheek. A few even tried to kiss her straight on the lips but she managed to swerve them in time. She rolled her eyes and swatted Nix's arm when he whispered, "Is it my turn for a kiss?"

A few minutes later, a few children came running up to her, attaching themselves to her legs. They couldn't have been more than 5 years old. Dropping Lewis' hand, she crouched in front of them. Their wide toothy grins brought a wide smile to her face.

"Hi, there. My name is (y/n)."

Not responding, one of them reached out and gently pulled on her dog tags, while another pointed at her American flag patch.

"I'm an American soldier."

"Amer-can?" A small blonde boy asked, thick with his accent.

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "American."

Beaming, he put his hand up to his chest. "Finn."

"Hi, Finn," (y/n) whispered, holding out her hand to shake his tiny one.

Little did she know that above her, Nixon was watching on with soft eyes at the interaction. Watching her with the children warmed his heart to no end, and those moments were rare now that they were at war. When they did happen, most of the time they were because of his loving wife.

Even though he was standing in a crowd of people, he felt as if he, (y/n), and the kid were the only ones there. He couldn't help thinking back to the first time something like that had happened; when the world stopped spinning. It was the first time he'd laid eyes on her, and he would never forget it.

1939

"Dad, can I please just skip out on one party? I've been to too many. They're all the same. Ever-" A 21-year-old Lewis Nixon pleaded as he fixed his tie in the mirror.

His father wouldn't budge, as usual. "No. You're going. End of discussion."

With a sigh, Lewis finished getting ready, buttoning up his suit as his sister, Blanche walked into the room, flopping dramatically on his bed.

"I refuse to go to another party where creepy old men try to flirt with me, Lew. I just can't do it."

He turned around from the mirror. "Me, too. I hate talking to a bunch of rich old jerks-"

"Like father," she interrupted.

"Yes, like father."

Their mother's voice made an appearance as she walked into the room. "You two need to give this party a chance. You never know, maybe this one could be different."

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," he snarked.

A few hours later, Lewis Nixon sure did believe it after seeing a beautiful girl walk down the staircase in a bright royal blue dress, her curled (y/h/c) hair cascading down her back. At that moment, everything stopped. What the man beside him was saying became background noise as he only focused on her.

As she reached the bottom of the steps, she was met with Blanche, who smiled and embraced her. When she returned the smile, the boy lost his breath.

Without taking his eyes off her, he stopped their butler as he passed.

"Who is that?" He questioned breathlessly.

Following Nix's eyes, he smiled. "(Y/n) (y/l/n). She doesn't have a date, either, sir."

Breaking his trance, Lew nodded thanks at the man before walking over to the two girls. On the way, he passed a waiter, quickly grabbing two glasses of champagne from his tray.

"Hello ladies," he greeted cooly.

Blanche didn't spare him a glance. "Hey, Lew."

Looking over at (y/n), he held out his hand. "Lewis Nixon. And what would your name be?"

Grinning, she took his hand but let out a surprised laugh when he brought it up to his lips. "So you're one of those guys, huh?"

"And what type of guy is that?" He asked, intrigued.

She glanced down at the extra glass of champagne in his hand, raising an eyebrow. "The rich, cool, Ivy League student who thinks they can get any girl they want by flashing a smile and bringing a glass of champagne. I bet you live for parties like this to show off your status."

Blanche laughed hysterically, champagne almost spewing from her nose. She cursed as she spilled some on her dress.

"I'll be back", she muttered, heading towards the bathroom.

Turning his attention back on (y/n), Lewis downed the extra champagne glass in one gulp. "Alright. That statement is only half correct."

"Okay, what's not right, then?"

"Yes, I'm a rich, Ivy Leaguer. No, this champagne was not for you-"

(Y/n) chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Yeah right."

"And I actually hate these parties with everything in me."

"I somehow find that hard to believe, Mr. Nixon."

"Lewis, please. And when you've grown up being forced to go to these things, trying to fit into the high-class society gets tiring, and frankly, I wish I wasn't even associated with it whatsoever."

Seeing the serious expression in his eyes, she believed him. Something about him was different. Maybe her assumptions were wrong after all.

"You are something else, Lewis." She chimed, walking away from him. "I hope I'll see you around. And if not, you can ask Blanche where to find me."

Lew ran a hand through his hair, sighing at the interaction. "Oh boy. I'm in trouble." He whispered to himself, drinking the other glass of champagne in his hand.

Present Day - 1944

He's dragged out of his thoughts by Harry asking him something.

"What?"

"I said, we should get moving."

Nix nodded, squatting next to (y/n). "Hey, sweetheart. I'm sorry but we've gotta get a move on."

"Okay," she sighed, saying goodbye to the children who threw their small arms around her.

As they walked further into the town, Lew had a hand gently placed on the small of her back, leading her through the crowd. Suddenly, two girls barreled past (y/n) and threw themselves onto Lewis, who shrunk back from the women, trying to get away. Laughing, (y/n) grabbed his hand and pulled him away from them.

She looked up at him as if to say something but was cut off by his lips crashing against hers. Pulling away, she quickly looked around them, not seeing any Easy Company men watching. In fact, the only one she saw was Talbert, and his attention was fully captured by the girl he was making out with.

"Lewis Nixon. What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm kissing my wife."

"As much as I wish we could, the men can't know."

"Why not?" He challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Why can't they?"

"Because..."

"Exactly! You can't even come up with a reason. We kept it secret in the first place so that it wouldn't cause trouble with Sobel in basic, but now that we're over here, so why not?"

Mulling it over in her head, the young woman couldn't find anything wrong with his plan.

Instead of answering him, she pulled him down by his collar and kissed him roughly. Once out of breath, she pressed her forehead against his. "Yeah. Let em' find out, Lew."

The sweet moment soon ended as Harry pushed past them, grumbling. "Alright. We get it. You two are so in love. Yay for us."

Following him to the other officers, the couple held hands once again. "You're telling me that if Kitty was here, you wouldn't be doing the same thing?" (Y/n) asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

Before he could respond, Buck walked up to the group as they found Winters. "What's up, Welshy?" The blonde asked cheerily.

Harry flipped up his collar with a scowl, looking at (y/n). "Snipers."

She couldn't resist the laugh that bubbled up her throat as she flipped her collar, covering her lieutenant bars.

"We've got to get to these bridges," Dick stated, turning to (y/n), Buck, and Harry. "Round up the men."

With a nod, she started to walk away her arm was caught by Nix.

"Where are you going?" He asked, concern filling his eyes.

She sighed lightly and rubbed his arm, wanting to avoid the overprotective side of her husband. "You heard Dick. I'm getting my men."

"Okay. Please be careful, alright?" He whispered, caressing her cheek softly.

Walking away, she winked at him. "I will be, Lew. Don't worry."

Nix watched her smaller form disappear into the crowd, turning to Dick while shaking his head. "That woman will be the death of me."

As (y/n) pushed through the celebrating crowd once again, her eyes searches for the familiar screeching eagle patch on her men's uniforms. Just as she saw Liebgott in the distance, a rough pull of her hand had her reeling backward, falling into the chest of someone. Whipping around to face them, she discovered it was a man a little bit older than her with a devilish grin aimed right at her. Instantly, she tried to pull away from the hold he had on her arm.

"Let go," she demanded calmly, raising her left hand to show the ring on her finger. "I'm married."

He jerked her closer to him, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Jammer dat je man niet hier is om te kijken wat ik met je ga doen, meid."

(Y/n) didn't have to understand Dutch for her to get the message as he moved his other hand to grab her butt, pulling her flush against his chest.

"I said let go!" She yelled, thrashing around, trying to get away. His grip only tightened as he angrily let go for a split second and raised his hand to strike her. (Y/n) heard it before she felt it. The loud smacking sound stunned her and was soon followed by a burning sensation radiating from her cheek as the taste of copper filled her mouth.

The man used her shock as an opportunity, smashing his lips to hers. Realizing what was happening, she sealed her lips closed, quickly pulling as far as she could from the man.

Suddenly she reared her head back before slamming it into the man's nose. His hold on her disappeared as he stumbled back, clutching his bloody nose. (Y/n) could see the anger radiating off him as she tried to escape into the crowd.

"Jij amerikaanse teef!" He seethed, following her through the crowd.

Out of breath, she frantically looked for any of her fellow soldiers once again. Tears filled her eyes when she saw an all too familiar head of dark hair sitting in a chair a few feet in front of her.

"Lew!" She cried, glancing over her shoulder at the man who was gaining on her. "Lewis!"

As soon as her desperate cry left her lips, he bolted up from his chair, turning to where the sound came from. The second he saw her terrified expression, he ran to meet her. Just as he was about to bring her into his arms, she yelped, being dragged out of reach by her hair.

"Hey! Let her go!" Nix barked athoritatively, quickly stepping forward and taking a swing at the man.

Being heavily drunk, he didn't have fast enough reflexes to dodge the punch in time. Lewis' fist slammed against the man's jaw with a satisfying crack. Instantly letting go of (y/n), the dutch man wobbled on his feet for a moment, before falling to the ground in a heap.

Nix thought his head was going to explode with rage. He wanted to beat this man to a pulp for what he'd evidently done to (y/n). Moving to crouch over the man do to just that, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. Dick pulled him back, motioning over to (y/n)'s shaking figure.

"Go help (y/n). She needs you. I'll take care of this." He said lowly.

With a nod, Lew looked over at her and their eyes met. His heart broke at the sight of (y/n)'s face. Tears brimmed her waterline and blood slowly dripped from her lower lip. The worst part was the bright red handprint on her left cheek that infuriated him more than anything before. Rushing over, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her hair lovingly.

“Breathe, darling,” he murmured, fighting off tears of his own. "You're safe, now."

He looked around and found an empty restaurant on the corner. Leading her to the secluded area, he kept a strong arm around her, worried she would fall without it.

Once inside, he sat her down on a chair and pulled another one next to it. Her head was tilted down, facing the floor as she replayed the last few moments in her mind.

She was brought out of her thoughts by her husband's soft touch under her chin, lifting it to face him. Her tears had not yet fallen, and Nix knew she was trying to stay strong.

"It's okay to cry, honey," he whispered, cupping her cheek softly.

At his words, she let out a quiet sob as the tears slipped down her cheeks. He just pulled her closer, allowing her to bury her face into his neck.

"I'm so sorry, Lew. I-I didn't-," she cried, pulling back to look at his concerned face, which quickly morphed into a confused expression.

Nixon's heart broke at her tear-stained cheeks. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for," he said softly.

"But I could've fought harde-"

"No," he interrupted. "Do not say that. You did everything you could."

She shot up out of his arms and on her feet, throwing her hands up, shouting. "If I can't even fight off some drunk civilian, how am I supposed to fight in this war against trained German soldiers?"

Nix rose to his feet. "It wasn't your fault, (y/n)!"

"Lewis, I shouldn't be here. I should be-"

"None of us should be here! Half of our men should still be in school, and the other half should be with their families!" He paused, eyes beginning to burn. "W-We should be at home raising a family, not here in Europe fighting, but we are, and nothing we can say is going to change that."

After a few moments of silence, (y/n) walked towards the man, slowly pulling him into a hug.

"Thank you for saving me, Lew," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

He sighed, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "Of course. Always remember I'm here. Wherever you go-"

"I go," she finished, leaning back and cupping his cheek with one hand. "I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

He then connected their lips softly, wrapping his arms around her waist when the doors flew open.

"Sir-oh. Sorry for the interruption, uh Lieutenants." Talbert sputtered, wide-eyed.

Parting slowly, Nix groaned as he and (y/n) walked past Tab.

"Can't I get 5 minutes with my wife, for pete's sake," he muttered.

Floyd stood there shocked, and (y/n) chuckled under her breath as they walked back onto the street. When felt a warm hand enclose hers, she knew she would be okay. She also knew that by the end of the day, their secret wouldn't be a secret anymore, and she was perfectly fine with that.

Tag List:

@typical-simplelove @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs

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macfrog · 5 months

Text

sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k

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It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

#forgive me for it not being clm or sof #they're coming very soon i promise #this was too fun an idea not to chase #i have the attention span of my labrador retrievers (nil)#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller

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hqkalon · 7 months

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♱ 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ♱

welcome to the experiments of sex terror where each character x reader takes place within a different kink. if your able to handle the horror of sex mania then you can proceed... may all the kinky whores enjoy kinktober 23’ !

this will be my first kinktober, so remember to have patience as I am learning to navigate throughout this upcoming month xx. all writings will have content warnings, so i'd recommend you to read the warnings as well as the guidelines to what i write!!

all fics will be displayed at the top, while drabbles/headcanons will be at the bottom. (scroll down)

— from one kinky whore to another <3

main masterlist - taglist ( +18 )

- OCT. 07 - “Stakes won’t hurt me darling.”

KINK : PARAPHILIA — vampire!gojo x hunter!reader

october 31st a blood-thirsty vampire appeared within the shadows of the london, preying on innocent civilians. it was your job as a vampire hunter to execute this fiend, but how would that be knowing you were the missing puzzle to his piece.

- OCT. 14 - “A game of Fox and the Little Mouse.”

KINK : CORRUPTION — stalker!toji x reader

letters from an unknown sender, suddenly start appearing at your doorstep every night with a questionable slogan- the Hunter and it's Prey. who could this sender be? and why did the victim have to be you?

- OCT. 21 - “How about a different kind of studying?”

KINK : DUMBIFICATION — tutor!atsumu x reader

it's the night of Halloween and you're stuck getting tutored by one of your fellow classmates. he's everything a girl could dream of, but why did you have to land on bad luck while all your friends got to party, or so you thought.

- OCT. 28 - “Smile for the camera as I slaughter your cunt.”

KINK : VOYEURISM — ghost face!suna x reader

you were now the new helpeless victim in his sequel. stumbling upon the infamous ghost face- inviting you into his film, recording live. starring @/ghostface and his new helpeless victim.

- OCT. 31 - “Am I too much for you dear?”

KINK : DEGRADATION — assassin!getou x reader

a quiet town rose with suspicion as the sudden news of a murder lurking within the shadows- though stumbling upon his shadows leads you into a vacant mansion. what will you do when faced with this cold-blooded killer.

- OCT. 01 -

KINK : BONDAGE — könig x reader

- OCT. 08 -

KINK : SPANKING — nanami x reader

- OCT. 15 -

KINK : FACE-SITTING — incubus!bokuto x reader

- OCT. 22 -

KINK : THIGH-RIDING — mean dom!getou x reader

- OCT. 29 -

KINK : HATE-FUCKING — simon ghost x reader

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imsilay · 8 months

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MASTERLIST

König Fanfics

MANIA

summary: König doesn’t wants you to leave him, even for a second. he finds excuses and makes it your problem so he could fuck you until you’re too sore to leave again.

mdni NSFW! +18, cw: hurt/comfort, size k!nk, forced masturbating?, possessive behavior, dom!König, fem!reader, piv, hair pulling, belly bulge, overstimulation, manhandling.

First chapter

Second chapter

Third chapter

LETHAL

summary: he was picky and he picked you.

NSFW! mdni +18, cw: possessive behavior, somnophilia, drugging (aphrodisiac), stalker!König, obsessive König, breeding k!nk, size k!nk. belly bulge, oral (female receiving)

First chapter

Second chapter

Third chapter

VENOR

summary: His obsession for you was overwhelming. So yours too.

NSFW! mdni +18, cw: stalker x stalker.

First chapter

Second chapter

Third chapter

SOAR

summary: Your sweet captor König fucking you after coming back to home from a long mission.

NSFW MDNI +18, cw: kidnapping, obsessive behavior, fem!reader, König is a fucking delusional, riding, fingering.

First chapter

Second chapter

ONESHOTS

Morning Routine

Thirst

König (i need him)

Smarty

Latibule (pt.2 soon) pt.2

Akrasia

Dozakh

à la folie

Friable (might do a pt.2)

Appetence

Agowilt

Hamartia

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audreyscribes · 4 months

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Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:

🍇DIONYSUS; God of Wine making, fertility, theater, festivity, and insanity. 🎭

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

You get claimed in an untypical manner. You heard of demigods waiting for a sign of their godly parent claiming them, with a glowing symbol above their head. Instead, when you get introduced to the camp members, Mr. D appears carrying a can of diet coke and casually states “No need to put them in the Hermes’ cabin. They're one of mine's”

Cue the record scratch. This immediately brings a lot of confusion and gossip. Many eyes look between you and Mr. D who doesn't seem bothered at all. You saw Chiron sigh and place his hand to his face, giving your godly father a disappointed headshake. Then you hear Castor and Pollux yell that they have a new sibling that they didn't even know about?!

You get a lot of looks of sympathy and jealousy. You don't figure out why until a little bit later on. Chiron fills you in with a reassuring voice but also speaks with an exasperated tone to Dionysus

Although you guys can't make wine or touch anything alcohol related, you did inherit Dioynsus' wine making skills. This includes also being good at making infused drinks or mixing drinks that range from mixing soda flavours together to making your tea blend. Even if the flavours shouldn't work together or whatever the drink type you're making, you just can. You are your own personal barista.

Putting this first and out of the way, you're both in a blessed and awkward situation where you are able to see and interact with your godly parent. Mr. D tries to treat you like every other demigod in Camp Halfblood, and that makes it awkward when you don't know if you should call him “Dad” or “Mr. D”, but at the same time, you know you have it better then others.

It doesn't mean Mr. D doesn't keep an eye out. When you dedicate your offerings to the gods and look at him when you do it, you can just see Dionysus’ face soften and his eyes have a hint of affection.

Don't ask how you or your other half-siblings came to be if Mr. D was sentenced to Camp Halfblood. You won't get an answer from but at least you know you're not alone and the twins are glad to have a baby sibling. Get ready for the youngest sibling treatment.

Dionysus is the God of Theatre so you have a theatrical flare. Even if you're introverted, you're not exempt; this can be applied in how you do certain things or be rather convincing at times. If you're extroverted, well, you're automatically the Theatre kid.

This turns out to be rather useful in events like Capture the Flag in a state of mania. When the heat of the battle starts to get to you, you feel your godly parent's power begin to rise in you and you can use that theaters flair to rouse your teammate's spirits up. You can also get a bit maniac and effect your teammates and enemies alike and become rather terrifying.

You have a bit of a green thumb so you can find some solace with the Demeter kids. However, unlike the Demeter kids who can just make plants grow and flourish, your green thumb only really applies to plants you have an interest in like Dionysus with his grapes…or now strawberries. Regardless, you can keep a houseplant alive at least.

Aside from a few very selected people within Camp, you're one of the few people who has seen Mr.D's true form. Not his godly form or the Mr. D you've seen, but the form he usually shows in front of mortals. Then it becomes very obvious how your other parent became so enamoured. You thank him silently for taking up his current form because you’re not going to be ready to hear about Mr. D being a DILF.

“Welcome to Cabin 12!” greeted Castor and Pollux as they opened the door to the cabin. You looked inside and saw how lived in the cabin was. It was clear the twins didn't expect to have another sibling and judging by the absolute shock that your shared father was supposed to be stuck in Camp, they really didn't expect him to have another mortal child.

You also noticed on one of their nightstands there were stacks of Coke and Pepsi, each belonging to one of the beds. There were copious amounts of it, and you wonder if being a child of Dionysus was a prerequisite of having a drink as your go-to drink. Like wine fo Dionysus…though you heard he had to switch to Diet Coke due to his punishment.

“Yeah, sorry for the whole…mess,” said Castor as he looked sheepish. “Pollux and I weren't expecting anyone else to be here, especially since it's been so long since we've first arrived. And you know, our dad, being, well-”

Pollux cleared his throat, “What Castor means, despite everything, we're thrilled to have a baby sibling. We've always been together so we're not that alone, but every now and again, we kind of get envious of the other cabins and having other siblings.”

You smiled when the door is knocked and a new bunk bed is being brought in, Castor and Pollux grinned at you. “Come on, let's get your stuff and space ready, and let's go see our dad.”

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karajaynetoday · 3 months

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hey now, you're an all-star | jack hughes

it took one month of watching hockey for me to write fic. lmao. classic. good vibes.

thank you @littledrummeraussie for proofreading, love you angie 💖

READ PART TWO HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

word count: 2.8k

Warnings: i don't think it needs any? just forgive my limited knowledge of hockey and canada i suppose? mentions of anxiety related to university? it's a bit angsty bc let's be real, do i ever know how to write anything else?

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here

You’d known Jack Hughes for as long as you could remember. He stood up for you in the playground at kindergarten, when a bigger kid pushed you off the swings; you returned the favour by saving him from a spider on his backpack. Ever since, you’d always had each other’s backs.

And for as long as you’d known Jack, you’d been able to tell when he was upset about something. His lips did this thing, not quite a pout, but nowhere near the easy smile you were used to seeing. He’d pull his sleeves down over his hands, and his breathing would be… deeper, somehow. He could never meet your gaze, either.

You were scrolling through Instagram on your couch at home, where you were supposed to be studying, when you saw a video of Jack from the Devils fundraiser event, answering media questions about his injury and when he’d be back on the ice. He laughed and smiled for the cameras, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They asked about the all-star game, and you could feel his hesitation in answering. Jack tried to be positive and assure everyone that he had a chance of playing, but you both knew that wasn’t very likely.

You sent the video to Jack with a comment bagging out his hairstyle, hoping to lift his mood a little, before dropping your phone onto the couch and drawing your attention back to the economics case study you were supposed to be analysing.

You’d stayed in Toronto for university, while Jack headed off to New Jersey after his draft year. Long distance friendship took a lot of getting used to, but at least you were still in the same timezone, and the NHL schedule meant that Jack was contractually obliged to visit you a few times each year. Quinn too, despite how much he complained about the intensity of hockey mania in Toronto. In fact, the entire Hughes family sometimes made the trek, which you knew your parents not-so-secretly loved. It reminded you of the warmth you felt growing up in each other’s homes, filled with laughter and joy.

The little focus you had for your economics homework was broken when your phone began to vibrate beside you, Jack’s name flashing on the screen. You rolled your eyes with a smile, before leaning over to answer the video call.

“Good morning, sunshine!” You greeted your best friend, who was already scowling at you.

“Is it a good morning, though? When all I do is get criticism from my supposed best friend?”

“It’s not criticism, more… encouragement, I’d say.” You teased back, Jack rolling his eyes at you.

“Encouraging what, exactly?”

“Encouraging you to make better personal style choices, especially related to hair. You are a millionaire, after all. Least you can do is get a decent haircut.”

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t realise I was getting encouragement from the queen of high fashion. Is that a coffee stain on that shirt?” Jack’s eyes glanced down at what little he could see of your outfit in the video call, before poking his tongue out at you.

“Hey, I’m a university student. This is high fashion, I’ll have you know. Anyway, why aren’t you at training?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity.

Jack’s lips pressed together, and he looked away from his phone and you; you silently cursed yourself for asking the question. Even though Jack had been injured, he’d been pretty dedicated to his rehab and recovery, so it was a little odd for him to be calling you in the morning rather than be at a physio session.

“More scans this afternoon so no session this morning. Trying to decide if I can play next weekend or if I just have to show up and look pretty.” Jack tried to joke, but you could tell that it wasn’t something he found humour in.

“Good thing that looking pretty comes naturally to you, J.”

“Oh, so now I’m pretty? I thought I had shit hair?!”

“You can both be a pretty face and have shit hair, buddy. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Mutually exclusive? Is that a fancy term you learnt at school?”

You laughed at that, earning a Jack smile in return. You continued chatting back and forth for another 30 minutes or so, before Jack had to go to his scans.

You managed to get through the rest of your economics homework, but your mind kept wandering back to Jack and his frustration at being injured. He’d been an All-Star before, so it wasn’t that specifically he was frustrated about missing, you were certain. The difference this year was Quinn’s selection in the All-Star weekend, and the building anticipation around so-called “Team Hughes” that would see Jack and Quinn on the same team for the first time in their NHL careers. That’s probably what Jack was upset about, because as much as they chirp each other and are fiercely competitive, there’s nothing Jack Hughes loves more than his brothers. You knew that he’d be in his head overthinking everything and convincing himself that he was letting Quinn down, somehow, despite it being beyond his control.

The only further communication you got from Jack that day was a thumbs-down text message, which told you all you needed to know. You were sporadically in touch a few times throughout the week, and before you knew it, it was the day everyone was flying in for All-Star weekend.

You’d managed to persuade your parents that a full-blown neighbourhood party was not necessary, and instead convinced them to accept Quinn’s invitation to a lowkey but nice dinner downtown near the hotel where he and Jack were staying. The dinner was something you were looking forward to all week, but you hadn’t anticipated two things: accidentally deleting half your economics essay the night before it was due and having to stay up until 3am to finish it; and the butterflies that you were feeling when you were getting ready for dinner. Why on earth were you so nervous? Seeing Jack and Quinn after a while was usually something that excited you, not stressed you out.

You had just pulled on your dress and finished wrangling your hair when your phone pinged with a message from Jack.

Have you looked at the menu for this place? We need to order a side of the loaded mac n cheese pls and thx

I thought you were a high performance athlete? But of course, mac n cheese is a MUST

Correct, my body is a temple. A temple of mac n cheese. Mac is a carb, cheese is calcium for my bones. Winners all around. See ya soon x

It was freezing outside, so you took an Uber from your university apartment to the restaurant. You were running behind, thanks to traffic, and then you almost toppled over on the pavement outside due to the wet weather. Between that and your sleep deprivation, you honestly wanted nothing more than to go home, put your pyjamas on and cry; but you plastered a smile on your face and headed inside the restaurant.

The hostess greeted you warmly, and offered to take your coat once you established that your parents had already arrived and were seated on a table towards the back of the restaurant, and you could see the backs of Jack and Quinn as you approached them. Everyone stood up to greet you with hugs and kisses, and the butterflies sparked again when Jack pulled out the chair next to his for you to sit down. Jack and Quinn both had nice sweaters on with collared shirts, and you were quietly glad you’d decided to wear a dress rather than the jeans you’d initially picked out.

“How did your essay go, sweetheart? I know economics isn’t your favourite…” Your mother enquired, obviously unaware of your crisis the night before.

You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of the diet coke in front of you (that Jack must’ve ordered for you, no doubt) before mumbling something about getting it sorted and hoping for the best. Your dad swiftly changed the subject to the weekend’s festivities, excitedly asking Quinn about his plans for the All-Star draft, but you could feel Jack’s eyes on you. You met his gaze and subtly shook your head, silently asking for him to save his questions for later. Jack frowned at you, but complied.

The dinner felt like it went quickly, but also went for hours. Your stomach hurt from laughing (and probably too much mac and cheese), as Jack and Quinn regaled your parents with stories of their seasons and their plans for the next summer off in Michigan, where your two families would join each other for a month or so of adventures. You found yourself smiling as your dad and the Hughes brothers comically argued over who would pay the bill, before Jack excused himself to the bathroom and sneakily paid the bill on his way there.

Jack and Quinn’s hotel was walking distance from the restaurant, and they excitedly invited you and your parents to come and see the fancy suite they’d been gifted for the weekend. Your mother made some excuse about traffic on the drive home and promised to come and see it some other time, but nudged you in your side as she told you to go and check it out. You were so tired and ready for bed, but reluctantly agreed; your window of opportunity to spend time with Jack was closing, so you figured you may as well make the most of it.

The butterflies in your stomach flitted around as Jack helped you into your coat before you headed outside the restaurant and bid your parents farewell. You fell into step in between the brothers as they traipsed back toward the hotel, conversation flowing easily as Quinn asked about your college classes and you asked him about the latest book he was reading. Jack was silent as you walked the few blocks before arriving at the hotel, and he gently placed his hand onto your back as you were guided through the hotel front door and into the elevator.

Your jaw dropped when Quinn swiped his key card and you all entered the hotel suite. They weren’t joking about it being fancy, holy shit.

The floor to ceiling windows had incredible views of the city skyline, with a very comfortable looking couch in the living area facing the view. Two doors at either side of the living room lead to bedrooms with luxurious linens, and the marble bathrooms were impeccably finished.

Jack was grinning as he watched you take it all in, leaning up against the door frame to his bedroom as you stood near the window and gaped at the views. Quinn had flopped down on the couch and was texting on his phone.

“Can they gift this to you year-round? I’d like to live here…” You mused, shaking your head at how insane this hockey lifestyle could be.

“We could probably just buy it for you.” Jack said nonchalantly, as he wandered over to stand beside you at the window.

“Yeah, if you want. They’d probably charge us more because I’m a Canuck, though.” Quinn deadpanned, earning a laugh from you and an eye-roll from Jack.

“Speaking of, the guys are all catching up in Petey’s room, so I think I’ll head down there. See you tomorrow after the draft, sugar plum.” Quinn pulled you into a hug, and your heart burst at him using your childhood nickname (which came from one ill-fated ballet performance and you insisted you hated, but secretly loved being called).

You could’ve sworn you saw Quinn wink at Jack before he left the hotel room, but then again, the sleep deprivation could also be sending you loopy.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jack asked, moving to stand behind you and loop his arms around your waist as you still faced the window. Your heart rate shot through the roof as he pulled you closer, and nestled his head in between your neck and shoulder. You cringed as you realised he could probably feel your pulse beating fast.

“Sure, but no blaming me if I fall asleep on you, sorryyyyy.” You awkwardly maneuvered yourself out of Jack’s embrace and walked over to the couch, sitting down on it and removing your shoes.

“The first time we’ve seen each other in MONTHS and you’re going to fall asleep? Am I that boring? Sheesh.” Jack drawled, watching you from where he stood.

“Yes.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but lost it to a yawn which made you both laugh.

“You know I love you, J. I would happily pull an all-nighter with you, but I don’t think two in a row is probably good for me.”

“Two in a row? What, where you out partying hard last night?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he wandered off into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. You heard a drawer open and a light thud onto the floor, and your throat tightened when you realised Jack was changing his clothes. God, you’d gotten changed in front of each other a million times. Why was your brain making everything so weird tonight?

“Not quite. Had a disaster that involved accidentally deleting my entire essay, sobbing for an hour, then staying up until 3am to write the whole thing. Living the dream, as per usual.” You rattled off, trying to sound nonchalant about, even though just thinking about last night made you nauseous with anxiety. Your nonchalance was clearly unconvincing, as Jack came back out of the bedroom clad in a hoodie and sweats and bee-lined for you, his face covered in concern.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine, I promise. All part of the college experience.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or Jack more. He couldn’t either, but instead of pushing the issue, he threw a hoodie at your head and laughed when you looked offended.

“I’m definitely falling asleep if I put this on, by the way. You know I love being cozy. Cozy is my natural state of being.” You pulled your hair up into a loose bun using the hair tie on your wrist, before pulling the black Devils hoodie over your head.

Jack slotted himself beside you on the couch and reached his arm over your shoulders, finding the remote with his other hand and navigating the ridiculously large TV onto Netflix.

“Fine by be, sugarplum. I’d rather know you’re getting sleep here than send you home to stress yourself out more.” Jack mused, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your arm while he found the latest season of a TV show you both loved to watch and pressed play.

“I’m not stres - it was just one essay - I promise I’m fine.” You sputtered, tripping over your words when Jack locked eyes with you, his gaze empathetic but all-knowing.

“Besides, I’m not the only one in the room worth worrying about.” You said softly, nudging Jack’s side gently. Jack rolled his lips between his teeth, and sighed; he put down the remote and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands.

“But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re not letting anyone down, though. Quinn doesn’t think that.” You continued, softly, not wanting to cause tension.

Jack sighed deeply again and pulled his arm away from you, leaning forward and rubbing his face with both hands.

“You don’t know what Quinny’s thinking, sugar. And it’s not just Quinn, it’s the fucking journalists, and Bratter’s vacation being ruined, and goddamn Michael Bublé being disappointed in me, and - just - fucking all of it.” Jack exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

You didn’t know what to say, because you could tell that Jack wasn’t in a mood that you could talk him down out of. But you could tell he needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed to know that you still had his back. Ever since kindergarten.

You grabbed the back of Jack’s hoodie and gently tugged it, and he leaned back against the couch. You tapped Jack’s legs next, and he moved them up onto the other side of the L-shaped couch, so he was properly reclining. You paused, trying to figure out how to position yourself without being literally on top of Jack, but while your brain was running a million miles a minute, Jack’s hand found yours and yanked you towards him gently. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before adjusting yourself between Jack’s body and the side of the couch. Jack’s arm found a home over your hips and settled gently on your stomach, pulling your back against his chest. You felt his breath on your neck as you both wriggled around, trying to get comfortable.

“Is this okay, sugar?” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper, directly into your ear. You didn’t trust your voice not to squeak a response so you simply nodded, trying desperately to calm your fast beating heart.

You rested your hand on top of Jack’s and gently squeezed, feeling yourself starting to lull to sleep. Despite the butterflies and your heart jumping out of your chest, you somehow had never felt more at peace, right in this moment.

This was safe, this was calm. This was home.

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes one shot #nhl imagine #jack hughes fanfic #nhl #my writing #quinn hughes #new jersey devils #vancouver canucks #all star weekend #jack hughes x reader

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poraphia · 8 months

Text

“PDA: Public Displays of Affection”

pairing • secret relationship!wilbur x reader 1448 words • 9.1.23 containing • secret relationship, sorry boys production, immense affection my masterlist ~! ღ mrs. mania ღ on Tumblr

“We’re about to film a new Sorry video. Want to give me a good luck kiss first?”

♡♡♡

There’s one thing about Tom Simons that everybody knows the moment you click on one of his videos.

Some viewers may find him annoying at first,

And frankly, it’s not like he’s wrong.

After Wilbur and I started dating we came to an agreement to keep our relationship a secret. There were a multitude of reasons for this. For one, we wanted to enjoy the relationship for ourselves and because of Wilbur’s music and streaming career, it would have been impossible to relish in such when there are hundreds of thousands of eyes on you. This leads to our next reason. Most of Wilbur’s friends are streamers, vloggers, gamers, you name it. That being said, most of the time we find cameras on us already. So, in order to keep up with our special secret, we tell our friends that we’re not dating so that it’s a much easier job keeping it on the down low.

So what happens when a younger boy who considers himself Wilbur’s brother constantly sees a woman constantly with Wilbur? Well, you’ll see for yourself.

I’m known to be Wilbur’s co-filmer and editor in his fanbase, meaning that even if we weren’t dating, I had to be constantly around him to help out with video planning and creating a digital diary as he was on tour. This week his friends were all coming to Brighton to shoot Chapter 2 for their Sorry! improv group.

It was the morning of, and I was met by the familiar, warming embrace of his arms slithering around my body. I scoot back a little bit, feeling his heartbeat steadily beat against my back. “Hey, are you awake?” He groggled out in a raspy morning face. I hummed in response, taking one of his hands to kiss the center of his palm. He pulled me closer to his chest as the fabric beneath us crinkled.

“I’m so sleepy…” I mumbled. With his hand, Wilbur smoothed my cheek, caressing my skin. I melted in his touch.

“I know, but we have to get up soon, darling,” He whispered. Gently, with his arm still wrapped around me, he sat us up in the bed. The morning sun peaked through the slightly open blinds, decorating our skin with streaks of light. He buried his face into the crook of my neck as the drowsiness slowly drained from me. His arms kept firmly around my torso, holding me as close as he could. Once we felt ready to get out of bed, we walked into the kitchen as I prepared a quick breakfast for the both of us.

“Do you want strawberry parfait for breakfast, my love?” I asked, looking inside the fridge.

“Yes, please.” He smiled. I nodded before grabbing the container of syrupy strawberries and Greek yogurt. Wilbur went inside the pantry to find the box of graham crackers. After he finished crushing them, he noticed me standing on my tippy toes to reach for the two glasses on the highest shelf. With a cheeky smirk, he walked behind me and lifted me up by the waist, earning a slight eep of surprise. Nonetheless, I was able to reach the glasses before he placed me back down with my feet touching the cold tile floor. I turned around, awarding him with a quick peck on the chin, before continuing on making our breakfast.

Sometimes, it was painful keeping this a secret, but I think it’s what makes moments like these more special.

Once we finished our breakfast and got dressed, we met up with the rest of the guys at a park in Brighton. Today’s film idea was to run a hotdog van of some kind, but instead, call them burgers. Honestly, don’t ask me, it was the guys’ idea. Most of the guys carpooled to the location, whereas Wilbur and I decided to take our own car. After some time walking to the park, we were both ambushed by Tommy and Charlie, who were already flopping around in hotdog costumes.

“WILBUR! (Y/N)! MY FRIENDS!” Tommy exclaimed, hugging the two of us. Wilbur pulled Tommy to the side, almost putting him in a headlock as they shared their own brotherly love. I hugged Charlie before stepping back to examine his outfit.

“You look… Meaty. You been working out?” I joked. He grinned before flexing one of his arms.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed my meaty and tender gains I see! I’ve been working on these babies just for this exact moment.” He said pridefully. Charlie flexed one of his muscles before kissing his bicep. I rolled my eyes before we both trailed back to the rest of the group. I greeted the rest of the team and even hugged Kristen to catch up with her since we last saw each other. Tommy and Wilbur then ran up to the group promptly as Russ explained exactly how the food truck was going to work. After some careful instructions, the film crew, which involved me, were told who was to record what. Per usual, I was directed to film Wilbur’s shenanigans.

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Russ asked, looking up from his clipboard. Everyone exclaimed their noises of agreement. I looked over to Will, who I noticed was patting down his pockets for something.

“Will, you okay?” Phil asked as he adjusted the scarf around his neck.

“Yeah, I just— I think I left my wallet. Uhh (y/n) can you come with me? It’s probably in the car.” He said, looking over to me.

“Oh— Yeah, sure.” I handed my camera to Russ in the meantime before walking with Wilbur to the car. I kept my hands in my pockets in the meantime to resist the urge to walk with fingers intertwined. It was far too dangerous now.

Once we made it to the car, I reached into my pocket to unlock it, but in return Wilbur just stood there, smiling at me. I tilted my head, a bit confused.

“Weren’t you going to go look for your wallet?” I asked. Instead, Will leaned on the car, smiling down at me with his chef’s hat a bit lopsided and his arms crossed.

“I actually did have my wallet. I just wanted to have a good luck kiss before we started filming.” He smiled. I rolled my eyes before grabbing him by the shirt collar so that he was now at my height.

“You know you can be annoying sometimes.” I scoffed, but a wide smile was plastered all over my face.

“I know. I just miss you.”

I placed a quick peck on his lips, but before I could pull away, Wilbur held me gently by the neck to keep me in place. Slowly, I felt my body melting by the touch of his soft lips as butterflies danced on my skin. I wrapped my arms around his neck, moving me closer to him. Tiny droplets soon started to drizzle down on us, but we weren’t leaving each other's lips anytime soon. That was until someone caught us.

“Wilbur? (y/n)? Guys it’s starting to rain and— OH MY GOD!”

We both immediately pushed each other away, only to meet with the shocked face of Tommy standing paralyzed in his hot dog outfit.

“OH MY GOD YOU GUYS ARE DATING! I KNEW IT. I FUCKING KNEW IT—”

“I— Uh— Tommy—!” I was rendered speechless as the poor boy rapidly glanced at the both of us. Wilbur ended up breaking the standstill as he walked up to Tommy, placing two hands firmly at his shoulders.

“Yes, me and (y/n) are dating.” He said firmly. “You’re not going to tell anyone, my boiled hotdog boy, alright?” All Tommy could do was nod in response, his mouth still open ajar. Wilbur patted him on the back before heading in the direction of the food truck. I jogged over to Tommy, shaking his shoulder a bit to snap him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at me, a hand running through his hair. I shrugged, a half-apologetic smile on my face before we both walked back to the park.

“To be fair, the reason I was so shocked was because last month I tried to set you two up on a date.” Tommy mentioned nonchalantly, playing with his fingers as he walked.

I chuckled a little bit. “That’s kind of funny—” until the realization hit. “WAIT HUH?”

♡♡♡

a / n ~ thought this was cute so I jotted it down like a couple mins before waking up lolol. Reblogs and likes are super appreciated mwahh

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covetyou · 4 months

Text

best in show

ao3 ⋆ masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dual narrative, masturbation (m), voyuerism, drug reference (our boy is sober but struggling), subby Dieter, slight humiliation kink, very brief mentions of other sex acts (anal play, PIV, cum play), reader talks Dieter through a very nervy wank. word count: 3.7k summary: The Academy Awards, the most well known, well planned, film award ceremony in the world. So why is the host missing?

A/N: @agentjackdaniels happy holidays from your space sisters secret santa! sorry if this is a bit early for you - it's the 20th in my time zone, I promise! I went the route of award show!Dieter with a twist. Welcome to the Oscars, with your eccentric host - Dieter Bravo.

the suits mentioned are from SNL (blue, we're ignoring the yellow pants), the late late show (pink) and the tonight show (green).

dividers by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"Bravo, you're up."

You rap your knuckles against the door again, hoping against hope that he just hasn't heard you and he isn't coked up out of his mind.

"Bravo!" you shout, knocking harder this time, as a voice blares through your in-ear. Fifteen minutes until showtime and the host is still nowhere to be seen. And it is your fault. You'd drawn the short straw and had been tasked with being his handler for the night, keeping him out of mischief and on time. Currently, it looked like you were failing at both.

"Right, I'm coming in!" You cannot be dealing with this shit. You're not paid enough.

You open the door, poking your head around to see if he's inside the dressing room, like he should be, only to find it completely empty. Stepping inside and closing the door behind you, you take in a deep breath and put your hands on your hips. Fuck. Whoever's idea to put Dieter-fucking-Bravo as the host for this years Oscars really needed a kick up the ass, and you'd be first in line to do it.

The room looks tidier than you expected. There's not an obvious illicit substance in sight. Sparkling water sits on the vanity, along with make up and haircare products. You didn't even know where his stylist is, but it was nice to know she'd at least been here. His clothes are still neatly lined on a rail - the first hanger is empty and you assume that's a good sign. It's got to be, right?

Except, Dieter Bravo is still nowhere to be found, and you've ran out of places to look for him.

The only conundrum is all the lights are still on. He'd left the room in such a hurry that he hadn't bothered to switch them off, and yet no one had reported him frantically dashing out in a drug fueled mania.

Even the bathroom light is on. And the door is ajar. You think it won't hurt to check inside, or at least turn the light off. A place like this burned through electricity like nobodies business, but your compulsion to turn off unused lights wins out and you're heading toward the bathroom on auto-pilot.

You only hear the whimper when you're already pushing the door open, and by then it's too late to stop.

That's how you find yourself stood in the doorway, watching as Dieter Bravo furiously jerks his cock with his eyes slammed closed and his head thrown back. You could back out, you should, but instead you stare transfixed as his fist moves over himself, so lost in it all that you don't even think he's noticed you standing there. You really should go before he notices.

Making a quiet retreat you -

"Stay."

Your eyes snap to his. He's looking at you now. His hand has stilled, squeezing himself tight, and you frown. You shouldn't. You shouldn't have even come in, and you definitely should not be seeing this, and you even more certainly must not be considering his offer.

"If you want. Please."

The nod of your head is so small it's practically imperceptible, but he sees it and groans deeply, resuming his strokes on his cock. It's framed in vibrant blue, and you're reminded how he wouldn't even be here if he didn't have that suit. One of the conditions he'd made on hosting was he would get to have a "more exciting" wardrobe, and the green, pink, and blue you'd seen wheeled in on his rail earlier today certainly lived up to that.

It looks good on him. He looks good. Fuck. You really should go, why did you nod your head.

You watch him swipe pre-cum from his head and draw it down his cock. He looks painfully stiff, and you wonder how long he's been at it, if this is the first time today or if he's been jerking himself every opportunity. Either way, you're mesmerized, watching as his large fist draws up and back down his length. You should do something - go, say something, tell him to stop, join in.

Instead, you just stand there, gaping at it like a fucking idiot. Why is your mouth watering.

"Please I-"

"You don't have long," you interrupt.

"I know, I know, I just - I can't -" he pants, looking at you with desperation.

"You can't what?"

"Come. I can't come."

You hold back a laugh. From what you'd heard about Dieter Bravo, that was not a problem he seemed to have very often. You don't hold it back well enough though, and a small sound escapes you, triggering a shudder that you watch run down his back.

"Oh god."

"Did you -?" like me laughing at you, you cut yourself off.

You lean against the doorframe, attempting nonchalance as Dieter tugs on his cock, watching you as you watch him.

You dismissed him earlier, regarding him with indifference and not ever really looking at him. But, appearances alone tell you he's changed. No longer is there a sunken look to his face from too many nights spent out of his mind. He looks healthy, healthier than you've ever seen him, but he looks scared. Frightened, borderline terrified even. You know the only thing standing between him and pure panic is his stiff cock in his hand.

It's probably why he can't come, but is equally desperate to. And if he liked you laughing, well, maybe you could give him a hand without actually giving him a hand.

"If you don't come soon, they're gonna catch you."

He groans, and his strokes slow, becoming more deliberate and focussed as you talk to him.

"Do you want that? Do you want to be caught with your dick in your hand?"

"F-no. No, I don't."

"Then you've gotta be quick and come."

He nods his head frantically, then looks down at his cock here it lays heavy in his hand. He spits, gliding the saliva across his length.

"If you're not careful you're gonna make a mess all over yourself."

"Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop."

Five minutes - has anyone got eyes on Bravo.

The stage managers voice blares through your in-ear so loudly that you know Dieter has heard it. You purposefully hold the button on your mic as you watch him, making him pinch his lips shut to hold back his moan.

"I've found him," you say into your headset, releasing the button. Let it be known you are not bad at your job, and if anyone was going to find him first it would be you.

"Didn't say you could stop. You still need to come."

"I do, I do, I need to - "

You're holding down the button on your headset again, and he audibly groans this time.

"He's in the bathroom."

When you release the button for the final time, you raise an eyebrow at him. His breaths are coming in ragged and heavy, his eyebrows pinched together as his eyes threaten to flutter closed. You're no expert, but you can tell he's close, and by the movement of his hand you can tell he's still struggling to get there.

"Look at me."

Dieter looks up, pleading with his sad, pathetic eyes. You'd be lying if you said all of this wasn't turning you on. If it hadn't turned your legs to jelly and you weren't grateful for the sturdy doorframe propping you up. If your panties weren't soaked through and your core wasn't throbbing just from watching and speaking. If you weren't desperate to take him in your hand, bend yourself over the sink in front of him, anything.

But there was no time.

With four minutes to go, you do the only thing you can.

"Come, Dieter."

He's due on stage soon. He knows he is. That very thing is the reason why he shouldn't be doing this, but the very same reason why he's doing it in the first place. He needs it, something, anything, to take his mind off of it all and to take the edge off. Six months of sobriety and too many people to keep him accountable meant he couldn't - wouldn't - turn to his usual vices, so this would have to do.

He's struggling. Any other day and he would've come already, maybe to the thought of some gloriously plush tits, painting golden tan lines with his cum. Or a tongue swirling expertly around his asshole. Or the grip of something warm and wet and hot around his cock that wasn't his own fist. But today, nothing is working.

The bang on his dressing room door startles him, not only making his whole body twitch, but his dick too.

And then comes your voice, muffled but so obviously you even through two doors.

"Bravo, you're up."

Shit. He's gotta finish fast, he can't go out here like this, and he can't go out there with nothing to relieve the panic coursing through his veins. And then his mind flicks back to earlier in the day, meeting you and shaking your hand. Your hands had been soft, and you'd smelled fresh and clean. It calmed him. But then you'd listed off everything you needed him to do and told him and his team to get to it with a sharp click of your fingers before stalking off. His cock twitches again, and suddenly he has exactly the fuel he needs to get himself off.

He begins moving his hand again, stroking his balls gently in the other. You've probably gone away, stalked off with your ass jiggling in your pants just like earlier. He grunts, closing his eyes to savor the image. You'd looked good. He can remember the clip of your sensible heels on the floor now. Fuck, he'd let you step on him with those shoes given the chance.

"Bravo!" Another knock on the door and another sigh. If you stay there knocking long enough, it'll get him off. He just knows it.

"Right, I'm coming in."

He knows he should panic. Knows he should stop, tuck his cock away, pretend he was just using the bathroom and washing his hands. But he doesn't. The threat of being caught, by you, spurs him on. If only he could get closer and just fucking come already.

The door of his dressing room opens, and Dieter has to bite back a moan. When the door closes again, he has to fight back disappointment until he hears your footsteps just outside the bathroom. He never fully closed the door, and there's no time to shut it now. He's so close.

"Oh fuck," he whispers, looking down at his weeping cock where it's gripped in his hand. It's rock solid, flushed tip oozing pre-cum that trickles from his slit and coats his fingers with every jerk of his fist.

Time drags on as he hears you walk around, looking for him. And then your footsteps approach the door and he can't help but whimper at the idea of you catching him with his cock in his hand.

His eyes slam shut, his head tilting back as he bites back a louder moan. He doesn't hear the door open, but feels the air shift, blowing a cool breeze over him that makes his dick throb in his hand. If the blood wasn't pounding out of his head so hard he would have heard your small intake of breath as you took him in.

He really should stop. But he doesn't.

And when you go to leave, he really should let you go, but he doesn't do that either.

"Stay."

You're beautiful, in a way that you wouldn't even recognize in yourself, but fuck are you beautiful. Even when you frown at him, eyebrows pinching together, you're beautiful.

"If you want. Please."

Dieter Bravo is not a begging man. Outside of the bedroom. Or the bathroom. Or anywhere else where his dick can get involved really. He didn't beg for this job, they'd approached him. He tried to make himself into such a diva that they'd retract their offer, but his agent was determined for him to take it and for once get some good PR under his belt. The promise of good PR did nothing to stop his nerves.

When your head does the tiniest of nods he feels like he could cry. Knowing that you're watching him - and, fuck, how attentively you're watching him - his balls draw tight, threatening to spill themselves before backing off. It's still not enough. Why the fuck is it still not enough.

"Please I-"

"You don't have long."

Your voice. It's like it's just been drizzled over his brain and is melting him from the inside out, turning his body to goo.

"I know, I know, I just - I can't -" he pants, looking at you with desperation. He doesn't want to admit it, but he knows it's painfully obvious that he can't come if his life depended on it. And it practically does - if he didn't come and get out there as soon as possible, his career would very likely be over. He can see the headlines now - BRAVO ABANDONS OSCARS IN COKE FUELED FRENZY. If he still did coke, he wouldn't be having this problem.

"You can't what?"

"Come. I can't come."

He knows you try not to, but he hears your laugh. It's small, but coming from you, directed at him, it does things to him he didn't expect. He lurches forward as his whole body shudders.

"Oh god."

He squeezes his eyes shut again, hoping that this'll finally be it, finally be the thing that sends him over the edge.

"Did you -?"

He didn't come, that much should be obvious, he thinks. But then he's looking at you again and gets lost in your eyes as you watch him with such nonchalance that it makes him ache down to his bones.

"If you don't come soon, they're gonna catch you."

He groans, desperate strokes becoming slow and more deliberate as he listens to your voice. If you just keep talking to him he'll get there, and this will all be over and he can get out there and do his damn job.

"Do you want that? Do you want to be caught with your dick in your hand?"

"F-no. No, I don't." Liar.

"Then you've gotta be quick and come."

He nods his head frantically, and spits down onto his cock, watching as his hand glides up and down. He imagines it's your hand for a moment, smaller more delicate fingers pulling at his cock, smoothly moving back and forth in an attempt to get him off.

"If you're not careful you're gonna make a mess all over yourself."

Dieter doesn't give a shit about that right now. Just a little longer and he'll be there, he knows it. He just needs you to keep going.

"Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop."

Five minutes - has anyone got eyes on Bravo.

It's muffled, but he can hear the words clear as day through your in-ear. The stage manager sounds pissed, and the devilish look in your eye as you reach to press the button to respond has him biting back a moan and stilling his hand on his cock.

"I've found him."

He lets out a shaky breath when you finally release the button again, his cock feeling red hot and angry in his hand.

"Didn't say you could stop. You still need to come."

Looking to you, he starts jerking his cock again and nods. "I do, I do, I need to - "

And then you're pressing down the button to speak into your headset again and he's groaning before you even speak.

"He's in the bathroom."

He doesn't give a shit if they heard. His knees feel weak and his eyes are ready to clamp closed, but he can't resist staring at you and that cocky look on your face as you release the button again. Your eyebrow quirks at him and he knows in that moment he'd get on his knees and beg you for something, anything, if only he had the time.

"Look at me."

Dieter looks up, feeling the desperation roll off himself in waves. He wonders if you can feel it, and if any of this is having any affect on you at all. Fuck, he hopes it is. He's going to come. He's really, actually, going to come.

Time's ticking, he knows it is, and his balls are getting tight and tighter again, he can feel them pulling up but he still can't -

"Come, Dieter."

And his vision goes white as he explodes in his palm.

You're staring at him. He can't believe he just did that and you can't believe you stayed to watch. And you talked him through it.

More specifically, you're staring at the cum splashed all over his shirt and how it's slowly but steadily trickling down the fabric. He's lucky he opened his jacket before pulling his cock out, or the whole outfit would be ruined. Dieter is so blissed out that he doesn't even notice, softening cock still in his hand and eyes still closed.

Until rapidly cooling cum drips onto the back of his hand and he's opening his eyes, looking down to the crime scene splattered across his shirt.

"Fuck."

The panic in his voice is obvious. People will be bursting in to collect him any moment, and there's one hell of a mess to clean up. But, you're a problem solver by nature, it's why you're so good at your job.

"Take it off!" you tell him, snapping out of your cock induced trance and gesturing to the ruined shirt.

"What? I didn't think there was time to-"

"I'm not fucking you right now," you hiss. "You've got two minutes, take it off, I'll grab another. You've got other outfits, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah the shirt with the pink suit should work. My stylist is gonna fucking kill me - wait did you say right now - "

He's alone in the bathroom, tucking his dick away, throwing his jacket aside and peeling the soiled shirt from his shoulders before you can answer. Usually he hides the evidence, but there's not time to stash the extra shirt anywhere when there's another sudden knock on the door. The best he can do is throw his jacket back on over his bare shoulders so at least he's not seen to be topless and alone with you as he steps into his dressing room.

The door swings open just as you reach for the hanger of the pink suit, stopping you in your tracks.

"Dee. They're looking for you," his stylist walks in, looking at her phone. She spots you first, before flicking her eyes to Dieter and pointing in confusion. "Oh, hi. Where's your shirt?"

He shrugs, shoulders rising high as you stare at the exposed section of his chest now on full display beneath his jacket. "Changed my mind about it. Looks good enough like this, right?" He checks himself out in the mirror and adjusts his hair a fraction as if nothing untoward had just happened.

You're starting to understand how he won his own Oscar all those years ago.

His stylist seems to be just as eccentric as he is, and is thrilled by the choice to go shirtless. You're not sure your boss will be, but before you can offer a different shirt, Dieter is being whisked away by the production crew, all with confused looks on their faces as they take in his outfit. Dieter takes one last look back at you, mouthing a quick thank you as he's dragged off to begin the show.

The 96th Academy Awards go off without a hitch. You're already hearing reports from online that Dieter Bravo is a hit, his opening outfit being lauded as unique and a breath of fresh air for a sometimes stuffy and overly serious award ceremony. You watch him out of the corner of your eye through two costume changes - both times watching as he leaves wearing a shirt under each of his bold colored jackets.

It's a chaotic, well oiled machine, and by the time all is said and done and after parties are in full swing, you're winding down and saying thank yous and goodnight to the crew who made it all happen. One last sweep of the dressing rooms and you'll be on your way home too.

Empty, empty, empty. And then you're opening the door to Dieter's dressing room, ready to flick the light off and put the building to bed.

Except, Dieter Bravo is there, a vision in deep emerald green, holding the messed shirt from earlier in the evening in one hand and scribbling a note onto the back of a small card with the other. He sees you enter, and looks as stunned to see you as you are to see him.

"No after party?"

He looks sheepish, almost embarrassed when he answers.

"Not any more."

Admittedly, it was perhaps a stupid question to ask a recovering addict. "Oh."

You both awkwardly stand for a moment, Dieter keeping his eyes locked on the card in his hand before he's walking toward you and shoving it in front of you. You take it just as he edges past you out of the dressing room.

There's a note addressed to you and a number, scribbled hastily in Dieter's messy handwriting.

"I didn't want to be too forward, I know these things are..." he trails off with a wave of his hand. "Was just gonna leave that here and leave it up to you."

I owe you my life. Let me take you for coffee. Call me? D x

Looking up from the note, you can see him hesitantly make an exit. Calling after him, he stops in his tracks, spinning on his heel to look at you with more hope than you expect he intended.

"I'm just about to close up, if you wanted to go grab that coffee?"

And so, at 11pm on the night of the 96th Academy Awards, you find yourself in an empty diner, drinking bad coffee with Dieter-fucking-Bravo.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

#space sisters secret santa 2023 #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #coveted fics

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manias-wordcount · 1 year

Text

Jujustu Kaisen M.list

𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 = ➼ 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 = ✧ 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 = ❊ 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 = ♡

Satoru Gojo x Reader

The Sweetest Treat✧

He's a piece of work. But that's what makes him so good.

Class Act♡

Kinktober 2023 Day Three: Class Act

View of Paradise➼✧

PT2 PT3 PT4 PT5 PT6

Hold your breath. Make a wish. Count to three. 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨, 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚. 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙚.

Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

Strong for You✧

You know he's tired. You know he tries. But you know just how far he's come too.

Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Work Hard, Play Hard♡

Kinktober 2023 Day Nineteen: Sex Work

#masterlist #manias masterlists

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blughxreader · 2 years

Text

CW: AFAB reader. Pregnancy kink.

Hello, Darling!

Meet your new yandere boyfriend, Sunny.

Sunny is the head of a new religion! He gives lessons to thousands of people across the globe through online lectures, and is becoming more prevalent in main-stream news. He's passionate, family-oriented, and very mild-mannered!

He truly believes he's doing the world a favor, so you've found yourself a very selfless man.

With Sunny, you'll never feel left out. He values a domestic life above all else, so every fun event, every "couple milestone," every sermon, he wants you by his side.

His love language is words. He'll sit and talk with you for hours, asking you every question you'll let him and listening to your response like it was coming God's mouth itself.

He's in such awe for you that he sometimes can't keep it to himself. You should take his bouts of mania as a compliment, because you've managed to drive this well-collected man to a love-stricken hysteria!

♡ ♡ ♡

Sunny is a delusional yandere.

He has periods of lucidity, where he understands why you're not returning his love, and periods of oblivion. In both states, though, he expects you to at least greet him with a smile!

If you find yourself in trouble with him, expect to be bound and gagged, confined in small spaces, and forced to choose between impossible options. He doesn't like admitting this, but having absolute control over you and your body is the greatest feeling!

His favorite punishment of all is locking you in a coffin-sized box and shoving it under his bed each night. Falling asleep to your muffled cries and knowing you'll come crawling to him for forgiveness in the morning always makes him sleep well!

A note about him: despite being the head of a cult, he doesn't like sharing!! Until he's sure Stockholm Syndrome has fully set in, the cult members won't even know what you look like.

To get on Sunny's good side, play the part of a doting spouse! He'll shower you in gifts, praise, and attention, so do the same.

And if you really, really, want him to be at your beck and call, start a family with him! From day one, Sunny will make it known he wants to see you pregnant. You'd be smart to be skeptical of him during sex, but he won't do anything nefarious if you insist you're not ready!

(Until the years tick by and his patience runs thin... But you have a long time to prepare for that!)

♡ ♡ ♡

"Don't cry, Darling. I'll be here the whole time."

"It feels like we were made for each other. Can't you feel it, too?"

"You're stunning. You're so stunning. I wish I could keep you tied up like this forever."

"Please let me put a baby inside of you."

"Why are you by yourself? Are you sad? Come here, baby."

"Hush... I'll forgive you soon. Loosen your muscles—that's right."

♡ ♡ ♡

Sunny worships you. He might take some liberties with your punishments, but he does it because you drive him insane. He's yours, body and soul.

♡ ♡ ♡

Will you date him?

[ YES / NO ]

Visit the Other Yandere masterlist for more content!

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere blurbs #afab reader #yandere art #sunny #my art

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mads-weasley · 8 months

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Chapter 2 of Epiphany should be up sometime today! I'm just finishing up a few parts before I post!

#me actually updating a series in a timely manner?#band of brothers masterlist #mads' writing struggles #band of brothers series #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon series #mads' writing mania

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hazelfoureyes · 20 days

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Hi queen! I was wondering what are some of the stories you are currently working on. You've become one of my favorite writers and I'm always eagerly awaiting the next piece

I know you asked forever ago 😭

I added a WIP section to my masters list! these are all stories that are actively open, in no particular order. Some are nearly done, it’s just a matter of finding the right energy and time to finish it 🫠 I don’t like finishing a story in bursts, I wanna sit down and make it a cohesive feeling.

Angel x Reader is queued along with an Imagine for Alastor. I want to dip into Vox but am not ready… and RadioApple will return after my brain cools down 😵‍💫

everything below is smut 💦

it’s all alastor

oops

⟢The Big Part (2) Alastor x ‘Virgin’Reader

Night two comes, as does Alastor

⟢A Doe in Fall (part 5) HumanAlastor x FemReader

im not telling you a goddamn thing

⟢Wrapped Around Your Finger (part 2) SeraphimReader x Alastor

Alastor struggles with wanting something he refuses to ask nicely for

⟢Finders Keepers Alastor x CupidReader

Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

⟢Untitled; Rutting Alastor x Meek Bunny FemReader

You were sent to hell on a technicality, too pure and too sweet for the underworld but there nonetheless. While you find shelter at the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor sees an easy and delicious soul to add to his collection

༻Masterlist༺

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel angel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader smut #alastor

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chvoswxtch · 9 months

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pancakes

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: a major setback causes you and frank to have to think quickly on your feet to find a new lead.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of guns & bombs

word count: 7.9k

a/n: so, i had to do a LOT of research about bombs for this chapter. in the event that i disappear, just know the fbi probably has me detained somewhere for my questionable search history, and i'm having to explain i'm a writer, not a serial killer. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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A golden ray of honey dripped through the sliver of space between the thick wooly curtains in the motel room, dancing right across your eyes like a spotlight across a stage. The glow of the sun rising above the horizon of your eyelids parted the clouds of your subconscious, causing you to shift back into a sentient state. In your half-dazed condition, all of your limbs slowly uncoiled from their curled up position, and when your palm brushed against the empty sheets beside you that were cool to the touch, the absence of Frank’s warmth had you suddenly rousing awake.

Rubbing the remaining residue of sleep from your eyes, you glanced around the dimly lit room through a blanket of semi-coherence while you pushed back the thin quilt and scratchy sheets to sit up in the stiff bed. The motel room was completely silent, and the small analog clock on the nightstand showed that it was seven thirteen in the morning. As you looked around the room, you noticed that Frank’s duffel bag was missing.

Frank was also missing.

When you got out of the bed and made your way over towards the windows, you pulled back one of the thick wooly curtains, wincing slightly as the sunlight shone right in your eyes that were still in the process of adjusting to the new lighting in the room. When you saw that Frank’s truck was gone, a crease of confusion furrowed between your brows instantly.

“What the hell?”

Surely Frank wouldn’t have left you alone in a motel room in the middle of nowhere when a terrorist group was actively trying to kill you…right?

Looking around for your bag, you found it on the small round table next to the window, and your nimble fingers produced your phone quickly, only to find a dead battery signal glaring at you from the screen in neon red. As you frantically searched through your bag for a charger, it abruptly dawned on you that you didn’t have one. The only thing you had grabbed from your place the night you were attacked was your phone and your bag.

Panic instantly began to spread throughout your nervous system like wildfire on an unsuspecting barren forest.

You had absolutely no idea what town you were in, no mode of transportation to get anywhere, no phone to call Frank, no anything. You didn’t even have a goddamn toothbrush. For ten minutes, you searched every inch of that motel room for some kind of note, or something that Frank might have left indicating where he was going and when he would be back. In a fit of mania, you searched all of the drawers in the nightstands, all of the cabinets in the bathroom, underneath the bed and beneath the mattress, even inside both of the pillow cases. You also ripped the horrendous paisley quilt and the scratchy sheets off the mattress in a frenzy thinking something might have gotten lost in them somehow.

When you realized that Frank hadn’t left any clues behind for you, instantly you began to catastrophize the worst possible case scenarios while furiously pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

What if Frank was hurt badly somewhere? What if someone had come for you, and taken him instead? What if he had just abandoned you here because he didn’t want to deal with you anymore?

It was now seven thirty-seven in the morning, and you couldn’t take another minute of sitting in this empty hotel room alone with no answers. You swiftly changed back into your own clothes, deciding to stop by the motel office first to see if anyone had seen Frank leave. Maybe they could at least point you in the direction he had gone; Frank was not exactly an easy guy to miss. Someone had to have seen him leave, and it was the only idea you had at the moment that was keeping you from having a full on meltdown.

In the process of slipping on your shoes while sitting on the edge of the bare mattress, the lock on the door to the room suddenly clicked, and your head snapped up abruptly to see Frank’s broad figure appear taking up the entire door frame. In the span of a second, three emotions flashed through you; relief, confusion, and anger. Before he could even take a step into the room past the threshold, you subconsciously reached for the bare pillow on the bed beside you and hurled it in his direction as hard as you could.

Frank’s face instantly morphed from being stuck in an expression of concrete lividity to twisting up into pure obscurity. There was a faint twinge of offense nestled between his thick brows when he instinctively reached out to catch the the pillow, staring over at you in a state of complete disorientation.

“What the hell was-”

“Goddammit Frank! Where the fuck have you been?”

The shrill tone of your voice immediately caught his attention and subsequently softened the furrow between his full ebony brows. Frank’s eyes flickered around the space, taking in the disheveled state of everything before his curious gaze landed back on you. He took a cautious step into the room and gently closed the door behind himself, his vigilant stare locked on you.

“What happened?”

In a fit of frustration that was bubbling over with pure adrenaline from the anxiety rushing through your bloodstream, you reached for the other bare pillow and hurled it right towards his head, watching as it hit the wall behind Frank with a soft thud when he quickly ducked. Confusion creased in the center of his forehead again while he stared at you incredulously.

“You happened, you dick! I woke up and you weren’t here! All your stuff was gone, your truck was gone, you didn’t bothering leaving a fucking note. I had no idea if you were dead in a ditch somewhere or just ran off to be an asshole, leaving me stranded here in the middle of fucking nowhere with no way to leave and no phone!”

By the time you finished your hysteric rant, your chest was heaving from how hard you were breathing, and your hands trembled slightly at your sides where they were balled into tight fists. Frank’s face instantly dropped into a contortion of remorse when he took in the sheer look of terror in your eyes. Noticing the way your hands shook slightly with trepidation, his deep brown eyes softened with guilt, and he took a tentative step in your direction with his large hands held up in a faint sign of surrender.

“Sweetheart…m’sorry. I thought you’d still be sleepin’ by the time I got back. You usually sleep in when you ain’t workin’, and I thought…I shoulda left you a note or somethin’ just in case. I didn’t think ‘bout your phone bein’ dead. M’really sorry.”

The gentle cadence of Frank’s deep voice instantly soothed your lingering feelings of unease, and the overwhelming sensation of panic slowly dissipated seeing him staring down at you with his big puppy dog eyes swirling with regret. The contrition Frank felt was evident not just in his voice, but was also etched clearly on his face, and visible in his body language. He hadn’t meant to scare you. He also had a point; you weren’t a morning person by any means, and when it came to your days off, you did like to sleep in. Letting out a slow and deep exhale through your nose, you unclenched your fists slowly and and brought your arms up to cross over your chest.

“I would’ve slept in if those sheets weren’t made of sandpaper.”

Frank cocked his head to the side slightly as he heard you grumble under your breath, and the edge of his full lips curled up in bemusement at your sudden change in demeanor. For a second, he just eyed you quietly, taking in the sight of your messy bedhead, soft expression of irritation, and the evidence of the sleep you hadn’t gotten beneath your eyes.

“You’re awful grumpy in the mornin’, ya’know that?”

Letting out a quiet huff of annoyance, you narrowed your eyes into slits while looking up at him. Frank, unlike you, was a morning person. Well, sort of. Morning people are pleasant in the morning. Frank wasn’t always pleasant, he was just always up early. But given the recent knowledge of his military background, it made sense now.

As a matter of fact, a lot of things about him were starting to make more sense.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so grumpy if someone hadn’t made me start my day with a close call of cardiac arrest.”

Frank let out a small chuckle at that and shook his head, glancing around at the cataclysmic mess you’d created in the motel room once again before looking back at you with one of his dark brows arched in challenge.

“Nah, you still woulda been grumpy. Now, you got anythin’ else you wanna throw at me? Or you want some coffee and breakfast?”

»»———　　———««

Halfway through your second coffee and devouring a stack of pancakes, you paused abruptly while staring inquisitively over at Frank across the table.

“Where did you go?”

Frank brought his own ceramic mug of black coffee to his lips, which looked comically small in his large hand, and took a hefty gulp as he swallowed down a bite of pancakes.

“The warehouse.”

A dry scoff left your lips as you let your fork drop onto your plate, making a sharp clattering noise that tore Frank’s gaze from his own plate up to your line of sight.

“I thought we weren’t going back there-”

“No, you weren’t goin’ back there.”

“Frank-”

“It don’t matter, it’s gone.”

As soon as those words left his lips, your vexation transitioned into perplexity. Your brows inched together in the middle of your forehead as you stared at Frank in pure puzzlement.

“What do you mean it’s gone? We were just there last night-”

“Someone burnt the goddamn thing down.”

Frank’s large hand was enclosed in a tight fist around his fork, and there was a slight edge to his gruff voice as he nearly glared across the table at you. His words only fueled your bewilderment, but the pissed off look on his face kept you from interrogating him any further. Frank leaned back into the booth of the table you two were sitting at in the small, outdated diner down the street from the motel and ran his fingers through his short, tousled dark waves in exasperation. His deep brown eyes scanned around the diner absentmindedly, a look of pure contemplation layering his appearance. After a moment of silence, he let out a heavy exhale through his large nose and looked over at you with a calmer expression.

“I went to check it out early this mornin’, and there were cops and firetrucks all over the damn place. Ain’t nothin’ left of it.”

Nothing left?

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach that the cop that had caught you and Frank last night had tipped the Defenders of Freedom off, and they had set off a bomb in the warehouse to cover their tracks.

“Do you…do you think that cop tipped them off and they blew it up?”

“Nah, it wasn’t blown up. We woulda heard an explosion. Besides, the bombs these assholes are usin’, they’re strong enough to do some heavy damage, but not enough to level somethin’ completely like that.”

Tilting your head to the side slightly, you looked over at Frank curiously when you heard the conviction in his voice. He dismissed the idea you presented with such confidence, it made you wonder why he was so certain.

“How do you know that?”

“If it was a bomb, even if it was set off in the middle of the warehouse, parts of it would still be standin’. They’re makin’ homemade ones outta shit that can’t easily be tracked, so they’re small scale. They do a whole lotta property damage, and hurt people close to ‘em when they go off, but they ain’t made outta strong enough shit to level a warehouse made outta concrete and steel like that. I don’t know if that cop tipped someone off, but someone sure as hell set that fire on purpose. Whatever was in there, they didn’t want no one to find.”

There was a hint of anger in Frank’s voice when he spoke, and it reminded you of the conversation you had with him in your office over a month ago when the last attack happened. He had sounded just as angry, and you suddenly remembered him saying how much he hated people that used bombs and how he had called them a coward’s weapon. You hadn’t fully understood his resentment then, but after learning about his past as a Marine last night, it all seemed to finally click in your head.

“You were attacked by one.”

Frank immediately tensed, and his eyes quickly snapped up to meet your sympathetic gaze. It wasn’t a question, but the look of rancor in his eyes that was as bitter as the shade of his coffee confirmed it. A crisp chill cascaded down your spine at the realization that there had probably been far more than just one attack that Frank had been caught in the middle of during his time in the Marines. It made you wonder if that’s where the scar on his left temple had come from, the one that made him freeze up when you touched it last night.

“Even if they find somethin’ in all that goddamn rubble, it’s gonna take days to sort through, so it’s back to fuckin’ square one.”

Frank grunted as he lifted the ceramic mug to his lips to take another large gulp of coffee. He clearly had no intentions of elaborating on his history with explosives, and you decided it was best to leave it alone for the moment.

Resting your elbows on the table, you ran your hands through your hair with a sigh and clasped your hands over the back of your neck as you stared down at your half eaten plate of pancakes and hashbrowns. There was absolutely no way you and Frank had come all the way upstate and were going to leave with nothing. Going back to the warehouse was out of the question since it was surrounded with law enforcement and reduced to ash, but there had to be some way to find a lead.

While you were staring down into your coffee, an idea popped into your head.

“Not necessarily.”

Frank quirked one of his dark brows while looking across the table at you, waiting to see where you were going with whatever thought was going through your head.

“You can’t build a warehouse like that without a permit. Someone had to have filed for that permit, and they would’ve had to have a deed of ownership for that plot of land.”

After your words hit Frank’s ears, his eyes seemed to light up with recognition while he processed what you were saying. If the two of you could figure out who filed for the permit, or who owned the land, you had a lead. He swiftly sat up a little straighter in the booth as he stared at you almost in awe.

“How do we find that?”

“Property records are public in New York. They would have had to file the permit with the local county office and provide the proper documentation.”

“So we find the local county office, we find the records?”

“Exactly.”

Frank’s warm whiskey eyes sparkled with an emotion that resembled pride, and his full lips suddenly split slowly into a toothy grin that caused crinkles to form at the edges of his eyes as he brought a bite of pancakes up towards his mouth.

“You’re a goddamn genius, sweetheart.”

There was something about the way that Frank was looking at you, and grinning at you, that made heat blossom across the tops of your cheeks and start to burn in your lower belly. You weren’t used to men complimenting your intelligence, or your ideas, and you weren’t sure how to react. Dipping your head a bit to hide the bashful smile that tugged across your lips, you reached for the bottle of syrup and cleared your throat, scrambling to form a coherent sentence in response.

“Finish your eighth cup of coffee and we can go.”

Frank let out a dry scoff of amusement as he watched you drown your pancakes in a pool of maple syrup.

“I’ll finish my eighth cup when you finish your tenth. In the meantime, how ‘bout I getcha some pancakes for that syrup, yeah?”

Setting down the sticky bottle of syrup, you rolled your eyes playfully as you looked across the table at Frank and attempted to hide your amused smile.

“It’s not that much-”

“I can’t even see your damn pancakes underneath all that.”

Without another word, you reached over with your fork and drove it into half a cut up pancake that was on Frank’s plate, and his face twisted up into an expression of mock offense as he set down his coffee mug when you stole the half pancake onto your own plate.

“Hey hey hey, whoa-”

“You said I needed more pancakes-”

“I didn’t say mine.”

“Well then you should’ve specified that you didn’t wanna share.”

You used the side of your fork to slice a part of his half pancake and smothered it in syrup before bringing it to your lips with a teasing smirk. Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly as he clicked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He shook his head slowly before he reached across the table to swipe the two remaining pieces of bacon off your plate.

“I quit. I’m droppin’ your grumpy, theivin’ ass off at the next rest stop we pass.”

A loud fit of laughter erupted from deep within your chest at Frank’s disgruntled appearance, and you covered your mouth with your hand as a few patrons at the diner that were most likely regulars stared in your direction with looks of curiosity and annoyance. Frank glared at you lightheartedly as he tore the bacon in half and tossed one half piece into his mouth. You looked over at him with a whimsical smirk on your lips as you arched one of your brows.

“You can’t quit a job you don’t have, Castle.”

“The hell I can’t.”

Rolling your eyes frivolously, you pierced the half of the pancake with your fork and went to place it back onto Frank’s plate.

“Fine, here.”

Frank pulled a face of faux repulsion as he gently pushed at your wrist with his large palm.

“I don’t want it now.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you gawked at him and scoffed lightly in bemusement.

“Are you kidding? You just made a whole scene-”

“That was before you got it all soggy with all that goddamn syrup. Keep it.”

Placing the fork with the half pancake of Frank’s down on your plate, you crossed your arms over your chest and bit the inside of your cheek to contain the grin that threatened to take over your lips. You watched him eat the bacon he had stolen off your plate with a broody expression on his sharp features.

“And you call me grumpy.”

“You are grumpy.”

“You don’t think you are?”

“I am when you steal my goddamn pancakes without askin’.”

“Isn’t the whole point of stealing to not ask?”

Frank shot you a deadpan look as he brought the ceramic mug to his lips and downed the rest of his black coffee.

“Finish your fuckin’ syrup so we can go.”

The twinge of light annoyance in Frank’s voice mixed with the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced around the diner coaxed a small laugh from you. It felt so natural to be sitting across from Frank, having breakfast and bantering back and forth, as if the two of you did this every morning. Despite the rough start to the morning, for you and Frank, he seemed lighter, and in an all around pleasant mood.

He was so incredibly different from the stoic, intimidating man you were introduced to for the first time almost six months ago. Lately it felt like the more time you spent alone with him, you were granted more and more glimpses of the real Frank Castle. And while you were elated to finally breakthrough so many of those broody layers of his, you were also starting to get nervous.

Because every little interaction made the miniscule crush you had developed on your bodyguard develop and evolve into something inherently deeper and more profound for the man behind the job.

»»———　　———««

The second your eyes caught the sight of Frank tucking a gun into the waistband of his jeans against his back and cover it with his black denim jacket, you instinctively held your hand out and placed it against his chest to stop him from reaching for the door of the county office. He glanced down at your palm on his chest before looking at you with a curious furrow of his brows.

“No.”

Frank tilted his head to the side slightly in perplexity when you gave a firm shake of your head in his direction.

“No? No, what?”

“Frank, I am not letting you go in there guns blazing-”

“Aw Christ, it’s just a precaution-”

“-or letting you intimidate, or beat the hell out of whoever is working at that front desk just to get what we need. We do this my way.”

Frank clenched his jaw as he stared down at you, taking in the stern expression on your features.

“I was gonna ask nicely.”

“You don’t know how to ask nicely.”

Letting out a deep exhale of frustration, Frank narrowed his eyes at you in annoyance while his index and middle finger on his right hand twitched at his side a few times.

“So what the hell are we doin’ here then?”

“I am going to do my job, and I need you to let me do that.”

“What, you…you wanna interview ‘em and get an exclusive for a damn article right now? Is that more important?”

Frank’s evident exasperation and sour attitude were starting to get on your nerves, and you grit your teeth as you narrowed your eyes at him in defiance.

“No, I’m not ‘getting an exclusive’, Frank. My job isn’t just writing. It’s called investigative journalism for a reason. You think all the evidence I get for my articles, I’m just…given? Not only do I have to hunt down my own sources, but I have to make them talk to me and give me what I need, by any means necessary.”

It suddenly occurred to you that in the six months Frank had been your bodyguard, he had never really seen you in action. He had been to your office several times, and watched you write countless articles, but the only person he had ever seen you interview was Steven. After the first threat you received, your story content was limited, and you were confined to topics that involved as little human interaction as possible for your own safety.

You understood Frank’s apprehension about letting you take the lead on this, but you also wanted to prove to him that you weren’t some damsel in distress. You could do this. It was your job, and it was what you were good at. Letting out a soft sigh, you fought off your own agitation to flash Frank an imploring expression.

“Frank, I know what I’m doing, Okay? Just trust me. And…behave, please.”

Taking in the pleading look in your eyes, Frank stared at you silently for a minute before throwing his hands up in resignation and letting out a grunt of agreement, reaching out to open the door to the county office and motioning for you to enter first. You tried your hardest not to laugh at the look of pure irritation that shrouded his face when you asked him to behave. As you stepped into the small office building with Frank, you just hoped the two of you could get what you needed and get out before a scene was caused.

The county office was small and stuffy, filled with the scent only a building that hadn’t been updated since its initial construction decades ago could have. Despite the cool temperature outside, there was an uncomfortable heat that lingered in the air. There was a stout, middle aged man sitting behind the desk with his feet propped up, arms crossed over his protruding belly, and his weary eyes were focused on a small television screen in the corner of the office that was playing a baseball game. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment, and you hoped you could use that to your advantage.

To your right, there was a meager waiting area that had a few worn chairs lined up against the wall that had definitely seen better days, and a little square coffee table piled with magazines that were several decades old. Glancing up at Frank over your shoulder, you motioned towards one of the chairs.

“Sit there, I’ll be right back.”

Another displeased grunt sounded from Frank at your instruction, but he didn’t verbally protest. He plopped down into the chair closest to the door and crossed his big arms over his broad chest. His full lips were pursed in a slightly adorable pout that was accompanied by his signature broody expression, and if your phone weren’t dead, you would’ve definitely taken a picture to laugh about later.

As you approached the desk, you fluffed up your hair a little and plastered your most charming smile across your lips before clearing your throat.

“Excuse me?”

The older man’s bushy brows were furrowed in aggravation at your interruption, but when his cobalt blue eyes navigated up to investigate the cause of the disturbance, they swiftly rose up his forehead in surprise. Before he could even get his feet off the desk, his gaze landed on your chest where the v-neck cut of your shirt’s collar showed a bit of your cleavage, and he stared unabashedly for a good ten seconds before a crooked smile split open his thin lips.

“My my, aren’t you a pretty little thing? I’ve never seen you around here before, Miss…?”

This wasn’t the first sleazeball you’d let ogle you to get concrete evidence for a lead. It was honestly easier for you to get information from men, because most of the time they were too busy shamelessly staring at your tits to even notice that you were hustling them. Still, it always made you feel a little cheap, like you needed a scalding shower afterwards to burn away their lingering stares. At least this time you had the comfort of knowing Frank was just a few feet away if there was any trouble.

“Oh, I’m not from around here. My name is Lorelai. I could actually really use your help. What did you say your name was?”

You asked in a sweet voice, tilting your head to the side innocently. The man rested his elbows on the desk, leaning in slightly towards you with that same crooked grin.

“Lorelai? Pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Roger, and I’m happy to help you with whatever you need.”

It took every ounce of willpower you had not to gag at the wink he shot you. He probably thought it came off as flirtatious, but in reality, it just made you nauseous. Swallowing down your discomfort, you forced another convincing charming smile onto your lips and leaned forward on the desk slightly, granting him a better view of your cleavage. You hated yourself as soon as you did it, but you prayed this idiot would take the bait and just give you the documents you needed without any suspicion.

“Thank you, Roger. See, I work for the company that owns the warehouse that burned down this morning, you know the one on Wick Road? Anyway, my boss wanted me to file an insurance claim, and in the middle of it I realized that I don’t have any copies of the permit or the land deed that I need to file the claim, and if I don’t get it filed by the end of the day, I’m gonna be in a lot of trouble. Can you help me? Please?”

Using that same saccharine voice that was several pitches higher than your normal tone, you batted your eyes a few times for dramatic effect, crafting a faux expression of innocence and helplessness. Incompetent men like Roger enjoyed playing the hero, so you laid the vulnerable act on thick.

“Of course I can help you, sugar. It’s no trouble at all. Anything I can do to help a sweet little thing like you, I’m happy to.”

The way his hungry eyes wandered over your chest coupled with the bravado in his nasally voice had you digging your nails so hard into your palm, you were shocked you hadn’t drawn blood.

You’re almost there. It’s almost over. Just keep it together.

“Really? Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver, Roger.”

You reached out to give his shoulder a light squeeze for good measure, and the overwhelming scent of his cheap cologne filling your nostrils triggered the early onset of what was sure to be a powerful migraine. Roger stood up from his chair and brushed his oily black hair away from his greasy forehead in a way that was probably meant to look slick, but made you shudder internally with disgust.

“Why don’t you come with me, and we can-”

As his eyes caught sight of something over your shoulder, Roger’s reptilian grin instantly fell, and his “suave” expression melted into one of discomfort. His eyes flickered over to meet your gaze again, and he cleared his throat.

“Uh…is he…with you?”

When you furrowed your brows in confusion, Roger gestured with one of his sausage fingers behind you, and as you turned your head to see what he was talking about, you were met with the sight of a very pissed off looking Frank. His large hands were balled into such tight fists that his knuckles had turned white, and they were resting on the top of his thighs, like he was ready to spring into action at any moment. Frank’s jaw was set in a harsh line, and you could see a muscle feather beneath his skin when he grit his teeth. His thick brows were pulled together in vexation, and you could see a wrathful fire burning in his eyes that had nearly turned black with rage.

You had to wrap this up quickly before Frank lost his patience.

Turning back around to face Roger, you gaped at him for a moment as you let out a nervous laugh.

“I…yeah. He…he’s with me.”

“He your…husband or…something?”

“He’s…my-”

Before you could finish, Frank’s heavy boots were thundering across the floor, and you suddenly felt the heat radiating from his chest flush against your back as his large hand settled on your right hip.

“You mind hurryin’ it up with them documents my wife asked for? We ain’t got all goddamn day. And while you’re at it, why don’t you try lookin’ her in the fuckin’ eye when you talk to her, yeah?”

While Roger had initially taken a sharp step backwards when Frank marched across the room to stand behind you, the barrier of the desk clearly made him feel safe enough to provoke Frank. He let out a scoff as he crossed his arms over his ill-fitting button up, glaring up at Frank in a mixture of offense and irritation.

“Hey, I didn’t see a ring, buddy.”

Frank took a step closer towards the desk and reached his hand beneath the collar of his black henley, slipping his thumb under the chain around his neck to pull it upwards to flash the gold wedding band that dangled from it. The gesture caught you completely by surprise, and you felt a slight pang in your chest at the sight of the wedding ring now that you knew Frank was a widow. His eyes were wild with animosity, and his gruff voice dropped a dangerous octave lower as he sneered down at Roger.

“There’s your fuckin’ ring. Now you got thirty seconds to move your ass and get her what she asked for, or I’m comin’ back there and I’m gonna fuckin’-”

“Okay! Okay, sorry can you just…one second.”

After flashing Roger an apologetic expression and a nervous smile, you swiftly turned around and pressed your palms flat against Frank’s chest to push as hard as you could to guide him backwards in the direction of the door.

“Out.”

You hissed quietly through gritted teeth while staring up at him with your own hardened gaze. Frank’s face instantly twisted up in fury and rebellion as he glared down at you, refusing to move to an inch.

“You outta your damn mind? I ain’t leavin’ you alone with this motherfu-”

“Frank, wait outside, now.”

You shoved at Frank’s chest as hard as you could, but he only wavered backwards half an inch. For a solid sixty seconds, the two of you seemed to be locked in a glaring contest. You didn’t have time for his shit, and you snapped your fingers and pointed towards the door as a final signal for him to leave. Frank shot one final death glare over your shoulder at Roger before staring back at you in unfiltered vehemence. The top left corner of his lip curled up slightly in a sneer, and he grunted as he stalked off towards the door and shoved it open with a force so powerful, it rattled the door hinges.

Fuck.

Swallowing thickly, you took a deep breath as you quickly formulated a plan for damage control. Turning back around to face Roger, you saw that he was glancing between you and the door with wide eyes, and his body language was significantly more conservative than it was before. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you took a small step forward and looked at him with a repentant smile.

“I…I’m really sorry about that. He’s um…he’s…been struggling a bit…ever since he came home…from his last tour.”

A look of cognizance flashed across Roger’s face, and as his eyes flickered towards the door before settling back on you, his features dulled into a more friendly look that was splattered with pity.

“What branch?”

“Marines.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Roger’s thin lips, and he nodded his head in a gesture of understanding.

“Tough sons of bitches.”

“Temperamental, too.”

He let out a snort at that, rubbing his plump hand over his patchy onyx beard that was loosely sprinkled with flecks of gray.

“No kidding. My father was a Marine, and he was always a real hot head. Wasn’t always that way, but…I guess they uh…never really come back, huh?”

For some reason, that caught you off guard.

They never really come back.

In the nearly ten hours that had passed since you learned more about Frank’s history, you hadn’t really had a chance to really process it. You hadn’t had a moment to think about what he must have gone through, the things he must have seen or done that changed him, the people he might have lost, or all the ways he could have suffered. In that moment, you felt an overwhelming wave of sadness for Frank, thinking about the absolute hell he must have gone through, and then the added weight of losing his wife on top of that.

“No…I guess they don’t.”

Roger wrung his worn hands together in front of him almost in remorse, gesturing loosely towards you as he let out a quiet laugh.

“Look I didn’t mean any disrespect to you or your husband-”

“It’s fine, really. You were just…trying to be nice.”

You were being a fucking creep.

“Here, let me get you those documents. Wick Road, right?”

A tiny surge of hope shot through you at that, and your lips parted into a small, grateful smile as you nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Flashing you a tight lipped smile, Roger disappeared into a back room before emerging a few minutes later with a manila file that contained several copies of documents. He handed it over to you and slipped his plump hands into his pockets, nodding his head in the direction of the door.

“You uh, tell your husband I apologize…and uh…thank him for his service for me, would you?”

It made your blood boil that he was only willing to be respectful of you because he thought you were married, and because you had told him Frank was a Marine. But you shoved all that down as you took the file from him, nodding with a tiny smile.

“I will, thank you.”

“Have a good day, Miss Lorelai.”

As soon as you turned around to leave, your eyes rolled so far back into your head, it was painful. When you stepped outside the office, Frank was leaning against his truck with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, looking thoroughly heated. His head snapped up when he heard the office door creak open, and you marched over towards him with a pissed off expression of your own.

“What the hell was that?”

“You said you had that-”

“I did, Frank! Until you flew off the handle-”

“What was I s’posed to do, huh? Just sit there and watch that asshole stare down your shirt-”

“You were supposed to let me do my job!”

Frank scoffed and let out a dry, humorless laugh. His ferocious gaze roamed over the area surrounding the small building before he glared down at you with a look of repulsion.

“So that’s what you do, huh? You just let ‘em stare at you like that to get what you need? That all you do, Lorelai?”

The implications behind Frank’s words should’ve incensed you, but if anything, they felt like a jagged blade cutting through your chest. The fact that he would not only insinuate that you would use your body to get a lead, but look at you in disgust as if he actually believed it, hurt you more than anything. The venom with which he spit out your alias made you shudder slightly. Treacherous tears stung along your waterline as you clenched your jaw to keep the dam from breaking.

“I’d rather them stare at my chest than shoot them in cold blood.”

Frank’s anger faded slightly hearing the accusation laced within your tone of dejection. Clutching onto the manila folder in your hand, you spun around on your heel and started walking swiftly in the opposite direction. You didn’t know exactly where you were, or how you would get home, but right now Frank was the last person you wanted to be around.

The sound of Frank sighing heavily from behind you rang clearly in your ears.

“Where you goin’?”

“Home.”

“What, you gonna walk there?”

When you didn’t respond and continued to keep walking, Frank dragged his palms down his face in pure frustration.

“For Christ’s sake-don’t be ridiculous. Get in the truck. Y/N…Y/N! Get in the-goddamnit.”

For a moment, you thought Frank had given up and was going to actually let you find your own way home. But then all of a sudden, you heard tires rolling tumultuously across the loose gravel of the parking lot, and before you could make it to the edge of the street, Frank pulled his truck out in front of you a few feet away to cut off your path. He quickly hopped out and left the driver side door open, walking around the hood in your direction with determination.

“You ain’t walkin’ all the way back, alright? Just get in.”

“I can find my own way home-”

“You can’t go home. Not until I figure out-”

“Frank, I’m not your fucking problem anymore!”

Frank stared at you with a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. While the annoyance he felt was still lingering on his sharp features, the rage that had clouded his vision had dissipated into shimmering guilt. The migraine that had been triggered by Roger’s cologne had steadily begun to throb, and you rubbed at your right temple and sighed heavily in frustration as you took a look around at your unfamiliar surroundings. A few stray tears slipped down your cheeks, and you weren’t sure if they were from the pain in your head or the pain in your heart.

“You’re not my bodyguard anymore, alright? I’m not your problem, and you owe me nothing. Okay, I was just a job, and the job’s over now, so just-”

“Hey, hey…quit that.”

“Frank-”

“You were never just a job, and you know it.”

Frank’s words immediately caught your attention, and when you looked up at him, he was already staring at you with finality. The timbre of his voice made it clear there was no contesting that statement, and it was almost like your ribcage had shrunk around your heart and lungs with how tight your chest felt. He took a step closer towards you and carefully brought his large hands up to cradle your face delicately, wiping away the tear tracks from your cheeks gently with the rough pads of his thumbs. Frank’s features had repressed into an expression of disgrace, and his eyes were shining apologetically as he looked down into your own.

“Look, I…I didn’t mean that, alright? It was a shitty thing to say. I just…I hated the way he was lookin’ at ya, and I hate the thought of you subjectin’ yourself to that kinda shit just for a goddamn lead. It’s dangerous-”

“Yeah, well being a woman and just existing is dangerous, Frank. I deal with that kind of shit everyday, even when I’m not chasing a story. When I’m walking down the street, when I’m in line at the grocery store, when I’m in the middle of a meeting at work…it…it happens all the time.”

Frank’s warm brown eyes held pure sympathy for you as he listened intently.

“I ain’t seen it happen like that though, ‘cept for when you interviewed that trust fund asshole.”

It took a second for you to realize that he was talking about Steven, and you involuntarily let out a quiet laugh that immediately made you wince and rub at your right temple.

“Yeah well, apparently having a big, scary looking guy with murderous intent in his eyes threatening people on my behalf has done wonders for keeping creepy men away.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Frank’s mouth, but he was looking down at you in concern when he noticed the way you kept rubbing your head. He slipped his fingers into your hair to hold the right side of your head tenderly, and he gingerly brushed his calloused thumb over your right temple. Your breath hitched slightly at the contact, and you stared up into his eyes as his own inspected your face. The way he was touching you right now reminded you of the way he had comforted you after that night at the bar a few months ago, when he’d held you in his arms for the first time.

The only time.

You hadn’t been that close to him again until now…and you wanted him to feel that again.

“Headache?”

“I think Roger’s cologne gave me a migraine.”

A crease of confusion sprinkled with a hint of irritation settled between Frank’s dark brows as he stared down at you, and his large nose was wrinkled up slightly like he’d just smelt something foul.

“Who the fuck’s Roger?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he asked that, and the look on his face, which you instantly regretted when a shooting pain seemed to split right through your brain.

“The guy at the office. He also said to tell you, ‘sorry for hitting on your wife’. Oh, and I may or may not have told him that you had PTSD and that’s why you were being an asshole, so he also said, ‘thank you for your service’.”

Frank blinked at you in sheer incredulity a few times as he processed those words. After a moment, his face twisted up again in irritability, and he carefully dropped his large hands from where they were cradling face and the right side of your head. He walked over to open the passenger side of the door for you while shaking his head in annoyance and grumbling under his breath.

“Roger can kiss my ass. Fuckin’ shithead.”

The fact that Frank seemed genuinely offended only made you laugh harder, and you let out a quiet whine of pain as you rubbed at your temple.

“Frank…please don’t make me laugh right now. My head is killing me.”

“C’mon, get in the truck, sweetheart. I got somethin’ for your head.”

Frank gently took your hand and helped you up into the passenger seat of his truck, shutting the door as quietly as he could to not cause you any further discomfort. While he walked around the hood, you could see the annoyance still plastered on his face, and you heard him grumbling to himself under his breath.

“Roger’s goddamn lucky I don’t go back in there and kick his fuckin’ ass.”

After Frank handed you a few pain reliever pills from the first aid kit he kept in his truck along with a bottle of water, he went to put his truck into drive, but paused for a moment and turned his head to look over at you analytically.

“Where’d you get that name?”

“Huh?”

“Lorelai. You use that all the time? Or is it always a different one?”

“Oh, um…it…it was my mother’s name. It’s usually the alias I give. It just…it makes me feel closer to her in a way. Like she’s…still around.”

There was a look of understanding in Frank’s warm brown eyes. He didn’t need to ask anything else to comprehend the grief and the longing in your cadence. Without you having to speak another word, he could interpret the loss you’d experienced, and he simply nodded respectfully in response. It was refreshing to have someone not pry at details you weren’t ready to discuss for once, and to have someone that understood the complicated timeline that came with mourning.

It seemed as if tragedy was something that had plagued you and Frank both, and it was oddly poetic in a way how it seemed to connect you on a level you hadn’t experienced with anyone else before.

Wanting to switch the conversation to a lighter topic as Frank pulled out onto the empty two way street, you glanced over at him in curiosity when you noticed he was driving in the opposite direction of the motel.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace that ain’t got sheets made of sandpaper.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @twoshields @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @ferns-fics @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @yeah3459 @collaps3r @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @annalism @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

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#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle series #the bodyguard series #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher series

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buckets-and-trees · 3 months

Text

The Only Way of Knowing You [Nick Fowler x Reader]

Title: The Only Way of Knowing You Characters/Pairings: leshy!Nick Fowler x curvy female!Reader Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: When you visit a cabin, you're drawn more and more to the forest, the flora and fauna, and a handsome stranger you cross paths with in the woods.

Content Warnings: explicit smut - nipple play, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse, initial consent to questionable/dubious consent ending, kidnapping, intimidation, implied stalking and explicit stalking, human to monster transformation, monster fucking

Logistical Notes: Very belated, but this is my addition to the Enchanted Birthday Fest and my humble gift to all of you who come around and read what I write. Incorporating Mania (obsessive love - stalking) for @the-slumberparty's Eight Types of Love challenge. Thank you @goldylions and @sgt-seabass for blasting this with your beta energy. It certainly benefitted from your poking, prodding, and polishing.

Narrative Notes: There's a lot of leshy lore that's evolved over time since differing versions existed across Europe and you've got modern media takes. I took pieces that stuck out to me as I combed through. The most significant trait I adopted was that a leshy king could shape shift into human or animal and would adopt disguise to hide, adapt, or even lure people into the forest.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You gasped and stopped on the trail.

“A dog,” you whispered to no one but yourself, a grin splitting across your face.

The wilderness of the forest around you rose into a small, banked ridge on the left. You had only just heard the rustle of leaves that drew your attention over to that side to see the creature. You couldn’t tell the breed for sure – all dark fur, pointed ears, looking something between a husky and a wolf – but with him being so calm and willing to come this close to the path when he’d undoubtedly heard you walking, you assumed he couldn’t be too wild or feral. He had piercing blue eyes that locked with yours.

You were so tempted to try to call him over, but if he was wild, it was probably better not to, and if he belonged to someone, you didn’t want to lead him away from where he needed to go.

So, after another beat, you continued along your path.

After the four hour drive to your destination with some of the team from your office, as soon as you had unloaded and eaten lunch, you had been eager to get away to stretch your legs and to have some time away from everyone else, and you had some time before the rest of the team arrived for the work retreat your boss had put together. You had six days of training, strategizing, and team bonding ahead of you with a professional consultant and facilitator flown in who had built the agenda. There were breaks built throughout the day, and as you set off for this first walk, you imagined both the physical movement and the time away from the group would help keep you focused, energized, and from actually strangling your co-worker Rachel who regularly burst into song during casual conversation.

You saw the dog again as you took the same path the next day when your group took a mid-morning break. This time, he walked alongside your path, keeping his distance off to the side, but only kept pace with you for about five minutes before wandering off.

You were hopeful to see him when you headed out in the afternoon.

But instead of the dog, you encountered a man in almost the same area, approaching you on the path.

The man was dressed in sturdy hiking boots, dark jeans, a dark green flannel over a white shirt, and a tan jacket over that. He was tall, well-built, with short brown hair, and entirely too handsome a person to encounter in real life, especially with his devastatingly blue eyes – eyes that were the same color as the dog.

You groaned internally for comparing his eyes to the dog’s.

“Hello,” he said, nodding at you a few paces before you were about to pass each other.

“Hello,” you managed to return – it was mostly automatic, but the intensity of his gaze almost prevented you from the customary politeness of fellow trailwalkers.

After he passed, you shook your head. No need to be flustered by the momentary passing of a stranger.

You looked back over your shoulder, and then your heart thudded to discover that he was looking back at you, too. He smirked, turned, and kept along his way.

You shook your head at yourself and then kept on your way.

The walking path through the forest was narrow in parts, wider in others, and rambled on for a mile or so before it split, allowing its travelers to eventually circle clockwise or counter-clockwise around a still, blue body of water that was bigger than a pond but not quite large enough to be classified as a lake. The trees ran right down to the water in many areas, and the path, as it circled, sometimes came very close to its edges, and in other places only came within ten or fifteen meters of the shore.

On day three, you saw the man in the morning, and the dog in the afternoon.

The man, the same you saw before, came towards you after he'd done a circle around the lake. You reached the two forks before having to directly pass him, to which he waved and said hello, the same casual niceties.

In the afternoon, the dog approached you slowly but directly, and you knelt happily and held out your hand to encourage him to close the gap. He did, and after a quick sniff, let you pet him and scratch his ears.

“No collar?” you asked as you pet and admired his smooth, shiny coat.

After a minute, you stood and said, “You seem pretty familiar with this forest, well-fed, and so friendly. I don’t need to worry about you, do I?”

He circled you quickly, wagged his tail, and you laughed. “You want to join me for my walk this time?”

He trotted ahead a few steps, then looked back at you and waited.

You laughed. “I guess I’ll join you for this walk then.”

The two of you kept pace with each other all the way around the small lake, and then shortly after you got back to the main forest length, he trotted off the path into the forest again with only a small look back and a happy bark before bounding away.

That evening, because you had gone on so many walks, the rest of the group at the cabin decided to take an evening stroll around the lake. The planked wooden path made an adventure after dark doable enough. You didn’t see either of the strangers – dog or man – but there were a few times you had the keen sense you were being watched. In the dark it was impossible to tell, but the feeling came and went.

The next morning, you made your way down the deep forest path without encountering anyone and took the right fork to make your way around the lake.

At nearly the same place the dog had approached you the afternoon before, the man came striding your way from off the path.

“Hello,” he greeted as soon as he’d stepped out of the trees.

It was evident he intended to speak to you.

“Hello,” you said, trying to be friendly, but unsure how this would unfold, and a little nervous over engaging with the stranger.

Your heartbeat sped up the closer he got, but not because he was still a stranger, but because you were reminded he was altogether too handsome of a stranger. This was made even more obvious than your brief passings the previous two days, as now you could only stand still and watch as he approached you.

You remembered he was tall, but today he seemed taller. Those blue eyes had you rooted to the spot where you stood, and his face had a small but easy smile. You tried in vain to keep your heart from racing the closer he got.

“I’m Nick,” he offered, once he was close enough for conversation.

You gave your name in response.

“Nice to actually meet you,” he said as he stepped up onto the boardwalk. “You’re not from around here. Staying in one of the vacation cabins?” he guessed.

You nodded. “And you are from around here?” you surmised. “Do you live here? Work here? Both?”

“I suppose you could say both.” A calm but crips breeze swept through the trees around you, rustling through the leaves.

“Oh, are you the caretaker?”

“Guardian, caretaker, king of the forest,” he joked.

You laughed, and it was an easy laugh.

He echoed your laugh. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, of course, I do,” you said.

“If you let me join you, maybe I can prove my place here in the forest, share some of the history of the land, and some of my expert knowledge.” He raised his brow in a questioning look.

You were torn equally between hesitance and intrigue, but you were more unsure of how to decline, nor did you actually want to, so you nodded, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. He swept his arm to the side, gesturing at the path, and as you started walking, he fell right in step with you.

“So, what brought you to the forest?” he asked.

You explained how your boss had booked the large corporate retreat cabin for your team, planning many days of bonding and strategy conversations and leadership workshops with the consultant flown in from New York City.

As you walked together, he made good on his promise to tell you more about the forest and the lake. He pointed out some of the flora and fauna, showing his care and consideration for the wildlife and growth of the wilderness.

“It must be nice living out here.”

“You would like it.”

You looked over at him, finding he was already watching you, and then turned your head back to the path. “I think I might. Being out here the past few days has me contemplating quitting my job, selling off most of my stuff, and just finding a small cabin in the woods and writing or something.”

“You should.”His concentrated attention both unnerved you and put you at ease at the same time. It was a strange feeling. There was something within you that wanted more time with him like this, but it was silly to want. This was only your first conversation with him. You wouldn’t be spending day after day stumbling into walks with him any more than you would be abandoning your city life to embrace a secluded existence in a cabin in the forest.

But it might be nice, you thought.

“If only,” you finally sighed.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “When are you supposed to leave?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

He hummed in thought. “That seems like an awfully long cabin retreat for a team of colleagues.”

You laughed. “It certainly is. My boss has too much money and got very excited. It’s mostly a good office of people, and there are about ten of us here, but I definitely like my time away from the group – we’ve been encouraged to spend our breaks however we need.”

“And you took to your walks in the woods.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed and smiled softly. “Oh, actually, do you know about the black dog running around out here? I’ve seen him every other day, but not yet today.”

“He caught your heart, didn’t he?”

You grinned and nodded. “Does he have owners out here, or is he wild? He doesn’t have a collar.”

“No owners.”

“Not unlike you?”

“Oh, have I caught your heart, too?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you tried not to let your pace falter. “I–”

He gave a chuckle, but he also let his fingers brush against yours as you continued to walk side by side. “Don’t worry, if I didn’t want to see you, I would know how to go unnoticed by you in this forest.”

“Oh.” It was a small response, especially compared to the burst of warmth that bloomed in your heart, but you weren’t quite sure how to respond. You were flattered with the flirting and his insinuation that he did want to see you. A whisper in the back of your mind wondered how many years he must have walked these woods to know its secrets and be so confident that he could wander it undetected, but he gestured for you to listen to the faint call of a pair of birds nearby. He identified them as veery thrushes, and then you were carried along into learning about them and some of the other animals that inhabited this area of the forest during the rest of your short morning walk.

Nick came across you walking again in the afternoon. He told you more about the forest and its history, but more and more he started to ask more questions about you.

You liked that he asked about you.

It seemed impossible that this unbelievably tall (was he even taller than he was before? Surely he wasn’t), dark, handsome man was so keen on your company, but you couldn’t help but take to him, and to the warmth of the attention he shined on you like the sun that filtered through the leaves of the trees to bathe the rest of the flora in the forest.

It may have been silly to dream about him that night when you went to sleep, but you had no real control over that, and although this whole excursion was for work, a small, inconsequential crush on someone you would never see again when you went home was fine.

The next morning, you didn’t run into him during your walk, but you were happy to run into your furry companion again, and he stayed right at your side while you took the loop around the lake. You were only a little sad there was no sign of Nick, but even though he clearly spent a lot of time there, you couldn’t expect him to always be in the woods.

So, when you were just starting along the path for your walk and hear footsteps coming up behind you, you eagerly looked over your shoulder, only to see two men walking some twenty to thirty yards behind you. You sighed and kept walking. You hadn’t seen a great deal of people on the trail over the past few days, but these weren’t the first strangers, as it was an area with enough scattered cabins throughout the forest to merit the establishment of the sturdy planked path in the first place.

But as you continued on, the men seemed to keep pace with you, speeding up when you did, and slowing down and maintaining some of the distance when you tested it, and that made you nervous. You would feel better even just to see the wild dog so you could call him to you. You were sure he would deter the men. But there was no sign of him either.

As you approached the fork that created the lake loop for the path, you didn’t know which to hope for – that they would take the other path and you would have to potentially pass them, or take the same one as you and you could hope that they would keep their distance.

They went the same way as you.

And they started to close the distance.

You thought you were imagining it at first, but when you increased your pace, theirs quickened even more, and there was no more of the hum of talking between them.

You didn’t want to panic and run. They both had a height advantage with longer legs, and if you could simply continue to walk more quickly, you could at least stave off the need to run until there was no more choice – because you were sure the second you ran, they would follow suit, and you didn’t know how long you’d last.

Especially now that your heart was already racing.

“Hey sweet thing,” one of them called out.

You focused on keeping your quick pace and didn’t look back.

“Nice day for a walk,” the same gruff voice added.

Still you refused to engage. You expected this now and then in the city, but it wasn’t supposed to happen out here. You didn’t have a phone to suddenly get on and call someone or keys in your pocket to thread through your fingers for makeshift protection.

“Nice day for more than a walk, don’t you think?” the second man chimed in.

“Yeah, maybe a little afternoon delight.”

Your skin crawled.

“A little fucking,” the second one jeered.

Maybe you did need to run.

And then suddenly at a bend in the path, you turned and there he was.

Nick.

Your heart leapt in relief, and you rushed to him.

He had to have instantly seen the panic in your eyes as his own blue eyes changed immediately into a dark storm, and he looked beyond you as he quickly strode forward to meet you. He saw the men immediately as they, too, turned around the bend, and you heard their footsteps slow immediately.

Nick pulled you into his side, wrapping a protective arm around you.

“Afternoon,” one of the men said, both of them nodding, trying to pass off casual greetings as if they hadn’t been closing in on you, making their intentions clear.

“Turn around, pack up, and leave this forest,” Nick said, voice flat and threatening.

“Hey! Look, man,” the other started, but Nick cut him off.

“Turn around, pack up,” he repeated, enunciating each word with more fury, “never come back.”

They stopped walking, putting them only ten yards away.

“Now,” Nick growled.

A ripple of fear shot through you at his tone, and it wasn’t directed at you. There was a sudden groaning and crashing of trees in the distance that only added to the tension of the moment, and then the two men turned around and retreated.

“I know where you’re staying. Don’t make the mistake of thinking my directions are idle or that I won’t check to make sure you’re gone,” he spoke loudly enough for them to hear as they got further away.

With them no longer in sight, Nick turned his full attention to you, taking both your hands in his. “You alright?”

You took a deep breath in then let it out to release the tension from the fear-driven adrenaline and nodded.

He murmured your name, pressing in concern, ducking slightly to gaze directly into your eyes.

You smiled softly at his worry, the seeds that bloomed earlier in your heart coming to life and blooming a bit more. “I’m fine now,” you reassured him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Really,” you promised. “Not the first intimidating creeps I’ve ever encountered.”

“Okay.” His face relaxed, but only a fraction, and you had the impression it was only to help ease your tension. “If you’re sure.”

You nodded.

He dropped your hands, and you reminded yourself not to let your face drop as he did.

“Sorry I didn’t meet up with you earlier, I-“

You cut him off, “I wasn’t expecting you to meet up with me, and I don’t always get to steal away for these walks at the same time.”

He nodded. “I know. But I want to show you why time got away from me.”

“Okay.”

His face split into a bright smile. “Follow me,” he said, turning around and trekking into the trees.

You trailed behind him as the ground gently sloped toward the lake. The trees and underbrush were abundant yet thin enough to allow the two of you to pass through. The wooden path varied in how close it was to the lake as it wound around, and here it was less than a minute before you could see the water’s edge. Nick abruptly stopped and put his arm out for you to also stop.

Since he’d been walking so quickly, you did bump right up against his arm with a small mumbled, “sorry,” and he turned his head to smile. Then he turned to look ahead and pointed to a cluster of rocks right at the shoreline.

You squinted to study them, and then you gasped when two little furry heads popped up over the top of the rocks.

“Otters!” you whispered.

“Yes,” Nick confirmed. “Freshwater river otters. I think we’ve got a clan of at least four that have only appeared today in the lake. Probably migrated down the river from the lake further up. They’ve been getting a bigger tourist draw up there, and I imagine they don’t want to be constantly disturbed by humans encroaching on their habitat.”

He took slow, measured, unassuming steps closer, and you tentatively followed. The two otters both perched up higher on the rocks, giving tiny yelps.

Nick motioned for you to kneel as he did. He held out his hand toward the pair of mammals.

“They’re a curious and friendly species,” he said, and even as he said the words, the two darted up and over the rocks, coming closer by a few feet before pausing. The slightly larger one gave a little trill and took a couple more hops forward. Its companion sauntered right up next to it, but then took a few more steps forward, bopped its nose against Nick’s hand, huffed and turned away, darting right down the bank and into the water, gliding smoothly away. The other came forward, gave Nick’s outstretched hand a little more of a sniff, then turned its head to you, and edged your way. You quickly but carefully stretched your hand out, received a couple of sniffs, and then this otter also snorted and trotted away and into the water, trilling as it slipped into the clear water.

“No fish, no interest,” Nick said, and the two of you laughed.

He moved to sit on the ground, and you sat next to him. The pair of otters re-emerged, swam up to shore, and dove back in and out of the water frequently as the two of you watched and talked.

You only stayed there for a short space of time, and then Nick seemed to sense without you needing to prompt him that it was time to get back to your walk. He stood and gave you a hand up. He held onto your fingers for just an extra moment, looking at your hands together, before letting go and brushing himself off. You did the same, and then fell into step with him, heading back to the path.

Easy conversation, just like the day before, continued to flow between you. He appeared to have endless questions about you, and again his rapt attention was its own warm, addictive rush, and that thing in your heart continued to grow, vines starting to sneak out of your heart and around your chest.

Suddenly he stopped, and you stopped another step ahead and turned to look back at him. “What is it?”

“We’re at the spot that leads up to the cabin your group is staying in,” he answered, a broad smirk on his face.

“Oh,” your cheeks heated, and you ducked your head to laugh. “Oops.”

You didn’t want your last walk with him to suddenly be over.

“You’re quite taken with all of this, aren’t you? The forest calls to you.”

You let out a wistful sigh and looked back up at him. Damn those impossibly deep blue eyes. You were overcome with a terrible ache that radiated from the base of your throat and the top of your chest, and you desperately tried to tamp down the thick emotion.

“But I have to go home tomorrow.”

“Come walk with me tonight.”

You bit your lip.

“Come on,” he urged you. “It’s your last night, and it’s a full moon. You have to see the forest bathed in the full moon's light. Come with me.”

“Yes,” you heard the word tumble out of your mouth, unable to deny him.

His eyes darkened and sparkled. “I promise you’ll see things you’ve never seen before.”

Though Nick wasn’t far from your thoughts, you focused well enough on your last evening with the group, engaging in dinner and the evening’s bonding activities. Wine and mocktails were poured for a final night looking up at the stars around a fire in the firepit on the balcony, and you made sure to enjoy that time, too. You had liked some of your coworkers before the retreat, but now you had a better understanding and appreciation for all of them.

However, once it got closer to ten, you anxiously started taking stock of the minutes passing away further into the night. Two of your group said goodnight at ten, but that was too early. You determined you would do well to stay with the balcony group until at least half-ten so you didn’t get too anxious about seeing Nick later.

At ten-thirty, a few more peeled off from the group, and so you retired to your room so that your timely departure didn’t seem unnatural to anyone.

You showered and messed with your hair for a bit but didn’t bother with makeup since it was after dark. You put on your favorite pair of joggers, a crewneck, and good walking shoes. You certainly hadn’t anticipated taking to the forest with so many walks each day, it wasn’t anything like how you were at home – busy with work and taking care of your life in the city – but it had been so natural to take to the outdoors while you were here. This final walk before your party went home in the morning wasn’t going to be like any of the others. You tried not to feel foolish for indulging in a walk at midnight with the hulking man with the most captivating blue eyes you’d ever seen who could easily take your breath away and whisk you off your feet.

But you had said yes because when else would you ever do something like this?

The answer was never.

And there was no harm in taking a handsome man up on his offer for a midnight stroll in the moonlight.

You put on the watch your grandmother had given you and the simple necklace you typically wore. They weren’t much, and you told yourself you didn’t need to dress up anyway, but they were small touches all the same.

Looking briefly in the mirror, you smoothed your hand down over the front of your shirt and took a deep breath. It’s fine, you thought. He’s seen you plenty before now, and it’s going to be dark, and it’s only a walk anyway. You checked your watch, and it was just a few minutes before eleven-thirty, which is when Nick had said to meet him.

You slipped quietly out of your room, down the stairs, and out the back door. The full moon was bright out here so far away from any city lights, illuminating the familiar path from the cabin that would take you down to the main boardwalk trail.

So many times Nick had simply appeared in the forest, but he was waiting for you right at the end of the path. Your heart raced just a little as his lips turned up in a smile.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“You came.”

He studied your face intently. You were unsure what he was looking for and simply focused on returning your gaze as unassuming as possible, telling your heart to settle and stop beating so fast. Yes, he made you feel things, but one of those things over the past few days had also been a sense of calm and safety in his presence, and you concentrated on that.

After another moment, finally, you responded with a simple, “I said I would.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Then let’s go.”

You fell easily into step with him, the trail so familiar now, though it had been less than a week, and knowing this ramble down to the lake and back, your chest started to feel thick in anticipation of missing it already. As you walked and talked, you thought you were keeping pace with Nick, but maybe you were more tired than you thought because it seemed like you were working to stay in stride with him as you hadn’t had to before. Either that or his legs were longer than before, but that – of course – was an impossible thought.

You shook your head.

Nick paused and turned. “What are you shaking your head at?” he asked. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” His tone was soft and teasing.

“Sorry, I got distracted, and my imagination got a little carried away with impossibilities.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Maybe more is possible in this forest than you might think.” His eyes danced with a hint of mystery.

“Is that so?” You played into his mischief.

He leaned closer. “This is an old forest, and it’s a full moon. Anything could happen on a night like tonight.”

Your body seemed drawn into him, leaning closer as well. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he whispered, and his eyes flicked down to your lips.

The moment hung between you. You tilted your head up, and your eyes fluttered closed. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

And then he tugged on your hand, yanking you out of the moment. “Come on, pretty girl, we’re almost there.”

You sighed, letting out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

But with how tightly his hand held yours as he led you off the boardwalk and into the trees, you didn’t feel too disappointed.

He was quiet now, but he also kept you close as he led you through this part of the forest. The trees were more thickly woven together here, with girthier trunks, and you couldn’t help but feel how they were older the further you wandered in. There was no trace of a path now, but Nick kept a confident pace, clearly knowing each inch of the forest intimately, and his surety allowed you to let yourself be swept away further and further along.

His steps were swift but nearly silent, and you tried to walk as quietly as possible. The sounds of the forest at night were soft but present – soft wind whistling through the trees, the song of nocturnal birds, and the chirping of crickets. The light filtering through the branches was minimal, and it had to be tricking you because you knew he was tall, but it felt like he was somehow taller tonight. It had to be the nature of how you were keeping so close just behind him, focused on the square of his shoulder and the gentle pull of his arm leading you.

He wasn’t taller now than he was earlier today, was he?

“Just up ahead,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at you, one of the easy smiles that made your heart sigh painted on his face.

His pace quickened, and your anticipation built as you hurried to keep up.

Seconds before the tree line broke, you heard the rippling sounds of water before emerging into a glade. Nick stopped a few steps into the clearing, and you came to stand right next to him. The first thing to draw your eye was a stream running into a small pool. The meadow on the side of the stream where you stood sloped gently down to the water, and it was covered in blankets of wood anemone, reaching right down to the bank and springing up and sprawling away again on the other side. The trees surrounding the glade were certainly some of the tallest you’d seen in the forest, and they rose as giant sentinels toward the inky black sky, which was studded with stars around the bright full moon.

As you looked up and around, the coupling of the simplicity and the majesty of it all had you enraptured, and you let out a soft sigh of contentment.

Nick brought your hand up to his face, pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart stuttered in your chest. You turned to look at him. His eyes almost appeared to glow an even brighter blue.

“I said it earlier, but this forest calls to you, doesn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

You did.

He dropped your hand, and you let it fall to your side.

“Take a deep breath,” he whispered.

You inhaled slowly, letting the breath fill your belly and lungs, fresh, clean, and calm. You tipped your head back, your face craving the moonlight in that moment.

Although you didn’t hear him move, suddenly you felt the warmth of Nick standing behind you. “Now, listen and feel,” he murmured softly in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You shivered but remained rooted to the spot. His fingers brushed along the backs of your hands and began to trail slowly up your arms. Your whole body was humming at his touch.

He pressed one soft kiss to your neck, and you sighed and let your neck fall to the side. When his hands landed on your shoulders, he pressed another soft kiss at the bottom of your neck, then turned you to face him.

“You should stay with me.”

Before you could respond, he took your head in both his hands, cradling your jaw. He searched your eyes for any hesitancy, but you knew you couldn’t summon any, nor did you want to. Instead, you pushed up on your toes, seeking his lips, and he met you halfway, claiming your lips with his.

Your hands came up to clutch at his wrists as he held your face, and you leaned in, longing to feel your body close to his. His tongue teased at the seam of your mouth, and you let him in, allowing the kiss to deepen, to sear into your very soul. His left hand moved, quickly coming to press at the small of your back, drawing you flush against him. One of your arms wound around his broad chest, and the other came up to mirror how he was cupping your cheek, feeling the trace of stubble along his jaw with your fingers. You stroked his tongue with yours, moaning into the kiss, and he reciprocated stroke for stroke. You quickly became so consumed by his kiss, feeling lightheaded but not sure if it was him or a lack of air, because you couldn’t tell if you were still breathing. It was a fevered kiss driven by something you’d never felt so strongly before, and you needed more.

Nick sank to his knees, and you went naturally down with him. He sat back on his heels, and you followed, perching in his lap. He held you there, your core over his groin, for a delicious moment, and then suddenly he lifted you up and laid you softly but swiftly onto the soft flowery bed of the meadow, his lips never leaving yours. You gasped and giggled against his mouth.

“What a lovely sound,” he said tenderly. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a satisfied grin on his face.

Whether it was smug or sweet, you weren’t sure, and you felt your cheeks growing warm under his hungry gaze and his soft praise.

“I wonder what other lovely sounds I can draw from you,” he added as both of his hands moved to your hips. He began kissing you again, having only given you a moment of reprieve, then his hands slid slowly up your waist, skimming up over your ribs, pushing up the fabric of your sweatshirt. When his thumbs brushed up against the underswell of your breasts, he pressed back and forth a few times, teasing you, drawing a little whimper, before he let his thumbs run up and over your nipples. They were both peaked, and you shivered in pleasure, the teasing through the fabric of your bra its own unique sensation, but you were eager for more, so you moved your hands to begin quickly unbuttoning his flannel. He took the hint, helping you by shrugging off his jacket, and when he leaned up for a moment to pull off his flannel and remove the t-shirt he had on beneath it, so you shifted beneath him to pull off your sweatshirt and reach for the clasp of your bra, tossing that to the side as well.

You hadn’t hesitated to rid yourself of your clothes, but you were hit with the rush of baring your chest to him now as – with his own clothing discarded – he froze and looked down at you from above. You flushed with heat, but as you moved one hand to tentatively cover yourself, he grabbed it in his, drew it up to his mouth, and kissed your palm.

You were aware of every imperfection as his eyes roved over your body, but when he looked into your eyes and said, “gorgeous,” his face was so serious, so hungry, you didn’t question that he meant it.

He lowered himself back down over you, supporting himself by planting one forearm on the ground next to your side, and this time his lips sought your chest. He kissed down your sternum, then took one breast in his mouth, and palmed the other with his free hand. You moaned as he sucked one nipple and rolled and teased the other with his fingers. You arched beneath him, your body responsive to his diligent ministrations. He switched to the other breast, flicking his tongue over the nipple before lapping and sucking at it. You hadn’t cum before from nipple play alone, but he had you wondering if you might as the pleasure mounted.

You trembled and whimpered beneath him, and as you began to writhe more desperately, he took his mouth off your breast with an audible pop. He moved back up your body, and his hand cupped your face again, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek, urging you to open your eyes and look at him.

“Tell me you never thought about it, about staying here with me after I left you earlier today,” he said.

You were already breathless, or else the powerful drive in his deep blue eyes would have stolen your breath once again.

“You must let me have you,” he implored.

You couldn’t answer, but only because you were overcome by the desire in his eyes. For you.

Your name fell from his lips, and his voice was soft, deep, and controlled, but you could still feel the edge of the desperate plea as he uttered your name.

“Yes,” you keened, and you rocked your hips up against his.

“Say the words,” he said. “Say my name and tell me I can have you.”

He slipped his hand down, hooked two fingers into your waistband, and pulled teasingly along the edge from your hip to just below your navel. The torturous movement along your soft skin only drove the hunger that was building for more.

He had to know how he was mounting and playing with the anticipation. But if he needed you to say it, you’d say anything to get what you wanted right now under the light of the full moon from this inimitable figure of a man, nearly unreal in his beauty.

“Nick, you can have me!” You cried.

He wasted no time in pulling your trousers and underwear down in one go. You tried to kick off your shoes, but slightly struggling to do so, his hands helped remove your shoes and socks more deftly, and he was able to more easily toss it all away. And as your legs settled back down on either side of him as he knelt above you, you realized he was suddenly somehow as naked as you – though you didn’t know how he managed that so quickly, so quickly it felt like magic. Everything about tonight felt illusory, and yet it was all tangible and indisputable, and you gave yourself over to it. When else would you ever find yourself in such an enchanted set of circumstances like this ever again?

So what if it felt like a dream?

You took a deep breath and let your fingers tangle in the grass and the stems of the wood anemone. Your eyes traveled up his thighs to a cock so thick and long and hard for you, then up further, over his hips, defined abs, chiseled chest, and broad shoulders, and you whined. Every inch of him ignited heat through your body, and when your eyes met his again, your pulse stuttered.

You could dream like this for one night.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Nick settled back on his haunches and pulled your thighs up over his, drawing you up over him, angling your lower half up as an offering, and his piercing cerulean gaze moved to your core, fully on display. His fingers brushed over your lower stomach, the touch so light it tickled, and you jerked, but his other hand held your hip firmly in place. His fingers parted your folds without hesitation, and he licked his lips.

“Such a pretty, wet cunt, my little nymph,” he said, and you felt both shy being so exposed to him, and desperate for him.

“Nymph?” you couldn’t help but question, surprised by the pet name.

“Mhmm,” Nick hummed. He traced your wet folds with one finger, in no rush. “You belong to this forest.” He spread your wetness along those lips with the attention of an artist to his canvas. Then he slipped two fingers inside your cunt.

You gasped, and your eyes fluttered closed.

He pushed them all the way in, then gave a few slow, shallow thrusts in and out.

You never wanted to wake up from this, but you needed more.

“Nick, please!”

He withdrew his fingers and then pressed them to your lips. “Taste your sweet nectar, nymph.”

The digits easily slipped into your mouth, and the urge to suck was a near primal reaction. He applied gentle pressure on your tongue as you sucked, and it only drove the craving in your core further. You were entirely lucid, and yet you felt thoroughly intoxicated by him, by everything around you.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and you did.

You swore he could see into your soul when he looked at you so intensely, but rather than fear, it soothed your nerves. It also more deeply stoked your desire for him, and as much as you wanted to linger in this moment, there was an undeniable pull you couldn’t ignore.

“Kiss me,” you breathed.

He shifted to lean down over you, remaining rooted between your thighs but shifting forward so you were nearly chest to chest. He bore his weight on his forearms, caging you in. As he settled, lips only a breath away from you, you felt the weight of his large, thick cock rest on your stomach. You lifted your head to pull him into the kiss you wanted. You ached for him to fill you up, but you also wanted to give everything just to this kiss for a few beats longer.

It was like he was drinking you in. One of your arms came up around his back, the other brushed up along the side of his arm, seeking and ultimately finding his hand, and your fingers instinctively entwined together.

He moved his other hand down briefly to guide the head of his cock to your weeping hole, and you gave a little moan into his mouth as his head entered you.

As he seated his cock fully inside of you, the tip nudging your cervix, you had to break off your kiss to concentrate on breathing. Nick dropped his forehead to yours, seemingly unable to refuse some form of intimate closeness as he rocked into you again. “You can feel it,” he spoke, the warmth of his breath still close to your mouth.

“Yes,” you panted. Your legs wrapped around his torso. He resumed thrusting, slow, deep thrusts.

“I can feel it, too,” he murmured along your jaw. “You’re answering the call of the forest.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, hardly focused on what he was saying, but the deep warmth of his voice made the words swell through your mind.

He continued his unhurried thrusts, almost methodical in nature, and after a few more minutes, his cock began to swell inside you. And it continued to grow.

You moaned – or groaned – you couldn’t decipher if what you were feeling was real and whether it was painful or pure ecstasy. Your hand clasped his more tightly, and his answering squeeze was accompanied by tendrils of vines sprouting and circling around your hand and down around your wrist.

“What?” Your eyes flew open, and then you gasped. “Nick!”

He was transforming before your eyes. His face remained familiar, but a crown of horns appeared around his head, and emerald moss and glossy leaves intermingled and sprouted throughout his dark hair. Two enormous, magnificent antlers had emerged from his temple and were still slowly growing, just as he was still slowly growing inside you as he continued his steady thrusts. His shoulders broadened, and you knew he was growing in stature.

You trembled beneath him, tears springing to your eyes, in danger of spilling over.

“I told you, my little nymph: I’m the king and guardian of this forest – it speaks to me like it wants to speak to you. You’re answering the call, and I can’t,” he paused to groan, and with a shiver, you felt the ridge of his spine shift from skin to a supple tree bark. “It’s midnight, and with you giving yourself to me and the forest, I can’t hold back my true form.”

He began to thrust more quickly in and out of your cunt, a few of the strokes a little erratic. You whimpered, overwhelmed, and a few tears spilled over your cheeks.

“No, none of that,” he scolded, but kissed away the tears. “You didn’t want to leave, and now you don’t have to, nor can you.”

His free hand moved between you and found your pulsing, puffy clit, applying immediate, furious little circles that refused to let you feel anything but pleasure in response to his ministrations. His lips reclaimed yours once again, and as your body continued to tremble, his thrusts sped up even more, your channel never more full, making the mounting wave of pain and pleasure so exquisite as the waves grew that you let out a sob as your orgasm crashed over you.

Unrelenting, as your cunt contracted around him, Nick more demandingly sought his own release. He moved both hands to grip your ribs below your wrists and railed into you with abandon, punching the air from your lungs over and over, and ultimately pushing you into a rushed second orgasm only seconds before he roared his own ecstasy, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep loads of his seed inside of you, a warmth you could feel permeating you.

And then Nick petted your face, showering kisses softly over your lips, cheeks, and eyelids before ultimately resting his forehead on yours, and gently caressing your neck.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you, for this, and now you're mine forever.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed this at all, read the other two fics from the Enchanted Birthday Fest! They're both exquisite!

#nick fowler #sebastian stan #nick fowler smut #teratophillia #terato #female reader #nick fowler x female reader #tw: dubcon #sebastian stan smut #aspen wrote something #aspensenchantedbday

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