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captainfern · 5 months

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141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Three - Good Girl •

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

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You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - after hearing the kind of treatment you're giving his teammates, the number 8 thinks it's only fair for him to receive the same treatment too lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 7.5k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], oral fixation type beat, oral [m!receiving], dry (wet?) humping, thigh-riding, discussion of m!masturbation, degradation, light dumbification, praise, dacryphilia?? idk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, discussion of foursome/sharing, simon's a little possessive tho, and simon's obsessed with you tbh, and he talks about his dick a lot lol, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Ghost is a number 8, or eighthman – supports the back line, carries the ball well and tackles strongly. this position tends to be the perfect mix of strong and agile.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part two | part four ->

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"How was dinner?" Simon asked that evening, entering his and Johnny's shared flat, kicking off his shoes near the door.

It was late, nearing midnight, when Simon returned home. He, Price and Gaz had trained for several hours, and then went out to dinner. Simon returned home expecting for Johnny to be occupied, and so he entered tentatively, but he found the Scot sitting on the couch watching some shitty reality TV programme.

"It was nice," Johnny said flippantly. "Yeah... real nice."

Simon raised his eyebrows, coming to perch himself on the couch– the couch that, unbeknownst to him, you had made a mess on just a few hours prior. Simon looked over at Johnny, who ignored the blond and continued watching TV. Slightly annoyed, Simon snatched the remote and shut the TV off, much to Johnny's dismay.

"Hey!" Johnny frowned.

"Tell me about your date." Simon said, and Johnny sat up, leaning back against the plush armchair.

"It wasn't a date," Johnny rolled his eyes. "And I told you, it was nice. She's really nice company, you know."

Simon hummed, intrigued. "I bet..." Then, he waited for Johnny to continue, but he didn't. Simon cocked his head to the side, and Johnny mimicked the movement, a grin on his face. Simon rolled his eyes. "You already know what I'm about to say."

Johnny laughed. "No, we didn't fuck."

"How come?"

Johnny shrugged. "Just the way it went. Dinner was nice, and we talked for fuckin' hours. I could listen to the lass talk forever," he smiled, then continued. "By the time we stopped talking, it was too late, and she had to head home."

Simon narrowed his eyes at his friend, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arm atop the top of the backrest. He drummed his fingers against the fabric. "S'that all you did? Talk and ate?"

Johnny smiled. Simon knew that fucking smile.

Simon raised his eyebrows, imploring Johnny to tell him everything. Johnny cocked his head to the side again, wanting Simon to ask about it.

"Fuck sake," Simon shook his head. "Fine... what did you do?"

"'M glad you asked," Johnny split into a cheeky grin. "Since you really want to know–"

"Really is a bit of an exaggeration–"

"She played with herself while I watched. Right there on that fuckin' couch, Simon." Johnny nodded at the couch, and Simon instinctively looked down at the fabric. Johnny smiled. "Right where you're sitting, actually."

Simon made no effort to move. He looked back up at his friend. "You told her how to touch herself, Johnny?"

"Mhm," Johnny said proudly. "While I fucked my fist, too. Came so fuckin' hard I almost burnt my fuckin' roast."

Simon laughed through his nose. "I don't think the force of your orgasm is what made you almost burn your roast. It more likely had something to do with your distraction."

"It was a bloody good distraction, Ghost," Johnny said around a smile. "You... you need to try her, sometime."

Simon felt his eyebrows pinch together in a subtle frown. "Don't talk about her like that. She's not a toy."

Johnny looked offended. "No, no, didn't mean it like that. I just mean, you know, if you wanted too, she'd... she'd probably let you."

"Let me what?"

"Let you..." Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Let you fuck her."

"Wow, real mature, Johnny," Simon quipped, leaning back into the sofa, adjusting his sitting position with a shift of his hips. "What makes you think I want her like that?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "I'm not fuckin' blind, Ghost. You fancy her, as do half the fuckin' team, eh? And besides, who wouldn't like her like that. She's perfect."

"Perfect?" Simon mumbled out, looking around the living room.

If he put his head at a certain angle, in a certain direction, he could smell you– the sweetness of your perfume, the fragrance of your shampoo. It managed to linger in the air over top of the smell of roast, and the vague tang of citrus cleaning products.

In the armchair, Johnny shrugged again, eyes wandering. "Well, you know, I could put in a good word for you if you wanted me to."

Simon shot daggers at Johnny, then got to his feet, stretching out his back. His knuckles cracked when he flexed his fingers, a throbbing pain appearing at the base of his fingers. Johnny noticed the way Simon's face contorted into a pained grimace.

"Oh, so the appointment's real?"

"What?" Simon frowned.

"You're really going to see her 'cause you're hurt? I thought you'd made it up." Johnny said, and Simon huffed, annoyed, tossing his Scottish friend an unimpressed look.

"Yes, I'm hurt, you fuckwit," Simon muttered, holding his right hand to his chest. Then, defiantly, he turned back to his friend. "You know what?"

"What?" Johnny was grinning now.

Simon wished he could wipe that cheeky grin off of his friend's face. But he knew he couldn't. Not when his next words made the smile grow tenfold.

"I am going to try her an' see how perfect she really is."

•º•º•

Simon didn't want to come onto you to strong– pun definitely not intended. Not yet, anyway.

He didn't want to crowd you, or stress you out. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or make you feel as though he was taking advantage of you. He didn't want that. He admitted telling Johnny he wanted to try you was a fucking prick thing to say, but he didn't know how else to phrase it. Because, well, it was true. He did want to try you. Just like Johnny and Gaz did. The lucky bastards.

His interest piqued when he got a good look at you on the sidelines of one of their first matches. Of course, he saw you on your first day, and around the grounds several days after that, but he really got a good look at you when you were taping up Gaz's wrist all those weeks ago.

Simon was benched, and sitting at the very opposite end to you. He did find himself glancing over in your direction every so often, just to see what the fuss was about. Many of the lads had taken interest in you, but you seemed oblivious– or possibly just immune– to their charm. But, Simon did notice that Gaz's charm seemed to be working.

So Simon took note.

He noted the way Gaz was genuinely nice to you, polite and well-mannered. He didn't flirt with you heavily, not like how the other players described their flirting tactics. Gaz was feather-light with his advances, and he never forced you close to him. He simply allowed you to gravitate towards him.

And so that's how Simon knew he wanted to play it. He had always been a strategist– being a number 8, that line of thinking was critical. He read the play well, picked up on body-language and non-verbal cues– that was his job, basically. So he took note on how Gaz approached you, how he spoke to you, how he spoke about you to the others. The winger was polite, respectful and, above all, successful.

He had told Simon, Johnny and Price all about his little encounter with the team's physio while at the gym a couple of weeks before Johnny decided to give it a go. He explained how he did it, why he wanted to do it– and then proceeded to gush about how much he enjoyed it, how much he enjoyed you.

You, you, you.

That's what triggered Simon's interest in you.

Of course, like he said before, he picked up on a few things while you taped Gaz's wrist that day. You were so gentle with him, smiling and joking, and you did your job so well.

But when Gaz couldn't shut his mouth at the gym that night, and now how Johnny wouldn't stop fucking smiling about you– god, Simon really, really wanted you now.

And usually, when Simon wants something, he get's it. He got the number 8 position in the team. He got player of the year last year. He'll get the team's physiotherapist, too. If Johnny could do it, surely it wouldn't be too hard.

But Simon purposely made it harder for himself to ensure that everything seemed easier on you.

The first appointment he had with you, where you took his hand so gently into yours, running your fingers over his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, he willed himself not to get hard. Willed himself not to pop a fucking boner in his boxers at your touch, at the way your pretty eyes stared up at him, and the way you had that welcoming, warm smile.

That appointment, he made sure he didn't flirt with you. Not one little bit. He kept conversation casual, platonic. The small talk was polite and, dare he say it, mundane. It was his own fault, but he had to stick with it. He asked you about your day, about future appointments. He asked you about why you took the job, and how you were liking it so far. He didn't push it.

But, after booking the next appointment, he headed for the door, looking over his shoulder to give you the simplest of smiles. He then uttered, "Have a nice day, love."

Success. He watched you fidget on the spot at his words. Then he left.

He'd jerk off to your expression in the shower when he got home. But first, he needed to go to the fucking gym.

The next appointment, about a week after the first, Simon knew it was time to start wiggling his way into your mind. Get you thinking about him. He knew you were still thinking about Soap and Gaz– and probably still paying them visits, too– so Simon knew that putting thoughts of him into your head wouldn't be too hard.

So he planted little seeds. Polite, of course, without pressing into any boundary that he knew would make uncomfortable.

But he placed lingering touches– brushing his fingers against yours when you handed him something, or craning his head just a bit closer to yours when he looked over your shoulder as you showed him something on your computer. He wore more cologne so it'd linger in your office. He said hello to you in the hallway before anyone else could. He made sure to do his warm-up stretches in the middle of the playing field where he knew you'd have a good view from your office.

Strategic. Like all number 8's should be.

And he wasn't the best number 8 in the entire UK for fucking nothing.

He noticed it start to work that very same week. The following days after his second appointment, leading up to his third. Days he noticed your eyes light up when he waved to you in the hall; days you smiled from your window while you watched him warm-up; days where you got flustered when he winked at you while you were talking to Johnny.

Johnny noticed it too.

That happened just a few hours before his third appointment– an appointment he scheduled a bit earlier in the week than usual, only a few days after his second. He was so close.

Johnny teased him. "You're on the fuckin' prowl, Ghost."

"Don't say it like that, Johnny, what the fuck," Simon growled. The pair were walking from their flat towards their home stadium. Simon shook his head. "She's a human being."

"She sure is," Johnny said wistfully, as though remembering something he was fond of. Simon guessed he was, something fond of you, so he elbowed the Scot in the ribs as they crossed the road. Johnny laughed. "Alright, that's enough, I get it."

Simon grumbled under his breath as the two friends made their way towards the stadium along the roadside. As cars drove past, he heard the voice of a kid yell, "Ghost! Soap!" which made Simon smile.

After a moment of walking in silence, Johnny cleared his throat. Simon looked at him in annoyance.

Johnny pouted at Simon's expression. "What're you mad for? I haven't said anything yet!"

"You don't need to," Simon said. "I know whatever you're about to say is gonna be stupid."

"Is not."

"Is too."

Johnny grumbled. "You're no fun."

Simon looked at Johnny, then over to the looming stadium, then back to Johnny again. He sighed, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie as he walked.

"Fine," he said. "What is it?"

Johnny smiled. "Have you got a plan?"

"A plan...?"

"Yeah to, you know, woo the lass."

"Woo the lass," Simon echoed with a mouthful of disinterest. "You're a fuckwit."

"Hey, I'm just asking!" Johnny held up his hands in mock-surrender. When he put them back down, he wiggled his eyebrows at Simon. "...So?"

Simon rolled his eyes.

Johnny smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."

Simon sighed through his nose. Johnny was right, but he didn't want to admit that. Simon'd rather hurt his other hand than admit it, because the look on Johnny's face already– and Simon hadn't even admitted anything– was enough. Enough for Simon to shoulder Johnny and force him off the pavement.

Johnny laughed as he toppled over into a row of hedges. He yelled out at Simon as the blond kept walking. "Don't go throwin' me 'round, Simon! Otherwise I'll end back up in doc's office!"

Simon clenched his jaw. Don't bite back.

•º•º•

"How does that feel?" You asked, two hands holding one of Simon's large ones.

Your soft fingers traced over his lower knuckles, pressing gently on the space of finger between those knuckles, and the row in the middle of the fingers. You rubbed circles on each finger for a couple of seconds, and Simon watched you, his gaze unwavering.

You felt very warm.

"That's good," Simon said quietly when you got to his pinky-finger, pressing at the bones and joints and looking up to his face for any flicker of pain. He looked at you as you searched his face. He allowed himself a small smile. "It's good, doc. I promise."

You smiled back up at him and dropped his hand. He frowned.

You didn't notice. "Good, that's good. Alright, so I suppose this is our last appointment..." you meandered over to your computer, sliding into the chair and beginning to type at lightening speed. Simon watched your fingers fly over the keyboard.

"Our... last one?" Simon voiced, tone even and not at all betraying the disappointment he felt inside.

"Yep, our last one," you said. You finished up on your computer and then looked over at him with a beaming smile. "You're all good to go."

Simon slid off of the medical table, not having to drop far. He towered over you, which he knew you liked– based on the way you chewed subtly on your bottom lip when he stood over you.

So, phase one of his plan that, if Soap was somehow listening, definitely did not exist– use his height to his advantage.

You got up from behind your desk to walk him to the door, and Simon took the opportunity to walk directly next to you until you both reached the door. When you opened the door, Simon stepped into the frame and turned around so he could face you, leaning his shoulder against the framing and crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. He watched the way your eyes followed the movement. You swallowed nervously.

"Thanks for that, doc," he said lowly. "I appreciate it."

"O-oh, yeah, it's no big deal," you stuttered. "Just... just doing my job, you know?"

Your eyes didn't meet his. Not when he was executing phase two– holding eye contact. A soft kind of eye contact, the same Gaz always used. Simon kept a slight crinkle in the corners of his eyes, his lids lowering a fraction as his eyes scanned your face, darting from your eyes to your lips in perfectly timed intervals.

Your throat was drying. You cleared it with a low cough. "Right, well... did you need anything?"

Phase three, the riskier part of the plan–

"You like the way I look at you, doc?" Simon whispered. He felt nerves twisting in his own stomach as he waited an eternity (less than a second) for your response. He looked down at you softly.

You cleared your throat again. "I... I mean, I don't– I don't mind if, you mean– if you meant it like that–"

Phase four, even fucking riskier–

"Answer my question, doc," Simon whispered. "An' use your words, hm? You like the way I look at you? You like the way I'm talking to you?"

And, if his plan worked, if it somehow worked, then the outcome would be–

"...yes." A whisper from your pretty lips.

Perfect. Mission-fucking-successful.

"Yeah?" Simon was still leaning against the doorframe. "How do I make you feel?"

"...warm," you confessed quietly, not meeting his eyes. "You... fucking hell, you give me butterflies."

"Butterflies?" Simon grinned. "Do I? How else do I make you feel?"

Simon walked forward, and you walked backwards. Enough so that he quietly shut the door and then spun the lock. It clicked. Locked.

You swallowed. "I– you–"

"Look at me when you're talking to me, doc."

You looked up at him, his hazy blue eyes and the mosaic of scars running across his face.

"How do I make you feel when I look at you like this?" He asked, moving forward. You were backing yourself towards your desk. He cocked his head at you. "How do you feel when you look at me?"

"Good," you breathed. "Feel's good... I like the way you look at me and... and I like looking at you."

"Yeah? You do, love?" Simon goaded, and your backside hit your desk. "D'you want to know how I feel?"

You nodded quickly. Simon chuckled.

"O'course you do..." He stepped into your space, the lower part of his chest up against the top of yours. He looked down at you, his arms coming to rest on your hips. "Is this okay?"

You nodded. "Yes..."

Simon leaned down until his nose brushed against yours. You closed your eyes in anticipation, your lips just a hair-length apart. You could feel his breath fanning across your face, and your stomach flipped at his close proximity.

"I love the way you touch me," he whispered, his words tickling your lips. "Love the way you look at me, too. Y'look at me like I'm the prettiest thing on earth, don't you? Love the way you look at me with them pretty eyes, like you want me to fuck you, hm?"

Your mouth dropped open in a gasp, and Simon took the opportunity to press his mouth to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. One of the hands he had on your hips moved upwards to cup the back of your head, moving you closer to him as his lower body pushed yours against the wooden desk.

"That's what you want?" He asked, breaking the kiss and shifting his pelvis against yours. You could feel the hard, large imprint of his cock against your front, and it made you whimper, squirming in his hold. He hummed, closing his eyes as you ground yourself against the growing bulge in his trousers. "Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You want me to fill your tight cunt with my big fuckin' cock, hm?"

You moaned, and Simon swallowed it– kissing you roughly by pulling you into him using the hand he had on the back of your head. His tongue licked against yours, running over the ridges of your teeth, and he groaned. He groaned at the taste of you, the warmth and the wetness of your mouth. His cock twitched in his boxers.

He pulled out of the kiss, placing one quick peck on your lips before pulling his face away. "Got a pretty damn mouth on you, doc."

The hand on the back of your head shifted to the side of your face, and you were blinking back surprise when his thumb brushed over your lips. You opened your mouth when he flicked his thumb against your bottom lip, and he grumbled in his chest– a pleased purr, almost– when he slipped his thumb into your mouth. You wrapped your tongue around the digit, retaining eye-contact as you sucked his thumb further into your mouth, the rest of his hand holding firmly onto the base of your jaw.

Simon pressed his thumb down onto your tongue when you took the digit further back into your mouth. You gagged, but he kept his thumb there. You gagged again, eyes watering, and Simon slowly dragged his thumb back to the front of your mouth, flicking it against the tip of your tongue.

"You wanna suck my cock, love?" Simon asked in a whisper, swiping the pad of his thumb along your teeth, feeling the ridges of your molars and the points of your lower canines.

You whined around his thumb, still sucking gently, nodding as his eyes swept over your face.

"'Atta girl," Simon praised, pulling his thumb from your mouth and then gripping your jaw, smearing your saliva across your cheek. "How about you get down on them knees, doc?"

He spun you both around so that he was now leaning his backside against the desk. He then let go of your head and allowed you to lower yourself to the ground in front of him, your hands resting on the thick of his strong thighs.

He gestured to his fly and button, and you got the hint. Saliva already pooling in your mouth, you popped the button of his jeans and then unzipped the fly, lowering them enough to get a good look at the imprint of his cock in his boxers. There was a small wet patch on the front, and it made your pussy flutter around nothing.

Acting on your own accord, you leaned forward and pressed kisses along the bulge, tongue moving against the cotton, laving over the patch of pre-cum that stained the material. Simon's hand shot down to hold the crown of your head as you kissed the hard imprint of his cock, whimpering in the back of your throat at the warmth against your lips and tongue.

His hips bucked, the stain of pre-cum growing bigger as his cock leaked within the confines of his boxers, twitching as the warm wetness of your mouth pressed open-mouthed kisses over it.

"Fuck, yeah, that's it, love," Simon breathed. "Kiss my cock– use that pretty mouth."

You whined against him, nose sliding over the waistband of his boxers. Your fingers trailed up his thighs until they reached the waistband, and you leaned your head back so you could pull his boxers down far enough for his cock to fall out.

Simon's cock was heavy, curving forward under the weight of his arousal, his balls heavy too, waiting– just waiting– to bust a load all over your pretty face, or in that warm mouth. His tip was flushed red, all the blood flow having travelled down while you kissed him, leaking droplets of pre-cum. And then your favourite part– the dark blond hair of his happy-trail leading to the patch near the base of his cock.

You whined again, bringing a hand to your face and spitting in it, before wrapping your fingers around the girth of his cock. Simon groaned, fingers flexing around the top of your head, holding you still as you began to work your hand up and down.

"Dirty fuckin' girl, that's it," he hissed, your eyes on him as you jerked him off. Your lips were just a whisper away from his leaking tip, and with each laboured breath you panted out, his cock twitched. He looked down at you with a lust-drunk gaze. "Are you going to keep playing with my cock, or are you going to put it in your mouth?"

You answered him by opening your mouth and letting your tongue drop out slightly. He hummed– a deep grumble from his chest�� pleased with you, before bringing his free hand down to grab the base of his cock. You dropped your hand away from him, instead resting it against the solid warmth of his thigh.

Simon fisted his cock in front of your face, one hand keeping your head in place. He angled his hips so he could tap the flushed tip against your tongue, smearing pre-cum along the flat of the smooth muscle. A bead of saliva pearled at the tip of your tongue, and he smacked the tip of his cock against it, forcing your saliva to drip out of your mouth and down your chin. You frowned at him, and he smiled, whispering, "so messy."

Your jaw was just beginning to ache when he finally dropped more of his cock against your tongue, the solid weight of it wiping the frown from your face. You continued to look up at the rugby player before you as his cock inched further into your mouth– slowly enough that you could feel the velveteen ridges and veins across the surface of your pre-cum tainted tongue. You whimpered softly as Simon held your head firmer, feeding his cock into your mouth, forcing your tongue to draw back inside and your lips to seal around him.

"Take it..." Simon whispered, his tone soft. The fat head of his cock nudged the back of your throat after a moment, and you immediately gagged around him, tears springing to your eyes. Simon tutted, shifting his hips back and pulling his cock away from your uvula. His fingers massaged the top of your head. "What's 'a matter, pretty girl? S'my cock too big?"

You frowned at him again, your hands tightening against his thighs. Without his instruction, you pushed forward and took more of him into your mouth, the leaking tip nudging near the back of your throat. You withheld a gag, tears blurring your vision as you took most of him, your nose parallel to his pelvis. He was still holding his cock, so your lips pressed flush against his knuckles. You worked your tongue around him, smoothing warmly around the girth of his cock, and he tossed his head back and groaned, hips twitching.

"Yeah, that's'a fuckin' girl, baby–" he growled, head flopping forward to watch you once more. "Yeah, take my fuckin' cock. Take it all in this pretty mouth."

He removed his hand from his cock, instead gripping the edge of your desk for leverage. His other hand remained on your head, gently beginning to guide you. You worked with him– taking him as far back in your throat as you could, coating his cock in saliva, running your tongue along the underside of him until he eased back into your mouth a bit– then, you circled the tip, sucking gently, hollowing your cheeks, before he was pushing further in again. You took one hand, still sticky with your saliva, and pumped the base of his cock– all of which you couldn't fit in your mouth.

He grumbled out grunts and groans, his eyes on you the entire time. You did your best to maintain eye-contact as well, but tears were still fresh in your waterline, and the force of his thick cock sliding down your throat urged your eyelids shut.

A tear slipped from each eye, dropping down your cheeks. As he panted, focused on the warmth of your mouth around his desperately hard cock, Simon moved both of his hands to your face. He cupped both of your cheeks, running his thumbs along your cheekbones and catching the tears, smearing them across your soft skin. You blinked up at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looked down at you. He continued to cup your face, both large hands heavy on your cheeks, as he gently guided your mouth along his cock.

"There you go, that's my girl..." He muttered, pulling your head right down to the base of his cock, your throat constricting around him as you resisted the urge to gag. You whimpered around him, the heady tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat, messing with your oxygen intake. The vibrations from your whimpering made Simon groan above you. "God, love, keep doing that. Jus' like that, yeah... fuck– keep using that pretty mouth."

He continued to look at you– in such a way your stomach was doing flips, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You desperately blinked the moisture from your vision so you could see more of his handsome face, and the way he occasionally drew his lower lip between his teeth, and the way his dark brows pinched together in pleasure.

He still had both hands on your face, guiding you, petting you, stroking your cheeks and thumbing your cheekbones. His eyes never left your face as you sucked his cock. You were the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen.

Simon groaned at his own thoughts, hips twitching, more pre-cum dribbling out of his slit and down your throat. You swallowed around him, and he groaned again.

"Fuck– fuck– m'close, love, m'so fuckin' close–" Simon whispered, gritting his teeth as he felt his balls begin to tighten, along with the muscles in his lower abdomen. He held your head just a bit tighter. "M'gonna paint your face, doc."

Romantic, you thought, and you couldn't help but let slip a small giggle around his cock. Simon groaned, his hips jerking faster as he held your head in place, essentially fucking your throat. He was still so gentle though, despite the urgency of his thrusts into the warm heat of your mouth. You let him move you along the length of his cock, saliva dripping down your chin, before he was pulling you all the way off of his cock, a string of saliva connecting the tip and your lips.

"Tongue." He said breathlessly.

You stuck your tongue out as he fisted his cock quickly, wet sounds eliciting through your office. He groaned, a hiss of your name, before he was coming across your face. Most of his cum spurted across your tongue and in your mouth, but splatters flecked over you, milky strings along your saliva-slick lower face. Simon groaned the entire time he came, still pumping his cock in a bruised-knuckled fist, dribbles of white dripping from his cock while you curled your tongue back into your mouth and swallowed.

He was breathing hard, stuffing his semi-hard cock back into his boxers and trousers, and reaching down to take you by the upper arms. You let out an involuntary yelp when he effortlessly hauled you to your feet– as though you weighed absolutely fucking nothing– and pulled you with him. Wordlessly, he rounded your desk and sat down in your office chair, yanking you down onto his lap.

"Good girl." He was whispering as he brought his face to yours and kissed you. You hummed a moan against his lips. His tongue coaxed your mouth open, and the warm, wet muscle was smoothing against yours before you could even think.

One of his large hands cupped the side of your face, his thumb smearing a fat droplet of his cum against your cheek, while the other hand held your hip. With that hand, and all while kissing you, Simon guided you to straddle just one of his thick thighs, and slowly began rocking you against it. He tensed the muscle, and immediately felt the warmth of your clothed cunt beneath your trousers.

He broke the kiss to moan against your lips. "Fuckin' hell, doc, you're fuckin' soaked."

You whimpered, almost embarrassed, as Simon gripped your hip harder and ground you against him. He pressed you down heavier against him, revelling in the way he could feel the warm wetness of your core through both yours and his trousers. He kissed you again, rougher this time– a small clink of teeth, and a large amount of cum-tainted spit.

Butterflies in your stomach, you helped his urging movements. You moved your hips back and forth, sliding yourself against the taut muscles of his thigh. A high-pitched noise filtered from the back of your throat as your clit began to throb, your underwear damp against your slit. You tilted your head back, breaking the kiss so that you could mewl quietly into the silence of your office. Simon immediately attached his mouth to your throat, sucking harshly.

He grunted against your throat. "This pussy's all wet from suckin' my cock?" He then angled his head to suck kisses along your jaw, you face still inclined towards the ceiling.

"Yessss–" You whined, moving your hips faster. He let you– smiling against the skin of your jaw– letting the hand he had on your hip keep up with your desperate pace.

The two of you fell into a short, comfortable, lust-filled silence. The sounds of you panting, his grunting against your neck, and the shifting of fabric the only noises in your office. You whimpered as Simon continued sucking and biting kisses along the expanse of your neck and throat, the skin there sticky with his spit. You could still feel his semi-dried cum on your face.

But as you neared your first orgasm, rocking your clothed cunt against his thigh, your noises grew louder. You whimpering turned to stretched-out whines, and your panting increased in volume, coupled with airy moans– sounds that Simon loved and sounds that had his cock throbbing hard in his boxers. But he didn't want to compromise this situation at all.

The hand he had cupping your head moved along your face, two fingers dragging along your cheek and collecting a generous amount of his cum. Then, he simply shoved them past your lips and pressed down on your tongue, cutting you off mid-moan. Your eyes flew open, finding his, as you instinctively began sucking on the digits.

"You're a noisy girl, aren't you?" Simon muttered, eyes mapping every aspect of your face. "A noisy girl, and a messy girl."

You whimpered around his fingers, eyes almost rolling as your orgasm built heavily in your lower stomach. Your thighs quivered alongside his, and he could feel your cunt pulsing against him– all warm and wet and begging for his cock. But not yet. Not fucking yet.

You were so close– your entire body buzzing against him, skin flushed with a layer of sweat, face and neck sticky, lips tender from the force of Simon's kisses. Your orgasm was building, and building, and building still, and you were so close–

"Come for me," Simon ordered in a soft whisper, his two fingers rubbing against your tongue. "Come for me, love."

It was like your body had been waiting for his permission. The band in your lower belly snapped, your orgasm racking through you in forceful waves, your body shaking against him. A loud moan was caught in your throat, his fingers pinning your tongue to the floor of your mouth, forcing you to whimper out to him instead. Your eyes dropped shut, a bead of saliva pushing out from between his fingers and your lips, running down his wrist. He groaned.

But he didn't stop rocking you against him. Even when you tired and your desperate movements slowed, he didn't. He didn't slow. With all the stamina and strength of a good number 8, he kept his hand tight on your hip and continued to grind you against his muscular thigh.

After a moment of realising that he was not stopping, your eyes flew open and found him already looking at you. His eyes had been on where his fingers disappeared into your mouth– and he pushed them in further, until the middle knuckles slid past your lips. You almost choked, moving your tongue around them now that he wasn't pinning them to the bottom of your mouth. His eyes then found yours.

"So pretty..." He muttered. "So pretty when you come. Want you to come again."

You whimpered, frowning. Simon chuckled, a beautiful smile stretching across his face. He leaned in, moving his fingers to one corner of your mouth so that he place a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, he was still smiling.

"You thought I was done with one?" He asked you, not quite condescending, but enough so to make you pout around his fingers. "No, no, love, we're not stoppin' at one. We're not fuckin' stoppin' until you've drenched my trousers, got it?"

That had your second orgasm creeping up inside you. You nodded wildly, and he pulled his fingers out of your mouth briefly to give you a pat on the side of the face.

"Good girl." He said, and then his fingers were back in your mouth again. This time, he hooked them around your bottom teeth and, with his thumb on your jaw, he pulled your mouth open just a little bit– enough so he could lean in and kiss you deeper than the last time. He licked into your mouth and you squirmed against him, the feeling of his tongue against yours making your hips stutter against his thigh.

He kissed you like that, with his chin resting on his own fingers, until your second orgasm hit you. He pulled away with your spit smeared across his lips as you came, your cunt pulsing against him again. He could almost feel your heartbeat in the warmth of your pussy, making the muscles of his thigh flex again. He continued to rock you through it.

"I think one more will do it," Simon hummed, more to himself than to you. He could feel the heat of your slick soaking through your own trousers, but it was yet to soak through to his. He wanted a wet patch on his fucking leg. "You can do one more, can't you, doc?"

Simon pulled his fingers from your mouth and gripped both of your hips now. He renewed his efforts, dragging you across his thigh, your legs shaking around him as your glazed eyes struggled to stay open. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, brain fuzzy, body warm against his.

You mewled, hoarse and barely above a light whimper. "Simon–"

He groaned. "Fuck yeah, love, want you to say my name like that again. Go on. Say it again while I drag this pretty pussy over my thigh."

You did as you were told, moaning out quietly, your head dropping onto his shoulder. You mewled another "Simon–!" against him as you mouthed at the flushed skin of his neck. You were met with another deep groan, rumbling in his throat.

"Fuck," he grunted. "You– fuck– you have no idea how many times I've fucked my fist to that sound in my head. So many times I've come all over my fuckin' hand thinkin' about this perfect fuckin' pussy."

His accent was thickening. That made you moan.

He ground you harder against him, tensing his muscles tighter. You moaned into his neck, your body shaking.

Simon placed a gentle kiss your damp forehead. "Come on, love, come one more time. Soak my fuckin' thigh. I know you can do it, doc, I can feel how wet you are."

You whimpered. "Simon, please–"

"Look at me."

You did. You picked yourself up and looked at him as he guided you towards your third orgasm– your third orgasm in your fucking trousers only by grinding against his leg. Oh my god–

"When you come..." He began softly, one of his hands moving from your hip to hold your throat carefully. He held your head still, forcing as much eye-contact as he could. "When you come, I want you looking at me with those pretty eyes. Got it, doc?"

You nodded.

He smiled gently and repeated a soft "good girl" for what felt like the hundredth time. But you weren't complaining. It had your stomach twisting, your swollen clit pulsing, and finally your third orgasm washing over you.

Like a good girl, you listened to what he said. You maintained eye-contact as you came, despite the overwhelming urge to shut them. Your body shook against his, your cunt gushing into your underwear. You moaned his name and he kissed you quiet.

He chuckled against your lips– a triumphant smile forming as he felt your arousal dampen the leg of his trousers. He pulled away and lifted your hips lightly, getting a good look at the dark patch on his thigh. He moaned, cock twitching.

"God, what a messy fuckin' girl..."

You mewled, high on pleasure, beginning to palm at his crotch where his bulge pressed up against his zipper. Your hands groped the shape of him, and he hissed, grabbing hold of your hand.

"You want my cock that bad?" He whispered, your foreheads coming together and the two of you staring down at his bulge. "You want my cock in this pretty pussy?" The hand he had on your throat somehow found the wet space between your legs, rubbing his fingers along the seam there. You were so wet. He groaned. "You want my big cock to stuff this wet cunt, hm? Fill you with my cum? Fill you up and ruin you for anyone else?”

"Simon, oh my god." You uttered, still pawing at his hard cock. Your cunt was throbbing so fucking bad.

"This pussy just can't get enough, can she?" Simon mused, still rubbing at your overstimulated core, fingers grinding against the damp material covering your slit. "You fucked Gaz an' Soap, an' now you want my cock? So greedy, baby. Such a greedy little slut..."

His tone was so soft, that you almost missed the degradation. Instead, you shook your head, whimpering quietly as your fourth orgasm built in your lower tummy, the base of your spine tingling.

"No, no, haven't– fuck– haven't fucked them." You whispered hurriedly as he worked his fingers against you.

Simon tutted. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd love for both of them to fuck you, yeah? Just want three big fuckin' cocks stuffin' this tight fuckin' cunt."

Strong accent, more cussing. You moaned loudly. God, he was hot.

"I bet you want the captain's cock too, eh? Wouldn't be fuckin' surprised."

You moaned again, orgasm building heavier and heavier inside you. You imaged Price for a split second, and you moaned again.

Simon chuckled darkly. "Yeah? Needy girl, wanting four men? Want four cocks? Want us all to fuck you dumb, eh?" 'Course you fuckin' do."

"Please, Simon..." You whispered, body on fire.

He groan from the back of his throat. "But s'just me now, an' I'm the one making you come. So go on, pretty girl, come once more for me."

You came for a fourth time and you swear you almost blacked out. Stars burst behind your eyelids, a long string of whimpers falling from your lips as your cunt leaked arousal into your underwear, wetting your trousers even more. Simon peppered your face with kisses as you came down from your high, trembling, before he gathered you into his arms and hugged you to his broad chest.

"Good job, love," he whispered soothingly, rubbing your back. "Did such a good job for me. Such a good girl."

You were about to reply, something along the lines of– probably– begging for his cock even though you were so tired. But your phone buzzed against your desk, a brief vibration. You turned to look down at your screen to see a reminder flashing. Your eyes grew wide, realising you had another appointment in twenty minutes.

You peeled yourself away from Simon.

"Fuck, fuck!" You cursed. "I have another appointment in twenty minutes, Simon!”

"So?"

You looked at him, annoyed, then gestured to your trousers. "So? So? Simon, I've come four times in my fucking trousers and I'm wet."

He smiled.

"Don't fucking smile."

His smile dropped and he cleared his throat. "Right, sorry, love. I'll get you a pair'a my joggers if you want."

"You're taking the piss." You muttered as Simon got up, adjusting the way his hard cock sat in his trousers. You tried your best to avoid eye contact with it, as well as the large wet patch on his thigh. “Your joggers?”

He passed by you, kissing you gently on the forehead.

"Mhm," he hummed, already unlocking the door. "Anything for you, doc."

He disappeared, and you stared after him, shaking his head. Then, you spared a glance at yourself in the small mirror near the medical bed. You looked an absolute mess, with cum and saliva on your face. You groaned, heading towards the washbasin.

Maybe you had time to pop home and freshen up. Surely the captain wouldn't mind if you were a bit late.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #141rugby!au #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley #ghost x female reader

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ruporas · 10 months

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post-trimax vash meets stampede wolfwood

[ID: Black and white comic of Vash and Wolfwood of their Stampede versions. The comic starts with Wolfwood continuing off a conversation, saying “I didn’t mean t’say anythin’ bad to her. She just took it the wrong way. But anyway...” Wolfwood speaks with a hand gestured flippantly while Vash, who’s seated next to him, just listens. Vash thinks to himself, “Talks more about himself... Honest expressions... Immature, though he was pretty immature too.” He smiles and continues to think, “And yet...”

A panel of Vash’s eye directed now to the sky. He thinks, “Some things are bound to be the same with us...” He thinks of a memory, the version from Maximum of him and Wolfwood, back shown as they chatted underneath two moons, one moon with a hole through it. Vash continues, “Isn’t that right, W-“ His thoughts are interrupted by Wolfwood coming into a view, a close up his deadpan expression. Vash utters out “-olfwood..?” with a nervous expression. He starts to explain, “Um. Sorry if it seemed like I wasn’t listening, I was! So, let’s keep talking?”

Vash smiles and puts his hands together as he says, “okay?” Wolfwood glares at him with gritted teeth and Vash immediately remembers, “Right, he’s more short-tempered...” He continues to think, “Maybe Plan B works with him—“ before he’s grabbed by his coat collar aggressively and changes thoughts, “OK, never mind, brace for impact..!” But he’s surprised when he’s tugged instead, him and Wolfwood flops against the ground. Wolfwood puts an arm over Vash and says, “I don’t need to be entertained, blondie. If yer tired, we can go to sleep.”

Two close up panels of Wolfwood and Vash’s eyes looking at each other, Wolfwood taking off Vash’s glasses as he says, “Am I wrong?” Vash thinks to himself, “Actually... I was being genuine when I said I wanted to keep talking. I don’t feel tired at all. But, I think you know this body more than I do.”

Vash’s thoughts continue, “I can’t deny the me you’re fond of from being taken care of. And I could never deny your kindness. Even though...” Vash finally smiles and says, “You’re not wrong...” Wolfwood smiles back before tugging Vash closer and says, “Then, let’s sleep.” Vash asks, “Should we get a blanket?” Wolfwood asks, “Why?” before kissing Vash on the cheek, “I’ll keep you warm.” Vash puts his face into both his hands and flushes. Wolfwood smiles cheekily and asks, “What?” Vash responds, “I was caught off guard..” Wolfwood says, “You’ve said worse though.” Vash responds, “Did I...” The panel phases out and the dialogue returns to Vash’s thoughts. He thinks, “I want to stay a bit longer. Talk a bit longer.

You’re tired here too. The future is always going to be unfair to you. I want to protect you from it. I want to hold you close so you won’t go far.” The thoughts overlap the scene of Wolfwood now sleeping peacefully against Vash with an arm over him, Vash’s jacket draped against him as a blanket. Vash looks at him and a small thought bubble thinks, “He can fall asleep first...” His previous thoughts continue, “I know I can’t. I already had that chance.” A close up of Vash putting his hand over Wolfwood’s. He continues, “I wasn’t capable once, I can’t be sure I’d be capable a second time. And in a way...”

Vash’s thoughts continue with the back drop of the sky, Stampede’s sky of two moons without holes, “Some things are bound to be the same. But I know you’ll be loved again and again in a way I’d never know.” A split panel, one half contains the sleeping face of Wolfwood from Stampede, the other of Wolfwood from Trimax. In turn, the Vash lying down looking fondly at Wolfwood shifts to the post Trimax Vash while the other versions, Stampede and earlier Trimax, are faintly drawn next to him doing the same. Vash closes his eyes and finally drifts to sleep as the final text reads, “Goodnight, Wolfwood.”

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun stampede #trigun maximum #trimax spoilers #was thinking damn havent done the crossovers in awhile. doodled a bunch of fluff crossover stuff and somehow #this is the one i finish dmgkg in the same vein ive been thinking a lot about the time loop au which #i also like but one thing about it that always made me wonder is vash's interference and his willingness to interfere #not to say he's a believer of fate or anything -- im a firm believer that if vash had a chance to do it again knowing what he knew he'd #obviously do things differently -- but not in the i'll solve everything for you way but in the #let's spend less time arguing and be #happier while we still got the time to #trigun universe is always going to be brutal to the both of them <pensive> but anyway to be a little kinder to him i just #let him swap for a day or so with stampede vash... maybe granted the chance to stay but vash would never do that to Himself. and #in the end thats not the wolfwood he knew. no miguel o'hara-ing this #also he nor us know if stamp ww would go thru the same fate :']!#ruporas art #trigun

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thoughtless-muse · 4 days

Text

chapter summary: reality is certainly a hard pill to swallow – but in order to keep moving forward, swallow it you must.

word count: 4.2k

c/w: language, bickering, excessive use of apostrophes (courtesy of the dixon accent), subtle bodily description of reader (tits and hips, nothing too in-depth), low key sexual harassment I think (merle checks reader out a lot), blossoming friendships, minor angst, suggestive thoughts, brief mentions of grief/loss, subtle tension, pre-season one

chapter one: dislocated introductions

it had been some time since shane ushered the two men into his tent for a ‘discussion.’ in fact, by the time you’d walked down to the lake and back, the men were still inside the tent. you weren’t nervous about it, per se, but you certainly hadn’t liked the look on shane’s face as he guided them to the tent.

he looked… uncharacteristically angry. it was a look you hadn’t seen on his face in all the years you’d known him, which were quite a few – even when the world had been blown to shit, even as he watched the napalm drop into the streets of atlanta, even when he recalled the massacre he’d witnessed in the hospital, he hadn’t looked that angry.

it had you wondering why.

to you, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. shane’s reaction would have been understandable had merle been waving his gun around or pointing it at someone, or if he’d been threatening the camp in some way. but all merle had done was show up and ask for his brother, albeit a bit argumentatively; but he kept his gun holstered to his hip the whole time, never even reaching a hand down toward it.

and, honestly, who didn’t have a gun on them with the world in the state that it was?

shane’s reaction had appealed as more of an overreaction in your eyes. you could understand mistrusting complete strangers, especially ones who were armed, but the way shane handled it just seemed so… extreme. and to be angry at daryl for his brother’s choices? just ridiculous.

you had to physically restrain yourself from creeping closer to shane’s tent in an attempt to garner an earful. from this distance, you couldn’t hear any of the words that were being passed around within, but so far no yelling had broken out. you were sure the whole camp would be able to hear it if it had. but you were so damn curious; even though it truly wasn’t a matter than concerned you.

daryl wasn’t even supposed to be a concern to you; shane had made it clear right from the start what he thought your concerns should be – but you felt strangely as if daryl’s fate was being decided within that tent, and a part of you desperately wanted to have a say in that for reasons you couldn’t understand.

reasons you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

“hey, sweetheart.” your concentration was torn from shane’s tent by a soft voice behind you and a warm hand on your shoulder. you whipped your head around and squinted against the glare of the georgia sun, barely able to perceive the outline of lori standing above you.

“oh, hey, lori.” you acknowledged the older woman with a small smile. she returned the gesture with a small squeeze to your shoulder.

“do you know where shane is?” lori queried with a glance around the camp. you grimaced subtly and gestured to shane’s tent.

“he’s in there. he’s talking to daryl and his brother.” you answered, a bit flippantly, still irked by the event that had transpired previously, still unable to remove that expression on shane’s face from your mind.

“daryl?” lori mused, eyebrows sewing together in confusion. you chuckled airily and nodded, using your hands to mimic the act of adjusting a strap over your shoulder.

“daryl, the guy with the crossbow.” you iterated, and lori’s lips popped open in a small ‘o’ shape as she mentally connected the dots.

“I didn’t know he had a brother.” lori hummed thoughtfully as she circled around you, plopping herself down on the wooden crate positioned diagonal from the one you sat on. her dark hair fell strand by strand over her shoulder as she planted her elbows on her knees and leaned forward.

“no one did,” you concurred. “hell, I don’t think anyone even knew his name. I didn’t know it until just earlier.”

lori simply nodded in agreement, glancing over in the direction of shane’s tent. you couldn’t help but notice a strange mist covering her eyes, as if she wasn’t truly seeing what she was looking at. concern gnawed like a tiny beast at your brain, and you leaned closer to the woman and lowered your voice, softly calling, “you okay, lor?”

you wouldn’t say lori and yourself were particularly close – at least not in a way that was inseparable, as you had been with your brother. but lori had certainly lived up to the ‘sister in law’ name, quickly becoming your family in every way but blood; you looked up to her, cared for her, and seeing her eyes cloud over with that look just didn’t sit right with you. especially not with shane’s glare still fresh in your mind.

“what was that, sweetie?” lori asked, almost absentmindedly, eyes never leaving the tent. you swallowed around a tight knot in your throat.

“I asked if you were okay, lori.” you reiterated, placing a bit more force into your tone, which seemed to break her from her trance. her eyes, now clear of that fog, returned to yours and her lips pulled up into a smile.

“yeah, yeah, I’m fine. just a bit… distracted, I guess.”

you weren’t wholly convinced by her answer, but confident enough in the fact that if there was something bothering her she would open up about it, you shirked off the worry and steered the conversation into a different direction.

“where’s carl?”

“carol’s watching him. he’s coloring with sophia right now.” lori responded almost immediately, but a stone still dropped into your stomach when she added, “why is shane talking to daryl and his brother in there?”

“well, I don’t know the full story. I was doing laundry when carl came and got me. I guess daryl’s brother just marched right into camp and demanded to see him.”

“carl was near him?” lori asked, panic eddying into her voice. you quickly reached over and grasped her by the crook of the elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“he was fine, lori. shane and I were both there. honestly, if you ask me, he wasn’t in any danger in the first place.” you barely managed to stifle back a scoff, and lori stared at you as if you’d grown a second head.

“morales told me he had a gun.”

you nodded in agreement. “he did, but he never even took it out of the holster. but shane just… overreacted. demanded that he hand it over.”

lori blinked slowly, once then twice, before she sighed and linked her fingers together between her knees.

“I can’t say if he was overreacting or not. but I know he’s been… stressed lately, so that may have played a part in his actions.”

you bit the inside of your cheek and swallowed down the groan that threatened to bubble past your lips. you weren’t sure what had you so irritated about the whole ordeal, you just were.

“that’s probably why he’s holding a full-scale interrogation in there right now, too, huh?” you quipped.

“he’s probably just making sure they’re good people. you can’t really take chances these days.” lori shot back.

now, you simply couldn’t hold back your scoff. was lori really on the same page as shane?

“daryl has been here for days, and nothing bad has happened. he came in with a crossbow, for christ’s sake! he very easily could have put an arrow between anyone’s eyes by now, but he hasn’t.” you combated, fixing lori with a glare. why were you so angry, anyway?

lori pursed her lips and the muscles of her throat contracted as she swallowed deeply. her knuckles began to whiten from how tightly her fingers were wound together.

“be that as it may, we don’t know his brother at all. daryl could be perfectly sane whereas his brother could be the complete opposite. I agree with what shane asked of him, and I agree with what he’s doing now.” lori implored, her eyes wide with plea; a plea for you to understand.

the irritation within your chest quelled a small bit as you digested lori’s words. could it be, perhaps, that you were the one who overreacted? human nature is a concept that is difficult to conceive, and just because shane’s actions seemed to air too far on the side of caution, you supposed they weren’t completely uncalled for; as lori had stated, merle was a mystery to everyone except daryl, and he could very well pose a threat in the future, even if he hadn’t posed one hours ago.

“I suppose you’re right, lori.” you finally conceded with a sigh, sending the older woman a bit of a sheepish look. your anger towards her and the situation suddenly dawned on you as a bit childish. lori’s lips pulled into a wide smile and she reached over to rub her palm into your bicep.

“it’s okay to have crushes, sweetheart. but don’t let them overtake your sense of reason.” lori murmured, her voice edged with amusement.

you gaped at lori as your cheeks bloomed with heat. crushes? what the hell was she talking about? you didn’t have a crush on anyone.

you were just upset that shane had immediately considered merle a threat without even knowing the man. because shane didn’t know him, and by considering him a threat, he, by extension, called daryl into question and –

oh.

that’s what lori meant.

don’t let them overtake your sense of reason.

slowly, everything began to click into place. the real reason behind your anger and frustration at shane’s actions. it wasn’t because you considered them to be too cautious, but because you didn’t like the idea of shane, or anyone else, viewing daryl as a potential threat.

the one thing you couldn’t figure out was why. why did that irk you so bad? was it because you genuinely felt that, bad attitude aside and no matter how much he annoyed you, daryl was a good guy? or was it because you simply wanted daryl to be a good guy because you were attracted to him?

or was it because you hated the way his face had contorted with discomfort when shane confronted him about something he clearly hadn’t wanted happening in the first place?

“fuck!” you groaned, burying your heated face into your palms. your reaction prompted a bubbly laugh from lori, who once more reached over to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“it’s okay, hun. just take some time to calm down, yeah? maybe go color with carl like you used to?” lori suggested, and you playfully batted at her hand, sending her a glare through your fingers.

“I’m not twelve anymore, lori. that won’t work on me.”

contrary to the statement you’d uttered to lori, you found yourself seated at the makeshift table next to carl not even fifteen minutes later, an indigo crayon clutched in your hand and two children giggling at your masterpiece.

“apples aren’t supposed to be blue!” carl guffawed, tilting his head to the side and scrutinizing your crudely drawn apple.

“okay, two things, carl,” you started, reaching over to flick the boy in the ear lightly. “first thing – this isn’t blue, it’s indigo. and, second thing” – you extended your arm past carl to the stack of crayons beside him – “I wouldn’t have to make my apple indigo if someone wasn’t hogging all the red crayons!”

carl nearly squealed and shot his hands up to slap at your arm, effectively batting away your advance towards his treasure trove. at the look of mock surprise you shot him, carl erupted into a fit of giggles and laughs, which shot warmth straight through your chest.

carl looked so much like rick that sometimes it hurt.

overcome with affection for the boy, you ruffled his hair, your fingers getting caught unceremoniously by the subtle tangles within.

“you need a haircut,” you observed, retracting your fingers from carl’s hair as gently as you could. carl made a gagging noise and shook his head vehemently. his reaction pulled a small chuckle from your throat. carl hated haircuts.

“hey, it’s that strange man.” sophia suddenly exclaimed, voice lowered as though to only speak to the occupants of the table. your heart tripped over itself and you whipped your head towards the direction sophia was gesturing to. sure enough, you noticed the man from earlier, merle, sauntering towards the table.

something quick and hot shot through your veins, lori’s previous words returning to your mind with a vengeance, and before you could truly stop to think about what you were doing, you were out of your seat and meeting merle halfway.

for a moment, the two of you simply stared at one another – merle seemed to be visually appreciating your body, whereas you were searching his for any sign of threat. the gun that had been holstered to his hip was absent, which slightly lowered his danger level in your eyes, but you weren’t about to let him any closer to carl or sophia.

just in case.

finally, after what felt like ages of staring one another down, merle spoke, his voice low and raspy.

“I just wanted’ta come find’ya and properly introduce myself. merle dixon.”

merle extended a large, somewhat grimy hand to you. after a moment’s consideration, you reached forward and gripped it with your own. you noticed that his hand was rough and littered with callouses. he was obviously no stranger to hard work.

“(y/n) grimes. am I correct to assume that you’re staying with us?”

you released your grip but merle had yet to let your hand go, holding it in his for the duration of a vocalized hum before letting it go.

“indeed, you are. see, yer man shane proposed an offer that my brother ‘n I simply couldn’ refuse.”

your heart throbbed inside your chest and your throat tightened. did that mean daryl was staying, too? completely oblivious to the slippery mental slope you were approaching, merle continued.

“so’s I figured tha’ since we’re goin’ta be proper campmates now, I’d come over and introduce myself; and giv’ya some of my true-earned gratitude.”

“gratitude?” you parroted, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion. merle nodded slowly, almost sagely, and slipped his thumbs through the belt loops at his hips.

“yes, ma’am. had’ya not stepped in when’ya did, I’m afrai’ I prol’ly would’a lost my cool.” merle conceded with a sigh, and once more your walls shot up. you stood straighter and leveled the man with a glare. upon seeing your reaction, merle retracted his thumbs from his belt loops and raised his hands in a placating manner.

“woah, calm down. I wouldn’ta shot yer boy or anythin’. I mean, had he raised his gun firs’, that’d’be a diff’ren’ story. I was just meanin’ I feared it may’ave escalated had’ya not stepped in.”

you swallowed thickly and nodded just subtly; it was difficult for you to discern if merle was telling the truth or not, but his admission had brought about an iron-willed conviction inside you.

you would definitely keep your eye on merle dixon.

“well, there’s no thanks needed. no one would have wanted it to escalate; shane certainly wouldn’t have.” you said stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest in a protective manner. you ignored the way merle slipped his eyes down to the top of your breasts; you had some tits, you wouldn’t deny that. and as long as he kept his hands to himself, you didn’t see a reason to overreact.

“merle! git yer ass in gear an’ le’s go! we’re wastin’ daylight!”

your eyes were immediately drawn to the source of the new voice. biceps glistening and flexing with each step he took, angry scowl etched into his face, and the strap of his crossbow strangled in a white knuckled grip, he was a vision of pissed off. lori’s previous assertion of a crush had your cheeks flooding with heat as you watched daryl stalk closer.

by the time daryl finally stopped next to merle, your heart had created its own off-tune beat within your chest, and your cheeks felt hotter than the sun – but you pushed away everything you were feeling and gave the rugged, angry man a once-over. you already decided to keep an eye on merle, so you might as well go the extra mile and keep one on daryl, too.

you wouldn’t complain about having to do that.

it was as you were scanning his waistline that you noticed a familiar string of rope slipped through his belt loop. it was the same rope he’d knot multiple squirrels to, like he had the first day he entered camp.

“you’re going hunting?” you asked, halfway-conversationally, halfway with the intention of prompting that gravelly voice from daryl’s throat again.

except, it wasn’t daryl who answered. rather, he tore his eyes away from yours and focused on the foliage that lined the clearing, and merle spoke up in his stead.

“it’s our part of the bargain, darlin’. we keep you people fed, and we get stay here.”

you snapped your eyes back to merle in a vexed manner; if the man took notice of it, he didn’t respond to it other than with a slight widening of the smile on his face. you quickly pushed away your annoyance in favor of shifting your tone into something that could pass as amicable.

“well, good luck with that, then.”

it would be much easier to keep your eye on merle if there wasn’t any tension; keep your friends close and your potential enemies closer. that sort of thing.

“why, thank’ya, sugar, but I don’ thin’ we’ll need any’a tha’. daryl and me’s been in the woods since we was li’l.” merle drawled, inching himself closer to you. you resisted the urge to retreat, but you allowed yourself the lee-way of shrinking your arm back when merle extended a hand with the intention of grazing his fingers across your skin.

discomfort was burrowing deep into your body, but your ears nearly perked at the unintentional slip of information about the man you’d been wondering about for days. it was a fact that you could have surmised just by observing him, but the verbal confirmation of it had your brain thirsting for more.

it wasn’t because of a crush. it was only because of physical attraction; and of course physical attraction would lead to curiosity. of course.

at your clear rejection of touch, merle dropped his hand back down to his side, much to your relief. you were already connecting the dots on the type of person merle was just from this brief interaction, and though he wasn’t exactly coloring himself as a legitimate rapist, you determined that, from this point forward, you’d still do your best to ensure he’d never be alone with you or any other woman in the camp.

because this man was most certainly a pervert, at the very least.

“you should get going, dixon.” you murmured flippantly, casting a brief glance upward. “you’re wasting daylight.”

you thanked every invisible star in the sky that you were fast enough to catch the way daryl’s eyes shot to you as you parroted his previous words to his brother – it was such a quick glance that you were unable to ascertain what it meant, or if there was any interest hidden within, but your skin still tingled and your heart still tripped over itself when it happened.

but it wasn’t because of a goddamn crush.

mid-afternoon had melted to dusk before you could even register that that much time had passed.

the camp seemed so serene now; bathed in an orange glow, quieted, with multiple people milling about to the tune of cricket song, popping embers and whistling wind. the sun’s wavering strength granted a breath of chilly air, soothing the heat beneath your skin.

but even the cool, serene atmosphere of the camp couldn’t quell the storm raging inside your head; not as it normally would.

it was so stupid – you knew it was. and it wasn’t like yourself, either. there was no time for second guesses, not before and definitely not now.

and yet, it was a broken record. scratchy and choppy, set to an endless loop that frayed every single nerve within your body, the very embodiment of the sole goal of driving you absolutely insane with doubt.

crush.

the word taunted you, teased you, made you question everything; and it really shouldn’t. you knew it shouldn’t.

and you also knew with every fiber of your being that it was wrong – that lori was wrong. because you… you did not develop crushes. you never had. any relations you ever had with men were born of pure physical desire, with no underlying emotions.

you only ever felt physical attraction, lust, and want. it was familiar, it was comfortable, it was natural, it was you.

so why the hell were you second guessing the nature that you’d always harbored? the nature that had never changed, that never would change?

it was lori’s fault, plain and simple.

she was the reason you were thinking so much. all because she had uttered that one little word. and now you had to do something about it. you had to put a stop to it.

you zigzagged around multiple shoulders as you made your way across camp, bumping into some with muted apologies, absentmindedly, eyes rapidly scanning the crowd until you were able to finally locate lori. she was standing next to the rv that belonged to dale, engaged in some sort of indistinct conversation with the man – that was until you grabbed her wrist and pulled her off to the side, dragging her to the farthest reaches of the camp.

“(y/n), what’s going on–” lori attempted to prod you gently, but you cut her off by swinging around to face her.

“I just want to have sex with him!” you breathed out in a rush, surely resembling a wild, scared animal with the way your eyes darted around the camp. lori’s own eyes widened to the size of dinner plates whereas her eyebrows furrowed together.

“u-uhm, sure, y-yeah. you mean daryl, right?” lori pressed, and you nodded vigorously.

“yes, I mean him. I just wanted to make that clear, because earlier you said something about a crush, and I just want you to know that it’s not like that–”

why were you even explaining this? had you really gone off the deep end? had the end of the world finally rusted every last screw left in your brain?

“okay, okay, honey, I need you to breathe.” lori directed, softly, catching your hands in hers, adding, “what I said was only a joke. I know it’s not like that.”

relief sagged your shoulders as you let out a deep breath. you met lori’s gaze, still wide and confused and bewildered, and then everything crashed into you with the force of a derailed train.

you couldn’t stop it. you laughed. a full on belly laugh. because you were being so fucking ridiculous – and feeling highly embarrassed at the moment.

“god, I’m so stupid. I’m sorry lori, I don’t know why I’m even acting like this.”

lori let out a soft chuckle and released your hands. her eyes softened and the smile she wore was genuine; more genuine than you’d seen in a long time.

“you aren’t being stupid, (y/n). I think maybe you’re just feeling restless. anyone would if they were cooped up here all day, every day. I imagine it’s hard on you.”

lori wasn’t entirely wrong. before the world had went to shit, you were an adventurous spirit. you never much liked the idea of staying in one place – there was too much to explore, too much to see, too much to do – and you couldn’t even fathom not indulging in that, of not feeding the desire.

but this spirit of yours was the whole reason you weren’t there the day rick got shot, why it took you nearly a week to get to king county to visit his room; why a goodbye was rendered impossible.

but that wasn’t why you were acting this way; that you knew for a fact.

tears stung at the back of your eyes and, ever observant, lori pulled you into her chest and circled her arms around your waist. warmth bloomed across your front and the sweet scent of lori’s perfume, faded and floral, mixed with the scent of sweat and smoke clinging to her skin. the scent, despite being slightly odorous, sunk into your body and brought about extreme comfort. you bit back the sobs by sinking your teeth deep into your bottom lip and squeezed lori back tightly, shedding your silent tears into the welcoming jut of her collarbone as she shushed you softly.

you felt completely rattled – because it all suddenly made sense to you.

consuming yourself with lust over a stranger, worrying about the fate of that stranger, or even tearing yourself up inside over whether or not you actually had a crush on said stranger – it was far easier than letting reality take the wheel, far easier than accepting the fact that the life you had and the world you knew were both gone, sucked away into an endless black hole, never to be seen again.

and there was nothing you could do about it.

prologue | chapter two

a/n: if you enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward to more, please consider liking/commenting/reblogging/following, or maybe even get yourself added to the taglist! I love y’all so much! also, I’ve decided to switch some things around given the depth these chapters are given – some events were cut from this one and will be added into chapter 2 – which is when reader and daryl really start interacting!

NOTE: the dividers used in this post do not belong to me, nor did I create them. they come from this post, labeled under free-to-use. all credits go to the creator of the dividers.

TAGLIST: @daryldixmedown @chylerluvschim @alialiclouds

#daryl x reader #twd daryl #twd x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #twd

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lipglossanon · 8 months

Text

Magic Man

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

boyfriend’s dad!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

ao3 request from do; I hope you like it! And thank you for your patience! 😭 💜

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, cheating, dirty talk, grinding, kissing, slight noncon (but reader’s into it, just pretending to be reluctant), nipple teasing, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✌️

title from Magic Man by Heart (seemed fitting haha)

PSA: I definitely don’t condone cheating; find it vile to be quite frank. In this case reader is breaking up with the guy just hasn’t talked to him yet when stuff happens (not saying it’s right but she’s not going to stay in the relationship at the least)

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Since an extended holiday weekend’s on the way, your boyfriend invited you to stay with him at his dad’s place.

“He’s been bugging me to visit for ages and I thought it’d be fun for you to meet him,” he tells you over the phone.

Frowning at your history book, you tap your pen against it, “You sure this isn’t too fast? Or weird? I mean we’ve only been dating for a month.”

He laughs flippantly, making you frown harder even though he can’t see it.

“It’ll be fine,” you hear a muffled voice from his end, “Jeremy’s here with pizza, gotta go. We’ll talk more later!”

The line beeps letting you know he hung up before you could even say goodbye. Opening up your calendar app, you mark off this weekend. At the very least, it would be nice to leave campus for a bit. Although you have a good feeling this’ll probably be the last time you’ll spend any quality time with Keith.

He’s a nice enough guy, but still acts really immature and you’re not really interested in that especially when you’re only dating casually.

The weekend rushes up on you and before you can say bon voyage, Keith picks you up and drives you the couple of hours upstate to his dad’s house. It’s a nice neighborhood and his dad has a lovely home.

You know it’s lovely since Keith basically ditched you here to go hang out with some old high school buddies for the evening.

“Promise I’ll be home tomorrow and I’ll show ya around!” he kisses your cheek as he heads out the door, “my dad will be home shortly so you can get to know each other.”

You give him a tight smile as he shuts the door, muffled laughter and talking dissipating as he gets into his friend’s car.

You flop down on the couch and scroll through your phone, certain now that you’re dumping Keith as soon as you guys get back to campus.

Later, the doorknob jiggles and you raise up to look over the couch into the entryway. All of the spit in your mouth dries up when you actually see Keith’s dad for the first time. He’s built, big biceps and thick forearms, not to mention his chest and shoulders and thighs and—

You pull yourself away from ogling your boyfriend’s dad, even if said boyfriend’s a complete ass.

“Hi, you must be the infamous girlfriend I’ve heard so much about,” he walks further into the house after kicking off his shoes, “the name’s Leon.”

“Hi,” you clear your dry throat, “yep, that’d be me.”

You give him an awkward little wave as his gaze roves around the living room before settling on you, a more serious look on his handsome face.

“Where’s Keith?”

“Ah,” you give him a bashful grin, “he wanted to hang out with some buddies so he—“

“Ditched you?” His blue eyes narrow as he drums his fingers against his leg, “just a second, sweetheart.”

He steps back outside and you feel your heartbeat amp up from the nickname. Straining your ears, you can sort of hear Leon’s low voice but not what’s actually being said. After a few minutes, he comes back inside looking irritated.

He walks over to the couch and rubs the back of his neck, “I’d like to apologize for my son’s shitty behavior. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to convince him to come back and actually spend time with the pretty girl he decided to bring home.”

Your fingers tingle as shyness steals over your demeanor, “Not your fault. Thanks though, I appreciate it.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose letting you steal this moment to take in his chiseled jaw and spot a few freckles on his neck that you’d love to kiss.

“Well, I can order takeout and we can watch something,” he offers with a half smile, “not the company you probably planned for.”

You smile at him, “That sounds really nice, Mr. Kennedy.”

“Oh uh,” a small pink blush fans put across his cheeks, “please just call me Leon.”

The afternoon passes pretty lazily between Chinese takeout and some cheesy action movies. Leon’s a lot of fun; way more interesting than Keith, but you try not to dwell on the fact you’re starting to crush on his dad.

Leon eventually offers you something a little stronger to drink which you gladly take him up on the offer. He must carry some high shelf liquor cause you feel the effects pretty quickly with a nice little buzz. At least, it’s the excuse you give when you slide into Leon’s lap and grind your wet cunt against his thigh as you kiss his neck.

“Baby, what about Keith?”

He doesn’t move you away but holds your hips still on top of him.

“Gonna break up with him,” you murmur, “he’s a shitty boyfriend. No offense.”

“None taken,” he laughs, kissing you softly, letting you lick into his mouth.

From there it’s a sloppy makeout session on his couch as you dry hump his thigh. He picks you up to let you straddle his chubbed cock, rocking your hips back and forth until you find the rhythm he likes.

His phone rings and although he ignores it at first, with the constant noise he pulls away to check the caller ID.

“It’s—I’ve gotta take this, honey,” he pats your hip and helps you move off of him.

Embarrassment floods your body as you see how wet his pants are from your dirty grinding.

“I’m so sorry,” you shakily stand up, “I’ll—it won’t happen again.”

“Wha—“

“I’m going to get out of your hair,” you give him a wobbly smile, “it’s slutty of me to not at least breakup with Keith first. It’s pretty fucked up actually.”

Reality’s a cold shower wiping out your arousal in a flash.

“Goodnight, Mr. Kennedy.”

You disappear up the stairs toward the guest bedroom Keith pointed out earlier; you definitely weren’t going to share his room with him now since you practically fucked his dad on the couch. Grabbing your luggage from Keith’s room, you beeline it for the guest room.

You change out of your clothes feeling horny and gross. As much as you don’t like Keith, you feel a little bad to just do something so scandalous.

You hear two pairs of footsteps out in the hall making you pause as you shut the light off.

“Fuck off, dad, what does it matter if I got a little drunk,” Keith slurs, “I wasn’t driving!”

“You’re irresponsible is what,” Leon’s deep tone makes your thighs press together, “you even left your girlfriend here alone for god’s sake!”

“She’s fine,” he scoffs, making you roll your eyes, “‘sides where is she?”

“In the guest room,” Leon states bluntly, “I heard her go in there a little bit ago.”

You hold your breath as you hear Keith stumble closer to your door.

“Go to your room,” Leon’s sharp tone stalls Keith’s footsteps and you listen as he stumbles back over to his room.

“You’re a fucking buzzkill, y’know that?” Keith mutters as he shuts his door hard.

“What a fucking brat,” you hear Leon mumble to himself.

Your heartbeat picks up when he pauses outside your door but then smooths out as he walks off down the hallway.

“Wow,” you whisper to yourself, turning off the light and climbing into bed.

You toss and turn for what seems forever until you settle on your side. Cunt still thrumming with arousal, you slowly slide your hand into your panties, teasing your fingers across your swollen clit.

Losing yourself to the sweet pleasure drifting through your body, you miss the door opening until a warm, bulky body slides in behind you.

“Want some help?”

Before you answer, a hand slips down your body to cover the one you have in your panties.

“Gotta keep quiet.”

You press your lips together tightly as Leon spoons you from behind. He puts his hands inside your panties to push yours away and slowly touches your clit. You’re laying on one arm so with the one he shoved away you try to grab his wrist to stop him but he pinches your clit roughly.

“So wet,” he whispers hotly in your ear. “What were you thinking about, huh?”

“Nothing,” you whisper back, “now s-stop and get out please.”

“Nah you like it too much,” he gloats letting his fingers circle your wet clit over and over.

You can’t really argue with him as you find yourself pressing your hips into his hand. Your hand is still gripping his wrist only now it’s to hold his arm while his fingers tease across your cunt. You honestly don’t mind picking up where you left off, even though it feels dirty.

“Mmm so fucking sexy, y’like your own boyfriend’s dad playing with your pussy, huh,” he mocks.

“N-no s’wrong, L-Leon,” you hiss, eyes clenching shut as he pinches your clit again.

“Didn’t seem to think so earlier when you were grinding that wet pussy on me.”

Slick gushes from your cunt, feeling hot embarrassment and arousal from the truth of his words. You feel his dick press against your ass as he rolls his hips to grind against you.

Leon groans into your neck, hot breath fanning across your skin causing goosebumps.

“Roll over and show me your tits you little tease,” he rasps in your ear.

You ignore him and try to shove his arm away, but he grabs your hip and forces you to your back. He slides an arm underneath you then throws a leg over your hips to keep you from moving or pushing him away. His hand goes back down and dips underneath your panties to play with your clit.

“C’mon, sweetheart, show me your tits already.”

As much as you try to fight it, arousal is flooding your body. And it’s not like you aren’t interested in him. You feel more slick leak into your panties to coat Leon’s fingers.

Your arms and legs are limited in their movement, but you’re able to do as he says. Feeling hot, you pull up your top to expose your breasts and hard nipples to his dark gaze.

“There we go,” he groans, “look at those sweet fucking nipples.”

He grinds his dick into your thigh as his fingers rub across your swollen clit.

“Really wanna taste’em,” he murmurs in your ear, “just suck on those pretty nipples til you’re creaming my fingers.”

You moan and arch your back, pressing your heels down into the bed.

“C’mon, I’ll treat you right if you just let me,” he stops teasing your cunt and drags wet fingers up to flick your hard nipples.

You’re panting now, hips writhing from the stimulation.

“Let me suck’em baby.”

You bite your lip, brows furrowed with worry.

“If you keep me waiting, I’m not gonna be nice,” he bites at your shoulder, blunt teeth scraping your skin.

“O-okay,” you agree, feeling a sick thrill at the low groan Leon lets out.

He moves his leg and helps twist your body towards him so you’re facing each other. Ducking his head, he drags his mouth across the swell of your breasts.

“Hang on a sec,” he mutters into your chest.

Leon’s hand moves to his boxers and pushes the band down until his cock’s free. He grabs your panties and pulls them down until he can slip his dick inside. You gasp at the feel of his hot cock rubbing all along your pussy, slipping in between your wet folds to drag against your clit and leaky hole.

“There we go,” he grins at you, “try not to let me slip inside that wet little cunt. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

Wide eyed, you shake your head no even if the thought of your boyfriend’s dad plowing you in this bed is driving you a little crazy. His eyes never leave yours when his mouth dips down to suck on your sensitive nipples. As you feel the hot wet suction, your eyes slip close with a whine.

You grind yourself down on Leon’s cock, dripping slick all over him. You feel him moan into your breasts as he slowly drags his dick back and forth inside your panties. The head of his dick leaks precum making your panties even stickier.

Your hands drag through Leon’s soft hair, nails scratching at his scalp, as you sigh and mewl from his mouth suckling at your sensitive buds.

“G-good, so good,” you arch your back, pressing more of your breasts into his face.

The next time he catches your gaze you can see his pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes and a pink blush spread across the bridge of his nose. Leon bites and sucks a hickie under the curve of your breast, teeth digging into the soft skin.

You gasp at the dull ache, hands tightening in his hair to pull him away.

“Don’t be like that,” his voice is low and raspy, tongue lapping at the bruise he left, “you were just gonna leave me with blue balls earlier, weren’t you honey? So mean to tease me with that wet drippy cunt.”

You whine and arch up into him more, “We really shouldn’t do this.”

“Why?” his grin is wicked as he kisses across your breasts, “don’t want my son knowing your little pussy’s aching for my cock?”

You gasp sharply as he roughly sucks on your nipples, swapping back and forth until they’re puffy and sore. As he works his teeth and tongue on your hard buds, he slips your panties off leaving your lower half completely naked.

He grinds his cock up against your slick hole making you part your legs further.

“Want it, sweetheart?” he moves up to whisper in your ear as he rubs the tip of his dick against your clit, “want my fat cock splitting you open? Show you how a real man fucks a gorgeous girl like you.”

His words make your brain feel like mush, nodding up at him before you can think twice.

“Please, Mr. Kennedy, want you to fuck me,” you whimper, nails digging into his shirt.

He groans and eases the head into your slick cunt, “Just call me Leon, baby. Y’r gonna make me cum too soon calling me mister.”

Your body goes hot all over as he rocks his hips against yours, fucking himself deeper into your clenching heat.

Wanting to tease, you pout up at him, “Sorry Mr. Kennedy— I mean Leon.”

Growling, he thrusts hard and buries himself balls deep inside your pussy, making you squeal.

His palm covers your mouth, “Wanna get us caught? Want him walking in to see his dad fucking his girlfriend’s tight little cunt?”

You clamp down on his dick hard and he clicks his tongue.

“What a slut,” he murmurs, making you buck your hips up.

He keeps your mouth covered as he slowly fucks your cunt, really drawing your attention to how split open your pussy feels. You constantly whine and moan as his dick bullies into your fluttering walls again and again.

“You’re so fucking tight, honey,” he grunts, “never had a cock this big stuffing this slutty pussy?”

You shake your head no as best you can and he chuckles.

“S’okay, you got one now.”

He moves his hand away to drop his mouth down onto yours. Trading sloppy, wet kisses between your moans, his fat dick ruts into your squelching pussy, dragging all along the spongy spot of your cunt that makes you clench down on him.

Your mind goes fuzzy, completely oblivious to everything but the orgasm slowly coiling in your belly.

“Cockdrunk already?” He laughs, “nothing but a sweet little hole to dump my load into, right pretty girl?”

You shiver and cling harder to him, “Yes, please, want you t’cum in me.”

“Mmm don’t worry, your hot little cunt’s getting creamed,” he kisses you messily, hips snapping harder against you.

Leon fucks you quick and deep now, plunging his cock into your sopping wet hole making him have to cover your mouth again for being too loud. His other hand moves between your bodies to flick and rub your sensitive clit. Your head thrashes back and forth, tears running down your temples as he drives you closer and closer to climaxing.

“That’s it, sweet girl, let that little pussy squeeze down on me, bet it feels so good,” he goads you, fingers rubbing over your pudgy clit until your back bows off the bed.

You cry out behind his sweaty palm, eyes fluttering shut as the coil in your belly snaps, orgasm hitting you. Legs clamping around his waist, your cunt clenches down on his cock like a vice, milking him as slick gushes around his throbbing length.

“Oh so good, such a good girl for me,” he pants, hands grabbing your thighs to press you open more, “gonna fucking cum in you baby, watch it spill out of your tight hole.”

You whine pitifully as he rails his dick into your sensitive pussy until, with a low groan, he thrusts deeply and spills, hot and sticky, all in your pulsing walls. He sighs as he rocks against you, stuffing your cunt with jizz until it leaks out around his cock.

Pulling out with another sigh, he looks down at you with a sly grin.

“Nice that we’ll be spending the weekend together, huh sweetheart.”

#lipglossanon #Ao3 request #lipglossmasterlist #one shot #boyfriend’s dad!leon s kennedy #boyfriend’s dad!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #boyfriend’s dad!leon s kennedy smut #boyfriend’s dad!leon s kennedy x fem!reader smut #boyfriend’s dad #fem!reader #leon s kennedy smut #cheating

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aritany · 28 days

Text

On Identity: The Truth

Content warnings: homophobia, transphobia, references to self harm and suicide.

I’ve been keeping secrets my whole life.

I’m 10 and I’m listening to my dad at the dinner table, who I know to be the most trustworthy person in the world. He talks about the legalization of marriage between two people of the same sex and asks us to consider the implications. Where do we draw the line in the sand? Legalizing gay marriage paves the way for legalizing pedophilia, after all. If a union between two men or two women isn’t disrespecting the sanctity of marriage, what’s next? Marriage between men and animals?

I’m 11 the first time I hear it: “It doesn’t matter how low I set the bar for you, you still can’t reach it.”

I’m confused and afraid—I’m trying so hard—but I hear it then, and again, and again, spoken low in disappointment, shouted with a vein popping in her forehead, cold like a fact, and it sinks in, bone deep.

I’m 12 with my first crush on a girl. I’m not confused, I know that’s what it is—I want to kiss my friend, and I already know not to talk about it. Never to talk about it. It isn’t safe.

I’m 13 and doubting. I throw myself into fitting in. I pick the right boys to like and I go overboard, and I do like them, I do, I do, I want them to like me, I want to be their friend. I want to be their equal, but that’s not quite how the story goes, so I settle for trying to hold hands with somebody I desperately crave respect from, but that’s wrong too, I learn.

I’m 14 and convicted. How could this be wrong? I brush hands with a girl in choir and we meet eyes and I know. I watch a gay kiss on TV and I sob into my hands and I tell no one, no one, no one.

I’m 15 and I come out to my mom, haltingly, with the terminology that I have, because the thought of hiding forever—keeping quiet through one more dinner—kills me.

She tells me no. She tells me I’m wrong.

I look in her eyes and I understand: it’s not an option, and it never will be.

I’m 15 and I do my best to stop there.

It doesn’t work.

I’m 16 when I first hear my mom say that you can love someone and not approve of their lifestyle. I wonder what kind of love that is. I wonder how that kind of diluted, half-hearted, patronizing love can be enough for anyone. I wonder if she’s thought about how that feels, to be told that who you are—not by choice—is fundamentally wrong.

I’m 16 and a boyfriend is a shield. The right choice, so I make it, and it’s even almost fun. I love being his friend. I’m afraid of anything more.

I’m 17 and my youngest sibling whispers, “So am I.”

My heart breaks for the pain they’ll experience, as they too are taught, painstakingly, how to hate themself. Which parts of themself have to be kept hidden, which parts are shameful. They sit at that dinner table and hear the rhetoric that pushed me to the brink and over it, and I hope they’re stronger than I am.

They aren’t.

I’m 18 and my mom works at a college for the performing arts. I sit and curdle quietly while she talks about her genderqueer students. Misgenders them behind their backs. Deadnames used flippantly. She knows better, after all. She can be the expert on somebody else’s identity. They’re mentally ill, all of them. None of them are happy. They’re searching for something only God can provide.

I’m 19 and I come out as bisexual to the man I’m certain I’m going to marry, tearing the secret out like a bandage fused to skin. He tells me of course it’s fine, that he supports who I am. Of course people like me should have rights, of course. I laugh, relieved. Later, I find out this moment was almost a dealbreaker for him, and I wonder how much was ever real.

I’m 20 and I’m out. I’m 20 and I’m free. I’m 20 and I believe, because I’ve been told, that I am loved for who I am. All of who I am. I still flinch when I hear a car door slam.

I’m 21 and I’m searching for the connection to my womanhood. I’m searching for what makes a woman a woman. I’m reading gender theory and talking to friends around the world and wondering exactly what it is that I’m missing.

What does the rest of the world know that I don’t?

I’m 22 when my marriage ends because my body might not be attractive to my husband one day, and my parents email him in support and solidarity, expressing sympathy, and I’m not surprised.

I’m 22, and standing up for who I am has cost me everything. A spouse, two sets of parents, financial security, a city’s worth of community, more childhood friends than I can count. My parents tell me to go back in the closet so my ex-husband will love me. To them, his frustration is understandable, of course—by presenting androgynously, I’m betraying my marriage vows, after all.

I wonder, stunned into silence, where I promised to look like a woman.

I’m 23 when I come out to my parents for the third time; not as bisexual, not as trans, but as hurt.

I lay out the pain of the last decade as succinctly as I can, hoping they’ll hear. When I assert that yes, to be in relationship with me, use of my name and pronouns is a requirement, my mother jokes, “Well, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

It’s not a joke.

I see the flash in her eyes, the instant regret as she laughs it off like it’s funny, but it isn’t.

The kid sitting at the dinner table knows it’s not a joke. The kid who listened to countless lectures on the morality of queerness knows it’s not a joke. The kid who stood with shaking hands and tried to bleed out the bad knows it’s not a joke. Years of casual bigotry taught me how to hate myself, which parts of myself I should cross out and ignore, which parts of myself I should be ashamed of.

I’m 23, and I have finally unlearned shame, and when I ask my parents to see me, the joke is that I’m a terrorist. I’m unreasonable.

The shock of it becomes a balm, later on.

Some jokes aren’t funny.

Some jokes aren’t jokes at all.

I’m 24 and I’m learning that it’s scary to be alone. Bigotry made me an orphan and made us strangers, and knowing that it’s the right choice to stand up for myself doesn’t make it any easier. I’m learning the only way out is through, if you’re not squeamish:

Cut off the part of yourself that’s 7 years old standing outside of their bedroom because the nightmare had teeth and claws and they are the heroes that will hold you close and make it warm again.

Amputate.

Cauterize.

Don’t let them see you bleed.

I’m learning that the wound takes a long, long time to close.

I’m 25 as I write this, and I am proud of who I am, even if I’m still bleeding. All of who I am. It’s taken a long time for me to let that person see the sun, but here we are, basking in the glow. Those wounds are healing. I am visible for everyone else who whispers, “So am I.”

Your sunshine will come. Your sunshine will come.

Your sunshine will come.

#long post #alex talks #tw transphobia #trans day of visibility #international transgender day of visibility #tw homophobia #tw suicide #tw self harm

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pseudepigraphon · 2 years

Photo

sibling honor

(image description under the cut due to length. pardon for that!)

A comic of humanized Hollow Knight characters, all in black and white except for a dash of red with a single source.

The swish of a bright red dress around scampering legs, quiet giggles, the cheeky grin on a little face: down an arcade of gothic arches runs a young princess Hornet, dressed in her best royal finery, her hair all done up under a double-horned hennin. She passes by statues of knights between each arch, with flowered branches growing up from their long, jamb-like carved forms. She smiles wider, elated to have gotten away with mischief, as she passes by a knight statue not between two arches but in one. She runs, then--

YANK! She's pulled up by the back of her cloak like a kitten by the scruff of her neck. "HEY!" She shouts. "Who--"

She pauses, eyes wide. Her voice dies down. Plucking her up from the ground, leaning over out of the arch with a stony look on their face, is the knight under the arch. Loose chunks of their hair flow over their chestplate. They are not, in fact, a statue.

Hornet flails and scrabbles in the air. "LET GO! I'LL BITE!" She shrieks.

The knight looks at her. Without a change in expression, they began turning and walking.

Hornet startles badly at that, falling practically limp. "Wait no--" she pleads, hands on her cheeks. "Don't take me back to the retainers, please, please, please!" She looks up at them pleadingly. "They'll be so mad, then mother will be so mad, and-- wait a second--"

She properly looks at them as they hold her in the air. She recognizes that long face, too pale to be properly human, or half-spider like her. She recognizes that horned helmet with the three spikes on each horn.

"I... I know you," she says slowly.

The epiphany comes to her and she leaps out of the knight's hand and leaps onto their shoulder, supporting herself with one pair of hands and clasping at the knight's cheeks with the other. "YEAH! I DO!" She cries, elated. "YOU'RE THE HOLLOW KNIGHT!"

She beams at them. "And that means we're siblings!"

The Hollow Knight returns her look with that same blank stony visage.

She gestures flippantly, her smile chilling out. "And--" she declares-- "that means you can't tell on me. Sibling honor, y'know."The Hollow Knight looks at her for a long moment. Lifts her by the underside of her arms off of their shoulder.

"Well?" She asks. They keep looking. Perhaps they would have been deliberating, if they were not a hollow vessel.

Far down at the end of the arcade, voices can clearly be heard coming from outside, the double doors wide open.

Everything rushes to the Hollow Knight at once. With a quick and lashing whip of their cloak, they drop Hornet and conceal her. "HEY!" She cries indignantly as they do so. "WHAT?!"

Two retainers, donned in find garb, walk down the hallway, talking about this and that. As they approach the Hollow Knight, standing still and straight and silent by the wall, they both slow.

"Ah, knight," says one retainer, looking up at them with a haughty expression. "Have you... by any chance... seen Hornet, daughter of Herrah, pass down this hall?" They ask with a pleasantly average smile, as if they are glad the Hollow Knight cannot ask why they do not know where she is.

It takes the Hollow Knight a moment to move. Slowly one hand leaves the hilt of their sword, making their cloak furl and swish, revealing a gloved forearm and a segmented elbow. They point further down the hall.

The retainer smiles, while the second one behind them has been sending the Hollow Knight a sour look. "Ah, I see," the retainer says. "Thank you."

The two depart quickly further down the arcade of flowers and statues until their statures are small, continuing to chatter all the while. The Hollow Knight watches them as they go.

They slip a hand down to give a thumbs up to Hornet, who is hiding most sneakily at the back of the Hollow Knight's cloak. She holds onto their cloak and gives a delighted and mischievous smile.

#hollow knight #hk gijinka #hornet #the hollow knight #newt art #newt comics #AUGHGHG i did this in like the middle of the night bc thats when i got the idea and motivation lmao #no regrets but still

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tripleyeeet · 4 months

Text

THANKS, LASS!

SUMMARY: Rugan finally gets to buy you that drink at the Elfsong... and say his proper thanks.

PAIRING: Rugan & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,252

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, a little bit of hair pulling if you squint, CONSENT!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I've never written for this man in my life so if it's bad... just uh... move along, please. Also, thanks to everyone who voted for the poll! I promise I'll do more fun things like this when I'm not so sad and sick. :')

MASTERLIST

The pain that resides in your lower back is intense. A torturous shift of muscle and bone pushing itself in all the wrong spots. So much so that as you take that first step towards the Elfsong’s upstairs quarters you can’t help but groan at the impact. Remembering how awful it felt to fight off that horde of elementals alongside Lorroakan’s particularly brutal set of spells.

At this rate, the only thing you can feel is the need to rest and drink. Both of which somehow manage to pull your thoughts away from the staircase beneath your feet. Or more specifically how increasingly painful each step becomes.

“You guys still have that gold from earlier, right?” Karlach asks. She’s about two steps in front of you and barely hanging on herself. With her great axe strapped to her back, it’s a wonder she’s still upright considering she probably took the brunt of the fight.

“Yes, why?” Beside her, Shadowheart looks over skeptically. Even though she already knows why the tiefling’s asking.

“I ran out.”

“Of course, you’d conveniently run out of money the second we make it to the most expensive tavern in town.” Leaning against the railing of the staircase, Astarion uses one hand to steady himself and the other to flippantly wave her off. All while rolling his eyes before shooting you an unimpressed look. “I swear, all this woman does is mooch.”

“Says the bloodsucking vampire!” Karlach retorts, prompting Astarion to scoff.

“You know, comparing an eternal curse to a lack of financial responsibility is rather poor taste, Karlach.”

“Yeah, well—“

You’re already turning back towards the bottom of the staircase before you can listen further, grumbling under your breath. Moving your aching hands to your face to scrub them down in annoyance as you make a beeline for the bar.

All day they’d been at each other’s throats. Bickering about the littlest things as a result of too much pressure. Even before arriving within the city limits, you could feel the tension of everyone’s problems reaching their climax. And now it was well past the point of boiling over.

“What can I—“

“Whatever’s strongest, please.”

Awkwardly, you shift onto one of the barstools, cringing at the pain that radiates through your spine. Trying your best to ignore the exhaustion that settles once you inevitably trade your drink for a few pieces of gold.

“Rough day, I assume.”

You give the barkeep an annoyed nod, leaning forward to readjust your position. Attempting to alleviate the discomfort by putting more weight onto your elbows as you begin to anxiously sip. The drink overall isn’t bad for what it’s worth. A bit fiery as it slips through your lips and down your throat but still tolerable. Better than most of the shit you’ve ransacked on the road which leaves you somewhat thankful.

“You an adventurer?”

As you take another drink, pausing mid-sip to narrow your eyes at the barkeep you can’t help but wonder how he hasn’t gotten the hint. You’re not here to talk —you’re here to drink. To drown in the silence of your thoughts until you inevitably have to come back up for air and wander helplessly upstairs to bed. To wallow in your own pity as you try and decide whose problems you’ll have to face next in favour of avoiding your own.

Opening your mouth to respond, you’re quickly interrupted by a familiar voice. One that’s low and Northern —a jumble of words you don’t quite catch on account of the speed at which he scolds the barkeep causing him to scoff.

“He bothering you?”

Glancing to your left, you’re met with Rugan’s familiar eyes. All tired and blue, looking at you with an odd amount of smugness that has you holding back a smirk as you shake your head. “Not anymore.”

“Good. Ol’ Darvin’s always been a bit shit at social cues, haven’t you Darv?” As he speaks, his volume rises, catching the attention of the barkeep once again who flips him off.

“Oh, piss off, Zhent.”

All he does is laugh. Lending you a moment to take another much-needed sip feeling your stomach flip.

“I see you made it back in one piece.”

“Mostly.”

“Rough trip?”

You snort in response, knowing just how unaware he is of how truly rough it’s been. “You could say that.”

“Hopefully no more gnolls?”

“Only a few.” You shrug, watching him nod his head. Noticing the way he pauses his response to take your appearance in full, his eyes darting from the faded bloodstains coating the roots of your hair to the dishevelled way your armour sits on your frame, already begging to be discarded.

“When did you make it back?”

“A few nights ago.”

“And you’ve just now decided to take up my offer for a drink? Tsk, I’m offended,” he teases, his lips pulling down into a mock frown that has you biting your tongue and shaking your head, trying to appear aloof.

Because if you're being honest, at this moment you’re feeling anything but. Thanks to the way he continues to stare —practically drinking you in like a man devoid of hydration— it feels as though you’ll cave at any second. Something you know you can’t do because there’s work to be done.

“My sincerest apologies,” you reply dramatically, pausing to take the last few sips of your drink before sighing in relief. “Yesterday I was a bit tied up fighting a cloister of angry Sharran’s and today we had to murder a power-hungry wizard. So, the offer sort of slipped my mind if I’m being honest.”

Unsurprisingly, that piques his interest, prompting his brows to raise and his frame to sort of shift a bit closer. “Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“How do you mean?”

“Aren’t you meant to relax now that you’re back in the city?”

This time you laugh, throwing your head back —watching as he scrunches up his face in confusion until you eventually settle back down, wiping a stray tear from your eye.

An act you half expect him to question considering how absurd it looks suddenly erupting into madness. How despite always acting like you know exactly what you’re doing you’ve just shown him otherwise. Granting him what little access you’re willing to release in order to pull him in.

Which sounds ridiculous when you take into account you barely know the man. Having spoken to him on only two occasions, he really shouldn’t be trusted. Not at least until he’s proven himself an ally like others have. Instead, he should be placed at arm’s length like every other soul you’ve managed to save along the way. Looked at with fondness and curiosity but not faith. Never faith.

“Got yourself into some deep shite, have you?”

The way he smiles after he speaks leaves you questioning everything. The way your body shifts in response —the way your lungs give out and your legs move. The way everything feels warm and taut, forcing your mind to travel to places you know they shouldn’t.

“Course.”

“Bit of a troublemaker?”

In response, you shrug your shoulders and grin, unsure how to respond because, truthfully, you’re not. At least, not really. Sure, trouble always seems to find you as of late but obviously you don’t want it. Instead, what you want is peace. A night of no consequence or agenda. A night of song and dance and drink. A night of something other than what you’ve been constantly offered time and time again over these last few weeks.

Which is why you don’t protest when Rugan merely changes the subject, offering to buy you another drink. Or why you fail to stop after the second or the third —pausing around the fourth to debate going to bed before eventually relenting once more, smiling at the way he pokes fun at your lack of tolerance.

“Figured a fierce warrior like you’d be able to handle their drink.”

By that point, your mind is exclusively swimming around him. Thinking of all the ways you could further enjoy his company after this is over. Maybe you could ask him out for another drink. Or tag along with whatever trouble he’ll most likely get himself into again.

“Give me a break, Zhent,” you chastise, swirling the glass that now sits idly in your hand. Trying your best to tear your gaze from his, knowing that you’re drowning. Slipping further and further into those pretty fucking eyes that look and stare and absorb every single little thing you do. Every new glance making you unnecessarily nervous —a bundle of skittish thoughts and movements erupting over time, forcing your guard to quickly lower. Causing the once-severed connection between your mind and mouth to mend itself in the form of drunken rambles that have him practically on the edge of his seat.

“You know, I kept thinking I’d miss you when we arrived,” you tell him, glancing over your shoulder to hide the stupid grin that sits across your face at just the thought.

“You don’t say.” He grins back.

“Mhm. I kept having to tell myself not to get my hopes up.”

“Didn’t realize you viewed me so highly.”

“I don’t,” you immediately lie, despite knowing he’s already caught you. Thanks to his patience, charm, and heavy pockets he’s managed to earn at least one admittance of vulnerability, and knowing him that’s all he needs.

“You know, you’re a terrible liar,” he muses, and although you want to fight him on it, you don’t. Knowing that the conversation would just lead to another ill-performed lie tumbling from your already loosened lips.

“And you’re too smug.”

“Well, that’s because I have to be.”

You raise your brow. “Why?”

“Because pride gets you places. Shame doesn’t.”

Suddenly, you’re scrunching up your face and leaning forward, placing your glass on the counter between you —moving towards the edge of your chair so that you can explore his features the same way he did earlier.

Somehow it hardly phases him. Instead of making him sweat as it had previously done to you, you can sense that pride he’s talking about. All the underlying confidence that peaks through his pores, settling between the lines of age that reside around his mouth and eyes. It practically radiates off of him. Blinding you for a good few moments before it slowly fades behind the backdrop of something new. Something far more vulnerable, showcasing itself in the subtle way his eyes dart down towards the hand that’s suddenly found itself around his knee.

“You know, it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes,” you say, speaking to both him and yourself. Attempting to boost whatever confidence the two of you once had during the flirtatious parts of your conversation. “In certain circumstances, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Looking away, you then press your lips together and go to move your hand, feeling his quickly slip over top and how it pulls you back in again.

“This your way of granting me permission to be vulnerable, then?”

All you do is shrug, glancing down to see his fingers maneuvering your hand into his. Each digit lacing between the empty spaces of your own so that he can raise it and place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. An act that leaves you utterly breathless as he snorts and says something else. Something you don’t quite catch due to the fact that you’re already six feet below the surface, desperately trying to come up for air so that you can focus on the sound his mouth makes rather than what it might feel like against your skin. Or how it might taste after a long bout of—

“Oi, you listening?”

“Sorry?”

All he does is scoff as he kisses your hand again, watching your mouth open and close like a fish out of water. Taking you in with each struggling breath until he can feel your sense of stability returning.

“I said I’d really like to take you upstairs and fuck you, if that’s alright.”

At that moment, you’re completely speechless. A silent mess of twisting expressions too scared to respond with anything remotely charming.

As if you’ve been reduced to nothing but a follower worshipping their holy God, eventually all you do is nod and allow your body to be led up the stairs. Patiently waiting for the moment you step over that final threshold of privacy. All while internally wondering if what you’re doing is the right thing because there’s still so much work to be done. Not to mention the fact that everyone’s relying on you to—

“Aye, they can handle themselves for the night, yeah?”

Practically reading your mind, it’s as if you’re already one. A pair of bodies so tightly wound that by the time you’ve stepped into the room, he’s already working towards that goal.

Kicking the door closed, he presses into you almost instantly, moving his hands around your frame; lingering on the plushest parts as he inevitably slots his mouth against yours. Barely giving you a chance to think let alone breathe as he leads you to the bed. All while your hands wildly follow his in tandem, wrapping themselves around his shoulders —feeling them tense with excitement as the edges of your arms roughly knock against them on your way to hold his face.

Caressing his sturdy cheeks as he sits on the mattress’s edge, you then feel him pull you onto his lap, prompting you to smile against him. Feeling the way he gently bites back through the hazy taste of heated ale and desperation. Suppressing the urge to moan at the impact of his teeth taking hold of the skin before pulling back.

“You’re breathing a bit heavy there, sweetheart. Everything alright?”

You’re tempted to smack him but instead, you resort to merely tucking a hand behind his head to pull at his hair, watching his jaw shift. Feeling the tone of the room change almost as quickly as he grabs your chin.

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty little face of yours any further.”

For a moment his fingers feel tight against your face, pressing your lips into a pout until he eventually allows the softer side of his movements to return. Then you’re lost to the waves all over again, feeling him guide you to a standing position beside the bed. Watching intently as he follows behind, moving his fingers to the clasps of your armour.

“Bit overdressed it seems,” he jokes, instantly making quick work of all the fastenings and ties. Starting with your chest plate before making his way down to the belt of your trousers, painfully lingering on the latter.

“I see that pride of yours is still intact,” you say, moving in to kiss his lips. Realizing just how truly soft they are in comparison to the rest of him. How unlike the arrogance and greed that resides in his voice and hands respectively, there’s a hidden tenderness there. An Achilles’ heel that you’re more than happy to nurture rather than exploit.

Which is something you’re certain he notices based on the way everything changes after that. How, instead of things progressing solely for the purpose of shared satisfaction, they move with care. With newfound attentiveness in the form of slow, curious hands that coast the edges of your torso.

“You know, I never properly thanked you for saving us that day.”

Narrowing your eyes, you can’t help but smile at the sensation of his breath suddenly wafting against your neck. Or how his palms feel dragging down the fabric of your tunic only to tuck themselves against the bareness of your skin, resting just above your hips.

“Didn’t you?”

Far gentler than you anticipate, his mouth sucks the skin of your neck. His teeth applying a bit of pressure before his tongue darts out to soothe the small affliction. “Not in the way that I wanted to,” he tells you after, kissing that same spot before moving lower and repeating the process. All while digging his fingers into your hips. “Not in the way you deserve.”

There’s a moment when you go to ask him what he means. Not because you’re unaware but because you need to hear him say it. To listen to him admit that what he’s doing is nothing more than an act of gratitude so that after this is said and done you won’t be distracted anymore.

But then he proceeds to lower himself to the ground, floorboards creaking under the weight of his knees. Thumbs carefully brushing across the edges of your stomach before moving back to your belt. Looking up at you, his eyes are larger and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them before and it’s as if you're back on the shore, wondering whether or not it’s okay to dive back in.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

It comes out like a whisper. As your lungs fail to provide the air you need to breathe, you’re left stranded. Wafting through the waves of his hands peeling away the fabric of your dirtied clothes, the only thing that’s there to stabilize you is him. His hungry mouth and broad shoulders —his calloused hands ghosting the backs of your calves as he tentatively kisses the inside of your thighs. And in order to stop the tremors he inflicts from toppling you over, you have to reach down to grab his hair.

Wrapping your fingers gently around the knot that sits on top of his head, you hear him hum in response almost instantly. The vibrations of his voice brushing against the edge of your cunt. Every subtle movement of his hands and mouth forcing your body to shift uncomfortably, trying your best to alleviate the pressure.

An alleviation that doesn’t come easy. Thanks to the teasing of his lips eventually wrapping around your clit but failing to do much else. Knowing that good things like this take time.

(And that a little bit of teasing never hurt anyone).

“Rugan, can you— oh fuck—“

His tongue circles the exact spot you need it to. Moving languidly around before darting elsewhere and repeating the process, you can feel your insides tightening. The imaginary band within you being pulled taught as he moves his fingers up to brush your folds. Every motion working together to force a moan from your lips. The kind that makes him grin against you, forcing his fingers inside just as shifts to suck your clit again.

Immediately, it’s all too much. An overload of sensitivities taking over your mind. Suddenly, you feel your hips blindly rut against his mouth while you tug at his hair. Forcing him to work that much harder. Making it hard for either of you to breathe because he refuses to stop.

Even when you can feel him desperately panting against you, he refuses to stop. Running his tongue across every exposed area —embedding the feeling of its efforts throughout every nerve— it doesn’t take long for you to come undone.

In fact, it’s hardly a minute after you’ve egged him on that he’s pushed you over the edge, remaining completely consistent in his efforts to please you. To show his appreciation in the form of a suckling mouth that continues through the endless waves of pleasure. To graciously thank you over and over until you’re later left limp against his chest after the fourth or fifth round (you’ve lost count) breathing so hard he can’t help but feel smug about it.

TAGLIST:

@oldanimefan @void-singer @gunslingerorchid @littleplasticrat @fistfuloftarenths @kirahlene @killerpancakeburger @charmedslytherin @voloslobotomyservice @cloverthebarbearian @my-favourite-zhent @imgoingtofreakoutnow

#thanks lass!#rugan x tav #rugan x female reader #rugan x reader #rugan smut #summer writes

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comradekatara · 3 months

Note

Any fun Aang facts/ headcanons/ thoughts?

i don’t know if this is exactly fun but i think a lot about aang coping the first couple years after the end of the war. like i think on a spectrum of “the war is over and im so happy!!” to “suddenly thrust into a leadership position that is uniquely isolating and horrible,” aang perhaps isn’t struggling as much as the new firelord, but it’s a close thing.

i think katara would be the one who is happiest out of all of the gaang, since the war being over relieves this huge weight off her shoulders and she also gets to do the fulfilling work of rebuilding her tribe and finally being able to live up the potential she’s always imagined for herself, being able to preserve and pass on her heritage to a hopeful new generation. (that isn’t to say that she isn’t traveling the world with aang, trying to mitigate the damage caused by the war, but she would go back home as soon as possible. she needs to see gran gran!!!) there’s a sense of pride and satisfaction and joy to her role in this world that cannot be denied.

suki is in a similar position, where as the leader of the kyoshi warriors, her reunion with her sisters and their return to kyoshi island would be triumphant and joyous, and she gets to participate in the process of teaching a new generation of warriors, passing on her traditions and using her skillset to help people elsewhere. but then there’s also the lingering, nagging memory of being alone in a maximum security prison, and that trauma isn’t something one just gets over…

i see toph, more than anyone, spending the most time with zuko in the fire nation. she understands what it’s like to be alone, and she’d rather be with her family than her biological parents. i think she does visit them, but it doesn’t go well. toph may be incredibly sharp and mature for her age, but she is still just a kid, and the fact that her father will continue to reject her his entire life is a great wound, as much as she could flippantly deny it. but zuko understands what that’s like more than anyone, so being able to help him helps her through her own pain. even if zuko is a dick about it (although i think she stubbornly forces him to acknowledge her pain at some point instead of just outright dismissing her like he did on ember island), it’s a symbiotic relationship in its own way. i mean, he could definitely use a human lie detector.

sokka is like all over the place. i don’t know man he’s too complicated to sum up in one little paragraph. but yeah let’s just say the war ending doesn’t automatically Heal him and Solve his copious Issues. because it does solve some things but it also causes other problems. new problems even. but i already sort of talk about that here so let’s just move that for now.

and then of course zuko being crowned boy king of racist nation is like… not great. it works for thematic/symbolic/narrative reasons, of course, but realistically. it's a struggle! so, like i said, i think toph would stick by his side, and i think aang spends a lot of time in fire nation as well, and sokka as much as possible (NOT because he loves zuko, but because he thinks zuko is very stupid and he’s the world’s biggest control freak so if he doesn’t micromanage everything he’ll feel like it’s his fault if anything goes wrong). but iroh is…. not there. his best friend katara (i said what i said) is in the south pole or traveling the world or anywhere but Here. azula is. broken?? the world?? is broken?? and he (famously a fuck-up) is supposed to fix it???? poor kid.

anyway. this is all preamble to contextualize what can only be described as The Worst Puberty Anyone’s Ever Had. okay here’s a bonus fun headcanon: aang is born in october! i say this because he’s the most libra to ever do it (i don’t know shit about astrology but i do know that). so for the entire run of the show (from winter to summer) he is twelve years old. i don’t know if you’ve been around any twelve year old boys recently (not to brag, but i have), but they are Going Through It. and that’s the average twelve year old, not even including the shocking temporal displacement and being the sole survivor of a genocide and shouldering the burden of the whole fucking world and knowing that an entire country full of people want you dead.

the fact that aang maintains his childlike wonder and sweetness for the most part means that it’s going to hit him like a truck once the war ends and he finally has a chance to focus on himself. we see the early stages of puberty affecting him in terms of how he behaves around katara, the change between his book one kiddie crush and his book three confusion and intensity. but it’s more than just burgeoning sexuality. he wakes up, is informed that he’s been stuck in an iceberg for a century, that everyone he ever knew with the exception of appa and bumi are dead due to a genocide, and that it’s his responsibility to end the war. and the rest of the show is him trying to step into that duty and finally becoming the kind of person the world needs him to be. and now… it’s over.

on one hand, there’s that overwhelming sense of relief. he did it. he successfully prevented yet another genocide, stopped the war, and did it all without compromising his values. his new friends (his new family) are all alive and safe and now can rebuild the world together. they can rest and have fun and be kids. and that’s what aang is celebrating in the finale when he looks at all of them and smiles, when he hugs katara in acknowledgement of how far they’ve come. aang is incredibly strong and resilient, and it’s a strength that comes from a place of genuine love and understanding. he was taught good values as a kid, values that have guided him through the most unimaginable of tragedies. but he’s not perfect. no one is.

no one can prevent the oncoming swirl of hormones and trauma and second-guessing that is about to hit aang once it finally occurs to him that the purpose he has been fighting for ever since his entire life changed is now over, basically, and he has to figure out what it means to be alive outside of one sole, defining goal. as anne carson said in red doc>, “to live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.” as jp sartre said in la nausée, “i outlive myself” (specifically, anny says it to roquentin). what is aang doing if not ouliving himself? had he lived a normal lifespan that hadn’t been disrupted by a spiritually imposed stasis, he probably would’ve been dead by now (long dead, if we can assume that his death in lok is by natural causes). and his myth, his grand destiny of stopping the war and once more carving out a space for his people in this brave new world? well, he did it. accomplished it with flying colors. now it’s over. now he is a perilous thing.

as i alluded to before, i think the only person who can really truly empathize with aang’s situation is sokka. sokka, too, has survived beyond any point he imagined. he has built his entire identity around being a shield, and now that the war is over, his ability to protect others from immediate threats and sacrifice himself for a cause has been ripped away from him. he now has to forge an identity beyond reducing himself to a soldier, in a fundamentally unfamiliar world. sokka was shaped by war, and yet he lived past it, past the end of his myth. aang’s world is now also unfamiliar, not solely because the war is over, but because the war is over and yet he is still alone. he did it, he saved the day, and yet what is his reward? he saved a lot of people, but none of his people. he can never go home again.

aang and sokka’s role as foils is something i want to write about more because i do find it truly fascinating, but in these terms i think we can also read their psychological states postwar as a sort of reciprocal dynamic. i’ve spoken in the past about how in a postwar reconstruction landscape, sokka would do a lot of the administrative work that aang cannot. not only because aang is literally twelve, but because aang cannot focus all his attention on this world when he is also its only real tether to the past. so sokka would make room for aang to focus on being the last airbender by sort of taking on the mantle of pseudo-avatar. solely in the most bureaucratic sense of the title, of course, but that would be the role that sustains and (somewhat) fulfills him after the war. and i think aang would be grateful for that, but he’d also be somewhat resentful?? not of sokka (aang is too emotionally mature for that, plus he respects sokka too much), but he’d definitely resent himself. think about how guilty and shameful he feels whenever he feels like he’s let the world down due to factors beyond his control. and so the fact that sokka is doing so much of what aang himself should be doing because he’s too busy being defined by his status as a genocide survivor… well, it might make him angry. he might lash out. and we’ve seen him frustrated, volatile, and emotionally confused. it’s not pretty.

i know that we all only want the best for aang and want him to be happy and thriving after the war because he’s such a perfect kid who deserves the world, but realistically, i do think there would be a period where he’s kind of hard to be around. not only because that’s just something that happens to all adorable baby boys once they turn thirteen (i, for one, learned this lesson extremely painfully), but because he’s dealing with a lot and the only person who even remotely understands what he’s going through is also the most emotionally repressed guy he knows.

throughout atla, he never allows himself a moment to just stop and feel, because the depth of his grief is actually scary and incredibly difficult to confront. but i think if he did ever allow himself to feel, he might never stop. he might, in fact, spend a month or so curled up in blankets in bed eating nothing but bean curd puffs and shutting out everyone but momo. i actually think that’s more realistic than him immediately entering a perfect relationship with katara and being highschool sweethearts and popping out three kids. and frankly, i think going through that kind of depression now that he no longer has any pressing responsibilities also happens to be something he’s earned. he’s been pushing down his grief, ignoring it, distracting himself from it, this whole time. it’s time he finally lets himself feel.

on a happier note, i like thinking about aang and suki getting closer after the war (or even being close offscreen during the show, like on ember island). i like to think that suki can act as a sort of cool big sister figure to aang, who has suffered just enough that she can empathize with his pain, but isn’t too close to the situation (like fellow genocide survivors katara and sokka, or genocide perperators’ direct descendants, like zuko) that she can still discuss it with him without bringing her own baggage into the fore. she’s very good at giving direct, no-bullshit advice in a nonetheless kind and compassionate way, and she’s also very good at joking around and knowing how to let loose and have fun in a way aang appreciates. she also really admires and highly values the role of the avatar in the world, and she also admires and cherishes aang as a person, so i think she could give him that kind of measured encouragement that aang really needs to hear.

obviously katara has done this for aang a lot in the past, and i’m not saying she wouldn’t also continue to be a shoulder for aang to lean on, because no matter how much he may try to push her away, she will always be there for him, but i think suki also sort of provides a necessary detachment where he isn’t bogged down by any romantic feelings for her and she isn’t bogged down by her own all too similar trauma the way katara is. suki has people to help her work through her own trauma (sokka, her sisters, etc.) so aang doesn’t need to reciprocate. she’s just happy to be there for her surrogate baby bro who needs her. she’ll serve the avatar in any way she can, whether by becoming a kyoshi warrior, by sacrificing herself to free his bison, or by just chilling with him in bed while he rants about his impossible situation and cries on her shoulder.

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craycraybluejay · 3 months

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apparently it is morally wrong to have a crush/sexual feelings for anyone in general. Like. the whole 'dont sexualize literal people ewwww.' i really really wish less teens were on the internet because of this kind of stuff. we are mass-producing mental illness and i am not kidding.

like imagine being 15, having a crush on someone in your class, going on the internet, and being bombarded with all sorts of people saying its wrong to experience sexual thoughts towards people in your peer group. its wrong for adults to have sexual thoughts about other adults. its even more wrong for you, a teen, to have sexual thoughts about your classmates.

you are 16 now and very lucky to be in therapy with a well off enough family. you confess to your therapist how evil you are for wanting to touch or look at that one girl in your class. she looks at you with confusion, like how your mother looks at you when you ask her why you have a computer and your friend doesn't. why is it fair. everyone's confused about you and you are confused too. you're evil, you must be, because you have dirty disgusting feelings. you deserve to be mocked online, says dogluvr15089. you're an evil monster, says @Official Priest of West California. you're a pervert and sexual predator, says fandom_m0m321. they have stupid names and no faces-- but if all of them are saying it then it must have some truth to it, right? your therapist is saying something but you don't hear her, you're in your head wondering if you should punish yourself, how you should punish yourself. when you're back in the room with her you ask her what's wrong with you. she writes you a diagnosis for ocd and anxiety. you take the drugs, like the good, righteous, pure teenager you want to be. they make you feel weirdly empty, and not very hungry, and kinda sleepy. they might give you dementia in your 50s but who cares. you deserve it for being gross. you look through the comments even on other people's stuff, the comments telling them the same thing you were told. you're still punishing yourself for natural feelings-- seeking out the same degrading bullying when you don't get enough of it. you don't tell your therapist you are doing this; because you know she would tell you to stop and you don't want to stop. it's a compulsion. you talked about those last Tuesday.

you're 17. you haven't asked anyone out. by some miracle, a girl who likes you takes the initiative. you stumble through the date awkwardly and anxiously, trying not to touch her, flinching away when your fingers brush over a cheap burger. she asks if you're okay, and then asks, "don't you like me?" She asks, "why do you look like you're scared of me or something?" You stay silent. But then when it happens again, she gets up to leave and the rejection causes the dam to break. You try not to cry, because that's Emotional Manipulation. You choose your words carefully, because you don't want to accidentally Gaslight her like the evil thing you are. You stumble through it but you tell her you're sorry, you tell her you've never had the chance to date. You tell her, shaking like a leaf, like a dumb idiot, that you really really like her and she's very pretty and you're scared to say Hot or Sexy so you don't. And you tell her you're scared. You're really scared she'll see you're a bad person and leave you for someone more pure and good. You try really hard to phrase it like a PR team would. She tells you that's ridiculous, laughing like sunshine and kisses and god, sex. But most of all you've never heard someone so flippantly tell you how ridiculous of a notion that is. She makes you feel brave. You tell her what people have been telling you, scared that you're Trauma Bonding her but pushing through. She, with more surprise, again tells you it's ridiculous. She's not laughing anymore, but you want to make her laugh. You ask with a voice too small for your age if its okay you think her laugh is really sexy. She smiles so brightly its blinding, and says she thinks you're sexy too. You hold hands when you leave together. You go on more dates later, and the two of you talk about your problems and your dreams. And she shows you how to yell at "internet dumbasses." And you still go to therapy except this time you think it's working, because this time you Get It. You get it's ridiculous, and you're happy enough to try to heal.

And you know what? You're one of the lucky few that got that chance. Many teens struggle with mental health problems due to the internet. Not all of them are caused by this purity bullshit. Some of it is body image-- accounts that encourage eating disorders and low self-esteem. Some of it is trends and feeling lonely and unlikeable. Social media doesn't just excaberate mental illness. Sometimes it really and truly produces it and this fact needs more awareness.

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down-bad-bridgerton · 26 days

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Messy Masquerade pt 1.

The season is opening with a masquerade ball, and Anthony Bridgerton is looking for... just about anyone who wasn't on the list of names provided by his mother.

*~*

I lingered at the edge of the ballroom, my hands nervously shifting the mask concealing my face. I did not know what about the masquerade ball set my heart aflutter. It was certainly an unconventional opening to a season, but leave it to Lady Danbury to shake things up.

I knew my father would likely disapprove of my wallflower-like behavior, it was a frequent topic of discussion. I did not enjoy exchanging pleasantries with bachelors, it yielded no true insight into his character or my own.

I would much rather observe. One could tell so much about a man merely by seeing his expression when he ended a conversation, a perspective I could not take advantage of when I was the one he was conversing with.

I pursed my lips as I realized the benefit of the masks may be that my notably absent chaperone may have a more difficult time locating me during his check ins. He did not abandon me completely at such events, but he would certainly rather talk to the other men present rather than watch my every move.

He would often steer me in his preferred directions, but I was left to my own devices to follow up on his instruction.

I craned my neck to look over the crowd, deciding a glass of champagne to lighten my mood would be just the thing. Giving up on the notion of seeing anything over the sea of heads, I began to make my way around the room. I clung close to edges, knowing I would inevitably run into a table or server holding a tray of flutes.

As I slipped behind an older couple having a spirited but hushed argument, I began to feel a strange chill snake its way up my spine.

“Absolutely not!” The husband said, shaking his head as he stepped back to put some distance between him and his wife. I had to leap back to avoid colliding with him.

“Our Matilda is a lovely girl, if Viscount Bridgerton truly intends to choose his bride-” the wife argued in a rushed and rage filled tone. I stepped around them, eager to get myself out of earshot.

I glanced around, on edge as I hurried away from the arguing couple. I had the oddest sense someone was watching me.

I was making slow progress in my journey, I was certainly not the only one seeking to remain on the outskirts of tonight’s activities. As I waited patiently for a slow moving group of girls to rearrange themselves, I looked up and locked eyes with a man working his way through the throng closer to the dance floor.

While he too wore a mask, his thick, neatly styled hair was a dead give away; he was a Bridgerton. I paused, hovering to watch as he approached to determine which Bridgerton was working his way towards me. As he drew nearer, his height became more apparent and I surmised it must be the Viscount himself.

Curiosity satisfied, I turned to continue on my way, but something caught my eye. Was he… Looking at me?

I turned back, startled to see him walking briskly in my direction. I found myself rooted to the spot, a storm of curiosity and dread brewing in my belly. This must be the work of Violet Bridgerton, I realized. She certainly had a way of spotting a wallflower, I had witnessed her sending Colin off to escort Penelope Featherington to the dance floor on multiple occasions.

I did not have time to follow that thought any further, I forced my thoughts to the back of my mind, mustering the most serene smile I could.

“Good evening.” He greeted me, wearing a polite smile.

“Good evening, Viscount Bridgerton.” I dipped my head graciously, trying my hardest to keep my smile from growing into a terribly unbecoming smirk as I saw his eyes widen behind the mask.

“My reputation precedes me, it seems.” He replied, clearly amused. He gestured to his mask flippantly. “This appears rather pointless.”

“Unfortunately so, in your case.” I replied, nodding my agreement. “Mine, however, seems to serve its intended purpose.”

“So will you tell me your name?” He asked. I felt a pang, I had not spoken to the Viscount often, but my mother had been good friends with his before her passing and I had thought he might recognize me from my visits to his sisters. I pursed my lips, mulling over my options before responding.

“Well that would ruin the fun, would it not?” I said in a hushed voice. My eyebrows rose beneath my mask, before I realized he could not see that part of my face. I flicked open my fan and fanned myself a few times, hoping it would dispel the heat in my cheeks.

“Very well, I shall respect your privacy.” He said, nodding. He glanced down at his shoes, shifting his weight before returning his piercing dark gaze to me. “If you will not tell me your name, will you at least grant me a dance?”

My lips parted, but no sound came out. I had suspected that was his goal, but his request still took me aback.

“I would be delighted, my Lord.” I said, knowing better than to turn a man down. Folding my fan, I turned to the young ladies next to me. Before I could even ask, a blonde girl who I only knew by her family name was extending her hand to take my fan. We exchanged smiles as I placed my folded fan into her palm and turned back to see Lord Bridgerton extending his hand to me.

I placed my hand in his, allowing him to lead me toward the dance floor. My heart was hammering in my chest, I did not think I was a bad dancer, but I had not had much practice and I had admittedly neglected to maintain my skill during the off season. I closed my eyes for a brief moment as he led me through the crowd, glad that if I humiliated myself hopefully the ton would not recognize me immediately.

We took our positions, standing opposite one another as couples around us took their places and others cleared from the dance floor. I looked back to Anthony, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of me when I saw his gaze fixed on me. He averted his gaze as soon as our eyes locked.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I was interrupted by orchestra abruptly beginning to play their next song. We fell into rhythm immediately, holding our palms up with mere inches between them and beginning to rotate around one another.

“Is this your first season?” He asked as he gracefully swapped hands, turning on the spot and tucking his other arm behind his back. I mirrored him, changing directions as gracefully as I could.

“No, it is my second.” I answered, hoping he could not tell how hard I was focusing on the placement of each step.

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “Why is that?”

“I had suitors, no proposals.” I said tensely, tensing as the music grew more intense and he closed the distance between them. They both lifted their hands, they did not quite touch, they were close enough that their gloved fingers brushed but their palms did not touch. They continued their slow rotation, there was no where to look now but the others face.

“I did not mean to offend.” He said hastily. “I just find it surprising.”

“We found my prospects wanting.” I replied, struggling to keep the bite from my tone. He smiled in amusement.

“I can certainly understand why, it was a struggle to find a suitable match for my sister in the pool of bachelors from last season.” He said with a mock shudder. I blinked in surprise, it was not common for a gentleman to speak poorly of his peers (unless of course, they were vying for the same hand.)

The music picked up pace, and we stepped together effortlessly. He grabbed my hand and took my waist in one fluid movement, and we began to step to the rhythm of the music in harmony.

“Rumor has it you intend to find a wife this season.” I said casually, enjoying the exasperated look on his face as his shoulder slumped beneath my hand.

“Ah, my mother has been effective in getting the word out.” He sighed. “Do not remind me, please. My feet are sore from her last recommendation.”

“So I made the list.” I said smugly, my smirk getting the best of me. I had suspected he had asked me to dance at his Mother’s behest.

Anthony did not answer, but he let out a hearty laugh. My smirk fell quickly, my heart sinking. Was I so low in rank that I was a laughable addition to her list?

“My Mother’s list is to blame for the attacks on my feet.” He said, shaking his head and chuckling. “If you are wondering if I approached you due to her, I did not.”

“Oh.” I said lamely, looking down at our feet. My cheeks were flushed, and I did not know what to say or make of what he’d said. We continued to move in sync, while I wished the ground would swallow me up.

“Tell me, Miss.” he said suddenly, clearly wanting to keep the conversation going. I looked up, waiting for him to finish his thought. “What are you looking for in a match?”

“Someone kind.” I blurted out. I quickly realized that seemed too simple, although it was the truth. I hastened to elaborate. “Someone compassionate, gentle… Someone I might consider a friend.”

“That is all?” He pressed, surprised.

“I am a young lady in my second season.” I reminded him patiently. “I dare not get my hopes too high.”

“That is a shame.” He said, his expression grim. “But I understand.”

I was spared having to come up with a response by the song coming to an end. We looked to one another for a moment, and then pulled apart.

“Thank you, my Lord.” I said, dropping into a curtsy.

“Please, call me Anthony.” He said, waving away my formalities.

“Best of luck for the season. Enjoy your evening.” I said, offering him a polite smile as I turned to make my way off the dance floor.

“Wait! You did not give me your name.” He called after me, he took a few steps toward me, but I knew he would not chase me across a crowded ballroom and I had already put distance between us.

“Goodnight!” I called over my shoulder, smiling to myself as I picked up my skirts to avoid tripping. I hurried into the crowd, slipping in between the other guests skillfully, putting plenty of distance between Lord Bridgerton and myself. It was certainly not my most graceful interaction at a ball, but I was spared further humiliation by anonymity.

I heard my name being called, and turned to see my father approaching from the direction of the terrace. I moved to meet him, the smell of whiskey and cigar smoke radiating off of him.

“Have you had any luck?” He asked gruffly, his eyes bloodshot from the drink.

I simply shook my head, reaching out to steady him as he staggered. “Not yet, how has your evening been?”

“Productive. I hear Lord Lumley has a boy around your age…..” He said, looping my arm with his as he wobbled his way towards the refreshment table. I hummed, feigning my interest as I listened to his drunken ramblings to close the evening.

#reader insert #x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #netflix #viscount bridgerton #regency era

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estrellami-1 · 4 months

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If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44

They do eventually get their waffles. Steve had brought her to his favorite diner, even though it’s a little farther away, and the payoff is almost immediate. El gets a waffle the size of her face that’s absolutely smothered in whipped cream and chocolate chips. She digs in with a ferocity that almost scares Steve as he tucks into his own breakfast-for-dinner.

A sudden thought occurs to him, and he leans in to speak to El. “El?”

She looks up at him, eyebrows raised, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. He chuckles. “Maybe try taking smaller bites. Your waffle’s not gonna run away.” He grins when she swallows and grins at him. “I’m gonna call the house real quick. D’you wanna stay here, or come with me?” He points to the phone tucked into the corner of the diner, in clear view of their booth.

She twists her napkin in her hands, then almost nervously looks at him. “With you?”

“Okay,” he agrees easily. “D’you wanna talk to anyone?”

She shakes her head. “I just wanna stay by you.”

“That’s okay,” Steve promises her. “Ready?”

She nods, and together they stand, moving towards the phone.

He dials the number and waits, widening his eyes comically at El until she giggles.

The phone goes to voicemail, which he expected, so he sing-songs into the receiver, “Hello, it’s me, Robbie, pick up please!”

“Steve!” She gasps after a click and a cacophony of noises that has him wincing and pulling the phone away from his ear a little. El giggles again at that. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Practicing with El at the junkyard. Now we’re getting waffles at Jackie’s.”

Robin groans, and he grins. “Steve! You traitor! That’s my favorite!”

“Robin.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

She gasps. Dramatically. “I am reacting appropriately to something of this magnitude, Steven!” She hisses, but she can’t hide the smile in her voice. God, Steve loves her so much.

“We’re okay, Robs,” he says quietly, like somehow it’ll say everything he wants to.

Based on the way she gets quiet, too, Steve thinks she knows exactly what he means. “I’m glad.”

“We’re gonna finish eating then go practice a little more. We’ll be home after that, before sundown. Promise.”

“I’m holding you to that. I will find your nailbat and bring it if I have to.”

“Jokes on you,” he says, “I already have it.”

“Fine, then I’ll bring Nancy and her guns,” Robin responds. “And probably Wayne. The guy’s really cool. And he can shoot.”

Steve chuckles. “How’s he holding up?”

Robin sighs. “About as well as can be expected. Better, actually, I think. I think maybe at this point he’s seen so much shit that nothing surprises him anymore.”

Steve snorts. “I know how that feels.”

She hums, distracted. “Sure,” she says, then addresses Steve. “Alli wants to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, Bubba,” comes next, and he’s smiling before he realizes it.

“Hey, Al. How’re you feeling?”

“Fine. Terrified. Pissed off. Ready to tear him apart with my bare hands.”

“I think if we’d had you last time, we would’ve won.”

“Oh, definitely,” she says flippantly. “Listen, Bubba, can I offer you some advice?”

“Sure.”

“You and Eddie. Whatever you are, whatever you want to be. Don’t wait, okay? Say something. Tonight, preferably. Just- we’re all gonna make it, I know we are. But I don’t want you to regret not saying something when you could’ve.”

Steve’s heart clenches, and he tugs El in gently to envelop her in a one-armed hug. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I will. Promise.”

“M’kay. Love you, Bubba. Be safe.”

“Love you. I will.”

The line goes dead, and he places the phone back on the hook.

“Steve?” He looks down at her. “Are you okay?”

He chuckles roughly. “Ask me again tomorrow, kiddo.”

They finish their food—El cleans her plate so thoroughly Steve is convinced she must’ve snuck away to wash it, and tells her so, resulting in another giggle—and head back out to the junkyard. “We don’t have much time,” he tells her as he parks again. “I told Robin we’d be home before dark. But this should be enough time to practice a little more. Whatever you felt earlier, whatever was in your chest keeping you company. Try to find it again, and draw from it, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmurs, looking out over the cars again.

He looks, too, and thinks he sees something, but by the time his eyes pan over the spot again, it just looks like a car. He plays it off as nerves and a trick of the setting sun and does his best to relax, so he’s not interrupting El at all.

He keeps his eyes peeled, and contemplates grabbing his bat from the trunk, but ultimately decides against it. He doesn’t think the demodogs would come out during the day.

Suddenly a demodog jumps on top of a car in front of them, and another appears to their left as two appear to their right, and Steve has time to think, famous last words, before it all goes to shit.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @str4wb3rry-guy @paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns @bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt @l0st-strawberry

#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #el hopper #el and Steve are siblings #adopted. but still #also just in case it’s not obvious. yes Steve is doing his best to make El laugh in the restaurant #robin buckley #platonic stobin #what’s the word for a man-crush but you’re a lesbian and also a lot younger than the man in question?#because that’s Robin with Wayne #Allison Harrington #starambles

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 10 months

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The Song We Are Drawn Towards; Jade Leech

A song rests in the heart, calling out to the one who completes the harmony. Their match pulls at them, as the moon does the tide.

Main Character: Jade Leech

Supporting Roles: Floyd Leech, Mr Leech, Azul Ashengrotto

Content: Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match instead), gender-neutral reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to friends to ???, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic and that was done on purpose, exploring different parts of Jade so he may seem OOC

Content Warning: self-doubt (Jade), injury & blood (Jade), some swearing, just general tweel things

Word Count: 5K

Author’s Note: Please do not repost my works to other websites or into AI software. I may or may not write parts for other characters; if you want to be tagged for those please let me know. I switch between third and second-person point of view, if that bothers you, sorry. Spell check done by Grammarly. Much like Azul's, this too was written in two or three days.

Azul's Story & Prologue | Floyd's Story

As a young mer, Jade would often listen in to what people had to say about soul matches. He would humour Floyd, and listen to him ramble about what his song and pull was like. For his twin, it felt like someone tugging at his tail playfully, and his song was like that of fireworks and twinkling stars in the night sky. It suited him; playful, full of wonder. And if Jade were to be honest with himself, he would admit that he was jealous of Floyd. That he knew, but didn’t want to admit, since then those jealous feelings would only continue to grow until he snapped out, and he didn’t want that to happen.

“What about yours, Jade,” Floyd drawled out the question, peeking up from behind the bed. “Ya never share what it feels like for you. I wanna know about the lil siren song stuck in your head!~”

Jade put down the book he was reading and looked at his brother, pursing his lips into a slight frown. “You wouldn’t find it interesting, there isn’t anything to really say about it,” he sighed.

Floyd didn’t like this answer, and tugged at his brother’s tail fin rather harshly, threatening to tear at the caudal fin. “That’s not fair! I told you mine,” he whined. “It’s only fair if you share yours! We could even help each other out and hunt them down together!”

For as much as he enjoyed his company, Floyd could be as persistent about a topic he deemed as interesting as he was flippantly annoying at times. “Well,” he smacked Floyd’s hand away, smoothing over his caudal fin, “if yours is like a starlit sky, then mine would feel like a moonless, and starless one.” Void of any light. Void of any sound. Nothing but a gaping darkness where there should have been light. “Happy?”

“Hmmmm,” Floyd shrugged his shoulders and sank to the floor, busying himself with whatever had caught his eye. “Not really, but you’re being boring. Eh, whatever! When we find ‘em it’ll get twice as interesting.~ OH! Maybe one of them is a surface dweller! I wonder what their reaction would be to us!” He threw the toy he was playing with at his moping brother. “But you don’t need to worry, Jade, I won’t leave the sea!”

Jade sighed. He had only spoken about the lack of any sign that he had a soul match with his father. Not that he didn’t want to tell his mother, but he knew that she would take it harder than his father would. And saying that it was like the darkness of night without any light source was technically accurate, but Floyd didn’t have to know about this quite yet. He would tell him eventually, just… not right now.

. . .

The Leechs’ father could tell when something was off with Jade. He may have been good at hiding it from his brother, and masking from his mother, but the older eel-mer recognized that look well enough.

“Thinking about it again,” he asked, putting down some paperwork that could always wait. “You know, you can always talk to me, Jade.”

The younger eel-mer looked up towards his father, debating whether or not he wanted to reveal everything that has been weighing so heavily on his mind. “Is,” he paused, worrying over his lip with his teeth, “is there something wrong with me?”

Mr Leech got to his son’s level, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing is wrong with you,” his voice was stern, but he knew that what Jade needed was reassurance, a steady anchor in the churning sea lest he be lost in it forever. “Some merfolk don’t have soul matches, and that is perfectly fine and normal.”

Jade opened his mouth and then closed it, eyebrows pinched.

“You have yourself, and you are enough as is. There is nothing wrong with you, even though at times you may feel that there must be.” He looked into his eyes, placing a hand on his cheek. “Also, you are in control of your life, Jade. You will form all kinds of different relationships, and you don’t need a soul match to determine that for you or determine your happiness or success in life.”

Jade rubbed at his nose and placed his hand over his father’s. “Thank you, dad,” he whispered, as if he was any louder than that, all of those emotions inside would burst.

His dad pulled him in for a gentle hug, “And whenever you have a bad day, just remember that. And that you’ll always have me, your mother, and your brother.”

“I will.”

. . .

Jade was busy doing his morning routine. Taming down his hair, fixing up his uniform, and making sure everything was in order; that his courteous and carefully crafted mask was on. Since it was better to keep the less… appealing parts of himself away from the public eye. But the most difficult part of the morning has had yet to pass, waking up and dragging Floyd out of bed. Both of the mers were not morning people, but it was all a part of the experience of living on land and attending one of the best mage schools that Twisted Wonderland had to offer.

He opened up the blinds, letting in the weak sunlight. “Time to get up, Floyd,” he hummed, poking the mass of tangled bedsheets with one of his brother’s shoes that had managed to get on his side of the dorm.

A golden eye glared out from beneath the sheets before turning back over. “Jus’ five more minutes,” Floyd groaned, pulling the sheets over his head to block out the light and his brother’s smug face. “Too earlyyyyy!”

“Tsk, tsk,” Jade tutted, grabbing the blankets and pulling them off, earning a loud groan and a tired yet irked look from his sleepy twin. “We both know that’s a lie. Now,” he grabbed a wayward lanky leg, yanking him out of bed, “up we get.” When did he get so heavy?

Floyd fell on the ground with an oomph, and shot his twin a venomous look. “Ugh! Fine,” he grumbled, rubbing his backside and making his way to the bathroom to freshen up. “Do ya think there’ll be any interesting guppies?~” He poked his head out, fighting with his uniform since over the break he had a growth spurt.

Jade quirked a brow, looked over at Floyd and motioned for him to get back in the bathroom and fix his appearance. “The probability is high,” a sharp smirk graced his face, “especially since it means that we should have the chance to… manage those who fail their end of Azul’s little contracts.” He noticed in the reflection of one of his terrariums that his tie was crooked, leaning in, he fixed it. “That should be entertaining enough.”

“Eh heh heh!~ Squirming like a worm on a hook,” Floyd sang. He continued to busy himself with looking at least ‘halfway presentable’ by Azul’s standards, humming his and his soul match’s song under his breath, a dopey smile on his face.

Jade could feel his mood sour a tad, but reminded himself that he shouldn’t be jealous of Floyd. Besides, he has fared well enough thus far without a soul match. He had his interests, his brother, an Azul to annoy and pester, and an entire world to explore still. New discoveries to be made. Plus, he had recently made a new terrarium and he could see the beginnings of new growth about to burst forth. He was content. Not happy, but content with what things were currently. He gently picked up one of the smaller terrariums, noticing it was looking a bit dry and in need of some extra water. As he was putting it back in its proper spot though, he froze, hand clenching the little glass in a vice grip.

He could hear singing. It was quiet, but it was still singing. And now it felt like the time that a foolish fisherman had gotten one of his lures in his fin, being pulled towards someone. The glass shattered, sending small flecks of blood and glass on his glove and the floor. But he ignored the stinging of his fingers and palm, all he could focus on was the song and the insistent tugging at his heart.

. . .

Jade had made it his personal mission since recovering from the shock of the sudden soul match, to make the singing in their head as loud as possible. To annoy them as much as possible. They had kept him believing for all these years that he was alone, so now they could deal with the consequences of their actions. Was it petty? Extremely, but Jade did it for another reason; if he was loud enough, eventually they would either seek him out to make the internal assault stop, or he would see them wince and he could make their life a personal hell in person. And he knew they were nearby, as the pulling at his soul felt the strongest when he made his way through the halls of the school. He could just follow the tugging, but he didn’t want to chase them down. He wanted them to seek him out.

Something irked him about this whole situation. And it was the fact that even though the singing in his match’s head was intolerable, thanks to him, the song in his head has yet to retaliate, still the pleasant background hum that it was on the first day. He has only heard it go up in volume a handful of times, but never to the volume of his. The tugging during those short outbursts, feeling like he was caught in the strongest gyre of his life, even though he was still on land.

“Jade, are you paying any attention?” Azul quipped at him, snapping his fingers to bring the plotting eel out of his thoughts.

Jade shook his head, centering his thoughts to the present. “Ah, my apologies, Azul, my mind must have drifted elsewhere. Could you repeat what you just said?” He got caught up thinking about them again, and he bristled. Why should he afford them the luxury of even thinking about him?

Azul sighed and pushed up his glasses. “I said that due to the full moon next week, I won’t be able to look after the Lounge or dorm affairs. And we can’t just go about and hand over these duties to just anyone. So in short, the Lounge will be closed during the day and open all night.”

Ah, so that was what he wanted. “Is that your long winded way of saying that we will all be working midnight shifts,” he looked down at Azul, eyes searing.

“Azul is so meannnn,” Floyd appeared from seemingly nowhere, and tossed his arm onto Jade’s shoulder. “He doesn’t want to even find his cuttlefish! So mean, even to your soul match,” he bemoaned.

Azul flushed blue at the pet name that Floyd had apparently dubbed his soul match, embarrassed. “I told you not to call them that,” he hissed, quiet enough so that no passerby was able to easily overhear. “Besides, only those who have found there’s or,” he glanced at Jade, “well nevermind the or. Those who still haven’t found their soul match won’t have to work the night. So stop your whining!”

Floyd rolled his eyes and got off of Jade. “Eh, still mean. Maybe finding your cuttlefish will change that?~” He leaned into Jade’s ear, making sure that Azul couldn’t overhear him. “Maybe his soul match will put him in his place.~”

Azul’s eye twitched, “Do you want me to put you on dish duty?” Whatever he was whispering was sure to give him a migraine.

“Do you want to buy new plates,” Floyd’s joking aura turned into something more menacing. He and Azul stared at each other for a few moments before Floyd apparently got bored. “Tch, whatever.” And he was off, as suddenly as he had appeared, slinking into the crowd of students that quickly got out of his way, lest they wanted his sudden mood swing to be directed at them.

Azul pinched the bridge of his nose, “So, technically you will be in charge of the Lounge this week.” Since you don’t have a soul match you have nothing better to do. He didn’t need to say it, but Jade could feel and infer the implication, and his left eye twitched slightly.

He mentally smoothed himself down, hiding the momentary glimpse of weakness, of the mask slipping off. “Of course,” he voice was clipped, “you can rest assured that the Lounge will be properly kept to your standards.”

Azul gave him a look, but just summed up Jade’s odd behaviour as just a Jade thing. The eel-mer was never the easiest to read, even on the best of days. “Just no funny business, and do not turn the entire menu into mushroom dishes,” he huffed. He didn’t want to hear that revenue had been impacted by Jade’s hyperfixation on fungi.

“Half of the menu,” Jade bargained, sending a mocking polite smile towards Azul. Seeing him send him back a glare, he continued. “Afterall, Azul, you’re leaving me in charge. Part of that position includes overseeing the menu for the week. Besides, it would only be half. That should be a fair enough trade; you get to look for your match, I get a say in the menu.”

Why did the twins insist on giving him a headache at least once a day? “Fine, but only for this week,” he gave in. Jade pulled his weight in both his Lounge and vice-house warden duties, so he would give in to the eel’s demands this once. Besides, he wanted the same as Floyd; to find his soul match this year.

Jade chuckled, “Pleasure doing business with you, Azul. Please do keep me updated with how looking for your… What did Floyd call them? Ah, your cuttlefish, goes.” And he walked off before Azul could give him an earful of whatever it was that he was going to tell him. Perhaps staying at the Lounge should keep him occupied from thinking too much about his match.

. . .

Ever since arriving in Twisted Wonderland, a song has played in your head. The first hour wasn’t horrible, just faintly playing in the corners of your mind. Sure it was annoying, but it was tolerable. But the faint humming soon turned into an assault, and you felt like you were standing next to the speaker in a concert. So, needless to say you were willing to do almost anything to make it stop. You’ve had a damn headache for weeks and no amount of this world’s version of Advil, Tylenol, or ibuprofen worked. How you haven’t snapped yet still eludes you, and you wanted answers. Now.

Ace and Deuce were of little help, just giving you weird (Ace) and concerned (Deuce) looks. So you took it on yourself to get to the bottom of why this infernal song is playing on repeat while on full blast. This, naturally, led you to the library to hunt down some answers. Any students that rounded the corner you were in were quick to walk in the opposite direction, noticing the quickly building mountain of books, and increasingly irritated muttering.

“AHA!” You shouted, finally finding something that looked halfway promising. A series of hissed hushing came your way but you shrugged it off, happy to finally find some answers.

“Humans may come down with peculiar symptoms should their soul match be of a different clan.”

Soul match?

“The most distressing of these symptoms can be found with those whose match belongs to the merfolk clan. As, until they find each other, they will feel like someone is pulling at them when there is in actuality, no one there. Some humans have also complained about the song that plays in their head, as some soul matches will purposely cause their song to be loud, as to remind their soul match that they are still out there. Waiting to meet them.

A song rests in the heart, calling out to the one who completes the harmony. Their match pulls at them, as the moon does the tide.”

So this song that’s been driving you mad for weeks is due to your soul match? Someone who was picked by the spirit of one of the Seven; someone who makes you happy through a familial, platonic, and/or romantic relationship. Well two can play at that game. They messed with you for weeks, gave you headaches and migraines for weeks. The least you could do was to return the favour in full force. Bring it on, motherfucker.

. . .

Jade woke up, hissing. The faint humming in his head had exploded into loud screaming, but not out of pain or fear. No, it was spite and pettiness. Looks like his soul match finally had enough of the onslaught in their head, or finally figured out that they could control the song in his head. He would have been amused, finally feeling his match break their composure and disturb the harmony, but not in the middle of the night. Not the day before he would be forced back into the water during daylight hours and only being able to come out during the night.

He glared up at the ceiling, gritting his teeth in annoyance. He really should have seen this coming, after all, he had been doing this to them for weeks, never once letting up on the deafening song. It was no use going back to sleep now, even if he tried. His soul match was too loud and angry to be ignored. Sighing, he pulled himself out of his sheets, spared a look at Floyd to make sure he was asleep, and went to the Octavinelle pools to try and cool off.

Slipping into the water, he shifted into his merform. The song was still loud as ever, but the coolness of the water helped take some of the pain away. He could always apologize through the song in their head, but he wasn’t going to back down from this battle. So he fired back, louder than them. It’s only fair.

The scream of the song halted for a second, and Jade smiled to himself, letting himself sink to the bottom of the pool. But that feeling of victory was short-lived, as the singing returned, this time hitting him like the sonar of a sperm whale, loud enough to make his eardrums rupture. He hissed in pain, letting his singing in their head cease, falling into something not as loud, but still noticeable. And as soon as it had started, the singing in his head changed to match the volume it was for them. What you do to me, I’ll do to you. Is the message he guessed they were sending.

Still in pain, he decided to lessen the volume in his soul match’s head to a pleasant humming, and they soon did the same for him. And so, he sat at the bottom of the pool, looking up into the faint blue filtered light from above, and let his soul sing for him. It conveyed loneliness, jealousy, hurt, confusion. Everything that has plagued his mind, all of the things he kept bottled up, was sung and put out into the open.

The singing in his head changed too, they were also confused, lost, and unsure what any of this meant. Nothing was said, but the emotion carried through. Both of them were like that for a while, humming their emotions and thoughts to each other. This continued until the slivers of sunlight filtered through, and cast their golden beams into the water.

Another set of mismatched eyes peered down from above, noticing that his brother was singing, finally singing for the first time. Floyd memorized the lyrics, and he swam silently to the other side of the pool, letting his brother be, and coming up with a plan.

. . .

Someone was knocking insistently at your door. You grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Whoever it was might want to have a good reason to wake you up from the dead of sleep. The song in your head hummed, like it was chuckling at you. You sent a sharp note through their head in return. The knocking persisted, threatening to take the door off its hinges if you didn’t hurry up and open it already.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you yawned, cracking the door open so you could at least put a face to the intruder before letting them in. “Floyd?”

The person knocking at your door at this ungodly hour was none other than Floyd Leech, looking way too chipper for this time of night. “Heyya, Shrimpy!~” How could he still have all this energy at this hour? “Come on,” he grabbed you by the arm and dragged you behind him without explaining any further in typical Floyd manner.

You dug your heels in, but it didn’t stop him. “Where? It’s night time, I wanna go back to sleep,” you protested, sending him a groggy glare. Either you could walk with him, or he would get tired of pulling you along and throw you over his shoulder.

Floyd decided to actually answer your questions for once. “We’re going to the Lounge, silly Shrimp!~ Silly, silly Shrimpy,” he said, still tugging you along behind him.

“Why? And why couldn’t you let me change into something else,” you pointed down to your sleepwear. “Also, I thought the Lounge wasn’t open this late?”

“Eh, Azul wanted to still ‘make some revenue’ and ‘benefit from matches finding each other and wanting to share some food together’ so the Lounge is open at night this week. Come on, hurry up! I wanna go bug Jadeeee!~” And up you went, there was no use in protesting or fighting him, so you accepted your fate as the eel’s human tote bag.

You sighed, and hummed the little tune of you and your soul match under your breath. The song in your head hummed along, harmonizing the melody. You couldn’t see Floyd’s face, since you were currently getting a great view of the ground passing by, but he wore a large and smug smile on his face as he quickly made his way to the Mostro Lounge.

. . .

The Mostro Lounge was quiet, a few new soul matches occupying some tables and chatting, and the small waitstaff team going around and seeing if they wanted anything from this week’s limited menu; The Moon’s Harmony. Jade stood behind the counter, making sure that everything was going smoothly while Azul was out. And so far it was, although it was the first night, but so far so good. During moments when there were no customers, Jade would test the waters with his match, letting the song go up in volume until they retaliated. He would shake his head and silently chuckle to himself, ears still ringing from the other night from when they had enough with his petty shouting in their head. They had some spunk, he’d give them that. It was quiet tonight in his head too, his match most likely asleep at this hour, so he was surprised to hear the annoyed grumbling in his head.

He decided to get cheeky, since things were pretty boring on his end, and he received a sharp note in return, making him wince. Even when half-awake they could still tell him off. He went into the back and busied himself with cleaning up a few dishes, letting his mind wander about. The pulling at his soul was the strongest this week, and he wanted to follow it, but he still wanted them to find him. For them to make the first move. For them to choose him. Sighing, he put the plate he was working on to soak in the sink.

The line pulling at him went taut. The singing in his head getting louder, but not from his match willing it to. They were close, closer than ever before. He exited the back, and came to stand behind the counter, looking out for any familiar or new faces. Still the same customers as before. Strange, he could have sworn that-

“Jadeeeeee,” a flurry of teal hair burst through the door. “I missed youuuu!~” Floyd sang, but Jade just cocked a brow at his brother’s entrance. “Also,” he tossed you onto a sofa, “I brought Shrimpy with me!”

Jade glanced at you, noticing that you were still in your pyjamas. “Ah, hello, Prefect,” he said in his usual polite and proper way. But his mind was elsewhere, the pulling and singing at the forefront of his mind. “Strange for you to be up at this hour, no?”

You straighten yourself out, and suppress a yawn. “Hi, Jade. Wasn’t really my choice,” you shot a look at Floyd, “I was just dragged along for the ride.” The singing in your head was also getting louder, and you felt like you were being drawn towards a magnet. Where are you?

Floyd’s eyes kept on going between you and Jade, and a frown formed on his face, apparently not happy with the results that he got. “I could’ve been out searching for my match, but Shrimpy is just so much fun when they get mad,” he flung himself across your lap, effectively trapping you there. His eyes shone, and he sent a wink at you. “Say, what’s that song you’ve been humming, huh, Shrimpy?”

“It’s nothing,” you state, knowing that once Floyd found out you had a soul match, a mer no less, that he would make your life a living hell… Well, more so than he already did. And you didn’t want both Floyd and Jade on your case or interfering with you or your match’s lives.

This interested Jade, who was still watching from the counter. The song in his head sounded annoyed, and tired. “Nothing you say,” he stayed where he was, watching your reactions carefully. “Do you know of soul matches, Prefect?”

You kept a neutral expression, “Just some of the basics.” The song in your head was curious, something must have caught their attention.

“But Shrimpy, you have a song in here, don’t cha?~” Floyd pointed to his head, and pointed to your’s. A shit-eating smile took over his face, “You have a soul match!!!~ Shrimpy and a mer, sitting in a tree-”

You pushed Floyd off of your lap unceremoniously, hoping he wouldn’t finish the rest of that lyric. He shot you a look, but rolled his eyes and got up from off the ground. “Well maybe if you leave me alone for a minute I can go find them,” you muttered. “And no,” you spat, “you aren’t invited.”

Jade seemed satisfied with this, and went back to see if anything needed to be looked after. Come find me, he sang in their head.

But what about choosing? You sang back.

He looked back out, noticing that both you and Floyd were gone. Choosing? That can come later, we haven’t even met yet. Or at least I don’t believe we have.

You were being dragged again by Floyd, this time to the pools. Where can I find you?

Jade sighed, loosening his bowtie. Just follow the song. Follow your soul. Then you will find me.

. . .

You were floating in the Octavinelle pool, trying to relax. Tring being the main word, as Floyd was hell bent on spending time with you tonight. Not to mention, through the exchange of your song, your soul match has been loud, not to the extent of the first weeks, but still loud enough where they couldn’t be ignored.

Find me.

Floyd splashed you, trying to get your attention, masking the extra ripples from someone else entering the pool, and hiding your form from them. “Shrimpyyyy,” he whined, “come on! Sing your song! I won’t tell anyone! I’ll even sing you mine!” He swam up next to you, “Maybe that will help you find them.”

Find me. “I need to find them on my own, Floyd,” you sigh, knowing it was true. Find me.

“Eh, you’re boring,” he sighed, and dived down into the depths, disappearing.

You swam over to the side of the pool, feeling like you were being drawn down, your song the loudest it has ever been. Find me. Taking a deep breath, you centred yourself and dived down, following the pull and the song, only coming back up for quick gasps of air.

Meanwhile Jade was stretching out his tail, and humming his song. He felt something tugging at him from above. Looking up he saw a figure breaking the surface. Find me. The pulling was from them. They had actually come looking for him. But he stayed where he was, watching from below.

You took in a few short fast breaths before taking in one last large one before diving down again. Find me. The singing was loud, the pull guiding you to the bottom of the pool. There, you could see a figure. Find me. You feel your lungs start to burn, but you had to reach them. As you continued down you finally saw each other. Two oh-so familiar mismatched eyes glowed from the depths, and Jade’s skin was glowing faintly from his own bioluminescence.

Jade looked back at you, despite being out of your element, and in your pyjamas, he looked at you in wonder. He snapped himself out of his own thoughts though and hauled you up towards the surface, where you promptly gasped for air, and coughed out a bit of water. He waited for you to catch your breath, patting your back gently. Not saying a word, waiting for you to make the first move.

“I found out,” you coughed, looking at him, finally feeling like your soul had found home.

Jade wiped some water from your face, “I’m glad you finally did.”

. . .

Bonus!

Floyd watched from below, “Heh, took them long enough. Welcome to the family, Shrimpy.”

Fin!

Link to Masterlist

#twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #twst jade #jade leech x reader #jade leech x gn reader #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #floyd leech #twst floyd #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #octavinelle #twst soulmate au #wow i actually gave you a sincere ending and didn't hit you with a fucking meme *pats myself on the back*#i had a lot of fun picking apart jade though and making him a menace #it's what he deserves; to go bonkers; to be a menace #azul had his turn in the paper bag so it was time for jade #also i wanted to build a papa leech that was considerate of his sons' feelings cuz that makes me happy #floyd gets his turn at trying to get jade and reader together; you can be the judge of whether or not he was successful #side note; when i was writing this my brain was playing 'Waka Waka (This Is Africa)' and going 'sHaKiRa ShAkIrA' and i don't know why #twst fic #also had a tension headache the entire time so that was fun #floyd is being difficult; help me catch him pls

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