#so like. i am happy with it. i want more. i want my half sleeve and my heart to be whole | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tender-rosiey · 5 months

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hiii 😭 I REALLY LOVE UR GOJO X YN SO MUCHHH 😔😔 I was also wondering like maybe what if y/n has a wound, like any where 🥲 it could be either on her back, arms, legs but she doesn't wanna tell gojo abt it and she hides it, then he will find out about it either she winces when gojo hugs her, starts wearing long sleeved clothes or her shirt lifts up while sleeping 🤧 TYSMM❤❤

strain — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I am honored that you like my works, love! hope you enjoy this as well 🫶💕🫶 also happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend: gojo satoru!! (it’s still his birthday in my country so hush I am not late)

you are more than a capable sorcerer. in fact, you are one of the strongest in the field.

however, like anyone else, there are some moments where things get a little out of hand, and you come back bearing a rather long slash on your left arm.

but since it’s pretty late, you decided you will bother shoko about it in the morning. that is how you’re finally in your home, with satoru nowhere to be found.

you frown lightly at the fact that he is still out there fighting curses, but a part of you feels relieved that you don’t have to explain your situation right now.

the night should pass by smoothly, and you will go to shoko tomorrow: a fool-proof plan!

so you do what you can to sanitize the wound, and cover it until you can get it treated properly. you also take the chance to indulge in your favorite snack as a good job treat.

after finishing your food and tidying up for the day, you’re finally in bed, all-cozied up and avoiding anything touching your wound as much as possible.

a deep breathe in, a deep breathe out, and you slowly drift to sleep.

not much time passes before satoru’s familiar footsteps echo throughout the house.

your husband has an abundance of energy.

but it seemed like today’s missions have drained him a bit more than normal, so he skips eating anything and heads straight to your shared bedroom.

his heart softens, and his muscles relax upon the sight of you tucked in bed. he walks to press a small kiss on your forehead, quickly changing into his pajamas and settling right by your side.

he stretches a bit and turns to spoon you as per usual, eyes closing in contentment.

but you wince, even if adeptly, and it sends alarms ringing through his head.

he jerks up, and his hand is instantly placed on your arm again, softly. there is an ever so faint change in your expression as your eyebrows furrow, and he has never pulled his hand away so fast.

he keeps debating in his head whether to wake you up or not, but he swiftly settles for the former.

he needs to know what happened. so he, regrettably, nudges your sleepy form, “y/n?”

you groan, but, nonetheless, you reply, “…what?”

while satoru often likes to base theatrics around his every move and phrase, but he also knows when to get straight to the point, “did you get hurt on today’s mission?”

you’re no longer half-asleep, and you quickly sit up, eyeing your husband. knowing there is no escape nor denial, you fidget with your fingers and nod slowly.

then you hurriedly utter, “but I was going to see shoko first thing in the morning; I promise!”

he nods slowly, holding your hands in his own. you’re left to look him in the eyes. satoru’s eyes being exposed makes him feel so vulnerable, or at least that’s how he is with you.

you can see every wrinkle, and every crease; you can see what he is thinking about in real time. he has long given up hiding anything from you, and, besides, it feels fresh to just let go.

but right now, as you look into his eyes, you see them swarming with confliction, pain, and worry.

he doesn’t scold you about not going right now because he knows that you will tell him that you either thought it wasn’t a big deal or that you didn’t want to bother shoko with it.

instead, he settles on a hushed whisper of “can I see it?”

you throw him a confused look, “why? I am getting it treated tomorrow anyway,” then you smile, “it’s not going to permanent if that’s what you’re worried about.”

he shakes his head, “it’s not that; I just—“ he takes a deep breath then looks at you pleadingly, “just let me see it.”

perhaps it’s to silence his thoughts and to show him that you’re truly okay, as okay as you can be.

you’re still alive, and that’s what matters, he thinks. nevertheless, he feels the need to see just how serious is the wound anyway.

reluctantly, you slowly take off your jacket to reveal the poorly bandaged gash on your arm.

he looks up at you, asking for permission because even if he needs to see it for his own selfish reasons, he has to put you above anything and everything else.

you nod, giving the free reign to slowly take off the bandages. you can barely hold back any pained noises, but you can’t help the wincing of your body.

satoru’s frown deepens, and with every move, your husband’s heart aches. it goes like that until the wound is finally unveiled.

you feel satoru observing the cut so intently that you look away. satoru curses everything that he can think of, and never has we wanted the ability to heal others more than right now.

he straightens his back, “that’s a deep cut, y’know.”

“I know…”

“you also realize that the wound could’ve hit your chest and inevitably heart, right?”

you huff, “listen, if you’re going to give me a lecture or keep making me feel bad about it then I will have you know—“

“you could’ve died.”

you notice the strain in his voice, so you turn to finally look eyes with him. he looks pained, so hurt, maybe even terrified at the fact that there was a chance that he could’ve lost you.

your expression immediately becomes that of sympathy, “but I didn’t, and dwelling on the fact that I might’ve died will only bother you for no reason,” you hold his hand, “I am here and alive, aren’t I?”

your husband sighs, resting his head on your right shoulder, “you’re hurting my poor little heart whenever you put yourself in danger like that.”

a giggle escapes your lips, and your hands naturally find their way in his hair, fingers gently carding through, “whatever shall we do.”

“if things went my way then you would just stay home looking all pretty like you always do,” he states, and you roll your eyes.

“well, they’re going my way tonight, so—“ the clock strikes twelve, “happy birthday, silly boy.”

his eyes widen and he pulls away to look you in the face. he blinks dumbly then looks at what’s in your hands: a cupcake with a candle.

a wide grin of unbridled joy appears on your husband’s face. his eyes shimmer in the moonlight as he laughs, “I really didn’t expect it this time!”

“you outdid yourself, pretty girl,” he hums, hand caressing your cheek.

“I still have a lot more things for you,” you beam with pride. satoru can’t contain himself anymore, and he pulls you into a loving embrace.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs beside your ear, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.

you pat his back, “I love you too, ‘toru,” you laugh, “but you’re pressing on my wound, and I think I am just going to cry and not because of overwhelming love.”

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luveline · 6 days

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Can you do hotch and pregnant!reader where they’ve been trying for a baby for awhile without success and he comes home from a mission to a pregnancy announcement?

pregnant!reader, 1k

Trying for a baby with Aaron is undeniably a good time. He’s the kindest man you’ve ever met. He loves you intensely.

There’s been a lot of intimacy (crassly but obviously), ten times as many kisses, and a heap of disappointed hugs to mellow it out.

“We aren’t in any rush,” he’d said last time, in the midst of a post-test back rub, his voice soft and comforting as always, “we just need to take our time. You’ll wish we took a little more time once it happens, I promise.”

When you do find out, you’re overjoyed. He should know logistically that it was possible for you to find out while he was away, and he shouldn’t be surprised, but you’re hoping he will be anyhow. He looks moody walking up the path to the house, a little less when he notices you and Jack sitting on the porch swing with a jug of lemonade on the glass table. You take Jack’s glass.

“Hey, buddy!” he says, laughing as Jack jumps from the swing and rushes across the porch to tackle his legs in a hug. “Hey, buddy,” he repeats, gentler, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Let me go put my stuff in the safe, okay? I’ll be right back.”

He sends you a glowing smile and heads inside. Jack runs back to the swing and uses your leg to climb onto his cushion, turning his face up to yours. You can’t decide if he looks more like Aaron or Haley.

Haley, you think after a few seconds. Jack has eyes like hers, big and round but with thick lashes in the corners that make them seem sparkly.

“Are you gonna tell him the secret now?” Jack whispers.

“Yes, I am. Do you think he’ll be happy?”

“So happy.” Jack nods. “Like me. I can’t wait to have a brother.”

“Or sister,” you say, putting the lemonades down on the table.

“Or sister, but I want a brother.”

Aaron returns in time to catch it. “You can’t choose, buddy, it happens at random.” He’s ditched his suit jacket inside, rolling his sleeves to the elbow. His first port of call is to pick Jack up and hug him like he’s something fragile. He guards Jack from the sun, turning half from you, and covers the small boy’s back with his hand. “You okay?” he asks. “You had a good time? Sorry I said I’d be back yesterday, but I wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

Jack laughs into his dad’s neck. “You’re back today.”

“You missed both of my questions, bud. How are you?” Aaron asks.

“I’m excited! Y/N’s gonna tell you a secret!”

You grin. Aaron turns to you expectantly. “Oh yeah? And you can’t tell me?”

“Noooo,” Jack drags out.

Aaron manoeuvres around the table, sitting on the porch swing next to you, the hooks creaking as he settles. Jack gets comfortable on his lap, eyes flashing between you and his dad excitedly. It’s as good a place as any to tell him the news, sunshine on your faces, his hand working behind your back.

You smile at him before you start to speak. You can tell he already knows. “I found something out this morning.”

“Yeah?” he asks, clutching at your back. His hand can’t stay still suddenly. It’s like a massage. “You are?”

“Yeah, I think so. The test says so. I took one of those strip ones first and it was two lines, and then I took a Clear Blue and it says one to two weeks.”

“You’re pregnant,” he says surely, his lips turned up into a line, his smile as bright as you’ve ever seen it.

“With a baby!” Jack supplies.

“I’m just worried it’s too early.”

“Honey, if the test says you’re pregnant, it’s not too early. How many did you take, just two?”

“Four.” You nod, pulse going hard in your chest, you’re that happy.

“Four,” he says, leaning in slowly to give you time to tilt your head. You close your eyes, smiling too much to kiss back as Aaron presses a loving one to your top lip, then just below, a pressure on the seam of your lips that makes you laugh. “I think you can be confident in their accuracy, then.”

He kisses you again, then Jack. “What do you think about that, Jack? Y/N’s pregnant! She’s gonna get a big tummy.”

“Like Mrs. Lundy?”

Aaron cuddles him up to his neck. “Yeah, exactly like Mrs. Lundy. Wow. What should we do to celebrate?”

Something in his voice has changed, turning scratchy and raw. You duck your head to peer at him through the shadow of Jack’s head, flummoxed by the sudden appearance of wetness in his lashes.

“Aaron,” you murmur.

He nods into Jack’s hair.

“You are happy, right?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, hugging Jack like he’s scared he’s gonna move away.

You aren’t sure what he’s thinking about, if he’s happy or sad, though it’s probably both, but you know he loves you. You wrap your arm behind his head, the other around his arm where he holds Jack. “You know what four tests means?” you ask, giving his back a good rub with your knuckles.

Aaron’s eyes blink open. He doesn’t cry, to your relief, he only leans forward to kiss you all over your closest cheek. “What does it mean?”

“It means I’m gonna have four babies, duh.”

“Four?” Jack asks incredulously. “No way. Dad, I am not having four brothers. No way.”

“What’s wrong with four brothers?” Aaron asks. “You’d only have to share your room with two.”

“No way!”

“We’re kidding, baby,” you say, taking Jack in where he sits on Aaron’s lap. You’d have been perfectly happy with just him and his father, but you’re ecstatic for another baby to bring up. Jack will make a good brother, and Aaron’s a great dad. “It’s one brother or sister. You’ll have your own room no matter what.”

He sighs in relief that’s too big for his body. “Oh, okay. I’m excited again then.”

Aaron gives the porch swing a rock with his leg. “Me too, buddy.”

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sometimesanalice · 5 days

Text

Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes.

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting.

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode.

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth.

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his creations.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you.

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.” He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the pain smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

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prythianpages · 5 months

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Stuck On You | Part Four

cassian x reader | Cassian can't seem to forget about you since the night you met seven years ago. he thought he would never see you again but when he does, he's determined to make you his. this time for good.

“Don’t worry. She likes your butt and fancy hair. I know, I read her diary.”

[part one] [part two] [part three] [part four] [final part]

A/N: this was supposed to be the last part but I felt like it was becoming too long so I split it in half. I rewrote so many scenes from this so many times because I wasn't too happy with them but I think I finally am now. you can find my masterlist here.

Warnings: angst with mentions of violence/abuse/choking/death/killing

Closing the door behind you, you leaned against it, the dam of your emotions breaking through. You allowed the first tear to slide down your cheek. It was quickly followed by others and they burned, each one a painful reminder of the damage you had done. Trembling fingers pressed against your forehead, attempting to soothe the throbbing pain while your other hand found its place against your chest. Your actions were crushing your heart, making you feel like you couldn’t breathe.

What have you done?

Pushing Cassian away seemed necessary. For his safety. For yours. For Seraphine’s. It was for the best, you had to keep telling yourself. Yet, the ache in your chest betrayed that notion because if that was the case, why did it hurt so much?

There was a soft knock at your door. “y/n?”

You took deep breaths and wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. A futile attempt to compose yourself. You didn’t want your little sister to see you like this. You were now the matriarch of your family. You had to be strong… or at least appear to be.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight before you upon opening the door. Seraphine stood on the other side, her shoulders slumped and eyes glistening with tears. “Cassian left.”

“I know.”

She looked up at you. “Why does everyone leave?”

It seemed as though the shards of your broken heart had found new, more intricate ways to splinter. The weight of responsibility bore down on you. A burden you never intended to place on Seraphine’s shoulders.This was all your fault.

You drew in a steadying breath and crouched down to meet her at eye level. You gently wiped away her tears. “Not everyone,” you reminded her softly. “I’m still here. We’ll always be together.”

"You promise?" she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of a fragile hope.

Your eyes locked with hers. “I promise.”

The abrupt sound of a door slamming open startled you both. You jumped to your feet and Seraphine hid behind you. As you clasped her trembling hand in yours, the both of you cautiously walked to the living room. Aerik stood in the middle of the room. His features contorted into pure anger, filling the atmosphere with tension.

His eyes were scanning the house, chest heaving in anger. “Where the fuck is he?”

“He’s not here.” You replied, your voice a breathless whisper. “He’s gone.”

Aerik stormed over to you both. His hand wrapped around your arm, right where your healing bruise was, and he pressed harshly on it, prompting a cry from you. You looked up and were met with the white rage within Aerik’s eyes. His nostrils flared as he looked down at you, lips curled in disgust.

“Was Kallon’s warning not enough?” Aerik glared, intimidating you. “Should I inform him of your treason?”

He was grasping you by your other arm, yanking your grasp from Seraphine’s and forcing you closer to him. When you didn’t answer, he growled and tightened his grip. “You answer when spoken to.”

“Please don’t hurt her!” Seraphine cried as she darted toward you, coming to stand in between you both. She wrapped her arms around your waist, her back to her uncle and tiny wings wrapped around you as a shield.

“Please don’t.” You managed to say. “I’m sorry for defying your wishes.”

Aerik stared at you, contemplating on what to do with you. Upon shifting his gaze to Seraphine, he realized he destroyed all the effort he had made with her the past days. There was a look of betrayal in her eyes, her lips quivering with fear and she tightened her hold on you when she met his gaze. The facade was gone. There was no purpose in keeping up pretenses anymore.

With a snarl, he yanked Seraphine away from you, not caring that his force sent the young girl stumbling and falling to the floor. She let out a cry and raw anger shot through you, flooding your veins.

“Don’t you dare touch her!”

Aerik scoffed as he turned his attention back to you. He stepped forward, prompting you to take a step back. He continued until your back hit the kitchen table and he had you cornered. “You are in no position to tell me what I can’t do.”

“Seraphine is my responsibility now.” He reminded you in a taunting manner, tightening a hand around your throat. He squeezed, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. He leaned down so close to you, you could feel his disgusting breath fan your face. Your fingers grasped at his, a futile attempt to pry his grip from you.

“Please stop hurting her, Uncle Aerik!”

“This is my house.” Aerik ignored your little sister’s cries and you dropped your hands, one of them falling behind your back, reaching for anything as the desperation to breathe and run to your sister overtook you.

“I want you gone.” He seethed, his grip on you tensing. “Now.”

Azriel had noticed the change in Cassian lately, the heaviness in his steps, and the shadows lingering in his eyes. Despite the night hour, he invited Cassian to spar with him on the training grounds of the house of wind, hoping that it’d allow him to work out his pent up emotions and lift his spirits. Even if only temporarily.

The two Illyrians circled each other. Azriel's movements were fluid and precise, a stark contrast to Cassian, who appeared to be lost in thought. Cassian's punches lacked their usual force, and his defenses faltered. Azriel furrowed his brow, a deep concern for his friend settling in. Cassian was typically energetic and enthusiastic during training, reveling in the thrill of besting his opponents. Azriel had once remarked his haughty demeanor to be annoying, but now, he longed for one of Cassian's vain remarks, missing the spirited energy that usually defined their sparring sessions.

In a swift move, Azriel feigned a strike, and Cassian, too distracted to react properly, lost his balance. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his frustration evident in the way his jaw tensed.

"Enough, Cassian," Azriel urged, crouching beside him. He knew why Cassian was so defeated, so disheartened. But he asked anyway. "What's going on?"

Cassian sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair that had come undone from the elastic tie you had given him. "I just don’t understand why she’d push me away. I thought we were making progress…”

You had shattered Cassian’s heart. Yet, as promised, he continued to love you with all the fractured pieces left behind. He always would. No matter how much it hurt.

It required every ounce of his strength to resist turning back the last night he saw you. He would’ve begged on his knees for you. For you to not marry whoever Aerik had picked out for you. For you to come back with him to Velaris, where it would be safe for you and Seraphine.

Then there was poor Seraphine, whose wounds from losing her parents were still fresh and apparent in the way she clung to anyone who offered her comfort. It dawned on him then–the reason for your protectiveness and hesitancy concerning your sister. The heart-wrenching look on her face when he was leaving haunted him.

He should’ve begged on his knees, should’ve dug deeper into the distress reflected in your eyes. Gods, had he made a mistake in conceding to your wishes and not fighting for you? In letting you slip away?

“Then keep fighting for her, Cas.” Azriel told him, sensing where his thoughts had headed. He extended his hand out to Cassian, helping him up to his feet.

Cassian felt Azriel’s hand briefly stiffen before letting go. The shadows clinging to Azriel seemed to stir and come alive, swirling around him. A dark tendril emerged in the distance, curling against Azriel's ears before merging with the swarm of shadows, who eagerly welcomed the dark tendril back. By the way Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he could sense whatever his shadow had whispered was urgent.

“What is it?”

“It’s Kallon.” Azriel said, meeting Cassian’s gaze. “He’s sent some of his men to go look for y/n. Her and Seraphine are missing.”

The revelation seemed to jolt Cassian out of his emotional haze. Without another word, he unfurled his wings and soared into the sky, determination gleaming in his eyes. He was going to find you.

The air in the Inn was thick with the scent of burning wood from the fireplace, its warmth battling against the chill that seeped through the cracks in the walls. You and Seraphine found solace in a corner, sitting at a worn wooden table that creaked under your every move. It reminded you of the tavern back at Ironcrest, the familiarity of it filling you with a sad twinge of nostalgia.

Outside, the world was blanketed in a thin layer of snow. A promise of a strong winter to come. The winds howled, carrying with them the secrets of the desolate mountains that surrounded the humble establishment. It was your second night at the Inn located around the Illyrian Steppes. You were well familiar with it as it was a place you and your mother often frequented.

You adjusted the scarf around your neck self consciously, wanting to keep the evidence from two nights ago well hidden. Despite washing your hands until the skin was raw, all you saw was dark red. Blood. Aerik’s blood pooling around his head after you knocked him out with a vase. You had run to your sister to shield her from the gory scene, praying to the cauldron that she hadn’t caught a glimpse. If she had, she pretended as if she didn’t.

Your hands trembled as you helped Seraphine with her dinner, the memories of that night resurfacing again and again.

“Listen to me, Sera.” You had whispered, gently cradling her cheek in your hand and coaxing her worried gaze from your burning neck to meet yours. “I need you to pack some clothes, a few essentials—just the things you can't bear to leave behind–and do so quickly.”

Her eyes widened even more, confusion settling on her features. You understood the look on her face. At her age, you had been put in this position so often. It struck you now that the roles had reversed. “Why? This is our home. Uncle Aerik should leave.”

“It’s not safe here anymore. We have to go somewhere else, somewhere far away.”

A frown creased Seraphine's forehead. “Is that why you told Cassian to leave?”

“Yes and now it’s our turn.” You nodded solemnly, heart aching at the mention of his name.

You blinked, your sister’s gentle touch pulling you from the sea of haunting memories that threatened to engulf you and drag you down into its dark abyss. “Yes?”

You met her worried gaze as it flitted from your face to your untouched plate. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Yes,” you said again, forcing a smile onto your face as you picked up a spoon. Seraphine watched you carefully with a concerned look on her face. She only relaxed once you had brought a spoonful of soup to your mouth. With a subtle smile, she returned to her own dinner. She hummed softly to herself, casting wary glances your way to make sure you were still eating.

As you and Seraphine finished your dinner, the doors to the Inn swung open. A gust of frigid air roared in, causing the flames in the fireplace to flicker momentarily. Your gaze shot toward the entrance, as it did every time you heard the door open, heart skipping a beat when you recognized the sigils the males who had entered wore on their leathers. They were from Ironcrest. You watched them carefully as they approached the Innkeeper and panic set in as you overheard snippets of their conversations. Their inquiries directed toward two specific individuals. A small winged girl no older than a decade accompanied by a young female with no wings. You and Seraphine.

This place was no longer safe and you felt your stomach sicken, your dinner wanting to come right back up. The walls seemed to close in as the gravity of your situation became apparent. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, chest growing extremely tight. You watched as some of the males made their way upstairs, knowing exactly where they were headed and when the ones that had remained began to disperse, you knew you had little time. You had to run and you had to run now.

You quietly instructed Seraphine to put her coat on, grateful that she hadn’t left it up in the room you were staying in as she would need it for the relentless weather outside. You were also grateful that your bow and arrow remained secured to your back. Seraphine barely had enough time to grab Scrumps, her plush, before the two of you were slipping and sneaking out through the back door of the Inn.

“Why are we running?” Seraphine said, wincing as the cold winds bit at her cheeks. “I left my coloring books in the room!”

“I’ll buy you more.” You reassured her, urging her to keep her pace with you as you ran into the forest.

You paused for a moment once you were deep into the forest to catch your breath, instantly regretting it. Your blood ran as cold as the wind whirling around you as you heard it. The crack of branches under the weight of heavy footsteps. Those approaching steps grew closer, and suddenly, an arrow whizzed by, narrowly missing your ear.

Seraphine’s frightened cry pierced the air and you swiftly scooped her into your arms. You held her close to your chest as you ran, determined to shield her from the impending danger. The bitter chill of the night bit through your worn boots as you raced through the unforgiving forest, the frosty tendrils of snow creeping into every crevice. Seraphine clung to your chest, her small form shivering against the cold and the fear that gripped you both. The haunting echo of arrows whistled through the air.

Suddenly, pain seared through your leg as an arrow found its mark, sending you sprawling to the ground with a desperate cry. You propped yourself up on your hands, sparing Seraphine the weight of your body. The harsh reality of your vulnerability struck, but there was no time to dwell in the pain of it all. Your life was daring to flash before your eyes.

“Sera, you need to run.” Your voice strained with urgency as you came to the decision that you would distract the men to allow your sister a chance of escaping. A chance of living.

“No,” she cried, shaking her head desperately.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you brought yourself to stand and helped your little sister up to her feet. “Sera, please.”

But Seraphine didn’t run. She stood by your side, frozen in place by both fear and loyalty. Her eyes betrayed her bewilderment at your request. “You promised we’d always be together.” She murmured in defiance.

Another arrow pierced your shoulder from behind and you let out a sharp gasp in pain. You fumbled for your bow and arrow, wincing as the pain seared through you at every movement of your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the inky darkness for the men who were chasing you.

“There’s nowhere left to run.”

A male stepped out from the shadows, teeth flashing with a wicked grin. You recognized him as the one who had spoken with the Innkeeper. He casted a glance toward your sister, his eyes roaming over her body in a way that disgusted you. “You have something that belongs to us.”

“Sera, get behind me.” You instructed, not wanting her to witness what was about to unfold. She listened to your request this time, burying her face into your back. Her hands gripped tightly onto your uninjured leg.

The way the male continued to approach you and Seraphine hinted that he didn’t think you were capable of shooting at him. Your throat tightened. Your gaze fixed on his chest, right where his heart was beating. You’d never shot someone before. Your bow and arrow had only been used to hunt out of necessity, never for sport. But your hands were already stained red and if you wanted any chance of surviving, you had to. If not for yourself, then for your sister.

Pretending that you were hunting and the male in front of you was a deer, you drew the bowstring back, muscles tensing. You didn’t leave room for another moment to pass, for doubt to cross over your mind. You released and your arrow swiftly met its target.

More Illyrian males stepped out from the trees, coming to a stop once they saw you. Unlike the first male, they were heavily armed and upon seeing their companion bleeding out on the snow, the look they sent you had you shaking. Their siphons began to glow, their eyes following shortly after with a primal, savage anger that wanted to consume you whole. There were three of them. You only had two arrows left.

You notched another arrow onto the taut string of your bow, praying to the Mother for a miracle.

It seemed as if she answered you right away as a sudden burst of crimson light illuminated the darkness around you. The ground beneath you trembled. Cassian emerged, a formidable force, his powerful presence radiating strength as he stood between you and the males. His back was to you, his membranous wings extended, protectively blocking the males from you.

“This is none of your business, bastard.” One of the males berated, attempting to assert dominance. He spat on the ground. “Stay out of it.”

“Oh,” Cassian said, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. The richness of his voice added weight to each syllable, delivering a strong message with resonating intimidation. “But it is my business.”

“All this for a murderous and thieving whore?” The male chuckled, having the nerve to challenge Cassian, despite his friends taking a step backwards. “Come on, you poor bastard. Even you can do better than that.”

Each of Cassian’s siphons ignited, radiating an overwhelming crimson cascade of power and he let out a low, guttural growl. The sound reverberated through the chilling air, carrying an innate power so profound that it seized attention and instilled fear in its wake. Even you felt the urge to bow down. Seraphine’s grip on your leg loosened but you urged her to keep her head pressed into your back, shielding her ears with your hands.

He reached for the sword strapped down his spine, taking pleasure in the flicker of fear in the male’s eyes. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he charged forward, killing the male who dared to challenge him with such ease that it filled him with disappointment. He didn’t have time to linger on it or turn to you as an arrow was soaring at him.

He caught it with one hand, crushing it between his fingers. He turned to the two remaining males, who looked at him in horror. They fled like the cowards Cassian knew they were and he chased after them, hoping that they’d at least grant him the fight his Illyrian blood yearned for.

Your skin was cold and clammy, your heartbeat quickening as you willed yourself not to fall. The world around you began to blur. There was another thunderous sound and you could make out a flash of purple and obsidian…was that the High Lord’s voice? What was happening?

“y/n?”

“M’okay,” you murmured to your sister but your voice was weak as the blood continued to seep from your wounds. You were caught in a disorienting whirlwind, where the world was spinning around you in a chaotic dance. The ground beneath you was becoming unsteady and you fell to your knees.

“y/n!” Seraphine’s voice was calling your name again but this time more frantic. You felt her tiny hands press against your wounds, a desperate attempt to keep your blood from escaping further. “You can’t leave me. You promised, y/n. You promised.”

The dizziness wrapped around you in its embrace and you gave in to it, wanting the world to stop spinning. Your eyelids fluttered shut, despite your sister’s cries. You didn’t want to leave her but you couldn’t help it. You were falling forward but instead of your face plummeting to the cold, hard ground, you found yourself falling into a warm and familiar embrace.

“I got you, Sweetheart.”

"Cassian."

You uttered his name as if it were a sacred invocation, a response to a cherished prayer, and then the world faded to black.

A dull ache permeated your body. Each breath, each movement was accompanied by a protesting soreness. The effort to open your eyes was met with resistance but when you finally fought through it, your surroundings were blurring in and out of focus.

Your senses gradually tuned in to the gentle embrace of the mattress beneath you and as the haze lifted from your vision, a realization unfolded. This wasn’t your room. It struck you then. Everything that had happened, a cascade of memories rushing back.

“Sera,” you rasped, your body jolting forward and head whipping around. A searing pain shot through your shoulder but you ignored it as your eyes frantically searched for your sister, your breath catching.

“You’re awake.” A familiar voice exhaled with relief.

Warm hands cupped your face, guiding your head toward the source of the voice. Your eyes met a pair of warm hazel eyes and you allowed yourself to breathe again.

“Cassian.”

Cassian smiled at you, cherishing the way his name sounded coming from your lips.. You spoke his name as if it were a breath of fresh air, a tender exhale that swept through his soul like a gentle breeze. He’d never grow tired of it.

“Where are we?” You asked and then your eyebrows knitted together when you spotted Scrumps beside you. “Where’s Sera?”

“We’re in Velaris.” Cassian replied and at your blank stare, he added: “The City of Starlight. A hidden city in the Night Court. You and Sera will be safe here. Only the citizens and the High Lord’s closest friends know about this place.”

“And Se–”

“She’s with Azriel.”

You shifted forward and Cassian dropped his hands from your face to place them on your shoulder, carefully avoiding the area around your injured one to keep you from moving. Although Madja had taken care of you, the arrows the Illyrians from Ironcrest had used were laced with poison and while you were stable, it would take longer than expected for the puncture wounds on your shoulder and thigh to properly heal.

“It’s okay, she’s alright.” Cassian reassured you. “You were out a whole day from your injuries. She wouldn’t leave your side at all. I was able to convince her to go eat breakfast but she would only go if I stayed by your side. She didn’t want you to wake up alone. Azriel offered to take her down for breakfast. She’s perfectly safe with him.”

You met his eyes again. “It’s not Azriel I’m worried about.”

Cassian shrugged his shoulders, waving off your concern. “Nothing he can’t handle, I’m sure.”

You sent him a look and then the two of you were bursting into laughter.

You missed being with him. The first night you met, things had been so simple and easy flowing between you two. It was a stark contrast to the complexity that had since seeped into your relationship. A complexity you blame yourself for. You thought you were doing what was best but instead, you felt like you had ruined everything.

As the laughter subsided, a wave of remorse swept over you, turning the light moment heavy. Tears welled up and you gave in to them, not holding back. You were finally releasing all the emotional turmoil that had been building within that started with the loss of your mother.

Cassian responded instinctively. His strong arms enveloped you, offering a comforting refuge from the storm of emotions that raged within. This time, you let him. You buried your head into his chest, flooding your senses with his scent that soothed you and he nestled his in the crook of your neck. He held you close. So, so close. He could sense you were breaking within and wanted nothing more than to keep you whole. To wrap you in the safety of his arms until the storm within you subsided.

“Kallon,” you began as you pulled away just enough to speak. “He found out about your visits–he found out about what I was doing. Then, he found Aerik and they both came into the tavern one night. He threatened to hurt you, hurt Seraphine, and then me if you came over again…–”your voice broke as you sharply inhaled and the tears were coming down again. “--He said he’d save me for last so I could watch.”

“I’m so sorry for lying to you. I should’ve told you. But I–I couldn’t.I asked you to leave. Not because I wanted to but because I was scared and I didn’t want you or Sera to get hurt. And then Aerik came home after he saw you. He wanted to take Sera away from me. He wanted to–he–he was–oh gods. I–I killed–”

“It’s okay,” his voice was a soft murmur, not needing to hear more. He saw the bruises littering your neck earlier. He steadied his breath, resting his head on top of yours. “You’re safe now.”

“I’m sorry.” You cried against Cassian’s chest, tears flowing freely and staining the fabric of his shirt. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he told you, his voice soothing amidst the discord of your emotions.

“I pushed you away. I hurt you.”

“You were only trying to protect your sister. I understand.” Cassian reassured you. It tore him apart to see you like this and it destroyed him even more that he had unintentionally played a role in it. If he had just stayed, if he had refused to leave, Aerik wouldn’t have been able to lay his hands on you. Those Illyrian males wouldn’t have been able to harm you.

“I don’t deserve your kindness. Your hospitality.” You said as your regret continued to pour out. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Nonsense.” Cassian was quick to respond, his arms holding you tighter as if trying to shield you from your own self-doubt. You could hear his steady heartbeat, a rhythmic reassurance, yearning to steady the erratic cadence of your own. “You deserve everything and so much more.”

As the tears subsided, Cassian tilted your chin upward, meeting your gaze with a tender intensity. “I meant what I said,” he whispered softly. “I loved you then and I love you now. I will always love you.”

“If there’s even the slightest chance that you feel the same, I’ll wait for you. I’ve waited seven years to have you by my side. I’ll wait seven more or however long it takes. And if you can’t open your heart to me, that’s okay too. I’ll be your friend. But please,” he said, his voice a soft plea as his eyes fluttered shut. “Please don’t push me away. I'd rather be your friend than nothing at all because I don’t want to let you go. I can’t let you go.”

Your eyes still glistened with traces of your emotion and he wiped them away, his nose brushing against yours.

“I don’t want to let you go either.”

Silence fell as the two of you looked at each other, locked in a gaze overwhelmed with yearning and longing. You were willing to let him in again. There was hope. A soft, shared breath of anticipation passed through you both. And then Cassian was bridging the small distance between you.

He cupped your face as he kissed you, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency. He moved to deepen the kiss. A delicate balance of passion and restraint. His chest pressed against yours and you could feel his heartbeat. It was quicker now and as it met yours, you surrendered to it, your heartbeat matching his in a timeless rhythm.

tagging: @kemillyfreitas, @wallacewillow0773638 @justdreamstars @63angel @fightmedraco

a/n: if you asked to be tagged and I didn't, I'm so sorry. Please let me know so I can tag you for the last part! thank you so much for reading and your comments. I love reading them! the next part should be up soon, I just need to finish one more scene <;3 you'll get to see another fun scene between Azriel and Seraphine in the next part lol, I debated on whether including it here but decided to save all the fluff for the next part

#cassian x reader #cassian imagines #cassian imagine #cassian angst #cassian fluff #cassian smut #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian acotar #acotar imagines #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar angst #acotar fluff #acotar

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siriuslovebot · 4 months

Text

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 ➸ 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒖𝒔 𝒍𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒏˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: hello my love! ik you’ve already made a couple but i was wondering if you could make another one of those mouse ones, if you’re not up for it that’s completely fine! thank you for taking the time to read this!

𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: we all need more remus x mouse!!!

𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: please write another remus lupin x mouse fluff please. i love your writing style. it's just perfect<33

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: injured reader, the nickname 'mouse', some embarrassing (possibly?) moments, nothing else i can think of??

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: after convincing the reader to go ice skating, things end up going a bit sideways for the marauders.

𝑨/𝑵: merry christmas (and happy holidays) everyone! here is a bit of a late gift for you all! i was astonished to see the amount of requests for more remus x mouse! i didn't even include all of them here. i'm sorry i've been mia for so long! this one may be a bit rusty, but i hope you all enjoy even if i am a little out of practice! (also this is unedited so if you see any typos/mistakes no you didn't)

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 3.3k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

“it’s bloody freezing out here,” mutters sirius, his voice gruff in the early morning air.

you roll your eyes, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. in your peripheral, you can see his mussed hair and dark circles, as well as the scowl that colours his handsome features.

“you should’ve stayed behind if you’re going to whine, sirius,” you respond, raising your brows.

he wrinkles his nose, looking an awful lot like he’s smelled something foul. “are you mad? i’m not staying cooped up in that castle when you lot are out here having fun. where’s moony?” he looks at you expectantly.

“running late, i suppose,” you glance at your watch, a christmas gift from remus. it’s charmed, the tiny mice printed on the watch frolicking around as you get the time. your face turns pink, embarrassed although you love the little watch. you hope sirius doesn’t see. you’d never hear the end of it.

“well, it’s half eight. earliest i’ve been up in weeks.” sirius yawns, swiping his sleeve across his face.

you roll your eyes again. you knew the lot of them would be menaces upon returning from the christmas holidays. sirius spent the two weeks of holiday break at james’s house, the two of them likely driving the potters out of their minds. the pair of them had clearly suffered from a lack of sleep, made clear by sirius’s incessant complaining about being up early.

you wanted to spend the holidays at hogwarts, hoping that remus might convince his parents to let him do the same, with no luck. you suffered a miserable two weeks at home, your parents refusing to let you out of their sight for a second. you hardly even had time to respond to the owls sent by your friends; notably, a muggle christmas card of lily and her family, an odd photo of sirius and james wearing charmed elves’ hats, and a sweet note from remus wishing you a merry christmas and promising you a gift upon your return to school.

thus, you are excited to spend a few hours having fun with your friends without worrying about lessons. if only you can wrestle sirius out of his grumpy mood.

there’s a chorus of boots crunching through snow behind you, and you turn to find lily approaching. james and remus trail close behind, with marlene at the back.

“what’s with the frown?” lily makes a face at sirius, who makes another disgruntled face.

“hasn’t got his beauty sleep,” you warn, a smile playing on your lips.

“you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” sirius says crossly.

you raise your eyebrows at him.

“simmer down, pads,” james says, bright as ever. “don’t mind him. he’s just peeved because of that detention mcgonagall gave him.”

he pats his friend on the back, accompanied only by a grumble from the long-haired boy.

“yes,” says remus, “who knew she would catch him trying to turn marie littletree’s quill into a bowtruckle?”

“all right,” says sirius. “i get it. i’ll paint a stupid little grin on my face like prongs here. can we get on with it?” he grins at the confused half-smile on james’s face, then nudges his friend in the shoulder.

“right,” says marlene. “lily’s got an itinerary.”

“yes,” says the redhead. “first hogsmeade weekend back, and i’ve got plans. now, the three broomsticks is going to be absolutely swimming with people.”

“it’s always swimming with people,” james chimes.

“right,” she gives him a sharp look, and he scratches his neck awkwardly. “i was thinking, we should skip the morning crowd, and have a go at ice skating.”

“ice skating!”

“ice skating?”

james and your exclamations mirror one another, as you both gawk at lily. james looks like a child on christmas morning, and you look… well, terrified.

“oh, godric, i’m going to be so embarrassed. i can hardly walk, lils, much less skate!” you groan, feeling the exasperation sirius has been bleeding all morning.

“c’mon, y/n!” james gives you a shake around the shoulders, looking excited. “you’ll be fine. a little arresto momentum, and you’re saved.”

“right, and which one of you is going to babysit me to keep me from face planting?” you glare at him.

“sounds like a job for moony, if y’ask me,” says sirius smugly. he’s already strutting towards the pond, james close on his heels.

marlene grins, and lily looks at you pleadingly. “c’mon, y/n,” she begs, pouting like a child.

“it’ll be fun,” marlene adds.

you huff, not wanting to feel like a buzzkill.

remus places a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. you sigh.

“you’ll be all right,” he urges, voice soft.

you sigh, but concede. “fine.”

lily and marlene cheer, taking off behind james and sirius on their way to the pond.

you frown, glancing over at remus as you fall into a slow pace following them.

“do i have to?” you wonder aloud, hooking your arm through his as you crunch through the hardened snow.

remus smiles down at you, a gentle smile finding his lips. his cheeks are pink from the cold already, his honeyed hair sticking out in tufts from beneath his knit hat. your stomach does a flip, and you have to force yourself not to look away.

“don’t tell me you’re scared, mouse,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“scared? pfft, i don’t get scared,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“oh, really?”

“really. but i know my strengths. and ice-foot coordination is not one of them. i’m preparing to embarrass the wits out of myself.”

“it can’t possibly be that bad,” he says.

“have you met me, rem? i tripped over the air just last night.”

“i actually think that was a badly timed jinx from sirius.”

“i hope you’re joking.”

“afraid not.”

“oh, he’s got it coming.” you shake your head, remembering the burn of your cheeks as you tumbled in a heap in the common room. remus came over, smiling to himself as he helped pick up your things. you’d wanted to crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of the night.

as you approach the pond, you blink at the sight of a few other students gliding over the frozen water. you blink, not feeling confident in your abilities. you can feel your legs wobbling already, hearing the sound of yourself crashing into the ice.

“okay,” you stop in your tracks, grabbing remus by his wrists. he faces you, eyes expectant.

“yes?” he humours you, looking as serious as you feel.

“promise you won’t laugh if i fall.”

his features crack into a smile, his head falling as he laughs softly. “c’mon, mouse,” he nudges you, draping an arm over your shoulders. he’s warm, and you lean into him as he leads you closer to the water’s edge, where your friends have already conjured up their ice skates.

“if you laugh, i’ll never forgive you.”

“i’ll keep an eye on you,” he says, “and i promise i won’t laugh.”

“holding you to it,” you say, joining marlene and lily by the pond.

“here,” marlene takes half a second and conjures you a pair of skates, untied on your feet.

james and sirius are already on the ice, flitting around faster than you can keep up with. they’re a pair of blurs, their laughter ringing through the air.

you make a face, your ears burning just at the thought of how you’re going to look trying to keep your feet beneath yourself. you don’t even notice your untied laces as you wobble towards the ice.

“just a second, mouse,” remus says softly, his large frame stooping to tie your shoes.

your face goes red as you glance down at him, feeling sheepish. “sorry,” you say, “i could have done that.”

“i’ve got it,” remus hums, his scarred hands tying your skate laces with expertise.

he’s towering over you again in half a second, winking at you as he reaches down to grasp your hand. his skin is warm, even through both pairs of your gloves, and you feel a bit better.

“y’alright?” remus wonders aloud, guiding you to the edge of the ice. he steps on gracefully, somehow able to keep his feet from sliding beneath him. you stare down at his skates, nervous.

you frown. “i’m scared,” you admit, face darkening with embarrassment.

“don’t be scared,” remus says.

he tugs your hand, smiling warmly. you hate how persuasive he is; his soft voice and gentle smile have a way of turning you into a gushing mess in the palm of his hands. no one knows how to make you feel better like remus does.

“you’ll still love me if i make a fool out of myself, right?” you wonder aloud, stepping slowly onto the ice. you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, focused on keeping yourself upright.

“i’d love you even if you made a fool out of the whole world, love.”

he’s laughing as you join him on the ice, the velvety deep sound sending butterflies rampaging through your stomach. he grasps your hand, ever so gently, and pulls you to the center of the ice, where fewer of the other students are. your classmates fly by, agile and quick on the ice. you feel somewhat like a baby deer, your legs wobbly beneath you.

“see, not so bad, is it?” remus encourages, his features now split in a jovial grin. his tawny eyes glitter with amusement, the corners crinkled by his big smile.

“no, i guess not,” you agree, fingers still gripping the sleeve of his coat in a vice.

“d’you want to try on your own?” he inquires. his long fingers loosen their hold on your wrist, but you tighten your own around him.

“no–not yet!” you squeak, moving closer to him and throwing your arms around his middle. he laughs, his chest rumbling against your cheek. you take a deep breath.

“sorry,” he chuckles, smoothing a hand over your hair. “i’ve got you, m’little mouse.”

you blink, peeking around his frame to see sirius and lily engaged in a race across the pond, their speeding frames silhouetted by the snowy landscape behind them. a grin spreads over your features, watching as james and marlene cheer them on.

“i don’t know how they do it,” you muse, shaking your head.

“you’ll be racing them in no time,” remus says teasingly, slowly unraveling your death grip around him.

“if you say so,” you murmur.

remus pulls you along gently, gaining some speed as you become more comfortable at the feeling of being on the ice. after several minutes, you’re no longer as unstable on your feet. you hardly even shriek when james charges at the pair of you at full speed, spraying you with a shower of ice as he stops at the last second.

“you git,” you hiss, sending a snowball his way with a flick of your wand.

he curses loudly, already halfway across the pond when it hits his back. lily and marlene dissolve into a fit of giggles, while remus chuckles gently.

you don’t even notice that he isn’t holding you steady anymore. distracted, you’ve released your grasp on his sleeve, and are slowly gliding alongside him. you’re closer to the edge of the pond, your feet steady beneath you as you gather confidence.

“feeling okay?” remus has spun around, facing you as he skates backwards.

what a showoff, you think, but you say nothing. he doesn’t know it, but you adore just how easily he picks up on the things you find to be absolutely mind-boggling. despite his insistence that he’s nothing special, he picks up on skills with ease. he’s a talented wizard, quick-witted and good at solving problems under pressure. it’s precisely why he excels in school, despite being out around each full moon and sometimes struggling to come out of his shell.

“thanks to you,” you say, flushing. “i wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for you, you know.”

he smiles sheepishly, his wind-chapped face going a deeper shade of pink. “sure you would.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “i’m serious, rem,” you say. “thank you.”

“don’t thank me,” he says, looking more than a little embarrassed.

you reach for him, wanting to hold his hand, but you see concern flash in his eyes. your eyes widen, but before you can say anything he’s already reaching for you.

“watch out–”

but you’ve both reacted too late. another student slams into your shoulder, knocking you off kilter. you squeal, falling to the ice too quickly for either you or remus to react. the air feels as if you’re caught in slow motion for a second; the ice is approaching your face with extreme speed, glistening in the morning sun. without thinking, you brace with one hand, the other halfway reaching towards remus.

your arm breaks your fall, and there’s a sickening crack as you hit the ice. it’s harder than you thought. you shriek, a sickening pain rocketing up your wrist and shoulder as you finally collapse completely.

“shit,” remus hisses, crouching as you feel his hands on your shoulders, trying to help you up to a sitting position.

you’re too focused on the excruciating pain in your arm to realize that you’re crying. the tears are hot against your skin, burning your cold cheeks as you sit up. you clutch your arm with your other hand, looking at the horrible purple lump already protruding at your wrist.

“merlin,” you sob, “it’s broken!” the sight of the bone jabbing at the inside of your arm makes your stomach do a turn, and you force yourself to look away. remus crouches in front of you, his worried face swimming in your teary vision.

you hear your friends shouting, and several nasty words directed at the student who slammed into you. you glance over, seeing marlene dragging sirius away by his scarf as he tries to throttle the poor third-year student.

lily skates towards you, slowing as she approaches.

“oh, dear,” she says, as she sees your arm.

“it’s bad, isn’t it?” you ask, glancing between remus and lily. you can’t force yourself to look back at the arm, feeling as if you’re going to faint if you have to see the bruises blooming over your arm.

“not so bad,” lily lies, offering a forced smile.

“we’ve got to get some help. you need to see madam pomfrey.” remus says. he’s crouched, one hand coming out to wipe the tears from your face. you breathe in his scent, trying to ground yourself.

james, sirius, and marlene finally join you, sirius still cursing the student as marlene drags him over.

“ugh,” james says as he sees your injury.

sirius peers over remus’ shoulder, his eyes blazing with fury as he sees the extent of your injury. “i’m going to curse the bollocks off of that kid!” he hisses, reaching for his wand, tucked into his coat pocket.

“sirius, stop it!” marlene scolds. “we have to do something about that arm. there’s no way y/n’s making it back to the castle in this state.”

“i’m fine,” you insist, though your stomach is rolling unpleasantly. you think you’d likely vomit if you had to stand.

“you’re not fine,” remus says, his voice stern. “your arm’s gone sideways. you need to be in the hospital wing.”

“we can’t move her like this,” james says, sounding as sick as you are.

“let lily have a go at it. she put my pinky right when that bludger hit it at practice,” says sirius.

“your pinky?” remus says incredulously. “i think an arm’s a bit more important than a pinky.”

“rem,” you say, nudging him with your foot. “it’s fine. i trust lily. besides, i think i’ll be sick if we don’t do something now.”

remus sighs, his eyes dark with worry. he places a hand on your knee, shifting slightly to let lily get closer. “fine.” you can tell he’s not happy about it.

“marlene, go get some help, will you?” you say, your head swimming. you feel closer to fainting by the minute, shock setting in.

“‘course i will.” she’s gone in a flash.

“okay,” you breathe, closing your eyes as you wait for lily to fix your arm.

“right, then,” she pulls her want out of her pocket, leaning closer. there’s a second of silence before she says, “episkey!”

only, the spell doesn’t go quite right. a blinding hot pain blooms in your arm, and you shriek again. this time, you’re not strong enough to keep from fainting. white spots bloom behind your vision, and you collapse.

you wake hours later, in the hospital wing. you stir, your throat dry as you turn over in the cot. your vision is blurry as you peel your eyes open, finding your arm wrapped in some kind of sling. madam pomfrey is nowhere in sight, but remus is slumped in a chair at your beside.

his eyes are closed, his breathing steady as he sits. his head rests lazily against the back of the chair. you study his face; his scars shine in the sliver of evening light that spills in from the window behind you. you groan as you move, your entire body aching.

your muscles throb, the fall having taken its toll on you. you watch him for a few minutes, the delicate rise and fall of his chest. his hair falls in golden wisps over his forehead and his ears, tickling the nape of his neck. you smile, glad he’s getting some rest. you’re sure he’s been perched in that uncomfortable chair all day. he’s probably missed all of his meals, crouched by your bed worrying.

you smile to yourself, wondering how you’ve ended up with someone so perfect.

he stirs finally, his eyes crinkling as he yawns.

“rem,” you say softly, catching his attention as he opens his eyes.

“hey, sleepyhead,” he says, a tired smile painting his features.

you reach for him with your good hand, his long fingers reaching out and enveloping yours with ease. his skin is warm as he brings your hand to his lips, holding it there for a moment. your face heats up. embarrassed, you want to sink down into the cot and disappear, but you can’t run from him. he knows you too well.

“have you been here all day?” you wonder.

“of course,” he says, as if you’d be crazy to think otherwise.

“you didn’t have to do that.”

“yes i did,” he says, frowning. “it’s my fault you went out there in the first place. you wouldn’t be hurt if i hadn’t convinced you to go skating.”

“hey,” you scold, “don’t say that. it’s not your fault. none of it’s your fault.”

he shakes his head, looking apologetic. you sigh, squeezing his hand.

“i’m serious, rem. i don’t blame you. i had a lot of fun, until that kid ran into me, at least.” you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

he can’t help the smile that creeps onto his features. “poor guy,” he says, “sirius wanted to hunt him down so badly. said he was willing to have detention for the rest of the year, if it meant he got his revenge.”

you roll your eyes. “what a hothead,” you laugh.

“yeah, think the kid was pretty scared too. he send a card up, and some chocolate frogs.” remus passes you a card. you open it up, and a flock of little birds explodes from the paper, as well as a bright, sparkling message that says get well soon!

you smile, feeling much better already. you squeeze remus’s hand again, closing the card as he passes you a chocolate frog.

“thank you,” you say in response, though both of you know you’re not just thanking him for the chocolate.

he nods in response, leaning over to press a kiss against your forehead.

tags: @delulu4marauders

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader fluff #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #remus lupin fic #marauders era fic #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders era #the marauders #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #slb.works #slb.requests

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jeongintwenty3 · 1 year

Text

actions speak louder than words

pairing: lee know x gn!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: mention of tears

summary: he woke up to his one and only crying. knowing he isn’t good with words, he decided to let her know he’s there for her through his loving gestures.

author’s note: hello!! feeling a bit under the weather but it’s nothing new. i am a sucker for minho being all soft for his other half, in case you haven’t noticed. pardon for my poor grammar and mispellings if present, other than that, happy reading! <3

————————————————————————

waking up to the sounds of his beloved sniffling was far from ideal. it was 3.16 in the morning, he finally got some shut eye after a good two and a half hours of trying.

but God had other plans.

trying to identify where the sounds were coming from, minho patted the duvet beside him. you weren’t beside him. rubbing his eyes so he’d be able to wake up just a little bit more to find you, he identified your figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

you thought you aced your techniques of weeping silently, muffling the noises with the sleeves of your sweater or leaving the room to take a breather. but tonight, it didn’t work.

hearing the shuffles of your boyfriend, you immediately wiped whatever tears were left and tried to regulate your breathing.

minho sat beside you, opening his arms as a silent invitation to his comforting hugs. and so you did, sat upon his lap with both arms around his neck, the tears were threatening to fall again.

“you don’t need to pretend babe, it’s okay. it’s just me,” he said gently, not wanting to aggravate anything else.

with those words said, the dam broke. you were shaking, shedding tears in his hold and he didn’t seem to mind at all.

the man with one arm stroking your hair and the other patting your back gave you nothing less than tranquility.

noticing your tears aren’t stopping anytime soon, he whispered,

“let it all out, hmm? take your time,” the man said, fully awake by now. he wants nothing but for his one and only to feel better. yes, he doesn’t really like and sort of skinship, but for you? he’d do anything.

after a good twenty minutes of your breakdown, you managed to slip out, “’m sorry, i know you needed to rest,”

backing away from the one he loves most, he looked right into your eyes; you could swear, it’s the most tender look he’s ever given you.

“don’t be sorry. you need me more than i need sleep, you are my responsibility. it’s the way it’s supposed to be, darling. i’m more than content to be the only one able to comfort you right now,” he said, tightening his grip around you.

feeling your throat closing up, minho noticed the tears welling up once again. he resorted to place both of his hands on each side of your head, placing kisses on your forehead and closed eyelids; hoping, that he can distribute whatever strength and comfort he has to his beloved.

“breathe, baby. take it slow,” minho said, while helping you adjust your breathing that was ragged due to the constant flow of tears.

hearing you saying something along the lines of wanting to sleep or something like that, he took it as a sign to bring you into a more comfortable position.

letting go of the man that has comforted you for the last 30 minutes, he guided you so you can rest on the pillow he fluffed up just a while ago. adjusting the both of you so you can lie down properly, he continued srroking your hair, his grip on you never loosening. seeing you drift off to sleep due to the exhaustion, he smiled softly. pressing a kiss to your temple and whispering a quick i love you, he too, drifted of to dreamland.

maybe for now, your heart is on the verge of shattering; but one thing for sure, minho won’t let that happen. he isn’t good with words and it’s never a problem; his actions speaks volumes, and that is what matters the most.

#stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz #lee know #lee know fluff #lee know x reader #lee minho blurbs

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venturelovebot · 27 days

Text

A/N: AAAAH This is the first piece of media I've written for Overwatch since like 2019! I wanted to so badly get back into writing but I just never felt like it! (´;ω;｀) I cannot believe this goober is what got me back into it. Bless their little rock eating heart.

Premise: You're a nerdy college student majoring in arts. Guess who you have a massive crush on. Guess whose popular and you're not. Guess who gets asked out anyway. ･*･:≡(　ε:) G/N!insecure!reader x Venture "Rock Eater" Overwatch ft. Illari the supportive friend!

Warnings: None! Just fluff.

You doodled another heart on a blank layer with your stylus. Beside that one you doodle a smaller one. You glance up quickly enough to get another look at their face and add small details to the main focus of your artwork. You move down a layer and add more shading. You zoom out. You're not happy with it.

"You push yourself too hard." Illari takes a seat next to you and sets down an unopened can of coffee. "You only see the mistakes. Everyone else will always see the bigger picture."

"That's what you keep telling me..." You softly sigh and open the can. Half of it nearly disappears in a gulp, so sleep would have to wait a little bit longer.

Illari looks over your work. "Oh! Is that S–" You cut her off with a harsh shush. Your head nods towards Sloane who sits not even twenty feet away from you laughing and talking with their friends.

"Not so loud..." You frown.

"Wow." Illari smiles softly and lowers her voice to a whisper. "That's like the third drawing you've done of them this week. Why not just ask them out already?"

"Stop!" You blush, hit the save button and close your laptop screen. You bury your face in your hands and feel the embarrassment begin to burn on your skin.

Even though no one has noticed, it feels like the whole world was staring at you. Tears softly gather behind your eyes but you blink them back before Illari takes notice.

"It's not like they know who I am. Plus they're cute... and look at me..." You sigh and feel a lump in your throat start to form.

Illari puts a hand on your shoulder. "Remember that you only see the mistakes. Everyone else will always see the bigger picture." She gets up quietly and grabs her book bag. "I'll text you later."

You watch between your fingers as she makes her way out of the building. After she leaves your line of sight you reopen your laptop and the familiar sting of failure settles over you again. You use your sleeve to dry your eyes before shaking your head gently to center yourself.

Right. Back to work.

The chatter of people around you dwindles as the time passes by and the sun lowers itself towards the horizon. You hit the save button for the twentieth time and decide to call it quits when the light makes it harder to see the finer details on your screen. You set your stylus aside and remove your drawing glove to let your dominant hand finally rest. The cramp pulses in your wrist and fingers as you massage them firmly. All was quiet for a brief moment.

"Hey! Is that me? That's so cool!" Oh, god... that voice. Their voice.

You had no time to react as a nervous heat strikes your body like lightning. You're frozen, blushing and panicking– and you just noticed you forgot to hide the heart doodle layer.

It cannot get much worse than this.

"I told you they were talented!" Illari smiles and sits across from you. "You should show them the other ones."

"I'll kill you." You mouth to her and her smile widens into a grin.

"Can you send them to me? I'll give you my number– wait a minute..." Sloane takes another glance at the screen. "Are those hearts?"

The feeling of helplessness overwhelms you as tears begin flowing from your eyes nonstop. You quickly cover your face in an attempt to save yourself and the small amount of dignity you have left. There was nothing you could say to defend yourself in this situation. This causes Illari to feel guilty and stand up to comfort you.

"Hey! It's okay! Your artwork is super good! I look really good! A lot better than I usually do, I think..." Sloane takes a seat next to you. "Wow, you even got my tattoos right. That's crazy! In a good way, I mean..."

You try your hardest to dry your eyes with your dampened sleeves. "You really think so?" You're hardly able to hide the choking in your throat.

"Actually... I think you made me look too good." They joke and you can't help but laugh a little.

"What are you talking about? You always look good regardless of what you do..." You glance over at them. Sloane's face lights up with a soft red glow from your compliment.

Illari takes a few steps back unnoticed, her plan beginning to unravel.

"Aww! Well, thanks!" There's a tone in their voice you haven't heard before. "You're not so bad looking yourself, ya know." They smile.

"Oh! That's not true... I could definitely look a lot better I think–" You look away with a grin on your face. "My hair is a mess... and–"

"No! I'm being honest! Your hair looks nice...! And you smell really nice! And you seem really nice!" You could tell they were embarrassed at this point. "Uh– anyway– You're definitely cute. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

A moment of silence passes as you look back at them. Both of you are grinning at each other uncontrollably like a couple of nerds. The tension in the air begins to fade.

"Wow..." You pause for a moment. "Thank you. Really."

"No problem! Say, can I ask you for a favor?" Sloane asks.

"S-sure!"

"I'm thinking about getting another tattoo for my birthday. Could you design it for me?" Sloane lifts up their tank top to point at their chest. "I was thinking about getting something cool like the eye of Horus! Or maybe something like a flaming skull. Or a frog. I haven't decided yet–"

Your face turns bright red as you eye their bare skin. It was everything you daydreamed about– except this time it was all real. You wanted more time to admire everything but they lower their shirt back down... a soft disappointment looms over you, but you're not about to squander your chance.

"I'd love to!" You answer confidently for the first time in a very long time.

"Nice! So it's a date then? Does this Friday work?" Sloane writes down their phone number for you.

"That sounds... nice." You reply happily.

"Cool, I'll see you around then." Sloane stands up and nearly walks off before turning to you one more time. "I almost forgot. What's your name? Illari didn't tell me."

"Y/N."

"Y/N..." They echo. "I like that name. See you Friday!"

You watch as they leave, not taking your eyes off of them for a second until they're completely out of your sight.

"You're welcome." Illari smiles and heads out afterwards.

You spend an extra couple of minutes gathering your things before giggling and kicking your feet like a little kid. You just got a date with one of the most popular people on campus! And this is what it feels like... a rollercoaster of butterflies in your stomach.

You head back towards home as the moon brightly shines in the starry sky above, wondering about this coming Friday... what you would wear... you needed to be prepared.

#idc if this gets no notes i'm writing a sequel to this... i have to...#venture x reader #venture overwatch #sloane cameron #overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #overwatch fanfiction #f/o #romantic f/o #banner and divider by saradika-graphics

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thebestpumkin · 5 months

Text

- title - mornings.

- pairing - hawks (keigo takami) x reader

- word count - 382

- summary - you and your "not a morning guy," boyfriend get ready together in the morning

- tw - i don't believe there are any? lmk if there is!

- a/n at the bottom!

Mornings with Keigo Takami were always the same.

He'd wake up to his alarm - a mere ideal, considering the events that would always follow. He'd always go back to sleep, insisting he was getting up, only to later excuse himself by mentioning just how warm and welcoming you are.

After much insistence, he'd get up, huffing that you simply must not love him anymore. Then came a quick shower - to which he'd always invite you with a wink, effectively earning himself a smack upside the head and a warning that he'd be late.

Then came changing. Which involved you helping him get his arms through the sleeves of his coat as he'd insist he needed a "reward kiss" after every single step. After that, breakfast, which always included many, "I could just eat you up instead..." paired with more winks. More smacks upside his head. Then, prying him off of you and shooing him out the door, because he was supposed to be at his own agency about half an hour ago.

And right as he's hovering over the doorknob, he'd always turn to you, and that'd be when the playful exterior melts away for a moment. Where instead of Hawks, in his place stood a man so deeply in love, wanting to spend every morning with you, no matter how hectic. The pure adoration in his eyes shone brightly, and he seemed to perk up further as he saw his affections mirrored in your gaze.

He had a glimpse of domesticity - and he so desperately craved it every waking moment. So every morning, he'd press a kiss to your cheek and promise to work hard to protect you - to protect the life you had planned together. He'd promise to come back later with not so much as a scratch, pairing his words with a gentle kiss to your lips. And he'd always follow through. Because he was your Keigo, just as you were his.

So yes, mornings with Keigo Takami were always the same. They were hectic, and playful, and...home. And neither of you would ever trade any of it for anything. Ever.

Though the sidekicks absolutely complain about how late he is, texting you to rush him and not entertain his antics. That was something you could do without.

pumkin speaks: im back, im back!! i actually am happy with this piece, especially compared to my other Hawks piece. i just wanna spend a morning with this sweet little baby, ik he'd be so clingy ☹️☹️ anyways! it would totally help if any of y'all made a little request, bc it took me a bit to come up with some ideas (we got some now though, so i'm gonna try and devote this weekend to writing) okay, that's that. tysm for reading, and happy scrolling!

ps, reblogs, likes, and feedback are very much appreciated! divider credits go to r0se-designs.

#mha x reader #x reader #pumkin writes #bnha x reader #mha #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #bnha #mha hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader

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short-honey-badger · 6 months

Text

Phantom Pain part 5

The Fishing Incident

First off! I am so so sorry it's been so long. I've got in a bit of a slump and struggled to get anything out. So I really hope you all enjoy this next part! Mostly fluff and some kissing!

Masterlist

@writingmysanity @foggyturtleknightangel @kenkenmaaa

Shanks ends up buying you one of the better fishing rods in the market, one strong and flexible enough to take the challenge of some of the bigger fish that make the Grand Line their home. He'd watched with a fond look as you gushed over the different reels, lines, and luers, and reminded you several times that price was not an issue. You left the market happy and excited to try your new gear, and that was all that mattered to Shanks.

The Yonko had expected you to run off right after the two of you had finished shopping, but instead you lingered outside the market and waited for him to pick out a couple of bottles of saki and rum. He could feel your nerves again and gave you a reassuring smile in return.

"Do you wanna come fishing with me?" You blurt out suddenly, and Shanks is already nodding his head before you can even finish your sentence. He'd do anything you wanted to do. However, the question also has guilt welling up inside of him. You furrow your brow at him, confused on why he would feel that way.

"I'd love to, Baby," Shanks tells you and then shakes his right side, causing the empty sleeve there to flop around, "But it's kinda hard to do with one arm."

You blink up at him, frown scrunching your face. Damn. Shanks makes a good point as much as you would rather not admit. You shuffle your feet before ultimately shrugging and aiming a shy smile up at your soul mate.

"You can just come sit with me, though, right?" You suggest softly. You don't really want to be alone, not when you could spend this down time with your soulmate. The longer you stay, the more you think that may you do belong with him, made to be by his side.

Shanks looks delighted, face softening into a gentle expression full of fondness. His side of the bond pulses like an exploding star, and you flush at the tsunami of feelings you feel from him. The Yonko snickers at your red face and then boops your nose, a new favorite thing of his to do.

"I wouldn't want to spend my time any other way, Seastar," he teases, and you roll your eyes at him with a huff before turning away. You shouldn't have expected anything less from him.

Eventually, the two of you find a nice secluded spot on the beach quite a ways down from the pier and small town. It's quiet and peaceful here, and you take the chance to dig your toes into the sand and just breathe in the salty air. You feel Shanks step behind you and tense for half a second when his arm wraps around your waist, but relax and let yourself lean against his strong chest. You feel safe and secure in knowing that nothing could ever harm you when your soul mate holds you so closely.

Shanks buries his face in your hair and breathes in, humming in joy when he feels you slump against him. He never wants to let you go and wonders how he had ever gone through so much of his life without you by his side. He kisses your hair, arm tightening around your waist as he scatters more kisses along the top of your head and then to your cheeks and brow when he gently turns you around.

You flush at the attention and then grab his loose shirt to tug him down for a real kiss. Shanks laughs against your lips, and you retaliate by nipping his bottom lip hard enough to hurt. He grunts and slips his hand into your hair so that he can better control the kiss, tongue sweeping into your mouth to plunder like a true pirate.

You break the passionate exchange with a gulp of air, and Shanks snickers again at your lack of stamina. His hand loosens in your hair and instead begins to stroke it lightly, "Thought you were supposed to be fishing?" He teases lightly.

You scoff at him, "It's not my fault you decided to distract me," You say with a smirk and the redhead looks at you with big puppy eyes, as if he had done no wrong. You raise your brow at him, not believing his puppy act for a second.

"Okayyy, fine," one of the most powerful men in the Grand Line whines, and you wonder how this became your life.

Shanks leaves and settles on a flat rock that also held your fishing equipment and his booze. He cracks open his bottle of saki and takes a deep swig before setting it aside. He expects you to grab your pole, but instead, you drop to your knees a couple of feet away from where the damp sand ends and begin to dig.

He furrows his brow at you from his seat, "What are you doing?" He asks curiously. Even before he lost his arm, Shanks hadn't been the biggest fan of fishing, so he was a little lost.

You laugh at him, and his heart seizes in his chest when you look up at him with a big grin. He can see where some sand is sticking to your face, and it just endears him more to you.

"Sometimes it takes a while for a fish to bite, and I just don't want to hold my pole for that long," you explain and then stand and dust yourself off when you deep your hole good enough, "Hence the hole."

You pick your way across the sand and settle on the rock beside Shanks. Your pole is soon lured up with a good sinker and a big chunk of bait attached to the hook. Shanks watches as you heft the pole and then walk almost chest deep into the ocean. He tenses at how far you go, but you look confident in what you are doing, so Shanks stays seated.

You cast your line as far as you can throw before wading back to shore and carefully lowering your pole into the hole. You come back to the rock and collect the small jar of shells you had made up earlier just for this purpose. You feel Shanks watching and deciding to explain to him, "I'll wrap my line around the jar. That way, when a fish hooks, I'll be able to hear it."

The Yonko makes a Huh sound and looks vaguely impressed with your small set you now have at the shore, "Well. Would you look at that? You made fishing even lazier," he teases when you sit beside him. Shanks gets shoved in the shoulder for that one, and he allows himself to be moved by your weak push.

"Shut up, I've got to save my strength for when I'm reeling it in," You inform him smartly and Shanks just laughs again and tugs you close so that you lean against his chest, he drops a kiss to your brow.

"You do have some noodle arms, Sweetheart," Shanks says, and you scoff in indignation. Here he is with only one arm, picking on you for being weak.

"Says you," you tease back and gesture at the empty sleeve that flops against his side.

Shanks promptly grabs you with his arm and lifts with ease, plopping you into his lap with a shit eating grin. His hand grips your hip to keep you from squirming away, and he leans in close enough that his hair tickles your nose, "What was that, Baby?" He murmured softly and your shiver at the feel of his breath against your ear.

You clutch at his shirt, feeling a bit off center being in his lap. This was new, but you weren't about to let your dark thoughts get the better of you, not when Shanks looked at you as if you were the only thing on the planet. His thumb strokes the skin of your waist, and you vaguely wonder when your shirt had ridden up enough to expose skin.

Shanks can't help himself anymore. He can feel your warring feelings, feel how much you want him, and how scared you still are of any kind of affection. You've worked hard for Shanks, and he loves you for it. He leans in and kisses you, lips soft for only a second before Shanks devours you, and you happily let him.

The two of you lose yourself within one another, lips smacking and teeth nipping. Heat pools in your lower stomach, and Shanks grips your hip hard enough that it may bruise, but you don't care. You don't want Shanks to stop kissing you.

That is until an annoying rattle startles you away from Shanks. You jerk your head and look, eyes bugging when you see your pole bending and the jar of shells shaking like crazy. You scramble off of his lap, untangling the jar and tossing it to the sand before you grab the pole and jerk it.

You grunt when you are yanked forward, feet kicking up sand as you struggle with the weight of the monster fish on your line. You are tugged forward again, and a yelp leaves your mouth when you almost eat sea water this time.

"Shanks!" You screech and grab the reel, cranking it twice as you fight against the fish, "Help me hold it!"

Shanks is there in a flash, back pressing against yours and hand gripping the pole as he helps you hold it steady. It's a fight even with his help, but the two of you eventually stand victorious over the wriggling fish. It's huge, long and silver with a mouth full of teeth.

"That...that is a big fish," you pant out, but you are grinning so wide that it hurts your face. You are proud of your catch.

Shanks matches your grin, feeling your elation over the bond. He slides close to you again, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, "Guess I can fish with you after all?" He comments and will forever treasure the delighted laugh and kiss that he receives.

#fanfic #reader insert #one piece #red haired shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #fluff #one piece live action #fishing #phantom pain

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bloatedandalone04 · 6 months

Text

Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 0.3

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which both you and anakin begin packing, but for two different reasons, and in an attempt to reassure you, he comes home with something that will surely get his point across.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 4.3k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | HAPPY HALLOWEEN

“This is so fucking sad,” Anakin mutters as he shoves the few shirts he took out of his bag back into it. “We didn’t even get to unpack our clothes yet.”

You nod as you drop your sweatpants into your suitcase that was open on the bed. “I know,” you agreed. “I feel like we’re moving out again, even though we’ll only be gone for a few months. This place already feels like home, I’m going to miss it.”

Anakin nods and drops his bag onto the floor before moving to stand behind you. “It feels like home because it is our home, pretty girl,” he murmurs, kissing your neck as you begin to fold a pair of jeans. “And it’ll still be here in three months. The lease doesn’t expire until we want to move again.”

“I don’t want to move again,” you tell him, placing your hand on his arm when he wraps it around your middle. “At least not for a while. I need a sense of normalcy after all this is over.”

He hums, nudging your jaw with the tip of his nose. “I get that, believe me,” he says. “Just last year I was uploading our first single onto my old Youtube account, now I’m being asked to extend our first tour. I feel like I haven’t had a chance to take it all in yet.”

You smile at him, zipping up your suitcase before turning around in his arms. “You’ve got the rest of your life to do that,” you tease, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “Try to live in the moment, Ani. The rest of the world will catch up to you eventually.”

Anakin gives you a grateful look, his lips turning upwards in a grin that takes you back to yours and his high school days. He looks so at peace right now, so young and carefree, it makes you miss the way things used to be, if only for a split second. You wouldn’t change a thing about the last five years. “What am I going to do without you? I know it’s not forever, it’s not even for half a year, but three months is too long without you.”

You wrap your arms around his middle. “I know,” you mumble. “But I’m going to come visit you. I refuse to miss all of your shows, I need to see at least a few.”

Anakin groaned quietly, leaning down to press a hard kiss to your lips. “How is it possible that I already miss you? You’re in my arms yet I still miss you,”

You shrug, tracing your finger over his sleeve of tattoos and pausing on your initial. “Maybe your body is already preparing itself,” you offer. “I hope you get some good sleep on this tour. I know you had a hard time doing it last time.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, moving around you so he can sit down on the bed next to your suitcase. His hands pull on your waist and you stand in between his thighs, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I’ll be sleeping alone this time around while you’re off doing London things. I’ll be lucky to get more than four hours of sleep throughout the next three months.”

You roll your eyes and kiss him again, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth. “You’ll just have to learn how to live without me,”

Anakin glared at you, his hands tightening their grip on your waist. “Like fuck I will,”

Laughing, you quickly kiss his cheek before pulling away from him. Anakin reluctantly lets you go, his arms falling back to his sides as you begin to sort through what books you wanted to take with you.

Anakin watches you with a weary look on his face. It was clear that you were nervous about going to London on your own, and he knew you were worried about your relationship. While you are both fully aware that you two were it for each other, this was still a big step.

Nearly five years in and you hadn’t spent more than a week away from one another, so to spend multiple was a big change. It was obvious that you were feeling anxious about it all, and Anakin wanted to assure you that everything will be fine. He wanted to ensure you were aware that you will be the one constant on his mind during the whole time he is away from you.

A half an hour goes by and Anakin is once again asked to come to the studio. He is sitting at the desk beside Vinny as Theo goes over a new beat he made up on his bass in the soundbooth. “Hey,” he asked his friend and drummer, leaning over so he didn’t have to talk very loud. “You free for a few hours after this?”

Vinny leans over as well, glancing at Helena before meeting Anakin’s eyes. “Yeah, I should be,” he answers. “What’s up?”

“Y/n’s stressing out about leaving for her program, though she won’t admit it,” Anakin says. “I want to assure her somehow. Are you down to sit through a tattoo session with me?”

“Always, man,” Vinny reaches over and bumps Anakin’s fist with his own. “Count me in.”

Anakin gives his friend a grateful smile before turning back to watch Theo.

After successfully recording the beat for a possible future song, Helena sits the three guys down and excitedly announces that she’s come up with a way to get some good promo out to the fans. “We’re going to hire a tour photographer,” she informs them, a big grin on her glossy lips. “We need some HD pictures of you all in action, and this is a great way to get you guys out there.”

Vinny sits up in his chair, glancing over at Anakin and Theo. “That’s actually not a bad idea,”

Anakin nods in agreement, as does Theo.

“Great, I knew you’d all agree,” Helena says and hands them each a piece of paper. “I want you to go through potential options together. Look them up on their social media, get a feel for how they portray their artists, then pick which one you think would capture you the best.”

“Sounds like homework,” Theo mumbled as he read the long list of names. Anakin and Vinny laugh as they, too, go over the list.

“No, your homework is to put out another hit single,” Helena says and the three straighten up pretty quickly after that. “Aha, not so funny when it’s your asses on the line, is it?”

“Sorry,” Anakin says for him and his bandmates. “Thanks, Helena.”

“Uh huh,” she smiles. “Get to work, boys.”

“So, what will it be this time, superstar?” Brock, Anakin’s long time tattoo artist asks when he saw him and Vinny enter the shop. “You finally gonna let me tattoo a snake on you?”

“No,” Anakin shakes his head with a grin, holding out a birthday card you had given him last year. “I was thinking something more tame.”

Brock nods as Anakin pointed at the writing on the bottom of the card. “Ah,” he hums. “I like it. Have a seat.”

A few minutes later, the tattoo is printed out and the trace is pressed against Anakin’s skin. Vinny stands off to the side as Brock begins poking Anakin’s left wrist with the tattoo gun, his eyes narrowing at how calm he is when he is literally being poked with a multitude of needles. “You sure have a lot of those,” he gestures to his sleeve. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No,” Anakin answers, leaning back in the chair. “Almost feels like a massage.”

“Yeah, right,” Vinny rolled his eyes, looking at the wall of possible tattoo options. “You’re full of it.”

Anakin laughs as he looks down to watch Brock work on the neat handwriting. “You’re lucky your girl doesn’t have shitty writing, man,” Brock pointed out as he continued working.

“I don’t think she ever did. I remember her taking notes in high school and she had good handwriting back then, too. It’s only gotten better,” he mumbles. Even if you had the worst handwriting in the world, Anakin still would’ve gotten it tattooed on him, like he is now. “A lot better than mine, anyway.”

“Fuck, mine too,” Brock muttered, wiping at Anakin’s wrist before going back in with the needle. “Chicks just have nicer writing, I guess.”

“Don’t think that’s true,” Vinny adds as he flips through a tattoo book. “Clara’s got the worst handwriting I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Anakin laughs again as he looks up at his friend. “How is she doing, anyway? Upset you’re going on tour again so soon?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something,” Vinny says as he sets the book down and leans against the shelf. “I already talked to Theo about it, now I want to run it by you.”

“Sure, man,” Anakin refrains from sitting up straight and possibly making Brock mess up the tattoo. “What’s up?”

“I know it was your bed last time, and I really am sad to hear that Y/n can’t come with us again, but I was thinking of bringing Clara with us? And she and I can get the big bed?” Vinny asked with a hint of nervousness lacing his usual cool tone.

Anakin hadn’t even thought about that. There was no point in him needing the double bed this time around since he wouldn’t be sharing it with you, and now he was almost positive that he would not be getting very good sleep at all this time around, especially since he would be sleeping without you next to him.

Something about sleeping in the bunk under Theo’s or the one above his was not appealing at all, but he supposed he would deal with it. “Yeah, of course,” Anakin answered. “All yours, dude.”

Vinny grinned at him and bumped his fist against Anakin’s. “Thanks, man,” he says. “How are you doing with the whole ‘moving to London’ thing? You and Y/n are practically attached at the hip.”

Anakin looked away and shrugged, eyeing the way Brody traced your pretty writing. “It’ll be hard,” he replied, trying to come off as unbothered, but he knew he would be missing you like crazy in a week. “But we’ll be fine. It’ll be five years together in a few weeks, we can go a few months without seeing each other every day.”

He hoped he sounded convincing, because even he wasn’t entirely assured. “Yeah, of course,” Vinny agreed, going back to flipping the pages of the tattoo book. “If anyone can do this it’s you two. I was talking to Helena earlier, and guess where our first location is?”

“Where?” Anakin asked as he looked at Vinny’s back.

Vinny turned around and smirked. “London,”

“Y/n?” Anakin called out as soon as he got back from the tattoo shop. He had phoned Helena on the way home and confirmed that London indeed is their first tour stop, and that you could possibly go with him. “Baby?”

Your sweet voice called back, “In the kitchen, Ani,” and he was making his way down the hall without a second thought.

When he entered the kitchen, he found you with your elbows pressed against the top of the island counter as your fingers picked at a muffin. He grinned at you before he pressed a kiss to your crumb coated lips, making you smile into it and pull away after a few seconds.

“Good day?” You ask as your eyes trace over every inch of his face and your lips match his small smile.

“Great day,” he corrected as he moved to stand behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle.

You lean back against him and lift the muffin up to his mouth, not caring about the hundreds of crumbs that fell into your shirt when he bit into it. “That’s good to hear,” you leaned in and kissed his jaw as he chewed. “What happened that made it a great day?”

Anakin ran his nose along your cheekbone and pulled you a bit tighter against him. “I woke up next to you,” he answered and smirked when you just rolled your eyes as you set the half eaten muffin onto the counter. “And I got a new tattoo.”

You perk up at that and turn around in his arms, your eyes raking over his sleeve in search of the new ink. “Where? Of what?”

Anakin laughed and placed his hands on your hips, hiding the clear bandage on his wrist for the time being. “Before I show you, I want you to know that this,” he gestured between the two of you. “Is all I could ever want. You’re everything I could ever want, forever.”

You narrow your eyes as you nod, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. “You’re all I want, too, Ani,”

He leaned forward and kissed you deeply, his left hand coming up to grip the side of your face. “I just wanted to make sure you’re aware of that,” he murmurs as he pulls back and moves to stand next to you. He wraps his right arm around your waist and raises his left, his tattoo on full display now.

Your eyes widen as your hand shoots out to grip his and angle his wrist in an awkward angle. “Ani,” you gasped quietly as you observed the new ink that is now permanently on his skin.

In your neat handwriting were the words, ‘Forever Your Princess,’ etched onto the smooth skin of his wrist. You remembered writing that on a card for his twenty-first birthday, and your heart swelled at the fact that he actually kept the card.

You look up at him with a swarm of emotions evident in your eyes. “Anakin,” you whisper and gently run the tip of your index finger over his slightly swollen wrist.

He has your initial tattooed on his bicep, and now he had your writing placed perfectly on the part of his arm that was less crowded with various other tattoos. It had its own spot, whereas your initial was surrounded by random things.

Both had your heart beating rapidly as you moved to stand in front of him and lean up to kiss him. “You got another tattoo for me?”

Anakin wasn’t able to respond before you were kissing him again, this time much more deeply than before. When your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, he groans against your mouth as he presses your body against the island. “I’m yours for the rest of my life, princess,” he mumbled against your slightly wet lips. “If it wasn’t obvious enough before.”

Your eyes nearly rolled back at his words and how effortlessly he was able to turn you on. “God, you’re perfect,”

He shook his head, his nosing brushing against yours as he did so. “And there’s something else,”

Your hands slide back down to grip the worn fabric of his vintage tee. “Tell me,”

His fingers tease the skin of your hips when his hands push up your top a bit. “The first stop of the tour is in London,” he says and your lips turn upwards. “As long as you don’t mind sleeping in a bunk with me for a night, you can come with us.”

Your eyes cloud over with something he’s seen thousands of times now before you were kissing him again and gripping his shoulders tightly. His hands grab onto the backs of your thighs as he lifts your body up and sets you down on the island. “You are so fucking perfect,” you say again and kiss all over his face. “The absolute love of my entire life.”

Anakin laughed under his breath as you began to kiss his neck. “So, that’s a yes on coming with us for the first night?”

You pull back and raise your brow at him as if that was the dumbest question ever, and you let him know it was, too, “Are you serious? Of course I’m coming with you,”

And that was all Anakin needed to hear before he was kissing you again and moving to stand in between your legs.

It was cliché as fuck to say, but the two of you really did fit so unbelievably well together. While Anakin had been a pretty scrawny kid growing up, he had filled out in all the right places by the time he was in tenth grade. He also took PE during the four years he was in high school, so his shape had only gotten better since then.

You were a hell of a lot smaller than him, and your height difference was laughable at times. Your body was covered entirely by his whenever he stood in front of you and you looked even smaller whenever he tucked you under his arm.

And yet you fit perfectly together.

Anakin pulls your body close to his, and you were barely on the counter as he gave a slow roll of his hips against yours.

This is where he belonged, with you. He could get through a few months away from you if it meant you got to chase your dream after watching him achieve his. You had been so supportive of him since the very start, he couldn’t not do the same for you.

He was so fucking proud of you. You are by far the smartest person in his life and he knew you would excel in this program.

Three months will be nothing, right? It would be nothing when you both know that you’re in it for the long run.

When your quiet moan reached his ears, he quickly felt himself grow hard. Though, really, it didn’t take much. You turned him on constantly, and most of the time you aren’t even trying to.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” you say in between kisses. “I miss you already.”

When your fingers begin to work on the button of his jeans, Anakin moves to place kisses all along your neck. “I’m right here, baby,” he swore, pressing kiss after kiss to the smooth skin of your shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere without coming back to you.”

You whine quietly and the sound goes straight to his dick because he simply has no control over that part of himself, and you were so effortlessly hot. “Ani,” you beg and unzip his jeans, your small hand beginning to palm him through his tight boxer briefs.

“I know, princess,” he mutters, his fingers teasing the waistline of your sweats. “Where do you want it?”

“Here,” you answer in a breathy tone, your freehand coming up to tug on his hair a bit. He had let it grow out a few centimeters, just to try it out, and was receiving no complaints on your end, so he assumed you must like it. Even if he didn’t like it, he probably would keep his hair at whatever length you liked the best, all because you were his girl and he would do pretty much anything to please you. “Right here.”

Anakin smirks against your skin, his hands pulling down your sweats and dropping them to the floor. “This reminds me of our place on campus,” he mumbles as he reaches down to run his index and middle fingers through your folds, finding you already wet for him. “Remember that first night we couldn’t even make it through dinner before you were begging me to fuck you? I took you right there on the counter.”

“We were nineteen, Anakin,” you try to excuse your past actions, but clearly were no better than the way you were two years ago as you were in damn near the same exact predicament. “And we just moved in, I didn’t get the chance to make the bed yet.”

He hummed as he sunk his digits into your welcoming heat. “I’m not complaining, baby,” he smirked, pulling your body closer to the edge of the counter so he could grind his still clothed front against your bare one. “Just goes to show how much we need each other, huh?”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him right up against you, your legs closing around his waist. “I’m always going to need you, Ani,” you say against his mouth. “Please, touch me.”

Anakin barely had enough room to be able to push down his boxers and thrust into your core, but he managed to do it in one swift movement. He groaned against your wet lips as he began to fuck you while still being fully clothed, his fingers bunching up the fabric of your shirt as he gripped your waist.

“Ani,” you whimper, tugging on the hair at the back of his neck with tight fists.

“I know, pretty girl,” he murmured, kissing along your jawline as his hips rocked into yours. “You’re so good for me, so tight.”

Your eyes roll a bit and you reach one hand down, placing it flat on the counter behind you as you try to steady yourself, despite already being relatively stable. “You feel so good, Anakin,” you praised, tilting your head back when he started to place open mouthed kisses to your throat. “So deep.”

He grunted loudly, sucking a mark onto your neck before pulling away and smirking at the love bite. “Easy,” he warned in a half serious tone. “Keep talking like that and I won’t last long at all.”

You shake your head and kiss him deeply. “I don’t need you to last long, Ani,” you mumbled. “Just need you to fill me up.”

“Fuck,” he rasped, slowing down the harsh thrusts of his hips as he processed your dirty words. Almost five years with you and he still isn’t used to how filthy you can be when alone with him, then become innocent again after he’s done with you. “Jesus Christ, baby.”

You laughed and the sound faded into a low moan as he slowly fucked into you. The sweet and sexy sound makes him feel a bit crazy and he goes blind for a brief second from the pleasure you always gave him.

The cool countertop did nothing to soothe your heated skin as your body burned with desire for the man who has only ever been yours.

The same man who is rutting into you and saying all the right things in your ear as he did so. “You’re so beautiful, princess,” he murmured. “My pretty girl. You’re so fucking sweet.”

You gasp when he trails a hand down and rubs soft circles onto your clit with the pad of his finger. “Anakin, fuck,” you hum and tug him closer. “Please, please.”

“What?” He asked, his tone mock free as he kissed along the curve of your jaw. “What do you want, baby? What do you need?”

“Hard,” you weakly answer, twisting his shirt in your hands. “I need it hard, Ani.”

He growled deeply and the sound went straight to your core, where you tighten around him. As he obeyed your request, Anakin found himself lost in the overall feeling of you. The way your body fit against his own, the sound of your soft moans next to his ear, how your hands couldn’t stay still on just one part of him.

He is so in love with you, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

The question weighed heavily on his tongue, and it wasn’t the first time he had to stop himself from asking you right in that moment.

He just couldn’t help it. He wanted you with him all the time, but you were still young, and have both made it clear that you wanted each other forever. There was no rush.

“Ani,” your breathless voice called him back to you. “Don’t stop, please.”

Anakin huffed out a grunt, resuming his harsh circles on your clit. “I’m not stopping, pretty girl,” he promised. “Not until I get you off so good.”

“You always do,” you moan, wrapping both arms tightly around his shoulders as your heels dig into his back to bring him even closer to you. “I’m gonna come.”

He kissed you deep and hard, his hips hitting yours at a bruising pace. “Do it,” he says in a daring voice. “Come for me.”

You moan loudly, your hands holding his hair in a death grip.

He couldn’t lie, moving into a new apartment with thick walls had to be one of the best decisions of his life, as you and he could be as loud as you want, and it was no secret that he loved getting you to be as noisy as possible.

He loved how vocal you got in the bedroom, or in this case, on the kitchen island.

It wasn’t just because it was a great ego boost and ensured him that he was keeping you satisfied in bed, but because he couldn’t get enough of the sounds you have only ever made for him.

That was obvious enough, seeing as he literally used an old video you sent him years ago in a song, just so he could share with the world how hot you truly are, even if you are very introverted yourself.

“Anakin,” you warn in a whisper, brushing your lips against his. “Oh, God.”

Another loud moan leaves your mouth as he feels your walls flood around him, and you whimper with every thrust of his hips as he rides you through your high. “Good girl,” he praised against your lips.

And he wasn’t too far off, either, as it was only a few more seconds later when he, too, reached his high.

You keep your legs locked around his waist and pull him right up against you when he stills, embracing him sweetly in the afterglow. Your hands run softly through his hair while his fingers trace circles on the skin of your hips, the silence between you comfortable yet a bit tense.

You both knew what was coming after this, and you both weren’t ready for it, but found comfort in one another as your time was now limited.

211 notes · View notes

livingemkayde · 6 months

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boston!joel miller x f!reader | 3.8k

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, oral m! and f!receiving, fingering, joel is emotionally distant because the world has gone to shit, violence (reader gets hit once by a FEDRA soldier), mentions of blood and wounds, angst!!!, no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a/n: WADDUP PARTY PEOPLE!!! were back again with another post outbreak!joel miller one shot, horrible canva graphic done by yours truly, and a quiet obsession with this idea while i had covid.

so....this is a little different from my regular scheduled programming. i wanted to explore a different kind of writing style and i am really happy with how this came out. it made writing fun. thank you for all of your comments, reblogs, asks, etc. they truly do mean the world. IM JUST A GIRL WRITING HER HEART OUT SO THANK YOU.

↳ this one is dedicated to my long lost lover and biggest supporter, @joelsversion i love you bestie.

↳ follow @livingemkaydenotifs if you would like to be notified about more fics like this. as always, i love you so, so much.

↳ if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist

He deserves it all. You know that for certain. And they were all right about him, dangerous. But maybe they only spewed a half truth. Because yes, dangerous. But only because he shouldn't feel so good, shouldn't be so gentle, shouldn't call you baby, and angel, and sweetheart, and darlin’. You’ve been morphed into a daredevil by kisses and soft touches and two fingers notched inside your wanting cunt while his tongue slides over your bundle of nerves. If Joel Miller is dangerous, you're willing to risk it all.

“He’s not a good man.”

“You don’t know that,” you said, shaking your head.

“I know what he’s done. He’s — dangerous.”

“But does that make him a bad man?”

“It certainly doesn’t make him a good one.”

___

“Good morning,” you say, zipping up the front of your jacket, doubling the extra layer of warmth. It’s freezing today, and you’ve managed to fit both of your long sleeves under your coat.

You smile at him, like always. Almost practiced, almost rehearsed. And he always gives you a gruff nod, and says—

“Mornin’.”

“Cold out,” you acknowledge, following in stride, a stair behind him. Your boots slap down onto the wood but it only creaks under the weight of his body. He slumps down the steps, one big, heavy foot in front of the other. You notice how he waits for you to go first when you both round the corner.

He just grunts in response. He’s not rude, or mean. It’s just how he is. It’s what you’ve gotten used to. But there’s something different in his tone this time. The etches marked in his face right between his eyebrows are stronger and his lip quivers on the right side, shaking with an uncertainty that changes his entire face into something you’re not quite sure you’ve ever seen before. A face like he’s worried about something.

You both get to the bottom of the stairs, nearing the entrance to the building. This is the part where he goes his way and you go yours. You follow the sun’s path, towards your daily jobs, he goes towards the ration line, towards other Areas. It’s just how it is.

Until it isn’t.

You know him.

Well, that’s not to say much—everyone knows him. But you’ve had the lucky chance of actually meeting him. Not really knowing him. But you know who he is and the deep, dark, drawl of his voice.

If someone were to say, ‘Hey, you know Joel Miller, right?’

You’d honestly probably say no.

But that’s just because truly knowing Joel Miller comes with its consequences.

But you do know he always wears his green flannel when it’s a little chilly out. You know his mug broke and that he needed to borrow one of yours a couple days ago. And you can hear every time he opens his door. Whether he’s inviting someone in, or seeing someone out is a different story. A story you don’t care to find out.

And maybe that’s enough to know him—or so you thought.

You see him.

Everyday.

Same time.

Same place.

Whoever previously stayed in your apartment left an open unit for you to settle into when you first arrived in Boston three months ago. They’re probably dead now. You try not to think of that fact too often. You kept to yourself mostly. Almost a ‘speak when spoken to’ situation. You felt like you were back in Sunday school.

But then, when you had settled into your new routine, you saw him. Same time, same place, everyday.

You know Joel Miller leaves his apartment at 8:02 am. You figured it’s because he tells himself to be out the door by 8:00 am but doesn’t actually start leaving until the hour hand hits—just like you. You know that he prefers to take the back stairs, just like you. And you also know that he heads straight for the ration lines when the fresh air finally hits.

You like to watch him as he walks away, stalking in another direction, almost into a different world.

He barely speaks to you. Maybe less than two words per sighting. You’re not really looking for a thought provoking conversation, but a conversation might be nice.

Though, you can’t really focus on much besides how handsome you think he is. You even saw him smile once. His face turned kind of boyish. You had said something about needing coffee, desperately, and he actually smiled.

It almost felt like something normal.

Maybe in some sick and backwards way you thought you two were friends. But, in retrospect, that might’ve been silly. Because in reality, you can’t stop thinking about him. You wake up, having replaced your need for coffee by the thought of seeing him.

What’s he going to wear today?

Is he gonna look at you?

What’s he going to say? Something practiced? Something new?

You always hope for the latter.

You like how he scares people. How he can cut the radio comm line and the most anyone would dare say is garbled into a low and nonthreatening, there’s a line here. How he seems to put on a front, but in those fleeting minutes when you both walk in tandem down the back stairs, he doesn’t put it on. Not for you—not in front of you. You tried not to let that get to your head. But Joel Miller mixed with polite small talk, and good mornings, and you can’t help but feel special. So that stupid naive part of you thought that you knew him. You heard stories of him, sure. But decidedly, you don’t really know him. Not like that.

Because just as you give him a small smile and turn to walk off in the opposite direction, he grabs your arm.

It’s not hard or threatening. He’s surprisingly soft, almost gentle. His hand is so starkly warm—a living furnace. He pulls you back to the stairwell, you get so flustered that you trip over yourself, but he holds you up. He looks down at you, and he’s still got that worried look on his face masked by something eerily calm.

The hand on your bicep doesn’t move—even when you relax your arm. You wouldn’t dare speak. His presence sewed your mouth shut, one look and you’re a ghost. He looks you up and down, his eyes catching at your chest, your lips, your heated cheeks. Almost like it’s the first time he’s really seen you.

You highly doubt that though.

Did he notice when a firefly left your apartment in the dead of night?

Did he care that you ventured into the world of pleasure over good judgment?

You think he does.

“You need to be careful,” he drawls, finite, stern.

You let your eyes go big, your mouth parts. It’s the most this man has ever said to you, let alone touch you. You’ve never been this close to him. The air is so cold your breath puffs out in clouds. Your heels dig into the molding of the wall.

“Around Area 3,” he clarifies when you remain silent.

You can feel his hand push into the layers covering your arm. It seeps something sickly down to your bones. Even through the thickness of it, his hand is warm, and his grip is inviting.

He has big eyes. It’s really the only thing you can think about. You can only see Joel Miller’s big puppy dog eyes staring down at you. They’re black, pitch-dark. Maybe in the light they might be brown. You wonder if you'll ever see them look at you in any other way. You silently hope you will.

His grip tightens a fraction of an inch, pushing you back into the wall a little. Almost like he’s saying — do you hear me?

“Why?” you manage to squeak out.

“Just—” he huffs, maybe sighs, “—don’t get too close. It’s dangerous.”

It almost seems like he’s waiting for you to respond. To confirm that you hear him and that you understand. Acknowledge that you’ll at least try to be safe. Though you both know safety around these parts are few and far between.

And maybe you should be careful, because the most dangerous thing right now is that Joel Miller’s got you pinned to the wall. Where no one can see either of you. Or hear the darkened drawl whispering off his scruff into a white cloud. But you’re not really scared, and you silently think you should be.

Dangerous—everyone had said to you when you first got here. He’s fucking dangerous. But how can dangerous be spelled out into something kind? How can dangerous look like he doesn’t ever want to let you go?

“Okay,” you say, breathless. He releases your arm, it leaves its mark burned into you. He backs away from you with his eyes studying yours. You don’t move, and he nods towards the exit.

____

Joel was right. About Area 3.

A day later, you’re walking to the ration lines and you can hear the trucks rolling through. You pick up your speed, put your head down, and try to walk a little faster.

“Miss?”

Shit.

You’re almost there. Just a couple more blocks.

“Miss, you can’t be out here,” it calls out again. You don’t recognize the voice—you keep walking.

“Hey!” he says, pulling at your arm. You fight away, but he hits you across the face and you fall, clutching your cheek with a cold palm. The sting is dulled, your vision wobbles a little and you begin to taste something metallically and familiar looming against the inside of your cheek.

“You fuckin’ deaf?” the soldier says, picking you up roughly by an arm. He’s not warm. Or soft. Or surprisingly gentle.

“Fuck off,” you bite back, standing, pushing out of his grip, and shaking your jacket of the dust. It flutters off you like soot while you stumble back onto the curb.

“I said—go—” the soldier grabs at his gun slung lazily over his shoulder, “—home.”

“I need to get to the lines,” you say, making a move towards your original direction. He grabs you again, and your head hits the brick wall behind you with a thunk.

“We’re under curfew,” he growls. The safety of his rifle notched under a gloved finger unlatches with a click. The front of the barrel comes up to kiss your forehead. “Last chance.”

You hear your name get called from down the street and freeze, silently cursing to yourself. A fast approaching voice accompanies your beating heart. It snakes around your lungs and gives you a good squeeze.

“I got her, Davis,” Joel says, pushing the soldier’s body away from you, wedging himself, etched with a stern look, between you and Davis. The gun now sits soundly against Joel’s chest. The part of your forehead that kissed the metal aches.

“Get outta here, Miller,” he warns, shaking his head, like Joel should know better, like Joel should be smarter, like Joel shouldn't be risking everything for you. But he doesn’t move. He pushes the soldier back with a stern palm on the front of his bullet proof vest. Davis stumbles a little, backing away, his feet falling off the curb and onto the dirty street.

“I got her.”

A tense couple beats. You pick at the skin of your pointer finger, running your nail over the ridge of your knuckles. You can hear more trucks barreling down the streets as you wait. Your lungs haven’t been reprieved of their tightness yet.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Davis shakes his head, pushing away from Joel’s hand. You watch silently over his shoulder.

“‘M not.”

“Go home,” Davis warns under his breath, looking around the street for any signs of life, “don’t— fucking come out until morning.”

“Yeah,” Joel breathes out, “alright.”

“I mean it,” he says, “and keep her locked in,” he points a warning finger over Joel's shoulder at you. “They see you, it's on sight.”

“We're good,” Joel says, shielding your body from Davis, like your own bullet proof vest. Armor. A personal chest plate and helmet and knee pads combined into one man. Maybe that’s what should feel dangerous—that you feel so safe between Joel Miller and a brick wall where all you can do is watch in earnest.

“And I want double — next time,” Davis adds, latching the safety of his gun back on and straightening out his vest.

“Just get outta here,” Joel says, backing away towards the apartment. You follow him. The soldier goes the opposite direction.

___

Your hands are shaking.

They’re shaking as you close the door, and forget to lock it. They’re fucking shaking when you slip out of your jacket and unsheath the knife from your waistband.

You can see your right hand, coming up as if an instinct to touch your cheek, the redness on your fingertips are the only indication you need. You try to rub the pads of your fingers together to erase the evidence of damage. But it doesn’t disappear. It never does.

“Shit,” you mumble. Your fucking cheek hurts.

He’s so quiet. He doesn’t even knock, just slips into your apartment. You only hear him shut the door with a click and you spin around, grabbing at the knife left strewn on the table. Your hands fumble on the handle.

“What’re you…”

Joel gestures to something in his hand, then towards the fast forming bruise on your cheekbone. You drop the knife on the table.

“Ice,” he says in that southern drawl that pulls on that place between your thighs.

You suddenly don’t care about the cut on your cheek, or the blood or the bruises. He takes in your apartment, noting each and every thing that makes you so starkly different from him. How you put up curtains, a table cloth you found in some antique shop before arriving in Boston, canned food that you’ve been saving.

“You didn’t have to—” you say, nodding towards the window, towards outside. Then towards your cheek, the black and blue littered there.

You didn’t have to do any of it.

“You okay?” is all he says in reply.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“I —” he shakes his head, “—I’m sorry.”

“You warned me,” you huff out through a lazy kind of laugh. He doesn’t even smile. But you want him to. You want to see the way it transformed his face. The things you would do to see his lips pull and maybe, just maybe, you’d give anything to hear him laugh.

“Still,” he mumbles, finally looking at your eyes instead of your cheek.

He’s not a good man.

You think to yourself that he is.

“You’re dripping,” you say, nodding towards his hand clutching onto the ice leaving behind a small puddle seeping through his knuckles. The drops fall in tune with a second hand ticking away against the face of a clock.

He looks down, but doesn’t say anything, just stalks towards you, tentatively. Like you’re a scared, jumpy cat he’s trying to approach. You sit back against the table and dig your nails into the wood.

“I should’ve…” he whispers, nearing your legs outstretched towards him, “should’ve killed him,” his eyes flick to your cheek, “for what he did.”

You shake your head at his words. You silently think to yourself maybe that’s the only thing he knows for certain—the only thing he knows how to do. To get his hands dirty for someone he cares about, so that the blood won’t ever come off his soiled palms. Like your fingertips, like the bed of your nails.

He huffs a long sigh, you look into his eyes for anything but wind up empty handed.

The ice bites into your open palms. He rustles with it before placing the little pack into your fingers, his, all encompassing and brushing over yours and turning them ice cold and burning hot at the same time. He’s close, and he keeps staring at your lips when he’s not occupied with your cheek.

Dangerous smells like pine and musk and dangerous has got you wrapped around his finger.

“Joel,” you whimper.

He shakes his head, “Don’t.”

Don’t say his name, not like that. And don’t make those breathy sounds and certainly don’t look at him like that. Because it’s been way too long for him and you’re too good and he is too fucking bad.

So you don’t say anything. But you pull him closer against your body, wedged between something scary and something soft and sweet, tipping on the edge. One foot on either side of the thin line.

He just sighs, pushes out a heavy breath, trying to contain himself. Like he can’t believe this is really happening, despite everyone’s better judgment. Despite his own.

“I—” his voice quivers, he almost shakes his head, but it just pulls you two closer together.

“You don’t want to?” you whimper, entranced by the way his breath punches on top of your nose. You think if you dragged your lips down his chest you would be able to feel his steady heartbeat.

“‘S been a while,” he admits through ragged whispered breaths.

“But do you…?” you question, placing your hands on his forearms, pulling him impossibly close until he’s slotted between your open legs. The ice is abandoned on the table to melt with your discernment.

He nods and gives you a certain look—’course I do. His lip pulls a little, looking down suddenly towards your chest. Pleading with himself.

A losing battle.

Maybe he thinks he isn’t worthy.

You pull him forward, kiss him, throw your arms around his shoulders and he picks you up off the table at that, finding your bedroom through the mess.

You’re convinced that he is.

___

As it turns out, dangerous feels fucking amazing. It tastes like something oddly sweet. It definitely shouldn't feel as good as it does. It shouldn’t be sweet nothings, and grunting, pleading whispers wrapped around a heady background tune.

“Joel,” you moan. This time he doesn’t stop you, “—fuck,” you whimper, tangling your face into the sheets, dragging his hands over your body.

You kiss his neck, his pulse strums as strong as you thought it might be.

“Darlin’, I—” he grunts softly, “—are you sure—”

“Yes,” you puff out, “yes, I — yes.”

You want to give him things. You want to be the softness for him to come back to in those early mornings and those late nights. You want it all, you want it with him. You want him to be gentle like you know he can—relax in the way he never does because he pleads with himself that he shouldn't.

He deserves it all.

You know that for certain.

And they were all right about him, dangerous.

But maybe they only spewed a half truth. Because yes, dangerous. But only because he shouldn't feel so good, shouldn't be so gentle, shouldn't call you baby, and angel, and sweetheart, and darlin’.

You’ve been morphed into a daredevil by kisses and soft touches and two fingers notched inside your wanting cunt while his tongue slides over your bundle of nerves.

If Joel Miller is dangerous, you're willing to risk it all.

“Fuck—Oh my—god, Joel—” you whine and pull at the curls at the base of his neck.

“Taste so good, angel,” he whispers against your cunt, quickening his pace, a man starved.

You push out something sounding close to his name. He looks wrecked, you know you probably look worse. His fingers crook somewhere deep inside you, you garble out something coherent only to your mind. You’re sensitive, but he’s gentle. The firefly didn’t do this, you didn’t even ask him to.

Your name is something broken on his lips, burying his tongue deep into your cunt, tasting you, lapping up your wetness smeared across the inside of your thighs. The ceiling might be spinning, but you’re too fucked out to care. For an out of practice man, Joel Miller seems to be an expert—like riding a bike. His mouth is warm and soft and gentle and he keeps going until you have to push his head away.

He says those fucking words again, something desperate behind his pleading eyes.

“‘S been a while.”

You don’t acknowledge them, just push him back, until he's sitting at the edge of the bed, running your hands across his chest.

“Sweetheart…” he says, a feeble attempt to stop you.

“Relax,” you laugh a little, running your hands down to his belt, the tell tale sound of the metal clinking makes you slither your way down to kneel, until your face—your mouth, is perfectly, lazily hung over the bulge in his pants.

“You don’t—fuck—don’t have to,” he groans, tangling his fingers in your hair. You almost whimper, everything threatening to boil over when he cups your face, pushing his thumb tenderly into your uninjured cheek.

“I want to,” you whimper.

He almost looks pained.

Your hands find the button and the zipper, and pull it down as you reach forward to kiss him. He moans into your mouth, already hard just from your featherlight touches. When you pull him out of his boxers, the hand on your cheek reaches around to grasp your jaw, angling your head to look up at him.

He breaks the kiss, you wrap your hand around him experimentally.

“Fuck—” he groans, and his eyes flutter shut. You try to move your lips down towards his length, but he keeps you there, looking at him.

“‘M not gonna last,” he whispers.

You whimper at the prospect.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back.

It’s a shame. You realize. That it’s been a while for him. You want him to feel good. You want him to feel better. He doesn’t think he’s a good man. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for you.

You know that he is.

He removes his hand.

You take him into your mouth.

“F-fuck—” he groans, locking his hand back into your hair. You swirl your tongue over the head of his cock and he throws his head back, looking up at the ceiling for something to focus on.

“Baby—I—” he pants, his fingers bury into your roots and lock onto your bed sheets beneath him. His desperate breath shoots right to your core. You’re no doubt dripping with need when he accidentally grinds his hips into your mouth.

“Shit—” he sits forward a little, taking your head between his two big palms, “‘M sorry, darlin’—”

You cut him off, his words are swallowed with his own grit. You take him deeper, adding your hand to the parts you can’t quite reach.

“Good?” you say, lapping at the underside of his cock before taking him in your mouth again.

“Yeah,” he groans, “yeah, fuckin’—good.”

Your mouth fits tight around the base of his cock. He swallows back moans. His hands become desperate, like his panting breath and his fucked out expression.

He spills into your throat, pushing his hips up into your mouth until you choke on him. He tastes like desperate gasps, stolen glances, good mornings, goodnights, and be carefuls. His eyes look lighter, like you thought they’d be in the sunlight.

You pull yourself off of his cock, resting your head on his thigh, sitting back on your heels so you can look up at him. His fingers are still rooted in your hair. It’s silent for a few short moments. You can still taste him on your tongue. His hand runs across the top of your head, and down to your shoulders and settles to rest on the outside of your throat.

And you laugh.

And he smiles.

___

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navybrat817 · 2 years

Text

Make Yourself at Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You find a familiar face in your home after a long day. Word Count: Over 2.1k Warnings: Pining, fluff, feels, swearing, sass, a bit of humor, mentions of blood and trauma, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?) A/N: Hey, lovelies! I began this in June of 2021. That's right! I'm slowly, but surely, trying to make my way through WIPs and this felt good to complete. Shockingly no smut for Sinday. Beta read by the beautiful @buckyownsmylife, but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by the wonderful @sweeterthanthis. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment as it means the world!

To say that you had a rough work day was an understatement. Between spilling your drink all over yourself on your way to your desk, being unprepared for a last minute meeting (which your boss called you out on), and your system crashing right before your report was finished, you were done. All you wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a stiff drink. Anything to forget that you had to stay at that place to get a paycheck.

I can't even fuck out my frustrations since I'm painfully single. I really need to buy a new toy.

The moment you walked in your front door, you knew it wouldn't be a relaxing evening. The glow from the living room gave it away. Sighing, you tossed your bag and keys down before heading into the room. You weren’t shocked when you saw Bucky Barnes slumped against your couch, but you weren't exactly happy either.

The dark tactical gear clashed with the soft throw pillows surrounding the soldier. He often looked larger than his 6'3" height since he took up space, but he somehow looked like he belonged there. He cut his long locks some time ago, his short, dark hair urging you to run your fingers through it. Maybe you could pull it if he gave you the chance.

I would have a crush on a man who may have a death wish.

“Hey, doll,” he smirked when he acknowledged your presence. “We really need to stop meeting like this.”

“Well, maybe we would if you would STOP BREAKING INTO MY FUCKING HOUSE!”

He seemed to wince more at your tone than the wound on his right arm. “What can I say? You and your place are comforting.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart raced faster at his sincerity. “You’re bleeding on my couch!”

“Sorry. I’ll get it cleaned or replaced. I promise,” he swore as he sat up more, smiling a bit when you rushed over to help.

“That’s what you said about my rug,” you muttered as you sat down. How does someone bleeding smell so good? He already had your first aid kit, water and towels on the coffee table. He knew by heart where you kept everything. "What happened this time? Who did this to you?"

Bucky’s smile widened as he shifted to give you more room. “Why? Will you take him out for me?”

“I just might,” you said. Truthfully, your heart stopped whenever you saw him in a state like this, even though he bounced back quickly. And you wanted to hurt anyone who hurt him.

I’ve got it bad. Why am I like this?

"I’m flattered, but I handled him and you don’t need to worry about it. Fucker had a knife up his sleeve though. Not as nice as mine," he told you as you opened the kit, taking a moment to figure out what you needed to clean the wound with.

"Better not let Steve catch you swearing. He might chastise you."

"Don't let that punk fool you. He swears like a sailor and he's still kicking himself for saying 'language' to his team. Wish I could've been there to hear that."

The fondness made you smile a little. You were glad Bucky had a good friend by his side. You were also flattered that Bucky trusted you enough to tell you stories. "Super soldier reflexes certainly don't stop you from getting hurt, do they?"

"Nope. Still human."

"You know, sometimes I think you fake these just so you have an excuse to visit me."

"You caught me," he half joked, something soft in his eyes as he looked at you.

"Bucky, how many times have you broken in?"

"More than enough," he acknowledged.

The first time Bucky broke into your place, to hide out from someone whose name you can’t even remember, you almost took a swing at him because you thought he was a burglar. You, luckily, recognized the former Winter Soldier and he promised he wouldn’t hide out long. But after the day you had today, you were reconsidering grabbing the nearest object and throwing it at his head. If only for making you worry.

I doubt it would knock any sense into him. And I shouldn't be mad at him. He didn't do anything. Except break in. Again.

Every few weeks, Bucky let himself into your place when he got injured or needed a quiet place to relax. Some nights he talked to you and others he hardly said a word. He even left you "thank you" gifts following his visits. Admittedly, you looked forward to them, even on your bad days, because you simply got to see him. You just wish you knew why he kept coming back.

"Seriously. Why don't you see a doctor or a nurse?" you questioned, carefully dabbing at the cut. "They're much more qualified than I am."

"I told you, doll. You and your place are more comforting."

"Stop calling me doll!"

"Sure thing, sassy," he smirked, making you groan when your cheeks felt hot.

"Grumpy," you grumbled back at him.

If I use one of his own knives on him, can I consider it self defense?

"I'm not grumpy. I'm an old man," he argued.

"You don't look like an old man. My new boyfriend might be jealous."

Your eyes flickered up just in time to catch the tiny tick in his jaw. "You're seeing someone?"

"No," you scoffed, not bothering to continue with the joke. "Still single, like every other time you've shown up."

Bucky slowly exhaled, relaxing against the cushions again. "That's good," he whispered.

Your teeth ground together as you cleaned him up. Maybe it was good to him, but it wasn't to you. It was lonely.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," you lied, avoiding his gaze.

He gently caught your wrist before you pulled away, the metal cool against your skin. "I really am sorry about the couch. I know the last thing you want is to deal with me."

Guilt crept in when you saw hurt in his icy blue eyes. “It isn’t ‘dealing’ with you, Bucky, and I’m sorry for snapping. Work was shit, but that's no excuse to take it out on you."

“I'm sorry you had a bad day," he swore and you wished the ground would swallow you up. The man was hurt and he felt bad for you. "And I don’t blame you. I did kind of invade your space again.”

“It's okay," you said, glancing at your wrist. He was still holding it, his grip softer than you expected. "Why do you come here? Is it really comforting?”

He sighed as he rested his head against the cushion. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere since it’s my place,” you teased, making him chuckle. You did pride yourself on making the often stoic man laugh. “So, try me.”

"You're not afraid of me," he stated, his thumb moving in slow circles over your pulse. You weren't sure if he was aware that he was doing it, but it had your heart racing faster. "Most people are."

"I have no reason to be afraid of you. As many times as you've managed to break in, you would've hurt me long ago if you wanted to," you said, shaking your head. "And I don't think you'll do that."

"I've hurt and killed people," he swallowed as he looked at the ceiling.

You weren't sure if he wanted you to listen or respond, but you chose the latter. "I know," you acknowledged, shifting so you could face him as he lifted his head. "But from what I've heard and what you've told me, it wasn't you, Bucky. You didn't have a choice."

"It doesn't make what happened go away," he said, blinking rapidly at the wetness that filled his eyes.

Seeing him on the verge of tears made you blink a few times, too. You wanted to hug him, but refused to initiate that kind of touch without his permission. "No, it doesn't, but you aren't who they tried to force you to be."

"Then who am I?" his voice cracked as his grip tightened on your wrist.

It doesn't hurt. You won't hurt me.

"You're Bucky," you stated, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "You're a hero and good man. You're also a pain in my ass who keeps ruining my furniture."

Bucky chuckled, his nose scrunching like you told a hilarious joke. The sound soothed the cracks his tears formed in your heart. The pain hadn't left his eyes, but it began to fade. "That easy to answer, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that. I think it's just easier for us to see the best in others because we tend to see the worst in ourselves."

"Is that what you do? See the worst in yourself?"

"I try not to," you admitted, but you were human. It was easy to hyperfocus on your flaws.

"I don't want you doing that," he said, frowning as his hand moved from your wrist to your fingers.

The delicate touch had your thighs pressing together. You hoped his super soldier senses didn't detect arousal. Though you pretty much were turned on at some point during each visit, this was a heart-to-heart moment and no time to want him.

"You don't have to worry about me."

"But I do. I worry about you when I'm not around," he said, sitting up a bit as you moved closer. "It's one of the reasons I don't use your front door. I don't want your neighbors to recognize me and be afraid."

"Yes, because breaking and entering is safer. Great logic, grumpy."

Bucky laughed, his eyes warm again. "Can I admit something and you can throw me out, sassy?"

"I won't throw you out, but I'm listening."

He cleared his throat, toying with your fingers. "I don't have nightmares after I see you."

His words hit you in your chest. You didn't know what to say. "You don't?"

"No," a heartbeat passed before he spoke again. "Most nights I wake up in a cold sweat, remembering the screams and fear. I remember everything."

"Bucky, I'm so sorry," you spoke, wishing you could take that pain away.

"The days I see you before I go home, I think of your smile, your scent, even your sass. A woman who showed me kindness time and time again, even on tiring and long days," he smiled sadly as you hung on his every word. "I eventually fall asleep and wake up peacefully. Nothing else I do works."

It was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to you. "I had no idea."

"It's why I'm glad you don't have a boyfriend because I know he wouldn't tolerate me being around. Among other reasons."

You almost threw yourself at him, but had to maintain your dignity as you carefully leaned in. You weren't sure if the temperature rose in the room, but the sudden tension had you breathing faster. "What other reasons?"

"I think you know," he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Oh, shit.

"For the record, no boyfriend of mine will tell me who I can and can't be friends with."

"I don't doubt that," he said, placing a hand on your cheek.

"He needs to clean up his messes," you teased. "Like bleeding on my couch."

"That's a given," he smiled, his massive thighs opening so you could move in closer.

"I would also like it if he took me out on a date once in awhile," you added.

"I can take you out," he offered as you pressed closer, your heart pounding faster. You were practically in his lap and he wasn't stopping you. "Wherever you want to go."

"Yeah? You want to be my boyfriend?" you asked, smiling at how silly the question sounded. "You've already bought me gifts."

"If you'll let me," he answered, his lips a fraction away from yours. "I'll even use the front door."

"I'd like that," you sighed, closing your eyes as his nose touched yours.

Finally. He's finally going to kiss me.

"Buck!" Steve said from the window, climbing inside as the two of you broke apart. Bucky caught you before you fell backwards. The former captain's boots didn't make a sound as they touched the floor, brushing his gloved hands on his thighs. "Why didn't you answer your- Oh. I'm sorry. Am I interrupting?"

Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?!

Bucky ran his hand over his face with a sigh and handed you one of the pillows. "Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Duck."

*****

Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #grumpy and sassy #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you

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babaukulele · 1 year

Text

Panic

Hawks almost faces his greatest fear, thank goodness your there to help him come back down to earth.

CW: anxiety, light disassociation, comfy happy ending. Hawks thinks he didn't save you in time.

A/N this is an extremely self indulgent fic. Dissociation has been a long time struggle for me and I sometimes project onto my comfort characters to see it from the outside and think about what would help. If you have similar struggles this is one of many methods that's helped me in the past. I can make a more detailed list of techniques later if could help anyone.

Angst to fluff my darlings, not very proof read i’m sorry

1050 words.

He could feel his heartbeat racing. His body couldn't move although his mind continued to race. People were sprinting around and yelling. One of the sidekicks shook him by the sleeve, she could see the barely concealed panic in his golden eyes, his pupils thin slits.

A building had fallen behind him. Your building. He had been a few blocks over, the sound of the apartments crashing simply mixed into the chaos of the attack. He had captured 10, saved hundreds that day from the destruction. Not that any of it mattered. His knees buckled, panic rose in his throat, his chest constricted. He forgot how to breathe. He staggered towards the rubble as the rescue efforts continued. He couldn't take it. He couldn't stand the thought that you might be–

“Hawks?”

You stood behind him. Thank god you found him. You had heard the commotion, been called into action, and had run out to the streets helping people to evacuate. He turned to you sharply and froze. You immediately recognized what had just happened.

“Help me check a vantage point. I want to see something.” you point to a skyscraper maybe half a mile to the north. You kept your eyes on him, he didn't dare look away. His sidekick looked between you. Whatever you needed was important.

“We have it covered here, Hawks. We will see you back at the agency to finish up the report.” She gave you both a quick thumbs up and ran back into the commotion.

You nodded your thanks. He still felt frozen. You walk over and give his arm a quick pat. You needed to leave the public eye. Immediately.

“Come on feathers” you mutter.

He finally shakes awake, grabbing you and spreading his wings for lift off. His adrenaline still coursing through his veins, you make it to the building within the minute. He has an uncharacteristically awkward landing and you try your best to hide your stagger. Finally he lets out a shaky breath. He has helped you countless times through your fears. The shock hits him like a wall and he starts to breathe heavily. You pull him to the ground to sit with you. He stares at your hands as his eyes start to well up. Losing you was his greatest fear.

“Hey, Kei.” you keep your voice low and gently hold his hands in your lap.

“I- I thought that…”

“I know, I'm sorry I should have updated you. They called me to help evacuate a little after you arrived.” It was meant to be your day off. Thank goodness you were on call that week.

He shook his head, still rattled and unsure. You watched him carefully.

His breath hitches. You had a feeling you knew what was coming next. After so many years of suppressing his every emotion, his brain had saved him time and time again in the only way it knew how.

His breathing grew shallow, his eyes started to unfocus. His brain overwhelmed, he starts to check out. You were both familiar with dissociation and how scary it could be. You also had grown close enough to recognize when it started and what could help each other.

You gently grasp his cheek and tap your fingers a couple of times, bringing a new sensation. You needed to act quickly yet gently.

“Hello my love. I’m sorry, I know that was terrifying”.

Your other hand grabbed his wrist and placed his palm on your own pulse point.

“We made it out though. I am very much still alive, a few bruises here and there but no blood loss, no head injuries, no broken bones I swear.”

His eyes barely lifted to where you laid your hand over his. Good. any response was a good response. You smiled softly.

“Now we get to sit here together, right? The sun feels nice this time of day…”

Locking in his senses again was essential.

“...the wind messed up your hair a bit, I like it like this.”

You run your fingers over his scalp, he leans into your touch. Your heart aches for him.

“The ground is still here to support us…”

You pat the cement below you holding you ironically about 50 stories high. His breathing starts to pick up again.

“I’m so glad you brought us here birdie, thank you.”

His eyes widen at you. You smile and move closer into his lap, pulling him in for a hug. You feel him breathe in your scent, his favorite he always said. Sappy bastard.

He lets out a sob. You try to hide your smile and rub his back.

“There you are”

He gently shakes against you, finally gaining his feeling back to his body.

“I thought I lost you.”

“I know. But you found me didn't you?”

He pulls you closer and squeezes.

“I couldn't even look for you. I couldn't even move.”

You huff a laugh.

“Well I guess I was the one who found you this time. It's okay. We will find each other.”

A tear hits your shoulder, you continue to sit with him.

“I’m sorry” he whispers

“For what?”

“For freaking out, for crying, for not coming sooner.. I don't know just all of it.”

You pulled your head back and caught his face to look at you.

“Now that's not fair is it? Should I apologize for needing your help when I'm scared? Are my emotions an inconvenience for you?”

He shook his head, almost panicked.

“No, no of course not!’

You wrap yourself against him once again.

“So why would you? I like helping you, it makes me feel good. Don’t be selfish and take that away from me.”

He huffed a laugh. Calling your kindness selfish…

“Lets stay here as long as we need. We can figure out an excuse later. Just, be with me for a bit?”

He wraps his heavy wings around you and nestles his head into your neck after a gentle nod. He felt small. But he had you to protect him, a new feeling he could never truly regret.

The sun continued to warm your skin, the wind ruffled your hair and his wings, the building held you high away from the chaos. You both let yourself feel, together. Until you were ready to join the world below once again.

#kiego takami #kiego x reader #hawks #hawks x reader #cw #cw dissociation #hawks fluff #hawks angst #mha #mha hawks #bnha hawks

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underground-secret · 2 months

Text

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: The aftermath of injury leads to a desire for comfort.

Warning: Mentions of injury, hospitals, probably incorrect info on concussions, mentions of alleged abuse (like for a second but not in great detail), fluff. P.S: Idc if reader is coming off a little childish in the beginning, i said it before and i’ll say it again reader is honestly almost completely based off of me and something about me is that i hate hospitals. I’m a chronically ill girlie and i still despise them, every time ive had to go ive complained—it’s who i am as a person.

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn

Word count: about 2k

Rest

(Master list, Prev Ch, Next Chapter)

“So where to next?” I ask as I buckle my seat, allowing my head to rest finally. I am more than happy to leave behind this apple-loving, pagan-worshiping town.

“‘Bringin’ you to a hospital” Dean answers, starting the car. I jolted up, immediately regretting the action as the pain in my head spiked and my vision wobbled. “Nooo. No. No hospital” I plead, not caring if I sounded pathetic, “I hate hospitals!”

“I wasn’t asking if you wanted to go, sweetheart” he quips. “No, please! I’m totally fine, sure I'm a little beat up but nothing a bandaid and sleep can’t fix.”

“You’re not winnin’ this one” he replies with a little half shrug. I turned to Sam, who already had the map out, and pulled open. “Sam, help me.”

“Sorry Y/N, Deans right.”

Dean sighs dramatically, “I love bein’ right.”

“Shut up” Sam half laughs, “Seriously though Y/N, you probably have a concussion. You should get checked out for a definitive answer.”

“Okay, well, Dean he was hit over the head with a gun too.” I try and deflect. Sam turns his head to face me giving me a “really?” look, “He’s also walking and talking fine, and doesn't look like he’s fighting to keep his eyes open.” I thought I was talking and walking just fine despite feeling like everything was spinning and I was doing a wonderful job of ignoring the ringing in my ears.

I open my mouth to make another retort but I don’t get a single sound out before Dean cuts me off, “If you try any of your escapes I'm callin’ your brother.” That shuts me up, I love my brother but he's very protective and will yell at me if it means being safe. I lean back against the soft seats of the car, pouting, I hate hospitals. I catch Dean's eyes staring at my lips in the rearview mirror, “You can pout as much as you want to, ‘still going.”

I know I'm acting like a child but hospitals are the worst, sure the doctors can be nice but there's so much always going on that it's just too overwhelming and they poke and prod at you. And especially as a hunter, you must make such elaborate lies just to be seen.

The dark-haired doctor removes the small yet extremely bright light from my eyes, “You have a minor concussion” she concluded after the many tests she ran, “there's not much we can prescribe you. But you need a lot of rest and to relax, no drinking or crazy activities for at least a week. You can take Advil in 24 hours if the pain is too much.” If the boys were in this curtained-off room they would most certainly say ‘I told you so.’

She suddenly looks a little nervous, staring back at the curtain before looking at me again, speaking quietly, “This is a safe environment, if those boys are hurting you I can help you.” Her eyes slipped to my wrist, of course she saw the bruises and made the connection to restraints. And so much of my appearance from the now cleaned and bandaged wound on my head to my dirt-stained clothes would lead her to that thought.

I tug down my sleeves, trying to cover them, “No! No, they didn't do anything, they would never do that to me, seriously” I insist, eyes wide. She doesn't seem so convinced, “Look” I sigh, “The person who did this is being charged, alright the cops know about all this. The boys I came with did not do this.” It was mostly a lie, of course, but the point was to clear their names, that part was true. She nods, “I’ll be back with your discharge papers.”

She pulls back the curtains, and the second she's out of sight I sigh. I know it's her job but in this case it wasn't helpful, I didn't want any further fights or complications to go on today.

….

I hold a hand up, “I don't want to hear it. Yes, you were right.” Sam’s lips curve up into a smile, “Hey I said I don't wanna hear it” I cut them both off before they could say anything. Dean swings his arm around my shoulder pulling me into his side, “Like I said, ‘love bein’ right.”

It was still early afternoon when we pulled up to the motel. It was just your regular-looking motel, with two floors of rooms to choose from with dingy lighting but I could not be more happy. We all exited the car rather quickly, it had been a long couple of days. I grab my bag meeting the boys by the trunk, Dean distributing our duffle bags. But when he gets to mine he doesn't hand it over, just closes the trunk, “I can carry my own bag, you know.”

He shrugs, “I know.” God, he was a sweetie pie. I study him as he walks just a few steps ahead of me, after everything that transpired I don't think I want to be alone. I wasn't scared per se, I just wanted comfort and I didn't have any stuffed animals packed. I didn't want to be a burden to him, he was probably tired and would want a bed to himself. But maybe I could just hang in their room for a long while.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, stopping to look back at me. Of course, he could practically sense it. He places our bags on the concrete, getting close enough that I could easily breathe him in. He lifts his hands to cup my face gently, he’s been doing that a lot lately. “‘Your head hurtin’?” He was looking down at me so carefully, his green eyes softening as he watched me. I have to remind myself to respond even as my thoughts extinguish each time his thumbs caress my cheeks, careful to pass over the bruises there, “Well yes but that's not…” I don't finish my sentence not having a single idea of what I should say to him. He looks down at me expectantly, just waiting. I wanted to hug him, keep my head buried in his chest even as my head pounded like a bass playing through an amp, but I can’t exactly say that.

I sigh, “Is it okay if…” I swallow, speaking quietly, “Can I stay with you?”

His eyes widened a fraction and if I wasn't looking right up at him I would have missed it entirely. It's not like this was anything new for us, we've cuddled before while watching a movie or something and even slept in the same bed if needed for a hunt. But to ask like this somehow felt so different, so much more personal. “Of course” he answers simply, eyebrows scrunched together as if he was insulted that I would be so hesitant to ask. He lets go of my face, and I immediately miss the steadiness of it all, he takes a single step back but not before grabbing hold of my hand and picking up our duffles to hold in his free hand.

We catch up to Sam in the small lobby, two keys in his hand instead of the usual three. Was it a coincidence that they just didn't have a room I could use or did he just know? I guess it was possible he saw us in the parking lot and figured out what I would want, am I that easy to read?

….

The room was quite nice, the walls were grey with some white detailing. And the beds were big, most likely a queen, with the crisp white blankets and a tall cushioned headboard. Sam walks in first, choosing the bed on the far side of the room, which was predictable at best seeing as Dean preferred being closer to the door out of a sense of protectiveness.

Dean places his duffle on the bed, handing me mine, “You can take a shower first” he says, telling me more than offering. I swing off my messenger bag, placing it on the bed before looking between both boys, “Are you sure?” I was already intruding in their room and his bed I didn't want to take over the bathroom too. They both nod their heads, I mumble thanks before heading there.

I didn’t care to study the bathroom, just wanting to be under the hot water and wash away the dirt and feelings of the day. I turn the shower on, lifting my shirt over my head before having to stop with it halfway off of me to stop the room from spinning. I close my eyes forcing myself to relax and not sway as I stripped down to nothing.

Being naked only made my bruises look worse. My wrists were rubbed raw, painful red marks adorning each one, and my cheeks had dark bruises on them from being punched twice over the span of a couple of days. Never mind the gash on the corner of my forehead, which I’d have to bandage again after the shower, and the subtle black and blues on my side likely from being thrown to the ground.

I swallow hard, I don’t want to think of any of this anymore. I step into the rather small shower, the hot water pouring over my head and down my body taking the tension with it as it went down the drain.

I step out of the steamy bathroom feeling infinitely times better despite the spinning room and hurting head. My hair was wet and clean and felt lighter now that it was no longer dusted with dirt, and I was in comfortable pajamas.

Yes, it wasn’t nighttime yet or time to sleep but that doesn't mean a girl can’t wear comfortable clothes. It was nice to be in pajamas, wearing some white plaid pants and a loose tee with a cute little embroidered bear in the corner and of course an oversized sweater because somehow I was always cold. It was a wonderful yet small feat.

Dean’s sitting up in bed, both boys watching some football game on the small TV. I slump into the bed carefully lying my head down as I get underneath the covers. Dean seemed to study me for a moment, smiling softly, he was probably trying to assess how I felt. Whatever he was looking for he seemed to find, nodding to himself before getting up and heading to the bathroom with a change of clothes. A moment later the shower turns on.

I sink into the bed further, turning away from the TV, I didn’t care enough for sports to want to watch it anyway. The weight of the past few days catch up to me quickly, my eyelids feeling heavier and heavier.

….

The bed beside me suddenly sinks down, and my eyes flutter open being met with Dean’s familiar frame, “Sorry sweetheart didn’t mean to wake you.” I shake my head, I must have been out for just a couple of minutes, “It’s okay” I mumble still on the outskirts of sleep. He gets under the covers, his black shirt accentuating the muscles in his arms as he moves.

Once he situates himself he holds his arms open to me, silently asking if I wanted to get closer. He always seemed to know what I wanted or what I felt, sometimes I feared he knew me too well. I shift closer to him and he meets me halfway pushing me the rest of the way into him.

He practically places my head on his chest, close to his shoulder, his arm closes in on me holding me impossibly closer to him, his hand resting on my waist. His body warmth immediately reaches me, and in his embrace, any fears or anxieties I had the last few days seemed to dissipate. I place a hand on his chest feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. The hand on my waist begins to move slightly, his thumb rubbing slow circles into my side, my heart seems to flutter and I fear I won't be able to move on from this. It is moments like these that I find it hard to keep my feelings to myself, my love seems to bustle in my veins threatening to spill out. And with everything I have in me, I must bottle them back in, even as he places a soft kiss on my forehead and I think my heart just took off flying.

I melt into him, neither of us saying anything–not that we needed to. I can feel his rings on my side and the comforting weight of his hand there, the warmth he let off and his scent of something like pine or maybe it was wood, and just for a moment under the fog of a mild concussion, I imagine a forever like this. Being able to fall asleep each night to his hold and wake with him still there right beside me.

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #john winchester #slow burn #dean winchester x witch reader #witch reader #witchcraft #the hunter and the witch update #the hunter and the witch #dean winchester being a cutie #dean winchester x f!reader

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 9 months

Note

Reader who has a baby brother who acts like kotaro from gakuen baby. (Reader lives with the bsd cast, reader always goes out to take care of his brother, but one day Luiz takes him home and he meets the cast)

My baby brother

Self-Aware! BSD Characters x Male! Reader

Description: Your parents are going on a small vacation and asked you to look after your baby brother, [B/N]. Well, time for him to meet your new roommates/friends.

Warning: Fluff. OOC, English is my second language.

BSD cast noticed one thing. Everyday, even during weekends you were going somewhere, spend at least two hours there and then return home.

At first, Cast thought, that your boss make you work overtime, but you assured them, that's not the case. You mentioned, that the reason for your absence was family related.

You didn't elaborate further. You explained, that, right now, yiu are still trying to come with the fact, that your new roommates are very unique people and that you are living with them in this huge house. You promised, that you will tell them more about your family, when you become more comfortable with current situation.

But soon, they not only knew more about your family, but also met one of your relatives.

___________

Monday

___________

Everyone was a little bit nervous. Today, they will meet someone from your family.

Yesterday, you were talking on the phone with someone. After you finished talking, you had an announcement to make. You gathered everyone in the common room.

"Okay, everyone. For the next week, someone special will stay with us. One of my family members have to stay with me. I hope, everyone is okay with it."

An hour ago, you went to fetch your relative. The Gang wanted to make a good first impression.

They heard a jingle of keys. You were back. The Gang gather in the common room, waiting for you.

They heard steps. Yours and someone else's. The steps were really quiet. Then they heard your voice.

"Hello, everyone. Met my baby brother, [B/N].

You walked inside the common room. You were holding hands with a toddler boy. The boy had big eyes and short hair. You picked your brother up and walked closer to your new roommates/friends.

Your brother looked at the gang. [B/N] was quiet, he was looking at your new friends. You whisper.

"Hey, [B/N], remember, I told you about my new friends? That's them. Say 'Hello'".

Your brother stay quiet for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

"Ung!"

Your brother's eyes were shining. He was happy to meet big brother's friends.

At least half of the characters almost had a heart attack because of the cuteness overload.

Fukuzawa, Mori, Hirotsu, Melville, Natsume, Taneda and Fukuchi were planning to steal you two and adopt you.

You continue talking.

"Our parents have gone on vacation for a next week, so [B/N] will stay with us for a week."

Meanwhile, [B/N] was quiet again. You noticed, that he was looking directly at Akutagawa, who was standing close to you. Ryuunosuke looked at [B/N] in return. Suddenly, [B/N] grabbed Akutagawa's sleeve and giggles.

"Hedgehog!"

Akutagawa's eyes widen, Gin and Higuichi try to hold back their laugh, Dazai was shaking because of laughter and Atsushi looked really nervous. You scolded.

"[B/N], don't do that! Don't call people hedgehogs! I am sorry, Ryunosuke."

Akutagawa just huffed. He doesn't look offended. You smiled.

"Okay, I will make something for [B/N] to eat. I'll be back in a minute."

Before you can do away, [B/N] pointed at Chuuya.

"Wesel [Weasel]!"¹

Dazai was howling with laughter.

"I like this kid"

"[B/N], don't call other people weasels! Chuuya, I am sorry!"

Chuuya also huffs and playfully shove you.

"Don't sweat it, [Y/N]."

[B/N] let out a small whine.

"Wesel... hut Big Brother [Weasel hurt Big Brother]?"

You quickly pet your brother's head.

"No, I am fine, [B/N]. Chuuya was just playing with me."

[B/N] looked at you, then nodded.

"Ung."

When you left, The Cast glance at each other, then said in one time.

"Adorable."

_______

Tuesday

_________

You and [B/N] were 'kidnapped' by Fukuzawa, Mori, Hirotsu, Melville, Natsume, Taneda and Fukuchi.

Natsume used his ability to lure [B/N] in one of the rooms, where the rest of the group were sitting.

When you were looking for [B/N], you also were dragged to the same room.

For the whole day, you two were showered in treats. [B/N] was also showered in toys. And there were photos and videos taken.

The videos of [B/N] saying "Tank you [Thank you]" and "Ung!" and the video of you feeding [B/N] sweets were sent to the group chat.

The videos became their treasures.

If something happens to you two, the BSD cast will destroy the world.

At the end, your 'kidnappers' spend the whole day with you and your brother.

It was fun. You were wondering what would happen tomorrow.

_________

Wednesday

_________

You were mumbling, while you were searching for your brother.

"Okay, where is my brother now. Don't tell me, Natsume and others kidnapped him again "

When you passed the window, you noticed, that your brother were outside. He was looking at something with Tetchou.

You went outside and approached them.

"Hi, [B/N]. Hello, Tetchou. What you are looking at?"

[B/N] stands up and wiggles towards you. He pointed at the ground.

"Big Brother, ants!"

You smile and pat his head. Tetchou cast a quick glance towards you.

"Want to join us in ant watching?"

[B/N]'s eyes shine and he grabbed your sleep.

"Ung!"

You nodded.

"Okay, I am with you."

You watched ants together for a few more minutes.

_________

Thursday

_________

It was dinner time. And you were in trouble.

[B/N] refuse to eat his veggies. Before you eat the treat he made for you. Unfortunately, Tetchou was the one who helped him.

You were looking at three strawberries with shichimi spice on them. Then you looked at [B/N]. He was waiting for you to try strawberries.

Jouno almost growls.

"Tetchou, don't you dare corrupt this sweet child with your taste in food... [Y/N]!"

You ate one of the strawberries. The mix of papers doesn't go well with sweet strawberries. But your brother wants to make you happy. You can take it.

You smile through tears.

"Thank you, [B/N]. It was so good!"

[B/N] smiles.

"Ung! Big Brother is happy!"

You smile and eat another spicy strawberry. Than the last one.

"Thanks, [B/N]. You see, your Big Brother ate everything. You also should eat everything, so you can be as strong and big as your brother."

[B/N] nodded and start eating his veggies.

When he wasn't looking, you drink at least four glasses of water.

Still, for his smile, you were ready to eat more of that strawberries.

At least ten Members of BSD cast want to raise a child with you.

_________

Friday

_________

At the evening, you had a tea party with Rats in the House of the Dead. And with Gogol.

It became a tradition for you, having a Friday tea parties with Fyodor, Goncharov, Pushkin and Gogol.

But today the party will be paused. Because you need to read [B/N] a bedtime story.

"[B/N], have you chosen the book to read? Oh, 'Tsar Nikita and his Forty Daughters'... [B/N], who gave you this book?"

[B/N] point at Pushkin.

"Pushin [Pushkin]"

You glare at Pushkin. This guy was interested in the Real world Pushkin works. So, you won't be surprised, that he told your brother about this book. You hoped, that Pushkin didn't do it on purpose.² You spoke to your brother again.

"[B/N], this book is for adults. Let's choose another one."

At the end, you read him "If you give a mouse a cookie". And, because Fyodor, Gogol, Goncharov and Pushkin were fine listening to your reading, you read for them too at the same time.

When finished, [B/N] was sleeping. You carry him to your room, where he also was sleeping.

When you were back, you heard Fyodor's words.

"You will be a good father, [Y/N]."

You were too embarrassed, to say something in return.

_________

Saturday

_________

You were carrying a bunch of shopping bags. Yosano and Fitzgerald decide to take you and your brother on a shopping trip. Your brother get few onesies, new choose and toys.

You got a new bag and coat. You were glad, that your parents were fine with your roommates' presents.

Your parents knew, that your roommates were kind people who liked you. And who liked giving presents.

You smile sadly. Tomorrow, your parents are returning. Tomorrow [B/N] will go back home.

________

Sunday

_________

Once again, BSD cast were gathered in the common room. It was time for [B/N] to go home.

You were holding your brother.

"Okay, [B/N], say goodbye."

[B/N] nodded and turn towards BSD cast.

"Bye Teto! Bye Chu-chu! Bye Ryu! Bye Yosa! Bye Fitz! Buy Zawa...! [Tetchou, Chuuya, Ryunosuke, Yosano, Fitzgerald, Fukuzawa...]"

It takes [B/N] five minutes to say bye to everyone. And then both of you left the house.

BSD cast will wait for the next time your brother come to visit them. He is so well-behaved and cute.

They will be happy to see him again. And see you taking care of him again.

_________

¹ "Bungou Stray Dogs. Wan!" Chapter 47 "The Land of Fairy Tales". Akutagawa was a hedgehog plushie and Chuuya was a weasle plushie.

² A fairytale for adults by Alexander Pushkin.

#self-awareau #self-awarebsd #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x male reader #bsd anime

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