#surely that's the first thing you think of when you see a red streak on the floor

[magpiepills]

Got It Wrong

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller x you x Tess

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: you meet two kind strangers when you get to the Boston QZ.

Warnings: SMUT! Alcohol, oral m and f receiving, PIV, fingering, FFM, mention of pant violence/murder, dub con due to alcohol, uncertain reader, reader is in her 20s, no physical description, probably more.

A word from the author: This is a repost! This was my second fic ever and I intended for there to be a second part. It’s mostly finished and just chilling in my docs because it got kinda dark and I wasn’t really sure what to do with it. I may still finish it one day. Y’all can tell me what you think.

The Boston QZ is a hellscape. You’ve always put on a brave face, stoic and bold in the face of everything that has fallen down around you. It’s been a lot, but your resolve has been firm. If you let yourself break even a little, you knew you wouldn’t make it. You had to stay alert here. Maybe the infected weren’t a threat inside the high fences and barbed wire that surrounded the city, but danger remained. People here are desperate and desperate people don’t show any mercy. You didn’t blame them, necessarily, that’s just the way of the world now.

For a long time, living with your family way out in the woods upstate had been something close to normalcy. You had a cabin and a garden and a creek. You had your dad, your sister, a woman your mom had worked with before the outbreak. You had a routine. You let yourself imagine the future here. You were happy.

You were in the woods foraging, filling a basket with mushrooms, berries, and edible leaves. Lost in the plans for a salad at dinner that night, you didn’t see the raiders slipping up to the house. You didn’t see them take away everything in an instant. You only heard a scream and shouting from voices you didn’t recognize. You froze, unable to run to the cabin to try to fend off the raiders. They’d have just killed you, too. You don’t know how long they were there, taking all they could carry before creeping back the same way they’d came. You couldn’t make yourself go back to the cabin. You didn’t want to see what they’d done to your family. You stayed in the woods all night, awake and crying and rocking yourself.

Now you were left alone in the world and with no choice but to go to the Boston QZ. You made your way there carefully, slowly, quietly. You raised your hands and let them test you, spending two full days in isolation before being spoken to like a human.

You had almost everything that you had stolen the first night in the shelter, and you had seen the leering eyes of the men you’d passed on the street, you heard fighting and crying, saw faces come and go. The labor was back breaking and soul-crushing. You’d have given anything for a moment of relief from the constant misery and fear.

After a few weeks in the shelter without serious incident, you let your guard down a little. There was a routine here, something you could focus on and ignore everything else. You’d found an abandoned paperback and read it in your spare time. You read and re-read it three times now, taking comfort in knowing what would happen at the end.

On Saturdays tables were set up in the dining room, and you could get some basic supplies. Some kind of charity, you’d guessed. You approached the table where bags of soap and deodorant and tampons were being distributed and were pleased to see a woman with a kind face and a warm smile standing before you. She was pretty, with long, sandy red hair, streaked with grey, pulled away from her face. She was maybe in her mid forties, roughly twice your age. Her name tag read “Tess.”

“How long have you been here, sweetheart?” She spoke to you in such a warm way, you dropped your guard a little further. Tess had an endearing way of asking about your health, asking if you had what you needed, giving you tips for getting placed in FEDRA housing, always asking how things were progressing. Tess was there every week, and you looked forward to seeing her. This week, as she was packing up to go, she asked you for a hand getting the boxes and card table back to her apartment. “It’s not far, and I’d owe you big time.” After how kind she’s been to you, you were happy to oblige.

The walk was short, about 5 blocks, down an alley and up two flights of stairs to a dimly lit but cozy apartment.

“I think we earned a drink!” Tess shot you a grin and held up a bottle of amber liquid.

You sat at her kitchen table while she poured the liquid into pretty etched glasses and reveled in what felt like friendship for the first time in ages. Maybe the QZ would be ok. Maybe you’d have your own little apartment and couch and pretty glasses to drink from before long.

The alcohol was making your head swim just a little and your little daydream didn’t let you hear as the door opened and closed again. You didn’t notice the man standing behind you, leaning on the doorway and looking at Tess with unspoken words on his lips. When you finally noticed Tess looking over your shoulder, eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

You turned slowly, and smiled at the man. He was tall and must have been about Tess’s age. He was good looking, tall and broad and strong, with salt and pepper hair and a scruffy beard. His eyes were dark and serious.

“Oh, hi! Sorry, I’m probably in the way of your dinner, I should get going.” You felt suddenly that you were intruding. This must be Tess’s boyfriend or husband or something. Tess turned back to you, and put a hand on your shoulder as you started to stand.

“No! Please stay a while. Don’t pay Joel any mind.” She introduced him as her partner and didn’t specify if this was a business partner or an intimate one, and you didn’t ask. Tess looked at Joel again, smiling.

“Don’t leave on account of me, sugar. Maybe I’ll join you ladies. That alright?” He took the chair across from you at the small table, and Tess sat another glass on the table in front of Joel and poured his drink before refilling your glass. “Tess tells me you’re new to the QZ, staying over in the shelter. That’s a dangerous place for a young girl. ‘Specially one on her own.”

“It hasn’t been too bad so far” you spoke, pushing down the nerves that had started to stir in your belly. “I think it’s all starting to work out.” You smiled at Joel and then at Tess. “Tess has been a lot of help.”

Joel smiled back, and his knee bumped yours under the table. Your face and chest felt warm, either from the alcohol or from the way Joel hadn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. His gaze began to feel heavy, it made you feel like you should keep talking, even though he was silent now. You were grateful when you felt Tess’s hand back on your shoulder, heavier this time.

“Are you feeling ok, sweetheart? Drinks catching up with you?” She chuckled “Maybe you should take the couch for the night, I’m not sure we can take you back to the shelter like this.”

She was probably right. The alcohol had made you feel hot and floaty and disoriented. It had been a long time since you drank like this and on a mostly empty stomach. You probably shouldn’t have accepted that third drink, but it felt so good to just hang out with a friend.

“I don’t want to be a bother…”

“No bother, sugar.” Joel spoke. “Sleep on the couch and Tess can walk you back in the morning. I’m sure she’ll get you to help her carry supplies while she’s at it. This is a win for her.” Joel sounded reasonable and his confidence was disarming you.

“Might as well have another drink since you’re staying!” Tess chirped as she topped up all of your glasses. You smiled into your glass and never noticed the look that passed between Joel and Tess.

Joel picked up the three glasses and moved them to the coffee table in front of the shabby couch so you could all sit more comfortably. You didn’t even remember walking to the living room. You were all talking, laughing, smiling. You head was spinning, but you liked feeling so relaxed.

The next thing you remember is feeling Tess sliding closer to you on the couch and putting her hand on your thigh while she leaned in to place a light kiss at the corner of your mouth. Her lips were soft and warm, and you didn’t want her to stop. You felt another hand on your thigh and looked down to see Joel’s wide, paddle-like hand gripping you. Your eyes followed his arm up to his neck and his jaw and his lips. They were close to yours and in an instant they were pressed to yours. His kiss was harder than Tess’s. More insistent.

You felt uneasy again, but once more pushed your feelings aside, deciding to just go with it. You’ve got new friends now and they like to drink and kiss. Maybe that’s how it is in the QZ; maybe you liked drinking and kissing too. You kissed him back and felt him hum approvingly.

Tess was still beside you. “You know, Joel can help you. He helped me out when I came to the QZ.” She spoke softly into your ear, and moved her hand from your thigh to the buttons of your shirt, her other hand wrapping around you to meet it and she nimbly undid a button, playing with the fabric of your shirt and running her fingertips lightly over your newly exposed skin before moving to the next button. Her mouth went to your neck as she worked, kissing your soft skin.

You swallowed thickly and your chest heaved. Is this really happening? Joel leaned back and watched Tess making quick work of your clothes, and when he spoke his voice sounded lower and slower.

“I know it’s hard around here for pretty young girls. Know it’s not safe. Maybe y’need someone to look out for you.” Had you noticed his accent before? It was southern and you found it really alluring, the way some of his words melted together. “It’s good to stick t’gether in a place like this. Have somebody on your side.”

You couldn’t form words. Tess had made her way to your bra and was running her fingers under the band, your nipples hardening at her touch. Joel’s eyes were trained on your tits, and his hand gripped your thigh higher, his thumb pushing between your thighs, dangerously close to your now soaked and throbbing pussy. He kissed you again, tilting his chin to meet your lips and kissing deeply. Your lips parted and you felt his tongue in your mouth.

Your heart was pounding. You licked at his tongue gently, and he swallowed your soft moans. Tess had one hand on your stomach and one hand cupping your breast now. She whispered sweetly, “Why don’t you bring your stuff back here tomorrow? You can help us and we can help you.”

It sounded perfectly reasonable. You nodded, eyes closed, leaning your head back to kiss her again, letting your lips linger, soaking up her sweetness before tipping back into Joel’s kiss. His hands were on your hips, squeezing gently, and Tess was popping the button on your jeans, easing the zipper down.

You wished you could reach her to return her touches in kind, but Joel had a firm grip on you now, so you just unbuttoned his shirt, hoping it was ok with Tess, you still weren’t clear on what kind of partnership they had and you didn’t want to misstep.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” She whispered. “I think he likes you.” That sounded like permission.

Joel’s thumbs hooked under your waistband and tugged your jeans down, pushing you back into Tess’s chest as he slid them down your thighs, pulling your panties with them.

He sat back on the couch, palming his stiffening cock, and marveling at the sight before him. “Look at our girl, Tess. Real pretty.”

Tess hummed in agreement and squeezed your tits together, her own naked chest pressing into your back.

You’d never had a threesome, but this was the hottest thing you’d ever done. You loved feeling like their play thing. Whatever was between them, you didn’t care. You had never been so turned on.

“You feel good, sugar? Gonna let me touch you the way you need?” “

“Yes, Joel, want to feel you.”

He chuckled and groaned at your enthusiasm. “Lean back, baby.”

You were laying on the couch between them now, your head in Tess’s naked lap, one hand holding hers, the other running through Joel’s thick wavy hair as he pressed his tongue against your wet seam.

Tess’s hand moved between your tits, massaging gently and running her thumb over your peaks. She lowered her mouth to yours, kissing you softly and slowly, your tongues mingling, your senses overwhelmed at their combined touches. Joel was working away at your wet cunt, alternating between long slow licks and quick firm flicks of his tongue over your swollen clit. The sounds of sucking, smacking, and soft wet sounds filled the air, it was pornographic and you wished you could see what you all must look like.

You were already panting when Joel pushed a thick callused finger into your willing entrance, and the sudden fullness forcing a low moan from deep in your throat.

You felt that lovely tightening in your belly, sending sparks down your hips, and building to a crescendo. Just as you approached the edge, your vision becoming dark around the corners, he slipped a second finger in, pulling you tight and working them in deeply, and sucked hard on your bundle of nerves.

You were a goner. You bucked and gasped, your head falling back into Tess’s lap.

“Good girl, baby. Good fuckin’ girl.” Joel slid his fingers out but gently brushed his slick fingers over your swollen lips, making you suck them clean as you rode out your orgasm. “You picked a good one this time, Tess. Let’s see if she can handle a cock now.”

He was so lewd! You’d blush if you weren’t still spinning out from your climax.

Tess slid off the couch and sat beside it, scooting down so that her head was near your hips.

“I knew you’d love her, Joel. She’s gorgeous. Just your type, and so sweet.”

Joel paused to smile at Tess, and leaned down to kiss her. It was a tender kiss, the first time you saw them touching each other, you realized. It made you feel a little awkward to be laying on the couch totally nude next to them. It was over as quickly as it began, though and Joel turned his attention back to you. He leaned down on one elbow to support his weight while the other hand cradled your jaw as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

He groaned and let his hips drop against your core, and you let your knees fall open to accommodate him. He was still dressed, you never got further than unbottoning a few buttons of his denim shirt. You could feel his length pressing against your core, you slipped your hand down to palm him.

He felt big. Big, big. Too big, you worried. He must have sensed your hesitation.

“Want to see it, baby? See if you think you can handle my big cock?”

Tess was behind him now and wrapped her arms around his waist to unbuckle his belt and release him from his jeans.

“You’re in for a treat, sweetheart. Joel knows what he’s doing. Might be sore tomorrow though.” She smiled at the last part and reached down to grip his cock. Joel turned to kiss her once more, then she returned to her spot beside the couch.

Joel planted open mouthed kisses along your chin and neck, trailed down your chest, his movements unhurried, like he was just taking you in. Your skin cooled under each kiss when he moved to the next and underscored your arousal. He made his way to your breasts and sucked your nipple into his mouth as he squeezed and pressed the other, he sucked firmly, and nibbled down the side of your breast before turning the same attention to the next. Joel drove you mad with desire, you lifted your hips, wanting to feel his turgid member against your aching pussy.

“You can’t wait to get fucked, can you baby girl? You gonna beg for it, sweet thing?”

“Please, Joel!”

“Please what, baby?”

You groaned into his shoulder. “Please, Joel. Fuck me please. I need to feel your cock. Want it so bad, Joel.”

You were breathless and wanton, Joel hummed approvingly.

“You sure ask nicely. I just might give it to you.”

You whimpered and drove your hips up again, this time you felt his hot, thick length slide over your folds. You could come just from that alone, but you were desperate to feel full of him. You couldn’t stay quiet and Joel seemed to feed off of your noise. Moaning, panting, crying out his name, it drove him wild. He loved hearing what he did to you, loved that he had the power to turn you into a needy mess.

He reached down to slap his cock against your seeping and sensitive folds, paying special attention to your clit, making you cry out once more.

When he couldn’t wait any longer, he pressed the smooth, thick head to your entrance.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, sugar. Go ahead. You want it, you take it.”

Tess giggled at that. She had been quiet, watching and lazily rubbing her own naked sex, enjoying her front row seat to you and Joel’s erotic coupling. She slid her fingers down to gather the pooling slick, and spread it over her clit. She would make herself come when you did. You lifted your hips and tried in vain to push him inside you. You couldn’t get enough leverage, you were just driving yourself crazy, he was right there but you couldn’t get him inside, no matter how your wiggled. You broke.

“Please, Joel!” You were desperate now, out of your head.

Joel kissed your neck once more. “Alright, baby. But remember, I warned you.”

He pushed slowly and firmly, working the head just past your entrance and you were frozen beneath him. The sting of him stretching you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, and you knew you couldn’t take him all.

Joel was still, knowing you’d need time to get accustomed to his size. When he felt you move against him again, he continued, pushing further now, and backing out just slightly before going deeper. Two steps forward, one step back.

“So goddamn tight, sugar. Ain’t you ever been fucked by a big cock before?”

You couldn’t answer, but the work “gigantic” came to mind, along with memories of your first boyfriend, who came in his pants before you could have sex, and the guy after him who had fucked you, but who was so interested in his own joy that he never made you cum.

You felt far away from everything that was happening. Eyes closed, mouth open, eyebrows furrowed, the only thing in the universe now was you and Joel. Everything else fell away and was swallowed by darkness.

You snapped back when you felt Tess reach between you and Joel, seeking your clit to rub gentle circles, distracting you from the stinging further down. Her touch was just what you needed. You relaxed your hips and felt them open a little, giving Joel more room to work. He quickened his pace, his own climax gathering in his belly, he was less gentle now and you were panting hard, no coherent words forming. With one more thrust, he was all the way seated, and you could feel him at your cervix.

He felt pride at how he had you so fucked out. He looked down at you, cheeks and chest flushed, sweat beading on your forehead, lips swollen and puffy. He swung his hips back and fucked into you again and again. You were close. Tess had turned her attention to your swollen, sensitive clit again, and was kissing the side of your face, your neck, your ear and whispering praise to you.

“You’re taking him so well, baby. Look how you take that cock. You’re so fucking beautiful like this. I want you to come for us, babe. Come while he’s got that huge cock buried deep in your pussy.”

Her words and her touch and his heavy strokes were too much. Your body jerked, and your orgasm took control. Your legs locked around him and kept him inside you. When the crashing wave subsided, Joel resumed his thrusts, faster now, getting sloppy and out of rhythm. He was close.

“Where you want me sugar? Don’t say inside.”

You answered him with a moan and he pulled out fast, rubbing out his orgasm against your hip with a deep, throaty groan.

“You’re perfect, baby girl. Absolutely perfect.”

Joel and Tess leaned close and you shared kisses before Tess disappeared and returned quickly with a wet towel for each of you and a few glasses of water. Joel cleaned himself, then you. His touch was gentle and caring. You sipped your water in a daze, unsure what to do or say. You’d just fucked Tess’s boyfriend or husband or something with her blessing, and you’re not sure what to do now.

You excused yourself to the bathroom and grabbed your shirt and panties. Neither of them were getting dressed, so you just slipped on your shirt without buttoning it, and put your panties back on. You already felt your hips and inner thighs aching, and you were feeling sleepy. When you returned to the living room, Joel had taken up the middle seat on the couch, and Tess was tucked under his right arm, nuzzling his chest. You sat on his left, and he pulled you onto his chest as well. He was serene as you and Tess laced your fingers together.

You must have fallen asleep. When you woke up, you were still on the couch, a pillow under your head and a blanket tucked around you. Your head was pounding and you felt sticky, sore, and like you needed a shower.

The memory of the night before flooded back, and you felt something like embarrassment, but not quite. You didn’t regret it, at least what you remembered. You wondered if they’d meant what they said about helping them and them helping you. You wondered if that was just referring to the sex. It seemed like they meant something more, but you didn’t want to bring it up and make things weird. You weren’t even sure how you could help them, but you decided to think about that later.

You yawned and stretched and when Tess saw you moving, she brought you more water.

“Hey sweetie. You feel ok?” There she was. The kind Tess you knew. It was reassuring to hear her talk so sweetly to you. “Joel went out to find breakfast for us, then he’s going to go with you to the shelter to get the rest of your things. We talked it over and decided you should stay here. Until FEDRA finds you a place, you’d be safer and more comfortable with us.” How could you argue with that?

“Really, Tess. The shelter is fine. I’m sure it won’t be long and—“

“You’re not going to convince Joel of any of that, so you might as well just get your stuff and bring it here.”

You didn’t have a response.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #Joel x Tess x reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller x tess servopoulos #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters #bat writes #smut #joel x reader #joel miller

[cuddlingsun]

has anyone made a ‘don’t worry, it’s color theory’ post about the met gala yet i need to reblog it

#surely that's the first thing you think of when you see a red streak on the floor #met gala #met gala 2023 #i need answers!!

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

beautiful mess | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick knows exactly how to comfort you in a moment of insecurity.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, menstruation, fluff, boyfriend!finnick being a cutie patootie, angst, mild hurt/comfort, insecurity, a little overdramatic but it’s cute idc

notes: about to get my period so this is kind of self-indulgent lmao. the number of times I rewrote this is insane. i hope i didn’t disappoint <3

“You know, I think I could pull off one of those long wizard beards,” Finnick said, admiring himself in the bathroom mirror as he shaved down the slight stubble on his jaw. “Those ones that go down to your chest? I could decorate it with little seashells and twine. It’d look hot, don’t you think?”

His playful words didn’t register in your mind.

Frustrated tears threatened to spill as the hairbrush in your hand tugged harshly at the roots of your hair. Nausea was bubbling in your stomach as you stared at your reflection, feeling as though not a single human being in history had ever looked as ugly as you did right now.

“Sweetheart?”

Here you were standing next to a Greek god, meanwhile, your skin was all hot and blotchy, your hair was a tangled mess, and your stomach was aching something awful. Christ, you hated being on your period.

A hard lump was lodged in your throat; you tried to swallow it, but there was no use. Warm tears had already begun to stream down your cheeks. Unable to bear the sight of yourself any longer, you turned away from the mirror. As you reached for the bathroom door handle, a sharp unexpected cramp pierced at your insides, causing your legs to buckle and collapse to the cold tiled floor.

That was the last straw. You just couldn’t hold it in anymore. A disharmony of cries burst from your lips, reverberating around the small room as your shuddering body folded over itself. Curse the Fates for having you been born a girl.

Finnick, now switched to panic mode, quickly dropped to his knees before you, eyes wide and alert.

“Hey, hey!” he said soothingly as his hand moved to rub your back in support, though he wasn’t even sure what he was supporting.

A thousand-and-one distressing thoughts flew through his mind. Had someone died? Were you injured? Were you dying? Obviously, these ideas were a little irrational considering you were just standing next to him a second ago. But seeing the love of his life in pain and not knowing why made him fear the absolute worst.

“Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?”

All you could do was sob in response. You felt pathetic. Stupid, ugly, and pathetic. “How can you—” Another sob left your lips— “stand to look at me?!”

You could feel his hand stop moving which, illogically, made you even more upset.

“What?” he asked quietly. “What do you mean ‘stand to look at you’? Please, sweetheart. Talk to me.”

Finally, you forced yourself to sit up, revealing the tears that streaked your distraught expression. Finnick’s brows scrunched together, almost like he was in pain watching you in such a state of disarray. He tried to think of anything he might’ve done to make you feel this way because, of course, the first thing Finnick Odair would do was blame himself. But nothing came to mind.

Your heavy heart sank—he looked so worried. A part of your brain knew you were overreacting. Justa little bit. It made you feel even more terrible, knowing he was panicked simply because you didn’t like how you looked. Nevertheless….

“I look so ugly!” you cried. “My hair is all knotted, my face is all red and gross, my stomach is cramping, and—and… I’m just a mess!” You buried your face in your hands. “Why are you even with me?”

Shock was an understatement compared to what Finnick felt when those words left your mouth. Never in a million years would he believe someone like you—someone who looked like you—could ever possibly be insecure about their appearance, and now, of all times.

He gently reached out and removed the hands that shielded your face. You attempted to turn away to conceal yourself in shame, in fear that if he got too close, he would discover your flaws and see you the way you saw yourself. But he caught your chin with a single finger and compelled you to meet his gaze.

Yes, your skin was a little red and your eyes were a little bloodshot, but that didn’t mean you looked ugly. In fact, your rosy cheeks glowed with such radiance that the teardrops falling from your crystalline eyes looked like shimmering diamonds. Your lips, which were slightly quivering, were reddened and plump—an alluring contrast to the hue of your skin.

Not that he would say it given the insensitivity and selfishness of admitting such a thought, but he believed you cried quite beautifully.

“Because I don’t think you’re a mess,” Finnick said softly, ironically tucking multiple disordered strands of hair behind your ear. “You’re human, and you don’t need to look or feel perfect all the time. That’s why you’ve got me—I’ll always think the most of you. And when you’re feeling this way, I’ll always remind you so too.”

You tried to allow his compassionate words to seep into your brain, tried to turn his beliefs into your own. However, the storm of emotions inside your mind was refusing to dissipate. The insecurities just wouldn’t subside and Finnick could see it in your glossy eyes.

“Listen to me,” he said, his thumb brushing away a tear that fell across your skin. “Waking up and seeing your gorgeous face next to mine? That’s what gives me the strength to get up every morning. Those imperfections you’re so adamant about? They only make me love you so much more.

I love every part of you. Every so-called flaw, every tangled strand of hair on that pretty little head of yours.” He grinned as he consolingly ran his fingers through your hair which, in his opinion, was perfectly soft and smooth. “You’re my girl and nothing will ever make me want it any other way.”

Hearing his declaration had your heart aching in your chest. Your hand curled around his arm, needing some physical anchor to the reassuring words he spoke. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice, a sure-fire sign that he was telling the truth.

You realised you never had to worry about Finnick finding you unattractive. Though you were a little worried he was partially blind which, unfortunately, represented your own seemingly unshakeable insecurities.

“I wish I could see myself the way you do,” you whispered, voice hoarse from crying.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know, but just give it time. One day you’ll look back and wonder what the hell you were thinking. I mean, you? Ugly? Sweetheart, we might need to get you some glasses.”

You sniffled, lips stretching into a wobbly smile. “You’re an idiot.”

He lifted your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Only for you,” he quipped in response, wearing a light-hearted smirk on his lips. “Come here.”

He opened his arms, beckoning you to seek solace in his embrace. You scooted closer, sinking into his broad chest as his arms enveloped you. Your legs were folded awkwardly beneath your body and Finnick’s back ached from the lack of support behind him, but neither of you seemed to mind.

What is love without a little suffering?

His hand stroked the length of your hair, curling random strands between his fingers in admiration. Your fingertips danced across his tanned skin, amorously tracing the words ‘I love you’ over and over. You weren’t sure if he even noticed; it didn’t really matter. The sentiment remained true.

You listened to his heart beating centimetres from your ear. Thump. Thump. Thump. And you were grateful it beat for you. You were so, so grateful for Finnick. For his strong arms that soothed you in their embrace. For his lips that released a swarm of butterflies in your stomach with just a quirk of their corners. For his voice that could lift you from the deepest, darkest pit at any given moment.

So, when you whispered, “Thank you,” it was much more than a show of appreciation for his words of reassurance. It was gratitude for his existence. His entire being. For his love which echoed your own.

“Always,” he whispered in return.

Time began to pass but you remained in the same position—holding each other closely, dearly. And then as more minutes passed, rationality began to set in. You were thinking about apologising for your dramatics, but Finnick had other ideas.

“Wait, did you say your stomach’s cramping?” he asked suddenly. You simply nodded. “Are you on your period?”

Your head turned to bury your face against his chest in embarrassment. “Yes,” your voice muffled into his shirt.

Finnick grinned to himself. He didn’t want to play the stereotype card but knowing that detail helped him understand your actions a little better now.

“Well,” he began, gently coaxing you away from his chest so he could look into your eyes. “How about you come sit with me in the kitchen, hm?” He caressed the line of your cheekbone as he spoke. “I’ll cook you some pancakes and then we can both melt into the couch all day. Does that sound good?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Chocolate chip pancakes?”

He made some noise between a chuckle and a scoff. “Of course. Anything else would be a culinary tragedy.”

“Oh, Finnick Odair,” you proclaimed theatrically, winding your arms around his neck as you pulled yourself further against him. “How I love you so.”

In response, his face lit up with a stupidly lovesick grin. This man will be the absolute death of me, you silently swore. You couldn’t help but lean in and press a soft endearing kiss to each dimple that hollowed his cheeks; doing so only made his smile stretch impossibly wider.

The touch of his deft fingertips settled on the sides of your cheeks, holding your face in his hands like it was his most prized possession—technically, you were. His smile never disappeared as he leaned forward, kissing you with such ardent affection that you were afraid your heart might give out from the consuming potency of his adoration.

It tasted like salt, your tears having now dried on your lips. More importantly, it tasted like love. Warm, sweet, syrupy love.

You pulled away, murmuring against his lips, “You would look hot with a wizard beard, by the way."

He chuckled lightly, sustaining the five-second break before returning to your lips to whisper the words, “I knew it.”

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️ #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick odair angst #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick x reader #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #sam claflin #mockingjay part 2 #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fanfic #josh hutcherson #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #katniss everdeen

[martyrlamb]

✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently. 

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on. 

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s  like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night. 

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder. 

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot. 

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air. 

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm. 

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather. 

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh. 

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side. 

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot. 

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job. 

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles. 

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you. 

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors. 

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either. 

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency. 

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home. 

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something. 

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it. 

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him. 

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly. 

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that. 

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes. 

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts. 

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him. 

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word. 

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came. 

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals. 

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow. 

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone. 

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed. 

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold. 

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?” 

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back. 

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew. 

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort. 

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious?  You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again. 

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag. 

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it. 

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes. 

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re  enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find  yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath. 

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like. 

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over. 

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic. 

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention. 

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on. 

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all. 

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face. 

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

#leon kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #re4r leon #re4 remake #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy oneshot #fluff #oneshot #resident evil fluff #nurse!reader #nurse!reader x leon kennedy #post re4r

[bakubunny]

bnha: saying, “thank you, daddy,” during sex

18+ content. mdni. minors & blank blogs will be blocked.

yagi | shota | hizashi | izuku | eijiro | hitoshi | shoto | iida | denki | fumikage | katsuki

a/n: thank you so much for 200+ followers! i ended the poll just a tad early because i’ve got a busy day. i hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it, and i’ll see you with the next piece! 💜 bunny

tags: aged up characters, multiple orgasms, begging, verbal teasing, pleasure dom!eijirou, pregnancy mention (izuku), breeding kink mention, rough sex, daddy kink (obvs), mommy kink mention, name calling: slut, pet names, implied sexual trauma mention (shouto)

small note that none of these were written to have massive age gaps, but read them however you like. :)

yagi. do i really need to explain this one? (again?) fine, fine. he’d never really thought about it until you called him “daddy” once out of the blue in a non-sexual way; now he can’t stop fisting his cock to thoughts of hearing your sweet voice moaning “daddy” over and over while you grasp tightly to him until neither of you can think. sure, he’s very vanilla, but that doesn’t mean your sex life is lacking or that he’s not willing to try new things. the first time you whimper a soft, “thank you, daddy,” while looking him in the eyes in the middle of it, he’s surprised and blushes hard, but he loves it. he kisses you tenderly and fucks you hard but sweetly. yagi aches to take care of you in the sweetest ways in every aspect of life. he’s lived a hard life and carried the world on his shoulders for decades. let the man live and love him deeply, feed that desire. he deserves rest, and your tender, shaky, soft voice can give him that.

shota. hooo boy. buckle up, you’re in for a man you’ve never seen before. he grabs you hard by the hair or the face and makes you look at him. he has a look in his eyes that strikes fear into you and makes you melt at the same time. “that’s fucking right, babygirl, you thank daddy when he fucks you. say it again." his hands grip tighter and are rougher and stronger than you expected. i hope you’re ready for multiple rounds, being sore the next day, and possibly a red ass and a few bruises. may or may not have a breeding kink that suddenly rears its head if you try this (i’m undecided).

hizashi. it’s like he was expecting it, and not in a, “yeah, you better thank me,” kind of way. a switch flips, and you realize that he’s been waiting for you to get on his level the whole time because he’s been trying to draw this out of you for months without saying it. he might seem aloof sometimes, but you know he’s got great social and emotional intelligence. it’s almost like he knew “daddy” was on the tip of your tongue from the first time he laid eyes on you, but he’s surprisingly patient and will wait until you call him that first before making it a regular thing. you finally let, “thank you, daddy,” slip out during sex? he’s caressing your face saying, “there she is, that’s my sweet girl. say it again, love…. such a good little listener.” next thing you know he’s adding little notes like, “Daddy loves you ;)” to the lunch you left in the fridge for the next day, and you’re blushing at work, trying to hide it from your coworkers unless you eat alone.

eijiro. if you say that in general, he gets a lot rougher, but his praises and encouragement get sweeter (for the most part). i’d say eijiro either gets more desperate, much like i wrote here, or it pulls that dominant streak out of him with a vengeance, so watch out. he’s not necessarily a daddy, but say you try this on pleasure dom!eijiro? you’re in for a fucking trip if you utter the words, “thank you, daddy.” with the help of toys he’s gonna have you cumming more times than you thought possible - well into double digits - and make you thank him every single time. “c’mon, pretty girl, just one more for me, hmm?… that’s my good girl. you can do it…. i know, it feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” meanwhile, the most you can give him by the end of it is a string of moans with a nod or a head shake if you’re lucky.

izuku somehow becomes needier and more dominant while also turning into a damn puddle. he’s might just wind up thanking you while fucking you harder because he didn’t realize how much he’d love hearing that come out of your mouth. “oh fuck, angel, you’re so sweet to me. daddy loves you so much.” he will probably fuck you stupid every day for at least a week just to hear you say it again. assuming you’re well into your relationship and have discussed kids, be prepared for him to softly mumble in your ear. “daddy’s gonna make you a mommy someday. you wanna be a mommy for me, princess? you’ll look so fucking gorgeous, baby. i can’t wait,” because izuku is a family man to the core. there’s no way he’s not thinking about you barefoot, pregnant, and bent over the kitchen counter if you call him daddy in any context.

hitoshi is going to tease the shit out of you for it in bed and out. “what’s that, slut? i didn’t quite hear you…. ‘thank you, daddy?’” he chuckles and wraps a hand around your neck, his violet eyes glimmering. his voice is soft and a little condescending as he leans in. “thank you is fucking right, kitten. say it again…. louder, slut. daddy wants to hear you,” hitoshi taunts with a grin. “it’s a good thing you’re cute when you thank me.”

shoto. oh, honey. please do both of you a favor, and gently ask him first. he’s got so much trauma around his actual shithead of a father that pulling smth like this without forewarning has a chance of not only killing the mood, but sending shoto into a tailspin for weeks wondering if he’s anything like enji in bed. and i don’t need to explain why that would terrify him, do i? if he wants to try it, it would likely happen while you’re riding him or maybe giving him a top tier blowjob; let him experience how enthusiastically you want him when you let those words fall out, and he might get hooked. be prepared, though. if it goes well, he may grab your hips/head and fuck you relentlessly. if it doesn’t, there may be a lot of quiet snuggling and consoling him for several days that, unequivocally, yes, he makes you feel so loved, and you truly enjoy every intimate moment you have with him. it wouldn’t hurt to remind him of that even if he ends up loving it. however, talk to him in just the right way and treat him so very well like the sweetheart he is tho? “thank you, mommy,” (or some other title) may slip out of his mouth, let’s be honest.

tenya is very confused. i’m so sorry lmao. there’s going to be an awkward conversation mid-sex. once you explain the appeal to him, he’ll probably be on board to try it again and initiate the next time you fuck. “thank me when i fuck you, baby. let me hear it.” warning: there’s a slight chance he’ll develop a breeding kink if you keep this up.

denki is kind of blindsided but he’s not mad about it. he never thought he’d hear that from you because he’s so much leaner and goofier and softer than his friends. he’s more than okay with that, but in his mind that doesn’t equate to “daddy.” hearing those words on your lips, the look on your pretty face, and the way your tits move while he’s fucking you does him in, to be honest. he’s moaning and loses himself a little bit. he asks you to say it again maybe once or twice, making sure you orgasm before he blows because he’s going to cum the next time you say it.

fumikage. is it possible for him to somehow become even more tender and loving while absolutely destroying your cunt with a hand wrapped firmly around your throat? you’re not sure, but you’re about to find out. dark shadow wraps the two of you up inside themself, intensifying the intimacy of the moment. “again, darling…. you are so precious to me. nothing compares to your sweet voice.” daddy kink may or may not be his thing; he’s still figuring that out. what he does know is that he loved the intimacy and vulnerability of that moment with you, and he needs more of it. if he hasn’t realized it yet, he may come to the conclusion that a D/s dynamic is the way to find what he’s looking for.

katsuki is a bit of a wild card. every time, he’s either going to melt on the spot or fuck you into another realm of existence. or both. you are far from the first to have said this spontaneously (he looks like a model, he’s strong as hell, and he’s one of the top pro heroes, what do you expect?), but katsuki is pretty damn sure you’ll be the last. first time: maybe one day he’s fucking you hard. you can’t explain it, but something about whatever he’s doing or the way he looks at you makes you want to beg to cum. so you get achingly close, and you do. “please, can i cum, kats? please? i need your cock so fucking bad, please.” he’s thrown off for a split second until he sees your needy, fucked out face. you ask again, and then he’s right there with you. “yes, cum for me, baby.” a rush crashes over your body and the words slip out before you can stop them, just before you cum. “thank you, daddy.” and you cum hard. it’s not long until he’s groaning into your skin about you being “such a good fucking girl” as he fills you.

#millennialmagicalgirl #i wanted to include togata and amajiki but maybe another day #aged up characters #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #boku no hero #bakugou katsuki #bnha smut #mha smut #x reader #toshinori yagi #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #shinsou hitoshi #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #tenya iida #kaminari denki #kirishima eijirou #fem!reader #bnha x reader #bnha x fem!reader #mha x reader #mha x female reader #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #Midoriya x reader #fumikage tokoyami

[ggsbooks123]

Memory Garden

peeta mellark x female mc (Jude Slone)

summary; you made haymitch promise, if it came down to you or Peeta that he’d save Peeta. And he did. But now you’re back from the Capitol with one thing certain, Peeta Mellark is the one true enemy.

warnings: angst angst angst, mean thoughts ab peeta beloved and honestly just a lot of writing i didn’t need to do

———

Peeta did this.

The mantra floated through my head, as I yanked on the restraint again.

He’s the reason everyone you love is against you.

Another yank.

He blew up District 12

“Jude, feeling hungry yet?” Haymitch’s voice breaks the static but the mantra just quietens but doesn’t stop. My hand drops the bind.

“What do you have?” It was a better response than i’d given lately. What if Peeta tried to kill me and poisoned my portion… I couldn’t risk it. “No, I don’t want it”

He sighs, still coming towards me with the tray “I promise you, Peeta doesn’t want you dead. You know that, think”

I scowled, “I know what I saw. I know what he did. He’s a monster, Haymitch. Don’t make me, I dont want his filthy blood on my hands” He scoffed, dropping the tray onto the table next to me.

“Let’s hope lover boy comes and feeds you bevause I’m not putting up with this” And with that he leaves the room.

I glanced at the tray, tomato soup with toast coated in possibly cheese, but it’s not the delicious toast that catches my eye, the soup, it’s not red. They’ve added ingredients to make it appear more orange… Not bright orange.

A sunset.

“I still remember that Christmas he brought me that green sweater. Green doesn’t suit me” I say, the air was brisk and I hated walking in the Winter but I couldn’t turn Peeta down when he came to my door.

“I refuse to believe you look bad in anything” I scoff, glad it’s cold knowing he might take that as thhe reason my cheeks are now red. “What is your favourite colour?”

I raise my eyebrow at him “I’m sure there are better things to talk about then my favourite colour”

He watches me as we walk for a moment “I don’t see anything more important” It makes me slow to a stop, “Tell me, please. I want to know”

I look to him, his kind blue eyes and blond hair that looks incredibly soft without all those products they use during interviews, he looks beautiful.

“It used to be red but I think i’m leaning towards purple” I shrug, “It’s only fair that i’ve revealed that secret you tell me yours”

He smiles before looking up at the sun, it’s setting letting the streaks of orange paint the sky “Orange, right there. It’s the second most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen” I glance at him unsure as to why he’d say second until I see the look in his eyes.

My head snaps at the memory, cruel and unforgiving. That’s what Peeta was, and he would hurt me so I had to kill him before he tried first.

His face twists in the memory as I replay it over and over again, he doesn’t look like himself, Hatred flared in a moment that was full of pure adoration. I see it now like i’m looking through a camera at the two of us.

He looks like he loves me… Then his eyes lose their spark like a snap and he’s spitting awful words at me, one’s ill never forget.

I’ll never forget he’s the reason i’m like this.

—

The food goes cold and I go another day without eating and under sedation after I nearly come out of binding when they try to insert the needle into my arm to get food into my body.

I awake in an empty room but there’s a buzz in the air, I look to the mirror across from me. I look better than I did the first time I looked inside, I’d look better if I ate proper food but I can’t, he wants me dead and he won’t fail again.

The door hisses open bringing my attention away from my strangely hair, Katniss stands at the door, tears in her eyes.

“You need to eat something” She whispers but the room is so quiet i’m not surprised if she can hear my blaring thoughts or the alarm going off in my head.

“Get out” I spit, turning away from her. Katniss was close to Peeta, never too close for respect of me which I hated now, she should have stopped whatever was forming between the two of us. Now it’s this. “I don’t want to see you.”

“It’s been months, I thought-“ She tries to speak but she stops when my head snaps to her aswell, her eyes are searching my face. I still look awful, I know that and it seems she still hasn’t come to terms with what I had gone through. Why don’t they see it’s his fault? Always.

“He’s the reason this happened to me, Katniss. And you’re still going to side with him. If you don’t kill him then he’ll kill me Katniss, Don’t you see!” I scream, her back hits the door and it hisses open and my heart stops.

There, he is. He’s not expecting the door to open, the surprise on his face is evident as those blue eyes bore into mine and I steel myself preparing for the hatred, his attempts to end my life.

But neither happen, he watches me with nothing but sadness and his hands are empty, just slack at his sides as he takes a step forward and I’m frozen, It’s not making sense.

He keeps coming closer and my heart is beating out my chest. Run! He’s going to kill you! My head screams but he doesn’t look like he will kill me, he looks like he wants to be next to me and holding me through this, possibly the one feeding me the tomato soup like Haymitch suggested.

“Jude… Please, I’d never-“ He seems to choke on his words as a tear slips down his cheek “Come back to me” Come back and trust me so I can kill you, I hear instead. The words make me flinch, the movement is so large the whole bed moves with me, screeching.

He backs away, the door hisses open again but he doesn’t move to get out “You’re just here to kill me!” I cried, wishing him out of the room.

Get out. Get out. Get out!!!

I must’ve screamed the last time because he’s gone and finally the screaming in my head stops and I fall to the bed, the thought of food or anything fades, only the want to be far from him stays.

—

I am Jude Slone, I won the 73rd hunger games, i’m from District Twelve and Peeta Mellark does not want me dead.

I repeat in my head over and over again, as the truck rolls over cracks and bumps, my body jumps at each bit of debris we hit and I hit the metal seat hard each time but the pain is real. Which is hard to say about a lot lately.

Peeta Mellark wants doesn’t want you dead.

I shake my head, thst one was the hardest to remember and at times, it was no where reachable and all that would sustain me in that moment would be his blood on my hands.

Finally the truck pulled to a stop, I straightened my shoulders. I’d been taken by the Capital and my memories have been distorted, my first thought may not always be the right one.

With that final word of encouragement I let the anxiety slip from me as the back door opens and I’m led out. The sun blinds me for a moment, I’d only seen it for a moment when they made me leave base but only to be stuffed back in the van.

Now I could see the destruction. His fault. No, no, no. I took a deep breath, before turning to seeing the loving welcome party at the front of what seemed to be an abandoned building.

Katniss with her bow, Gale with his crossbow and the five members of their squad had their guns trained on me, including Peeta. My heart hammered but I kept upright as I took the empty gun from the guard before waltzing my way towards the group.

I am Jude Slone, I won the 73rd Hunger Games, I am from Distrisct 12 and None of these people want me dead.

“What is she doing here?” Katniss is the first to speak and though her eyes are trained on me, i know she doesn’t want me to answer.

“Coin wants her to be shown on screen, the victors fighting on the same side” A dark man, who screamed military spoke and he was the only one besides Finnick who hadn’t raised their gun at me. “I don’t like the gun”

“Cant have me fighting with my bare hands on screen” I mutter, before shaking the weapon “It’s empty”

The tension seemed to ease slightly in the group but while half of them had lowered their weapons, Peeta, Katniss and Gale hadn’t. I had to remember what I’d been like this past month, I wouldn’t trust me either.

“I don’t like this” Peeta. His words cut deep and I deflate at them before the military man waves everyone to come inside, not before a solider by the name of Jackson, she told me, quietly instructed me that i’d be restrained for their safety.

“I understand, but I’m not a child”

“No just someone who went through a lot of shit” Finnick says behind Jackson, and my eyes dart up. I didn’t know where my mind stood with Finnick, I didn’t feel like killing him but I hadn’t felt like killing Peeta a moment ago but we all knew it would come.

It was why I was being restrained in the first place. I nod at his words, unsure of how to respond before they lead me inside. The wall along the door was made of glass and I watched as the van that stopped me off, vanished in the distance.

I was stuck here and I didn’t know if I would ever leave this ruin of a city. I kept my distance from the group as they moved into the centre and I took a seat beside the window.

“We’ll have to set up an around the clock guard on her, we can take shifts” Military man said, turning to look at me. “I’ll take the first shift, Names Boggs.”

I preferred Military man but I nodded all the same, “I want a shift” Peeta’s voice is small compared to Boggs but it silences the room all the same.

“Not happening” Jackson speaks up this time, confusing me on who’s in command.

“I can do it!” Peeta argued back, standing from his seat “It’s not her… The Capital killed her and whoever they sent back to us, i’ll be happy to put a bullet in its head” I flinched, turning my eyes down to my hands. Clenching them, was I dead? The girl I was? I shake my head, I am Jude Slone and I did not die in the Capital. They broke me but I am not unfixable. I am broken not unfixable.

I am unfixable.

“I’m not sure seeing as a mutt helps” Jackson declares but Boggs cuts her off

“Give him a shift, Katniss too.” There was no room for argument as Jackson nodded and began to schedule the guard clock. I wanted to be more helpful, tell them that maybe they could go an hour and they could all rest, but I didn’t even trust myself to do that.

Instead I kept silent, letting the rest of them discuss our plan while I watched the day pass by through the glass. “How’re you feeling?” Finnick’s voice from beside me makes me jump. I turn to him and he looks almost glowing, I’d heard something about him and Annie.

I knew I would feel happy for him if I didn’t feel so disconnected. Finnicks memories that came to mind now only brought warmth, nothing haunting. Which was relieving, he was a breath of fresh air.

“Away, I feel like everything’s happening and I’m not really here” I try to explain and he seems to understand. “I don’t want to be a problem, I don’t know why they sent me here… I’m not ready.”

He frowns, “I think you’re where you need to be, normally whenver Annie gets confused she asks me, and I promise you, you’ll find nothing but the truth here” I glance over to the group who had begun to seperate and close their eyes.

It must be Finnicks shift. The thought made this whole encounter turn cold but still, I took in his words as my eyes trained on the baker boy. “Peeta was the reason this happened to me… Real?”

He shakes his head, “You made Haymitch swear if it came down to the two of you that he’d get Peeta to safety” Finnick explained but my mind screamed at me that he was lying. Why would I ask that? Peeta and I didn’t get along, no, we did and we’d almost- I didn’t know what we almost did or if he hated me or loved me and it made me want to rip my hair out as my thoughts banged against my head.

He was not the reason you went to the Capital, you chose this. You didn’t want him to go through this… That felt right, staring at him now, I would never wish upon him those nights in the Capital.

“I know it must be hard. Annie went through a lot but they know that the Capital never left you alone, you were their main priority.” Finnick places a hand on my shoulder, bringing my fully to the present for what felt like the first time. “None of us blame you at all for what happened.

I forgot how long it’s been since someone had been gentle with me. Skin to skin, human contact. My body released its pressure, relaxing in my seat. “Thank you, Finnick”

He smiled before sitting up straighter, and we together sat in silence watching the night sky slowly fall upon us as the rest that were awake finally knocked off

“Get some rest” Finnick muttered to me softly, tapping my leg as he got up. I could see his eyes dropping a while ago but he still stayed and it relieved me that he was finally putting himself first.

I nodded, I would not be sleeping tonight. Each time I closed my eyes another memory would wash over me, I’ve started to get better at knowing if it’s real or not without verification.

Like the one of Peeta and Is confession of our favourite colours, it was easier to picture him smiling at me now instead of anger and whenever it did dissolve to the image it was almost too perfect, his freckles gone and the scar he got from the 75th games vanished, as did the dark circles under my eyes and the few strands out of place were perfectly flat. Too perfect.

I watched Finnick rouse Peeta and point over to me. Of course, I could only get so lucky. I heard someone clear their throat before they took a seat across from me. I didn’t look up. I didn’t know where my mind would jump to.

And he seemed to take the message, he didn’t try to speak to me either. She asks me. I promise you’ll find nothing but truth here.

Finnick was right, I couldn’t close myself off and hope I’d be able to fix myself. If it was that easy, I’d be normal again. “Finnick told me that whenever i’m having trouble differentiating real from not real I should just ask…”

I glanced up at him, in the darkness it was hard to make out his uniform but his blonde hair and pale skin were easy to spot and it made my body tingle as I registered just how close he was and I didn’t feel like wringing my hands around his neck. Relief.

“Shoot away” I raised an eyebrow “Not literally” I smiled softly at that before cycling through my head and I settled back into his favourite colour. What if I asked and his favourite was blue or something? Sunset orange was just another lie they filled into my head. Ask.

“Your favourite colour. It’s sunset orange, real? Not real?” I clench my fists, please. please.

“Real… Yours used to be red but after the hunger games you couldn’t stand it” He explained, and he was right. I used to tie a red bow into my hair everyday until my reaping now the colour reminded me of the slaughter in the 73rd Hunger games.

“But you said you were beginning to like purple… I remember that day, I told you the sunset was the second most beautiful thing i’d ever seen… And the first was right in front of me” I stiffened, though the confession didn’t shock me, looking back I could’ve seen it if I looked hard enough in the moment “And it’s killing me, bevause you’re right in front of me again but you’re like the stars I can’t reach. I… Can adore you from afar but that’s all I can do. And it feels really, really shitty, knowing we might never get through this”

He stands abruptly from his seat “I can’t do this” And he storms out, but I’m clenching my fists too tight to stop, swearing at every god to let this memory stay and not be corrupted by fear. I can adore you from afar but that’s all I can do because if I came closer you’d kill me. Was the truth.

— — —

do we want a part two?!?

part two out now!

#hunger games #books #peeta mellark #peeta supremacy #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark works #peeta mellark imagine #peeta #mellark #peeta mellark x reader

[rebelfell]

Soooo still not done with thoughts of Eddie and an older!fem!Harrington!reader…3k

18+, MDNI cont’d from here

That first night goes on forever.

You don’t think you’ll forget it as long as you live. On your deathbed, you’re sure your last thoughts will be of Eddie Munson and the night he fucked you into oblivion and beyond.

There’s no stopping either one of you. There’s no way to tire of one another. It’s all a blur of tangled sheets and writhing bodies streaked in sweat, of filthy words and ragged breaths, of desperate cries of pleasure you can’t suppress.

The party still going on is enough to drown out your sounds as you fall into your bed, having just enough wherewithal to shut off your light so no one sees your shadows in the window.

Everyone downstairs is too plastered by now to notice anyway. But still.

Eddie is insatiable—drawing out your every orgasm, barely letting one taper off before he’s working you back up towards the next. You nearly want to cry from the overstimulation, but you’ll be damned if you’re tapping out anytime soon.

He takes you apart over and over and over, his fingers, his tongue, his cock all taking their turns with you in an endless fucking cycle.

Literally.

He’s like a goddamn energizer bunny. It’s the kind of sex like you haven’t had since college when you would fuck anything that moved just because you could. It makes you feel chosen and wanted and desired in a way you haven’t felt in years.

Being with Eddie is like indulging in the sweetest, most exquisite dessert—like pure decadence and freedom and fucking bliss.

Again, literally.

At one point, you’re going at it so hard, so vigorously, that you slide right off the bed and tumble together to the floor. But Eddie doesn’t miss a beat. He merely drives himself inside you with all the more determination, the wet clap of his thighs hitting yours bouncing off the walls to mix with your eager and wanton moans.

Yes, Eddie, ohhh god, yes—fuck, that’s it, right there, HARDER—

You lose track of how many times he makes you come, too swept up in the storm of his affections, his rough voice in your ear and his teeth nipping any place he can leave a mark where it won’t be seen. It’s fast, and hot, and dirty—yet somehow he’s still taking his time with you. He’s taking note of what makes you throw your head back into the pillow, or slap your hand over your mouth to stifle a wail, or grip his ass to push him in deeper.

And Eddie is…in heaven.

For weeks, he’s thought of nothing but this. He’s never felt this way before. So free.

There’s no need to hold himself back or disguise his deepest desires anymore. He can finally show you exactly how much he wants you. He’s allowed to be greedy with you and touch you in every way he’s imagined. Except that now it’s so much better, because it’s real.

His mind could never conjure a fantasy as detailed as this—the warmth of your skin under his hands, the shivers that ripple down your back when he kisses behind your ear, the soft hairs that tickle his nose as he buries his face in your neck and inhales your heavenly scent.

And he feels you letting go, too.

You kiss him back zealously, fervently, hungrily. Your hands are voracious as you explore his body, running over his chest and arms, relishing in every twitch of his muscles, nails digging in his skin to leave hot red streaks in their wake as you drag them down the length of his back.

The party ends eventually, but sleep is the furthest thing from your minds.

Steve never even makes it upstairs. He passes out on a pool lounger with the tip of his nose blacked out and some whiskers drawn on his cheeks in Sharpie, courtesy of Robin.

When Eddie slips on his boxers to go downstairs for sustenance, he lays a Gatorade in his friend’s lap, sets a wastebasket by his head, and places a pair of sunglasses over his eyes.

In his sleep, the birthday boy mumbles something that sounded like mashed potato soup and Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt deep down in his stomach. But the thought of you waiting for him upstairs, and the memory of your body wrapped around his, and the sound of your voice moaning his name so sweetly, promptly snuffs the feeling out.

Between rounds, it’s all soft and gentle touches in stark contrast to the ravenous way you devoured one another. You take the opportunity to examine every tattoo, every faint freckle, every scar. You ask for the stories about them, which he’s quick to tell—all except the one about the gash on his index finger he got trying to feed a cupcake to a raccoon that lived in the trailer park.

You fight back your giggles as he describes his Uncle Wayne scuffing him like a cat by the back of his shirt and hauling him into his truck, ranting and raving about rabies the whole time as he raced across town to urgent care.

“And you were how old?” you ask, imagining him to be six or seven, max, only for him to sheepishly admit he was nineteen at the time.

You keep expecting him to make some excuse to slip away, to slink back across the hall to the other guest room, maybe even to leave altogether now that he’s gotten what he wants. But he’s resistant. He asks if he can stay with you, if he can hold you until you fall asleep, and swears he’ll sneak out in the morning before Steve has woken up.

And you know that it’s too risky. You know it’s stupid for you to agree. But you do.

Because it’s impossible to deny him when he looks at you like that. When he smiles at you all soft and tender. When he kisses you and pulls you into his arms again and again, like he truly cannot get enough of you. Like in all the places you see flaws, all he sees is perfection.

If you thought Eddie hung around the house a lot before, it was nothing compared to now.

He’s there just about every day, especially every night. And the Harrington lawn has never looked so good. He’s tending to it constantly, mowing grass and pruning the trees, planting fucking perennials like his life depends on it.

Any excuse to see you.

And if it happens to be a day when Steve is away, you even let yourself indulge a little. Laying out by the pool to watch Eddie work, coyly offering him sunscreen—which he almost declines until he sees the suggestive arch of your brow and clumsily starts stripping off his shirt.

His head rolls on his shoulders and he groans loudly in relief as your hands run over him, taking special care of his tattoos as the tropical smelling cream glides across his slippery skin. Then he snatches the bottle himself and smirks as he motions for you to turn.

In spite of the heat, you shiver as he runs his fingers up and down your spine, toying with the strings that tie your suit at the nape of your neck. His hands slide forward, squeezing at your waist and tugging you back against him to feel just how hard he is in his shorts.

He presses his hot lips to your ear and begs you to let him have you right there, right now, but you are firm in your refusal. The fence and trees that surround the yard are tall, but there are eyes everywhere and you can’t stomach the risk.

This is dangerous enough as it is.

So you retreat inside, where he takes you apart for the rest of the afternoon, the stainless steel of the fridge cold against your burning body when he pins you up against it and sinks down to his knees to bury his face between your legs.

And it’s all a bad decision. A bad, bad decision. But it’s one you can’t seem to stop making.

You make it over and over and over again.

In your bedroom, late at night. In the early morning, when he has you bent over the kitchen island. When you’re bouncing up and down in his lap on the leather sofa in the den, or in the giant jacuzzi tub in your sister’s bathroom.

You just keep making it.

You know you should feel guilty. You know eventually it has to end. You know you can’t keep this up forever. And yet somehow, none of that knowledge is enough to stop you.

Because all things considered…it’s going well.

Eddie is sweet to you. He dotes on you. He fucks you like an animal in heat and then tucks folded up notes in your hand while you sleep before he slips out of your room with the dawn. He puts you first—before himself, before anything. He ignites something in you, something you haven’t felt for years, a flame you thought had burnt out long ago into a pile of ash.

It’s like you’ve been trapped underwater so long you forgot what it felt like to breathe real air. And you fill your lungs with him to the brim again and again—certain you’ll never get enough.

His hands touch every part of you with pure devotion and his lips kiss yours like it’s an act of worship. Like you’re the only deity he’s ever sought. The only one he’ll ever serve.

But every day the calendar counts you another step closer to your sister’s return, the thick and humid haze of summer having reached its peak and starting to bleed at the edges. Danger lurks on the horizon like a storm cloud, lying in wait for the chance to blot out your sun.

Then the rain comes.

You come home one day to find Eddie and Steve in the middle of an argument. From the looks of it this conversation has been going on for a while and neither seems pleased to be having it.

“Come on, man!” Steve whines, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “It’s one night. Bailey can’t go unless she can bring her cousin. Please?”

“I just don’t feel like going out,” Eddie counters weakly. He rubs a ringed hand across the back of his neck, his face full of guilt like he knows exactly how shitty of an excuse it is.

“Why? Because you wanna sit around the house all night? Again?” Steve scoffs. “What’s up with you? You’ve been like a monk all summer.”

Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink and his jaw clenches as he frowns, muttering something under his breath as he stares at his feet. If he’s defending himself, it’s not all that convincing. Luckily, Steve is too entrenched in his own agenda to call him out.

“Look, she’s from New York. She’ll probably love your whole edgy…thing.”

He smiles fondly as he gestures to his friend’s shredded jeans and loose-hanging Dio tank top, but all it elicits from Eddie is a distasteful sound from the back of his throat. His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head, but stop short when they land on you standing in the entry way.

“Um…hi,” he whispers, staring like your eyes are the high beams on a freight truck.

“Hey,” you reply, slipping off your sandals at the door. “What are you guys up to?”

“Oh, you know,” Steve sighs dramatically. “The hottest girl in town finally agreed to go out with me, but I can’t go because Eddie’s the worst wing-man in the history of the planet.”

Eddie’s head drops in shame again and you know those big, pleading eyes of his are dying to look at you. You feel like you can almost see him fighting the urge to turn his head right up until the moment he loses the uphill battle.

“You should go,” you tell him when his eyes find yours. “It sounds like fun.”

The words are like bile in your throat as you hurry past them to the kitchen, pausing at the door to look back at them over your shoulder.

Eddie’s eyes bulge with hope.

“Don’t, um…don’t forget about curfew,” you warn before you disappear.

Neither of them follows.

They keep arguing, the words muffled by the wood paneling you collapse against as you listen through the wall and wait…wait for what, exactly, you aren’t sure. But Steve must finally convince Eddie to go, because the next thing you hear is them shuffling through the door and tires that screech as Steve’s Beemer speeds away.

The silence that descends is oppressive. It makes the empty house feel cavernous and gaping like a wound. You scramble to put on a record, needing something to drown out your racing thoughts.

A lot of good it does, though.

You pace the rooms like a racetrack, certain you can see the furrows you leave in the carpet as you make your tenth or eleventh pass. All the while telling yourself you have no right to be upset.

Because Eddie should go on dates. He should be able to walk through Starcourt Mall with someone special, to lace his fingers with theirs as he asks if they want to share a box of Red Vines.

He shouldn’t have to hide, reduced to skulking in the shadows like some filthy and shameful secret. Even with the way he cloaked himself in mystery and attitude, it wasn’t enough to disguise the brightness that bubbled underneath.

It’s these thoughts and a hundred others that have you pacing right up until the moment you hear Steve’s car pulling into the driveway and the sound of laughter as four pairs of footsteps make their way up the front walk. And before you can think better—or think at all—you sprint to the top of the staircase and listen from the dark recess of the hall as they all stumble inside together.

Steve suggests having some beers by the pool and Bailey agrees. But the other girl—Eddie’s girl, you think, a bit more bitterly than you have any right to—is ready to call it a night.

“Hey, Eddie?” she asks in her high, cutesy voice. “Think I can get a ride home?”

“Ahh…I was actually gonna crash here toni—”

“Dude. Don’t be a dick,” Steve scolds playfully.

And that’s that, apparently.

It’s long past midnight by the time he’s knocking at your door. And before you can even whisper a greeting, he’s pulling you into his arms, almost crushing you he’s holding on so tight.

He goes slower than you’re used with him. He makes no move to tug off your clothes or slip his hand between your thighs. He doesn’t grind into you all rough and desperate, just presses himself close against you and whispers soft and sweet between long and languid kisses.

“Thought about you all night,” he murmurs, his lips skimming your temple. “She tried to kiss me and I felt sick to my stomach.”

“You don’t have to say that, Eddie,” you mutter back. “It’s okay if you like her.”

It makes his eyes flash with disgust, horrified you would even suggest such a thing, but the thought flies straight out his head as your hand begins to wander freely down his body, wrapping around his hardness through his jeans.

He groans at your touch, biting down into the pillow next to your head to muffle the sound, he’s so achingly hard in your delicate grasp.

You undress without a glimmer of haste to your movements. It feels like a dance to an old, old song. The kind that played from a gramophone in an empty gymnasium with crepe paper flowers hung from the ceiling. And when he fills you up, sliding easily inside to the hilt, you’ve never felt as close to another person as you do to him right now. His thrusts are steady and deep, reaching your most uncharted depths. And it seems so absurd to think it’s possible there is any part of you he hasn’t yet reached, but you’re sure he’s never been as deep as he is now.

His face stays close to yours, your breaths mixing as you pant and gasp into one another’s mouths, and he loses himself in you—in the way your heels hit the backs of his thighs, your legs tightening around him as you match his thrusts with rolls of your hips; how the weight of him and the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubs against your clit like two flint stones striking sparks to make a bonfire; how your hands grapple for purchase on his sweaty back, needing to hold onto him for dear life as you rush towards your release.

His necklace dangles around his neck and his guitar pick lays flat against your chest, the ball chain clinking softly in time with his thrusts. It’s almost like you’re wearing it instead of him and just that thought—the idea of it hanging around your neck, of everyone knowing you were his and only his—has him careening over the edge.

You start to come apart around him and he lets himself go with you, releasing a long and guttural groan as he empties into the condom faster and harder than he ever has before. Your hand grasps at the back of his neck under the warm curtain of his curls, nails digging in so deep that it makes you both whimper as you press trembling kisses to each other's lips.

It’s quiet as you bask together in the aftermath, the receding tides of your gratification lapping around your ankles, hearing only the sound of your labored breaths expelling. It dwarves you, almost. It’s so serene, so peaceful, you worry anything you say next will only spoil it.

Eddie pulls back to look at you, his eyes shiny either with tears or from the moonlight reflecting in them, sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead, his softening cock still buried in your warmth.

“I wanna take you somewhere,” he whispers.

And in what feels like an instant, you have snuck out of the house and are sitting with him in the back of his van, rear doors thrown wide open so you can look out at the vast expanse of Lover’s Lake. He’s got his back up against one side with you resting against him, curled up in his arms with an old blanket draped around you both.

He found his way to this secluded spot on the gravelly bank so easily, you’re sure he’s parked here many times before. And you can’t say you’re entirely surprised. Boundless stars overhead and below, reflecting in the perfectly still water. Full moon glowing like a spotlight, a sultry rock song drifting out of his speakers instead of his usual thundering metal fare.

Pretty much impossible to resist, you think as you lay against his chest and chuckle, “This where you bring all the girls?”

“Used to be,” he murmurs, stroking your arm.

“Not anymore, hm?”

You’re teasing, but he’s turned solemn. His face is set wth seriousness as he tips your chin to look at him, eyes plundering into your soul and fingers tracing featherlight along your jaw.

“No,” he says. “Not anymore. Not ever again.”

And there’s something different in his gaze as he says it. Something that makes your spine go rigid and your shoulders tense as you flex away from him. Something that makes your skin turn clammy and cold.

“Eddie,” you start, “Don’t say anything stupi—”

“I’m in love with you.”

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requested tags: @cryingglightningg @the-unforgivenn @hellfire--cult @saramelaniemoon @skyfullofsong123 @tlclick73 @winchester-angel @nope-thanks ♥️

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x older!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #TSITA

[valdomarx]

Roy’s first month of managing Richmond, he still wakes up at 4 a.m. every morning. 

There’s no reason for it; work doesn’t start until 8 and he doesn't need to do extra training sessions with Jamie any more. But his body can’t break the habit, so he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling.

4 a.m. is when night is over but morning has not quite begun, when the world is quiet and distant and there is room for thoughts which would otherwise be unthought and feelings which would otherwise be unfelt.

-

4 a.m. is Jamie flinging open his front door with a big grin and a stupid head torch, saying, “Morning coach!” and bounding off with such enthusiasm that Roy has to scramble to keep up with him.

-

4 a.m. is the team finally calling it a night after celebrating a tough win, Isaac and Colin with an exhausted Sam between them, Jan Maas giggling, and Dani coming tearing out of the club yelling “Back to the hoteeeeeeeeeel!” and everyone running joyfully after him. Everyone except Jamie, who is leaning against the wall of the club and watching Roy with a hint of a smile.

“Fucking what?” Roy growls.

“You’re doing good. At this manager thing, I mean. The boys like it when you come celebrate with us.”

-

4 a.m. is sunrise over Richmond Park, the trees swaying in the breeze, deer leaping away in the distance, a blanket of silence muffling London’s ever-present hum of traffic. It is Jamie’s contentment as he runs, the way he springs forward to meet every step, with the rays of the rising sun painting streaks of red and gold through his hair.

-

4 a.m. is the time the team bus breaks down and strands them in a field in the middle of nowhere, and most of the lads are asleep in their seats but Roy finds Jamie sitting a little distance away on a grassy bank, looking up at the sky.

“Proper good view of the stars here, innit?”

Roy cranes his neck to take in the view of bright white points splashed across the darkness. He hums and lowers himself to sit next to Jamie.

“That one’s Rigel.” Jamie points. “And over there, that’s Betelgeuse. About to go supernova and everything. It’s gonna explode and take out everything around it, but after that, it’ll leave behind a cloud of dust n shit which’ll make new stars. Mental, right?”

Roy glances at him sideways. “How d’you know all this shit?”

Jamie shrugs one shoulder. “Me mum used to take me to the observatory as a kid. Said it was good for my cultural development. But I think I just liked the view.”

Jamie is staring up at the stars, but Roy is looking at Jamie’s face, soft, open, and full of wonder.

-

4 a.m. is a stupid time to be doing this. Roy stands in front of Jamie’s door and hesitates before knocking. Who the fuck shows up out of the blue at someone’s house at this hour? But he’d woken up early again and the world had seemed grating, like something important was missing, and almost against his will his feet had carried him here.

He knocks and, much quicker than he expects, the hallway light flicks on and footsteps thump down the stairs. Jamie opens the door fully dressed and wide awake, and beams.

“Morning coach! You want a cup of coffee?”

Roy blinks. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here at this ridiculous time?”

Jamie's forehead wrinkles. "I'm sure you've got a good reason."

“I couldn’t sleep. Can’t sleep, I mean. I still wake up at 4 a.m. every morning."

Jamie nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

"I -" Roy squirms, hating feeling so visible. "I miss this."

Jamie looks up at him, surprised. 

"I miss you."

Jamie blushes, then fidgets with his sleeves. "You see me every day."

"It's not the same though. I miss starting my day with you."

"Oh." Jamie's cheeks are blotched with pink. "We could go for a run together? Do some training?'

It's tempting. Roy could say yes, and they could jog around the park, and it could be like it was before. A little piece of familiarity in a season of changes. 

But that's not what Roy is here for.

"I don't want to train," he says, and Jamie's face falls.

He steps closer, right up to the doorway, a mere few inches between them. He reaches out, stopping himself just before his hand lands on Jamie's chest. 

He looks up, meets Jamie's eye, makes sure he knows what Roy is offering. His hand meets Jamie's chest, solid and warm. "I want something else."

"Oh." Jamie scarcely moves, has to remind himself to breathe by the looks of it, and then one of those soft, beautiful 4 a.m. smiles spreads across his face and he steps back to open the door. "Then I guess you'd better come in."

#a time of day that's arse o clock in the morning is something that can actually be so personal #roy x jamie #royjamie #roy kent #jamie tartt #ted lasso #my writing

[heartlyrins]

CHERUB

˚₊‧desc— Jing Yuan loves his angelic daughter so much, but she's been getting too close with a star pupil of his.

˚₊‧TW— dark content, dead dove do not eat, incest, heavy noncon, light slapping, spanking, belting, forced blowjob, sloppy blowjob, loss of virginity, daddy kink, lots of daddy mentions, praise, pet names (sweetheart, angel, baby), crybaby!reader, daddy!Jing Yuan, jealous!Jing Yuan, Jing Yuan wants to make his daughter a housewife <3

˚₊‧A/N— Hey cuties! I've been thinking all day long since I woke up.. So I wrote about it ofc! By the way I do not simp for Yanqing, he's just here for the sake of the fic and he's aged up to be the same age with reader (don't be a pedophile guys). I think this is the darkest fic I made so far, I LOVE IT

Your daddy loves you so much that sometimes it's too overwhelming for you, he gives you so much gifts, he showers you with affection everyday!

You love your daddy so much too, he's so kind to everyone and you! But he's scary especially when he's mad.

You have a crush with a certain pupil of his too, well.. You have been childhood friends, the first time you saw Yanqing was when your daddy introduced him to you.

He was so nice to you, and he had an ambition to be a sword master! That was the first thing that attracted you to him.

As the both of you grew up, you got closer to him and farther apart from your daddy. Sure, you both still talk but now you spend less and less time with your daddy which clearly makes him sad.

Each time he came home he just wanted to be embraced by your soft body, but the only thing he was met with was disappointment.

You were always hanging outside with Yanqing, and he couldn't find anything more annoying than his beloved daughter hanging out with boys more than her own daddy.

And he couldn't wait to show you just how angry he was with you when you come home today.

"Sweetheart, baby.. Stop crying okay? Daddy just wants to teach you a lesson." he whispers into your ear as he spanks you one more time before taking off his belt.

"N-nuh.. Daddy, no more.." you sob and sniffle, you just got home from hanging out with Yanqing, hoping to give your daddy a gift before you suddenly were dragged towards his bedroom.

You were now laying on your tummy, your but is already sore and red from multiple spanks. But now you hear a clinking sound behind you and you were getting even more scared.

"Daddy just wants to punish you for being so so mean to your daddy, I was so sad.." he said while rubbing your already sore ass with his palm before striking the flesh once.

He shushes you when you start crying and kisses your tears, drinking your tears up. He loves your crying face so much.

He starts to soothe your ass once again before doing the same thing a few times and finally dropping the belt when he sees the streaks of marks decorating it.

He starts to move you over to the floor and makes you get on your knees with his huge cock casting a shadow over your face.

Your eyes widen momentarily before casting your gaze away whilst shaking your head, your heart belongs to Yanqing and plus it's wrong because he's your daddy!

He slaps your face with his dick, you can even feel the heat of it on your cheek when he taps it on your face multiple times.

He turns your face over to his cock, before gripping your cheek tightly to open your moth forcefully.

"Please open your mouth baby, I don't want to do this the hard way." sensing the threat in his tone, you get to work with his cock.

You trace over the veins on his dick with your tongue and before gripping half of his cock with your hands and starting to stroke it with your saliva as lube.

You have learned about giving a blowjob, but only because you didn't want to embarrass Yanqing the first time you do it with him.

But still, touching a real cock, a huge one at that feels surreal. Is every man's cock like this or is it just your daddy?

You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears before opening your mouth wide enough to put only put his tip inside, it's so big that you don't think half of it can fit you..

Still, you manage to get a quarter of it inside your mouth without enabling your gag reflex. You suck on his cock sloppily, having no actual experience besides only reading it online.

Soon you manage to swallow half of it without gagging and you can see that your daddy is amused with your efforts as he guides you with gentle hands on your hair.

"You're good at this, hm? Have you sucked anyone else's cock or is it just daddy? You haven't done anything with Yanqing, haven't you?"

You closed your eyes making more tears fall down even more down your cheek as you bob your head up and down on his cock, forced to swallow half his length. You can't believe that you can't even fit in all of it.

You go faster as soon as you hear his groans and moans get louder, feeling him twitch on your tongue meaning that he is near to climax.

You just want to get this over with—you think to yourself as you force yourself to swallow his cum and pull away, a string of saliva attached to the tip of his cock.

He smiles with that usual smile that he gives to everyone, the same smile that he graces everyone with as the general.

Your throat is sore as you attempt to get a few breath in, you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes. He seems satisfied for now, it should be over right..?

"It's over right, daddy? I can't take it anymore.." you asked with a cracked voice, staring up at him for any semblance of agreement on his face.

But what only came was him flipping you on your fours which makes you squeak out of surprise—

You couldn't even register it when his finger rubs on your slit, checking if you were wet enough before placing the tip of his cock on your hole.

"W-wait..! Daddy, go slow I'm a virgin.." you trailed of at the last word and he grins before he thrusts it all in at once.

You didn't know wether you screamed in pain or in pleasure—but all you knew was that it was starting to feel good.

You cry at the pain of your ass stinging once again from the marks before now it that it has met skin contact.

The sound of skin slapping echoes in the room with your moaning probably overpowering the noise. You bit your lips when he placed you in a reverse cowgirl position.

He watches as your ass bounce and slaps it multiple time which makes you scream even louder, unable to hold it in.

There were probably plenty of other position that you both were in before he finally finished, having came in you multiple times.

That night seems longer than the night before it, but one thing you knew that the nights after was so long that it felt empty.

He approaches you from behind and place kisses on your neck as you made breakfast for him before he goes to work.

Days were longer than before, you haven't met Yanqing ever since, or more like you haven't gotten out at all.

He rubs your tummy that's swelling with life and whispers sweet nothings in your ears, it was your daily routine before he goes to work.

"Now you'll be mine forever, angel."

#tw.noncon #tw.incest #tw.dark content #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #jing yuan smut #hsr jing yuan #yandere jing yuan #jing yuan #jing yuan noncon #yandere hsr #hsr smut #hsr noncon #honkai star rail smut #yandere honkai star rail

[technicallyvivi]

NSFW WARNING!

mafia mingi

sometimes mingi came home all bloody, streaks of blood in his messy platinum hair and an exhausted look on his face. today was one of those days. "i missed you." he said from the doorway of you room taking you by surprise, you jumped up and chuckled. "hey." your smile disappearing when you take a closer look at see all the blood smeared across his body. "rough day?" you ask and he sighs in return walking over to you. "wash me." a soft smile spreads across your face blush creeping up your cheeks. you love it when mingi asks you to pamper him, he's not an easy person to take care of since he's always wanting to be independent and do things for himself. "sure." you both walk to the bathroom together him sitting on the toilet seat and you standing in between his thighs. he pulls you closer by your hips, slipping his hands under your shirt to touch your warm skin and slowly rub your sides. taking off his shirt is easier today, usually, he'd want a slow and sensual make out session first. but he's decided he's to tired to do anything without at least washing up first. especially since he knows how much you hate being touched by blood that isn't yours or his. you both stare at each other for a while, just letting him savor this moment with you before he goes off early in the morning. "lick it." he says. "huh?" confusion fills you, what the hell was he talking about? "the blood." you shake your head. "it's not yours." a small giggle escapes his lips. "it is. want you to lick me clean." looking down at his spasming abs you agree, get on your knees and stick your tongue out lapping up all the blood between his abs and turning your lips a deep red color. messy blood all around them. he takes your hair and pulls it slightly so you look up into his eyes. "good?" sticking your tongue out you bring it up to lick your lips to swallow it all and nod. "let's try something new tonight bunny." there's that nickname that gets you wet immediately. his bunny. he knows you won't be able to say no to whatever it is he wants to try. you take his spot on the toilet seat while you wait for him to come back, it takes him some time and in between that you hear clanking and crashing, almost making you run to check up on him. but soon enough he's back, and with his gun on his side. "what's that for?" you ask almost in a whisper. "do you trust me y/n?" his tired deep voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise. you're not sure what the right answer is here, you know mingi would never hurt you though. "yes.." he smiles getting on his knees lifting up your skirt and taking off your panties until they reached your ankles soaking your thighs in your own arousal. and he laughed, he fucking laughed. "look at you, you're dripping baby." you rub your thighs together to feel some friction and pleasure yourself but mingi forces them back open. "shh, you'll get what you want in a second. be patient for me, yes?" you just nod in response. you didn't think he'd be upset at that too. "words, baby." he says rubbing your inner thigh. "ill be patient." you say back. he smiles and looks up at you not breaking eye contact when he starts pulling out his gun you look down at it, but you feel his big hands on your chin moving your face to turn and look at him. "look at me." he says voice deeper than before which at the time seemed almost impossible. so you take a deep breath and tangle your fingers through his hair, he takes that as an invitation to move his hand further up and start to prep you, playing with your folds and teasing your hole ever so slightly until he slides his fingers in fully. so you don't make too much noise he covers your mouth. the walls are thin and your bodyguard, san, sleeps in the room next door. but he can still see the effect he has on you. "m-mingi" you gulp. "please." this time he doesnt smile, doesn't even answer your pleads, instead the takes his gun and cocks it, pressing it to the side of your head. your eyes widen and you grab his wrist. "mingi?" you say in the sweetest voice, which almost makes him fold, but he doesn't.

"make a noise and you're dead." he smiles, psychotically and whats even more psycho, is it gets you wetter, which is saying a lot. the fear in your eyes turns him on, he pulls his fingers out of your throbbing hole slowly, and stands up. still pointing the gun to your head he looks down, "unbuckle me." you nod immediately fumbling to take off his belt and take his pants off, they pool at his ankles so he can step out of them easily. next are his boxers you do this slower just to tease him. something which mingi doesnt like "hurry up." he groans grabbing your hair tightly. you hurry yourself up and pull them all the way down, his angry cock springs up hitting his belly, coating it with precum. "stand up." you do, he takes your seat and pats his lap. "youre gonna ride daddy, no noise." its almost a demand. you nod and hover over his dick letting him line it up, he pushes the tip in carefully, your pussy sucking it in tightly. "f-fuckkk." he groans and a whimper escapes your throat reminding him to press the gun harder onto the side of your head. "i said shut the fuck up." you lean down sinking onto his dick and biting his bare shoulder to suppress your moans. he grabbed your hips and started moving you up and down slowly, everytime you clenched around his shaft he would groan in your ear. it didnt take him long to pick up his pace skin slapping filled the room and your mouths grip on his shoulder got loose, you felt like you were about to cum with the way he kept thrusting into you harder and deeper. "that's my little slut taking me so well." he reminded himself to keep the gun steady, "you gonna cum?" you nodded against his shoulder and accidentally moaned too loud when his tip pressed right on your g spot. he laughed and crawled his hand up your chest and to your neck moving your limp and bouncing body to look him in the eyes. "shut the fuck up dumb whore." he pressed the gun to your temple. "i know daddy's stretching you out so good right now but you- shit- have to be quiet." he sped up his pace choking you with one hand which also kept you in place and holding the gun with his other. you closed your eyes as tightly as you could and clenched down on his cock. "you can cum puppy." he grunted in your ear, puppy, he called you puppy. just with that you looked down and bit on his hand so you didn't moan to loud, tensing up you came all over his dick. shortly after with just a couple thrusts his cum filled you up like a balloon, like a cum dump, his slut. you trembled in his arms for a while and he set the gun down, panting against your sweaty neck. you just sat there for a little he held you close and pressed against you, he also leaned back against the toilet seat so you could lay your head more comfortably. "im sorry puppy, I didn’t do too much did i?” He asks, slowly pulling out of you, a mix of both your cum and his oozing outside of your puffy pussy. You shake your head, “no not at all, but uh-.” you look up at him, still trembling "no, it wasn't actually loaded. you know i could never hurt you." you laugh, and you hear him quietly join you. he sits you on the seat and turns on the water in the bath. “lets clean up, then we can go cuddle, sounds good?" he quietly asks you, scratching one of his injuries from earlier that night grabbing your hand to give it a kiss as well. you giggle, “sounds good. dont irritate the scratches baby.” he nods smiling, slowly rubbing your knuckles in his hands. “sorry.” he turns the water off once its filled and carries you in.

#ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez hard thoughts #ateez smut #yunho smut #ateez #ateez x reader #hongjoong smut #jongho smut #mingi smut #mingi x reader #song mingi #mingi #ateez mingi #ateez fic #atz #atiny #yeosang #seonghwa #park seonghwa

[wosoamazing]

Opening Match

Summary: It's the Matilda's first 2023 World Cup Match, against Ireland and you're starting.

Warnings: Panic (I guess – but not like a panic attack, I don’t think), mentions of Sam’s WWC injury….

A/N: ACL injuries don’t exist in this universe, if only that was the case in the real world. Tried to make it semi-factual, so like the times at which things happen are factual, however obviously the goals aren’t. (Also I know the Lionesses were in QLD and the Matildas were in NSW but let’s just pretend they weren’t)

It had been an hour, and you still couldn’t get to sleep, you were too scared for tomorrow, Tony was starting you, which he had told you this morning, Sam had injured herself and he decided you were the best replacement, the only saving grace was that only the your Captain’s, Tony, and yourself knew this, the rest of the team would find out tomorrow, so at least you weren’t reminded of it all day.

You had millions of thoughts racing through your mind, preventing you from sleeping, causing the panic to ever so slowly increase. “What if I screw up” “What if this team wasn’t the right team” “What if I let the whole team down” “What if I don’t meet their expectations” “What if my streak at Arsenal has just been a fluke”.

A few tears had left your eyes at these thoughts, creating little puddles on your pillow. You decided to get up and go into the hallway, if you were going to cry you didn’t want to wake up Steph. You were crying for such a stupid reason, anyone would kill to be in the starting 11 for the Matildas, let alone a 16-year-old, yet here you were crying, wishing you could be anything but the Matildas starting 11. You quietly got out of your bed and walked towards the door, you opened the door just enough so you could slide out, trying to minimise the light that flooded the room, you made sure to keep hold of the door as it shut in hopes of it closing silently, you didn’t want to make a noise, you didn’t want to wake Steph or anyone else up. Except the thing was, Steph was actually still awake. She waited a while to see if you would come back thinking you had just gone to fill up your water bottle at the end of the hall, however when she noticed your water bottle was still sitting on the side table, she grew a little concerned, but she reassured herself that maybe you were just getting some Panadol or something from the medics. However, when she heard a faint sniffle come from just outside the door she panicked, she quickly jumped out of her bed, and made her way out into the hall.

“Oh bug,” she sighed out at the sight of you, beginning to sit next to you. You sat curled in a ball leaning against the wall, body slightly shaking with your sobs, you looked up at her, your face was red and tearstained, and your eyes were puffy. “It’s okay, I’m here,” she said softly as she pulled you into her lap, you sat there as she rocked you slightly trying to calm you down, you felt like a baby, how could you be so upset over this, and now you had disturbed Steph’s peace because of your pathetic little problem.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you” you mumbled into Steph’s chest.

“Don’t be sorry, you can always wake me for absolutely anything, but you didn’t actually wake me I was still awake” she gently replied, as she wiped your tears away with her shirt.

“Oh,” “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” “I don’t think I should start tomorrow, what if I stuff up, what if I’m not good enough for them, what if I don’t live up to their expectations, what if-” you were cut off by your ever increasing sobs, making it hard to speak, Steph sighed at your words, she had suggested that they didn’t start you, just brought you on early, but Sam and Tony thought starting you was best, coming out with a bang. Steph had hoped maybe her suggestion would be taken, reducing some of the pressure, the media was all over you already, pressuring you, so too were the fans. You were the sister of Leah Williamson, the women who captained the Lionesses to Euro’s victory in 2022, the women who once again would Captain the Lionesses in the fight for yet another victory, one that could well possibly be theirs. There was something extraordinary expected from you by the public, and the second the starting line-up was released that would only increase.

“Y/N/N, it’s okay to be nervous and a little scared, everyone does, it won’t stop, but you get used to it and before some games you will get more nervous than other games, why do you think I wasn’t asleep. But you can’t let the outside world affect you, the people in this building and in this team believe in you, and if you don’t do as well as you hoped well so be it, everyone had off days, off games. Don’t listen to them, they would faulter the second they took a step on the pitch, even the commentators yes they do know what they are talking about but at the end of the day they are there for the public so they are going to feed them, and I promise, we wouldn’t have chosen you if we didn’t believe in you, and Tony only expects that you try your hardest every time you step onto that pitch, that’s all any of us want.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh before continuing “but why are you nervous for tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you said you weren’t sleeping, and then you said some games you get more nervous than others, so I just assumed-” you were cut of by the sound of a door opening, you both look up to see Sam sleepily walking over to you rubbing her eyes.

“Shit, sorry did we wake you up, I didn’t think we were that loud” Steph whispered as Sam sat down.

“No, don’t worry, I couldn’t sleep, thought I heard something so just wanted to check, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter” Sam gave you a look, causing you to blurt it out “I’m scared Sam, what if I stuff up, what if I’m not good enough for them, and now I’ve disturbed both of you when you should be relaxing and sleeping and I shouldn’t be upset about this, it should be something happy but I’m too scared to be happy, and, and my problem isn’t even a big problem, I mean you can’t play and now I’m technically in a way complaining about being in the starting 11 to the person whose spot I took” at those words Sam looked down at the floor, the tears that had started welling up in your eyes, started streaming down, “I-I’m S-sorry, I-I, I shouldn’t have said that”.

Sam looked back up at you, her face held a sterner and more serious look “No, don’t apologise, it’s okay, you did nothing wrong, and never think just because some else may or may not have a bigger problem than you, that your emotions and feelings aren’t valid, and never apologise for what you say. And yes, I can’t play and you get to play but at the same time that doesn’t mean you can’t be upset, it’s a big thing starting in a major tournament let alone …..” you nodded finding her words to be oddly comforting and had stopped crying, Sam had pulled out her phone and was messaging someone, so you looked up to Steph.

“You know, you never answer my question from before,” “Really, I thought I got out of that one” “Nah-uh” you say with some sass as you shake your head.

“I don’t know, I just guess I didn’t really expect to be leading the team out, it’s kind of scary, I mean this is our chance to make history and I guess in a way I’m leading the team out and am in charge of the start of our chance. I just don’t know, its silly anyway,” Steph let out as a singular tear rolled down her check.

“Steph, you have nothing to worry about, you are such an amazing player, and you are such a great leader, and such a great big sister and mini Mum, I believe in you, as you said, Tony wouldn’t have picked you if he didn’t believe in you,” Steph blushed at your kind words, before letting out a small laugh at your end comment, she hug you tighter and mouthed ‘thank you’, before the three of you feel into a calm silence.

“I think we should go outside, get some fresh air quickly” Sam said, breaking the silence whilst almost winking at Steph. “Good idea, Sam”

“But its late, wont we get in trouble?” The last thing you wanted was to be getting in trouble the night before your first world cup game.

“No, we’ll be fine, we will only be quick and plus as Sam said some fresh air will do you good” Steph said as she practically dragged you upright. As you left the elevators and walked towards the hotel doors, you noticed an oddly familiar figure standing just outside the doors, they were holding something, what you didn’t notice was the smile your two captains exchanged at the sight of this figure, Sam opened the door and you stepped outside into the cool air, before you found yourself running up to the figure, “Le!” you exclaimed as you jumped into the arms of your sister, “what are you doing here?”

“Well, I might’ve been told by a certain someone that my little sister was upset, and I thought I would quickly come visit to cheer her up.” You planted your feet back on the ground and said thank you to Sam before turning to talk with your sister, after a few minutes you both had to go back to your rooms, so you said bye to each other. She gave you one of her hoddies which you put on, it being the next best thing to being with her. You fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow, you were tired after all.

______

You were lining up in the tunnel when the nerves started to kick back in, probably due to the fact that when the teams were announced it was also announced that this is your first time starting, first major tournament playing for the Matildas and thus your first World Cup. You were also reminded that your sister had captained the Lionesses when they won the Euro’s just last year. But you felt Caitlin hands on your shoulders, and she squeezed them, Steph had obviously been discussing things with her. It was strange to you that the shoulder squeezes worked, but they did, they almost seemed to bring you out of your thoughts and into the present. As you walked out of the tunnel the stadium erupted, fans cheered like you’d never heard before, which is saying something considering you did attend the Euro’s final, you took your place in the line as the anthems were sung and soon enough the game was starting.

15 minutes in and a free kick was given, you took it, it was almost close enough to just go straight for the goal but you didn’t want to risk it, so you crossed it in, but instead of the ball finding a place at one of your teammates feet or head, it found a place in the back of the net, you had just scored your first goal for the Matildas, your first goal at a major tournament, your first goal at a world cup and the first Matildas goal of the world cup. You were elated. Your elation only increased at the 26th minute, when you headed the ball and it hit the back of the net, however you couldn’t take full credit for that one, Steph had delivered it in perfectly, you just had the easy job of tapping it in.

It was now extra time for the first half, you knew Tony was taking you off at half time, he had told you at the 35th minute during the ‘team tactical’ while Katie was down, Ireland was playing more aggressive than expected and Tony wasn’t risking having his two best strikers injured. Knowing this you decided to push yourself to your limits, you were running after every ball, you were taking tackles, and somehow by some miracle you scored your third goal in the final minute of extra time, you didn’t even know how you did it but you did, and with your goal the ref blew her whistle and the first half was over. The team ran over to you to celebrate, “Hattrick baby!” was screamed in your ear by someone, you all jumped up and down continuing to celebrate before deciding you should probably head back inside.

“Good game?” Sam asked as you walked into the tunnel together.

“Great Game!” You exclaimed, as you followed her through the door, to the locker room.

You took a seat in your locker ready to listen to Tony, being number 8 your locker was in-between Steph and Caitlin’s, “She might hate you now, though,” Caitlin said with a wink, it was a compliment in its finest, but it felt nice to get an inside compliment, like an inside joke not everyone would understand what she means.

“How do you feel? Like a million bucks?” Steph asked.

“Nope, like I chose the right team.”

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #matildas #auswnt

[konigsblog]

I’m sorry this is a ramble but this thought plagues me and I just can’t write so . Spare me my agony here; older stalker Konig.

He sees you at work, some pretty young thing at a seedy diner or bar, barely old enough to be employed there at all. Too young to be working, you’re something he thinks should be housed away and pampered like some dumb pet, so silly of you to not settle down already. Low hanging fruit is what he takes you for, with how naive and innocent you seem; no concept of the world, of seedy men like himself with too much time and money on his hands, his red flags too visible to anyone who knows what to look for. And you poor, poor thing have no clue what he’s like, his faux charm and large tips and solid build blinding you of his true intentions.

He watches, becomes a regular, gets to know you and make small talk and leave fat tips and cheesy compliments that make you giddy and flustered despite the odd air he has about him or the way your coworkers whisper that he’s no good. Eventually his regular appearances turn into him staying til close, then offering to walk you home his possessive streak covered up by vigilant protectiveness that leaves you dizzy with his little touches to your arm or the small of your back, the nearly parental way he kisses your forehead at your door.

Little did you know he’s been planning the whole time; memorizing your work schedules, your daily schedule, the things you eat or drink, places you go on your days off, watching you through your apartment window or sneaking in when you’re out of the house to raid your dirty laundry or leave a gross surprise of his cum in your leftovers. He’s a shadow in your life, always lurking in the background of every scene no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Eventually he’s sneaking in when you’re asleep, so silent for such a behemoth of a man, so he can paw at your soft and prone form while he pants and spills into his hand like a dog in rut while you’re none-the-wiser, unaware of the way he smears his soiled hand on your skin, your cunt, your pillow or sheets.

When he finally takes things further, too determined to do anything but hoard you all to himself, he’s so sweetly condescending as he relays just how long he had planned everything, how cute and stupid you were to never realize what he had been doing all this time, the bits of himself he left around your apartment, on you, inside of you as a precursor to him claiming you fully. You’ve already consumed so much of his seed, you’ll be fine taking it from the source like a good girl Schatz, nicht? Sure his cock is big, but he knows the best ways to stretch your tight hole already, so you’ll be fine! Just stop thinking and let him have you already, he’s worked so hard for you, your the center of his world. His stupid little Liebling, pathetic and confused as she struggles against her bindings and his hands, no choices left but to plead until her voice dies and give herself over to him, because nothing could convince him to accept no as the answer.

anon, my jaw is on the floor, i absolutely adore older stalker-könig and his creepiness. (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

CW: RAPE/NON-CON, AGE GAP, STALKING. 🪦🕊️

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. 18+

my brain rots at the thought of könig sliding inside for the first time, holding your wrists down beside your head as he begins rocking gently. the way he cocks his head to the side almost mocking you, taunting you for being so easy, so pliant, and so vulnerable and naïve around him. the faux sympathy and empathy leaves you longing for his sweet praise, but when you're slapped for falling for the mask he puts on, you sob harder with his slicken cock hammering against your cervix, stuffed inside that inexperienced cunt. it's as if you wanted this to happen, to be used and controlled as if you were a puppet, with your inappropriate and flirty comments after each cheesy, overly sweet compliment he gives you, unaware of his seriousness, how this was a part of his plan to reduce you to a mutt, with your purpose being to serve a man, könig.

he hides himself so well, and you take the bait, falling for the façade of a gentle, older male with sweet intentions. looking back, you can only let out pitiful and pained cries as you connect the dots and realise your stupidity, finally realising what you fell for, how stupid you must look on your back begging for him to stop when he'd given you so many hints and chances to flee, your voice becoming quiet and strained as you plead. the rough texture of his old, scarred skin over your mouth to silence you, against your soft and supple skin, your body shaking with each thrust, showing you what you're worth, what your purpose truly is.

könig shows you what reality is, getting you out of your stupid head, that's doing you no good as he continues with his violation and assault. he teaches you that life isn't fantasy, how you don't know everyone and their intentions or who they truly are, or how you'll fall for it and become a wolf's prey within seconds due to your kindness and naivety, how you never accuse anyone and hope they mean well, too naïve for your own good and assuming the best about everyone. leading you to be forced to take every inch of the man's experienced, hung cock, with your eyes glistening and horrified, and the smell of him on your bedsheets reminding you, or the cum stains along your shirts and panties.

or, perhaps the bruises and marks he leaves along your skin as a warning, or maybe as a sign of ownership - who you belong to, who owns you.

how could you be so foolish? :(

#orla speaks #tw: age gap #tw: age difference #tw: rape #tw: noncon #tw stalking #tw kidnapping #konig x you #konig x reader #konig x y/n #könig x you #könig x reader #könig smut #konig smut #könig modern warfare #modern warefare ii #könig mwii #könig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig cod #könig cod #könig call of duty

[after-witch]

Something Like Consolation [Yandere Alhaitham x Reader]

Title: Something Like Consolation [Yandere Alhaitham x Reader]

Synopsis: Follow up to this yandere Kaveh & Alhaitham imagine scenario. You don't want any comfort from Kaveh in this moment, but you don't imagine you can get any from Alhaitham, either.

I read this post from @j0succ last night about gentle lies and immediately got an idea for a line of dialogue that solved how I wanted to approach a lil follow up to this scenario. Mostly written on my phone so uhh yeah.

Word count: 1376

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

The sight in the bathroom mirror is a far cry from what you saw only minutes before. Daintily applied makeup, finished off with carefully painted star, are ruined--streaking. Ugly. That’s what you see in the mirror. Splotches of color and red eyes and a face scrunched from bitter sadness. 

You look ugly. Mouth quivering as you fight to keep your sounds in, the blur of Alhaitham behind you, moving to shut the door. 

It’s the soft click of the bathroom door shutting that does you in. And pitiful mouth-pinched sobs that shake your chest become thick, choking cries echo off the panels of the bathroom walls. 

You aren’t hoping for Alhaitham to take you in his arms and rub your back and pull you close to his chest, and he doesn’t. Instead he reaches for one of the cloths hanging on the wall and turns the sink on, the heavy sound of water mingling with your own cries. 

He holds it out. “Wash that off, then we’ll get you changed.” 

The thought of taking that cloth makes your arms feel leaden. 

You look up at him, mouth downturned and pitiful and quivering. 

He sighs, and shakes his head. 

“I’ll wash it off for you. Stay still.” 

And you do, coughing out your cries as he dutifully dips the cloth in water again and again, scrubbing your face with the same methodical firmness that he scrubs the rest of you when he deems you too unruly to bathe yourself. 

If it were Kaveh, you think, he would be using the softest of touches. Cooing in between strokes as he gently wipes the makeup away. Kissing your cheek to calm you down. 

But you don’t want Kaveh right now. Not when he hurt you. Not when he lied to you. And if he lied about this... what else was a lie, then?

The way his fingers nimbly stroked your back when you were upset, the soft downturn of his lips when Alhaitham was verbally berating you for being so disobedient, the sweet kisses tinged with wine from a bar you’ll never be able to set foot in? 

Were they all falsehoods, too? Pretty things he created to calm you and soothe you and shut you up? 

When Alhaitham deems your face clean enough, he pulls away the cloth and drops it in a wicker hamper to be taken care of later. 

“Wait.” You reach out and touch his forearm, your voice is soft and thick. A frog in your throat, but the frog is a heavy chest and broken dreams.

He pauses, and regards you with a frustratingly neutral expression. 

Your tongue unsticks from your mouth and you bite your lip to keep sobs from trembling out, so that you can say something to make him stay. Something that might make you feel better, even, if that can be managed. 

“Kaveh…” You fight for the words. You can’t say anything awful. Not just for your own sake--you can’t possibly thrust Kaveh entirely away, not here--but because you never know when Alhaitham would rather lecture you on proper respect than acknowledge when he or Kaveh has done something awful to you.

“Kaveh lied.” That’s what you decide on. It's a fact, and surely not something that you can get in trouble for saying. "Why... why did he do that?"

Alhaitham sighs. At first, you don’t think he’ll say anything. You think he’ll remove your hand from his arm and go get you dressed and tell you to read a book and be quiet.

But he does speak. And what he says takes you aback.

“He should not have lied to you.” He talks down to you even now, the same way he does when he’s instructing you on what you should be doing that day, or how you should sit or how you should eat. For the moment, it doesn’t bother you, because he's clearly on your side. Your side!

“The moment you asked to go to the festival, he should have told you no.” 

A pause, and his voice lowers. There’s something akin to softness in his tone. Maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe you’re so desperate for sweetness that you’re placing the gentle curves of Kaveh’s voice into the man before you. 

“Letting you get your hopes up like that was very cruel of him.”

And you nod--you nod, for once, agreeing with Alhaitham, and you’re so busy looking downcast that you don’t see the pleasant surprise that flickers in his expression for a moment. 

You don’t think before you move. You just do it. You step forward and wrap your arms around his back, pressing your head against his chest, the same way you do to Kaveh when  you need comfort. Which is often. 

Alhaitham is not one for gentle embraces and soft hugs. But you hear him sigh, an annoyed, resigned thing, and you feel his hand pat your back. Just the once. He doesn’t stroke it or pull you close and cluck and coo, but there’s something comforting about the solid weight of his chest underneath you.

His hand, too, is what breaks you again. You cry pitifully into his chest, turning your face this way and that, getting his clothing wet with hot tears and probably snot that he will make you clean up later.

“I… I…” What do you want to say? What can you say? You think about your outfit, the carefully embroidered flowers, the painfully tight stitching that took you hours upon hours. An outfit you sweat and quite literally bled for, the callused little pinpricks on your finger pads as proof.

“I worked hard on my outfit,” you say, squeezing Alhaitham tighter as your voice gets thinner and pinched. “I really did.” 

You worked hard on it, because it was your ticket to something you wanted, and what was the crux? It was something for you, for once. Not Kaveh. Not Alhaitham. You were going to run around that festival and breathe in the smell from the food stands and ask them to win you prizes and enjoy the exhilarating pounding in your chest from the fireworks at the end of the night. 

Every stitch you made was one step closer to that. Only it wasn’t. Only it was for nothing at all. And now you’re sobbing in a bathroom while Alhaitham listens, letting you cry it out, and what was any of it for? 

You’re about to pull away when Alhaitham hums underneath you. 

“The embroidery was well done.”

Your breath feels like it stops, and there’s a soft, stuttering sort of gasp that escapes your mouth. Alhaitham… never compliments you. Not like that. Not in a way that you can hold onto and carry with you. 

You pull back, sniffling, wiping at your face with your hands as you stare up at him. 

“It… it was?” You gulp down your cries, and your eyes widen, and you want so much from him in this moment that you don’t know what to do.

He nods, and his hands push you away a little, holding onto your arms with his fingers wrapped around your upper arms. Not to get you away from him, but to steady you, you think. To keep you firm in his embrace, and not the other way around.

“Yes. The stitches were remarkably straight. And you managed the flowers without having to redo them.” 

You offer a tearful smile. 

“I-I read about the flower techniques in the book you gave me about sewing, after I asked for some supplies.”

And is that a smile of his own? Aimed at you, no less? It makes you swallow your tears in the same way Kaveh’s kisses might have done. 

“Good. You should always take the time to read the books I give you. It’s better for your education.”

And you, weepy thing, distraught thing, nod again. Yes, Alhaitham. You’re right, Alhaitham. 

He does pull away this time, and regards you with a look that might almost be described as pleased. 

“Come. We will get you dressed and then you can sit with me while I read.”

And you, wiping at your tears, catching a stray bit of makeup that didn’t come up with the cloth, nod again. 

You follow him out the door and pretend not to see the figure of Kaveh in the corner of your eye, watching the two of you warily. 

#yandere alhaitham #yandere genshin impact #yandere #afterwitch writes #wrote this mostly on my phone during physical therapy recovery today do dee do

[fimmiesthinker]

flashing lights - kazuha x fem!reader

6th!member reader being whipped by kazuha new hair (self insert tbh), fluff drabble!

the first official lesserafim concert, flame rises, was just in a few hours but it didn't stop the room for being chaotic and you for feeling nervous. stylist confirming clothes, the staffs making sure everything was set up, all the tension was affection you even if you didn't want to agree.

in front of you, eunchae was putting a beanie and a wig to hide her new blonde hair color. it was funny to think of how your fans would react when they see the change of hair every member got.

sakura with a two toned blue hair, chaewon going back to the classic dark brown hair, yunjin with a slightly shorter hair, you had the back end of your hair in a dark red color and kazuha.. well, that's the thing you hadn't seen kazuha yet.

you just arrived from the salon minutes ago and apparently kazuha was busy re-checking her clothes so you didn't even knew what color she was going to do. a blue too probably? she would look good too with a two toned brown, mhmm a red? then you two would be matching and—

"Microphones !!" the staff voice fills the room, taking you out of your thoughts to the busy room again.

you sigh, getting up to pick your mic so you could be ready sooner.

since your back was to the door you didn't saw kazuha entering in the room and soon after approaching your side to get her microphone.

kazuha places her hand on your waist, moving you a little bit to the left so she could take her mic

you take a look at her and oh. a blonde streak. kazuha did a blonde streak.

your thoughts started running a mile unintentionally.

pretty pretty pretty be mine? pretty

zuha notice your staring and tilts her head in confusion "uhm? you need help setting up?"

you deny quickly, not even realizing that your mouth acted faster than your own thought

"you're pretty" you say in a heartbeat, it sounded too soft even for your own ears, almost like a confession, "y- i mean, your hair! Is pretty it fits you ..mhm" you feel your face becoming hot and break eye contact, looking anywhere but zuha

before you could escape she gently wraps her arms on your shoulder "yours is pretty too." her hand wander until the nape of your neck, carefully brushing the ends of your hair "very pretty." eyes looking into yours, a soft smile on her lips

shit

"Uhmm.. I-"

"come on lovebirds, we need to rehearsal" sakura appears, nudging you and then taking her microphone. kazuha nods, smiling at you again and before you could say anything she walks away to the door

"what you are so red for, hm?" kkura smirks, looking between you and kazuha

"please don't." you mumble and cover your face with both hands

#le sserafim imagines #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim x reader #nakamura kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader

[tobifuyu]

Snowflakes In My Stomach When We’re Kissin’

RAN HAITANI x f!reader

cw: nsfw, mdni, smut, fwb to lovers, oral (male reciving), tiny bit of angsty themes with happy ending, sappy fic, ran being a simp as always to feed my “he’s a self-centered bitch until he finds the one” agenda.

wc: 3.2k

a/n: surprise… i’m back with a christmas present! this is the first fic in a three pieces installment, which can all be read as standalone but come from the same universe and evolve in the span of three different christmases. in case you didn’t know, in japan christmas is a holiday in which people spend time with their partners because they reserve new year’s for family (not only i’ve seen it in a whole lot of shoujo anime but i’ve asked my japanese coworkers to confirm eheh). it’s also customary to eat cake! ;)

“Though you said you just wanted to get a coffee.”

The only thing peeking from the red scarf is the tip of his nose, flushed with the same color of the fabric that’s wrapped around his neck. You imagine his lips curved in a smirk under it.

When he came to pick you up earlier this morning, you thought he made a bold choice pairing the red garment with the unusual color of his hair. Up until then, you always believed red and purple would clash.

But Ran made it work, somehow. Like most things in his life, he did it with a confidence that made you question your world and how you view it even if for just a second.

“Well, that we did,” He shakes his hand, his long fingers easily supporting the weight of the full cup. You can see the steam rise from it and wonder if he’s not drinking it because he’s scared to burn his tongue or because he’s not ready to go home yet.

The two of you are currently walking around Shiba Park, not too far from Roppongi Hills. The peak of Tokyo Tower is hidden in plain sight behind the trees, stripped naked by the season, and adorned by strings of fairy lights.

In daylight they look clear, void of color, and empty, they come alive at night. Just like we both do, thinks Ran.

Ran does like winter. He believes winter poses more opportunities to forgo going out and staying in bed. He loves to gaze out of his apartment’s window and spot rain pit patting against the glass, watching the water droplets leave streaks behind as he lets himself get lulled back to sleep.

He also likes that he can layer more clothes, the more the merrier, he says, it’s easier to style it. You would agree, because he looks particularly elegant with his long black coat, left unbuttoned to glimpse at the nice sweater under it. The sight of his tightly clad body alone ignites a fire inside of you, one that is meek but insistent, and will soon start to burn you inside out.

What Ran doesn’t like it’s the cold. The wind is not fair against his pale skin, it leaves it red and stinging, much like his heart when he wakes up after a night together and doesn’t find you there. He does not like the cold, the cold of the sheets around him when you’ve left hours before.

He would like to pretend he’s clueless as to why, the same way you’re staring at him now, but he knows the reason behind it.

“Are you gonna tell me why we’re wandering around without a destination in freezing weather?

“Can’t you just live a little?”

You scoff at his words, taking another sip out of your hot chocolate to bite back an insult. He’s already testing your patience, and you have very little of it left today of all days.

“We should go eat some cake, I’d love an excuse to grab a Mont Blanc for later at that bakery by your apartment. Y’know I like it there.”

Cake. You don’t like cake, and you don’t like what eating cake with him would mean today of all days.

“Why do you have to make everything so complicated, Ran?” You sigh, head shaking in disappointment.

When you decided to start this with Ran, it was because you believed the man to be on the same wavelength as you. Ran had seemed like someone who knew what he wanted, and you had been sure that was not you.

He had promised that would stay the case. Your heart could not afford to be cared for by somebody.

When you look at him this time, you don’t notice how the wind is whipping the skin of his high cheeks red because his scarf is now covering everything but the lidded eyes staring at you.

At this rate Ran might end up hating winter: you seem to get colder with the season. He doesn’t think he would pick sleeping in over you, so if he could, he would like for summer to last all year long.

He’d like for you to cling to him even when the temperature is so high you can barely breathe in your cramped room, sweat sticking to both your skin and his, like your very first night together.

Because where the holidays bring glee to most, to you they’re a reminder of times that are long gone. A childhood spent decorating the tree and wishing for the perfect Christmas gift, now turned into a life of solitude. Your fast-paced job and lonely apartment away from home don’t leave space for the frivolity of Christmas.

“Didn’t wanna leave you alone,” he speaks so clearly of his intentions you almost feel shame, “Did ya think I would’ve left you bask in your gloominess, today? ‘M not that bad of an ass.”

You don’t think Ran owns you anything. He shouldn’t be picking up the pieces of you that other people left scattered and putting them back together as if it were a kids’ puzzle.

Ran knows you don’t really have anyone, he thinks he’s much like you, and would be just as bitter if he didn’t have his brother.

“You left Rin by himself?”

You hear his muffled laughter, “‘course not. Haruchiyo’s there. Y’know how they are.”

Yes. In love, you suppose. And you wonder if Ran thinks that is what it is. And what is it between you two?

You can feel his body warmth as he gravitates closer to you, “‘M cold,” is his excuse when his now ungloved hand catches yours. He intertwines your fingers, brushing the back of your hand with his thumb, before hiding them away in his coat pocket.

Gotta warm your cold heart up, he thinks.

“Saving you from this freezing weather,” is what he says out loud.

But you know it’s because the movement brings you closer, he pulls you so you’re now shoulder to shoulder, and you’re not strong enough to keep your head from falling on his. As if you were fresh snow in the sun, you melt in his presence.

“Let’s go get cake,” your voice is but a soft whisper, running past him like the breeze through the dying leaves, the wind finally settling down.

And that’s how he ends up in your apartment. Sounds of wet skin slapping against one another fill the void as he buries himself deep inside of you.

The sweet pastries Ran bought long forgotten over your kitchen counter, as he’d much rather taste the honeyed nectar spilling from between your thighs.

He’s grabbing at them now, the hold on your flesh sure to leave marks behind as he folds your legs so that he can loop his arms under your knees, keeping you spread open for him.

Big body caging you under his warmth with his forehead pressed against yours, and open mouths a breath away from the other, sharing sounds of pleasure without ever meeting in the middle.

It had been a tantalizing dance when you first started sleeping together. Like most people in your situation, you had both concluded that it would be best if you refrained from kissing. Deeming it too intimate.

Ran had caved after the third time you ended up in his bed, lips too needy to be kept from yours. He had let out a soft plead before you met him in the middle.

From then on you made it your mission to never kiss him outside of your bedroom activities, too scared of the power his kisses held over you. He and his annoying self had taken it as a challenge, always on the edge of his seat waiting to see who’d kiss the other first.

“Oh fuck this,” Ran groans before giving in.

You catch sight of his eyelids fluttering shut, hiding that violet color that you love so much, and your lips lock in a kiss that takes your breath as much as the hips still snapping against yours.

The coarse patch of hair on his navel repeatedly brushes against your puffed-up clit, making your hips jump up to chase the friction. The man is shamelessly shallowing your moans and caressing your tongue with his, teeth closing around your bottom lip when you go to pull away.

“Ngh, you taste like cake.”

Ran had snuck a bite of one of the pieces the moment he stepped out of the bakery, and the sweet taste on his tongue was, in your opinion, way better than the real deal.

His hand grasps your chin with firmness, the tips of his fingers squeezing your cheeks and making your blushed lips pucker up.

“So you do like cake, mh?”

“No, I don-“ Ran squeezes harder, and your mouth parts. A glob of spit falls on your tongue, one that you shallow under his scrutinizing gaze.

The moan that he lets out at that reverberates through your chest as he bends so close your bodies are now completely pressed against one another, sharing body heat.

This is what sex with Ran is, a concoction of rough touches and fucking that turn soft and slow when you least expect it. He likes to tease and surprise you, stealing the prettiest sounds from your lips and making them his. Making you his.

“Y’don’t like cake, s’okay. I know you like me,” one of his hands teasingly pinches your right nipple, respective eye closing in a wink.

You like that he makes sex fun, cracking jokes as if his cock weren’t pumping inside of you. You like it, you like him, but you can’t have him know that.

“That’s not-“ he interrupts you once again, this time with the snapping of his hips. He starts fucking you like he means it. Calculated thrusts hitting against the sweet spot only he knows how to find.

Ran is on his knees now, hands firmly planted on your raised hips, guiding you back and forth over his length.

“Fuck! Ran, fuck that feels good- so good-“

Slurred words leave your panting mouth as your hands hold onto the pillow behind your head for dear life, back arched and chest exposed to the greedy eyes that are raking over your body. From your perked-up nipples, begging to be played with, to the way your cunt is stretching around his cock.

“Don’t have enough hands for the things I wanna do to you,” Nonetheless, he repositions his right one so that it’s splayed over your navel, thumb reaching down to rub tight circles on your slicked clit.

“Fuckin’ cunt squeezing me so good,” moans spill from your mouth at his words, his voice is strained but maintains that hint of icy superiority and poise that is characteristic of Ran.

The way your hole flutters around him is maddening, Ran can feel your walls clenching against his length so perfectly. He can feel everything.

As a matter of fact, so do you. No matter how dumb he fucks you, you can’t ever miss out on the sweet feeling of his bare skin caressing your wet cunt. The squelching sounds are filling the air around you, making your cheeks heat up and your head lull to the side, trying to avoid his eyes in shame.

Half face buried in the pillow, you beg for him, “Ran, please, please. I need to cum so bad.”

His thrusts slow down, thumb stilling over your clit, and you hear him hum, pensive.

“Maybe if you looked at me, pretty, I might think about letting you.”

Gathering your remaining strength, you open your eyes to the sight of his glorious body above yours.

The wetness of his skin shines under the light of the outside street lamp, peeking in from the window, full body tattoo so enchanting, you watch it move and bend over his rising chest.

With violet eyes fixed on yours, he stands tall, unreachable.

The purple strands that fall from his gelled-back hairstyle are the only giveaway that he’s not so perfect and pristine after all, but he still looks like a god in your devoted eyes.

“Ran,” you call his name so softly he tumbles from the skies right to you.

His body bends to lay over yours, weight supported by his arms at your sides. With a snap of his hips, he breaks the longing stare you’re both sharing, mushroom tip hitting the spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Oh my god, that feels so-“ “I know, baby, s’okay.” One of his hands caresses over your head, before stopping at your neck and closing around your windpipe. The pressure of his touch against your feverish skin is delicious.

Your nails are now creating indents in the flesh of his arms. You want more, you need him to break you.

Ran can’t stop thrusting, pounding, burying himself inside of you to the hilt. He’s never wanted to be this close to someone before, never needed their warmth as he does yours.

He stops you before you can reach your clit with your fingers and, wanting to be the one to take you over the edge, he uses his free hand to rub over it vehemently.

“Coming, I’m coming,” are the rushed words that fall from your lips before you hit your peak. Wanton moans are gracing Ran’s ears, making his balls strain from holding back, but he wants you to bask in the glow of your orgasm before he reaches his.

“Doin’ so well fo’ me, look at this pretty pussy. Gushing all over my cock.” He looks down as he says this, watching how good he’s splitting you open, his cock coming out of you covered with the white sheen of your arousal, then plunging back in.

Your spent body is overstimulated, twitching in his hold as if trying to run away from the pleasure.

“You’re the only one, baby.” Ran lets slip, the sight of you in your most vulnerable state makes him just as weak, “S’all yours, so take it.” And he means it, you’re the only one.

Before you, life used to be in black and white. Ran had tried everything to paint it some other color, from violence to sex, but nothing ever came close to holding you in his arms.

Color is always all around him, but Ran’s devoid of it until you touch him.

You pull him down to you at the confession, arms wrapped around his neck, chests pressed against one another, hard nipples tickling the soft skin.

The pace suddenly turns slow, and you wonder if Ran does not care about coming anymore. His focus is on you, and you’re staring back at him with just as much affection.

“Let me take care of you,” it’s what you suggest once you’ve come down from your high, fingers pressing against his shoulders to have him lay back in the sheets. Short hair sprawled over the white pillow like a halo behind his troubled head.

Both of your thighs are circling his hips, too scared to have Ran pull out, and be prevailed by that sense of emptiness and cold that comes from being away from him.

Fighting a whirlpool of emotions, you feel the need to silence your mind with his lips on yours. The clashing of your noses does nothing to stop you from kissing each other passionately.

The blame should be on Ran for making you fall for him and gifting you a brand new reason to celebrate Christmas, but you should’ve known better when he walked into your life with that snarky smirk that makes you sigh just thinking about it. You bite his lip in retaliation.

The feeling of Ran’s hands traveling over your skin and sinking with his strong grip on the flesh of your hips is what makes you separate your two halves, pussy clenching around the length that has been filling you up so perfectly. The need to make him feel just as good swells up on the inside.

“Fuck, please,” A choked whisper, falling from the pearlescent of his lips, wet with your love, blood pouring out of the bitten skin.

Purple and red do look good together, you think.

Your hands are warm, trailing up his stomach like the ink on his skin. He feels as if you’re moving too fast, scared he might blink and lose the moment, and at the same time too slow for his liking. He’s begging and he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. But you do.

Ran’s hands tighten around the bedsheets. He wants to touch everywhere you’ve been, wants to get stained in you. Like fresh paint that sticks on skin, he’s now colored in your shades.

Wet kisses are being left on the top of his shaft. Ran’s right hand finds your hair, waving his fingers between the loose strands to uncover the sight of your pretty face.

Lidded eyes are watching you glide your tongue down his hardness, caressing the bluish veins running across its sides, tasting yourself on it.

When your lips wrap around his sensitive tip you have to hold down his hips with both hands.

The peace you set is slow, taking him in your mouth inch by inch. His girth stretches your lips and he thumbs the lower one as you look up at him with tears forming at your lashline.

“Mouth feels like fucking heaven, angel.”

Ran can barely contain himself, dangling from the edge, his balls heavy with his release.

When your nose is buried in the hair at the base of his cock, you know you’ve successfully taken him whole. A huge accomplishment on your part, considering how blessed he is.

With your throat clenching around him, it doesn’t take long to feel him twitch in your mouth.

“Yeah, pretty girl, just like that. Make me cum, fuck!”

Bobbing your head at his request, you’re hasty in sucking your checks around his length, letting him come on the back of your tongue with languid moans that contain your name.

No need for him to ask, you’re one step ahead by swallowing his semen, making a show of it before leaving a wet kiss on his tip, to collect the white drop that was spilling over.

“Better than any cake.”

Booming laughter fills the space around you as you scoot closer to his tired body, laying on his naked frame and stealing all his warmth.

“I do like you.”

“I know,” Ran looks down at you, left check cutely smushed against his pecs, “Let’s spend New Year’s together.”

The faint movement of your hair brushing his skin tells him you’re agreeing, “And what about… next year?”

“Let’s spend them all together.”

You’re warm in his hold, and he figures the fairy lights might’ve come on in the park.

Ran thinks back to the rest of the untouched cake on your kitchen counter and is happy enough that the two of you have exchanged Christmas gifts in your own special way.

After all, he took away the cold, and you’ve brightened up his life.

That’s more of what you could’ve wished for.

#ran haitani #ran haitani imagines #ran haitani smut #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani x y/n #ran haitani x you #ran imagines #ran smut #ran x oc #ran x reader

[allkordelia]

Do You Love Me

You were on the bed in daemon's chamber waiting for him when you felt a flutter in your belly, your hand moved over rubbing it feeling a bit out of it that this was happening. 

You laid flat on the bed looking up at the ceiling, when daemon wanted you to come with him to king's landing from driftmark you thought it be an fun adventure being in a new place, staying at the red keep, getting treated like royalty, and having daemon's undivided attention.

It was one of those dreams you always wish will happen when you were a child, but in yours you never imagine the rogue prince take a liking to you of all people. You sigh thinking about how you got to this state of living with the targaryen prince, it wasn't a good memory to go back on but it did seal your fate with your lover in the end that made it worth it.

~

You were on the couch in dragonstone when your mind went to the past couple of months of you being with daemon, you hummed to yourself at the fun you had between the sheets and out of them you never wanted it to end. But, that feeling was shortly lived after weeks of staying in the red keep. He started confining you to his chambers while he was away doing his "duties", and when he finally got bored of his duties he took you away to dragonstone where he stayed with you for a month or two before leaving you there to your own devices.

He didn't even tell you that he was leaving until you found out when you saw him riding on caraxes from the balcony of his chambers, and when he finally came back he brought another woman with him with tan skin and dark hair. You remember waiting for him to come back to his chambers so you could demand to go back home for leaving you here all alone, it was nearing midnight when he walked through the door the first thing you grabbed was a book you brought from his huge library.

Before you got the chance to throw it he had you on the bed naked and fucked out of your mind to point that you forgot what he did to make you angry, after that night he didn't come back not until the next day and then he didn't come back the following day but he did the day after that so it took the seventeenth night since he got back for you to realized that he was jumping between you and the other woman. It was, mysaria, the name you come to found out as the other woman night today when you were waiting in front of the fireplace for your tea.

You twist and untwist the white curly streak that you got from your father around your finger as you stared into the fire, the knock on the door made you shoot up from your seat and hurry to crack open the door.

"Did anyone see you?"  The older maester shook his head.

"Good." You opened the door wider seeing the white teacup on a small plate in his hand.

"You should give it a couple of minutes or more to cool down before drinking, m'lady." You nodded taking it from his hand looking down at the light amber liquid.

"Mind you, m'lady. Beware that this tea has very dangerous effects." You looked at the older gentleman frowning a bit.

"I'll take that in consideration, thank you have good night maester." The old man bowed walking away before you closed the door you looked up snd down the hall to make sure their weren't anyone spying on you.

You walked back over to the couch you blew on the steaming cup, the smell of honey and mint engulf your senses before setting it down on the table, you moved your hair from your face and behind your ear before grabbing the book next to you to past the time as you wait for the tea to cool down. As you were reading you heard the door to your chamber's open making you stand up and turn to see daemon, you moved to the side blocking the tea from his vision.

"Daemon." You said flatly.

"Issa jorrāelagon."  He smiled moving his eyes all over you.

"Shouldn't you be with your other mistress night." He came to stand in front of you as his hands moved gently up and down your arms.

"I took her back to king's landing."

"Really? Does this mean you taking me back to diftmark." You asked trying not to sound too hopeful, daemon wasn't looking at you as he caress your collarbone.

"You want to leave me?"

"Of course not, but rather than leaving me here all alone you can take me back home...and come get me again once your finish with your duties." He laughed in your face as you said the most peculiar thing.

"So, you can start opening your legs for the sailors and knights...?" He said finally looking at her.

"I don't think so." He pecked you lips before trailing his kisses down your neck.

"I'm just saying–" he cut you off muttering into your neck.

"That's your problem. Your talking when you should be getting on your knees and pleasuring your prince." He hands were grabbing your backside as he leaves love bites on your neck, he tries to back you to the couch but you stumbled knocking against the table making the tea and small plate make a clanking sound.

"A bit late for tea, isn't it." He asked after catching you before you fell, you looked to see he was looking down at it with curiosity.

"Just something to help me sleep...you know how I am when I'm in a new place," you said you could tell he wanted to inspect the light amber liquid making you slide you hands from his arms to his abdomen to his get to his belt making you unbuckling them to draw his attention back to you.

" You should undress you smell."  He turned his head back to you before letting out a pleased hum when your hand rubbed his cock through his pants.

"I thought you like my scent." He says taking off his leather jerkin tossing it to the side, only in his white tunic showing off his chest before he leaned his head against her own.

"Oh, I do...just not when it's mixed with another woman perfume." You backed up away from him before flopping on the couch.

"Is that a hint of jealousy, my love?" He asked staring down at you making you snort.

"please..." you muttered leaning your head back on the rolled arm of the couch, "...I have nothing to feel for such things as envy over who you fuck."

"So, you wouldn't care if i bring another woman back here?" You turned your head looking at him.

"No, it's your castle...you are the prince and future heir. I am your whore you do not belong to me so you can do as you wish. My only purpose here is to please and make you happy." You shrugged slightly  as you watch him walk closer to you before kneeling down by your side.

"So, if I tell you stay here with me forever, will you?" He asked his fingertips grazed your expose legs and thighs.

"Yes." You answered feeling a bit of ill in the pit of your stomach, in the amount of time of being with daemon. His slowly started to becomeproprietorial over you to the point that you felt  suffocated and it makes you mad that you couldn't  really do much about it.

You couldn't tell him no because of his temper you know that daemon wouldn't put a hand on you, but there are other ways to hurt a woman without using violence.

"I'm pleased to hear that especially since..." he said softly trailing his kisses from side of your thigh up to your waist, "...I want to see your belly swell with my sons and daughters." He chuckled before peaking the top of your stomach causing you to tense up and sit up making him sit on his knees. You looked at him stunned at his words, he tilt his head to the side with a small grin making you scoff.

"Don't jest about something like that." You exhaled heavily.

"What? You do not wish to have childern, I mean I get it children can be such irritating creatures." His hands running up and down your calf and thigh while looking at you, you glanced at him before looking away into the fireplace.

"I do want childern...I just don't want them–right now." You said looking down at your hand playing with your ring.

"You mean you don't want them from me." You snapped you head him as he wore a serene look.

"I didn't say that–"

"No, but you were thinking it and it's okay." He said rubbing your knee making you bite the inside of your bottom lip as you felt relieved.

"The gods will decide when it's time for us to have childern, and until then we will have to keep trying." He gave you a placid smile before kissing your knee, making you let out a nervous giggle feeling that same dread creep up in your stomach again.

"...yea." you leaned forward grabbing the tea before you were stopped by daemon's hand wrapping around your wrist, a bit of fear shoot through as you looked at daemon as he took the cup of your hand.

He smelled it before he gave you a soft scowl getting up, "Daemon–"  you started.

"Are you pregnant?" You looked at him for a minute.

"I don't know...I been throwing up all day." He look down at you with a narrow eyes before glancing down at him.

"Your lying again." You shook your head opening your mouth, " ...you know why I know your lying, because the maester told me you been visiting him for the past six days straight since I been back." You looked up at him with a wary look as you swallow thickly.

"Daemon–"

"Do you want to drink it?" He asked calmly.

"I-I don't–I–"

"It's a simple question, do you want it?" He said again looking down at you, you hesitated looking st him before glancing at the cup.

"Yeah, I want it." You whispered bracing yourself for his wrath.

"Ok." He held the cup in front of you waiting for you to grab it, you look at him curiously as you looked between him and the cup.

"Take it." He urge straighten his arm a bit towards you, you exhale feeling s bit shaky as you  pulled your hand up to grab it only for it to be thrown at the fireplace. The cup hits the stone causing it to shattered and the liquid to stain the carpet, you looked at daemon as if he lost his mind as he gave you a curious look back.

"What the in seven hells, daemon? Are you mad." You stood up looking at him.

"I could be asking you the same thing, did you really thing I was going to let you kill our unborn son."  He took a step forward only for you take a step back.

"Daemon, please. We can not have this child." You pleaded backing up as he walk towards you.

"We can and we will..."  You stopped s good distance away from him as we stood behind the couch.

"I'm not having this baby."

"...you make it sound like you have a say, I am your prince you do as I say–"

"No!" You snapped.

"I will not raised your bastard, daemon. I will not give him the life that was burden upon me by my own lord father." You hissed, you told him this long ago about your father, you  never mentioned a name but he knew and you told him of your life  in the brothel with your mother and he told me about his own childhood.

"I'll marry you–"

"Please. How long will that..hmmm? Your just going to get bored and leave to found something better and when you do so will I."  He looked stern at you taking a step closer but you stood your ground.

"Your not taking my son and if i have to I will lock you away in the highest tower I can found and have you remain there until our child is born."

"And then what? You gonna parade him around the royal court, they will not accept him as their own when they found out that his mother's a bastard whore."

"You can't be a whore if you only had one customer...which was me." He  nonchalantly.

"Not the point I still worked in a pleasure house–"  you dismissed his comment.

"As a cupbearer."  He rolled his eyes closing the distance between you both as his hands went to your arm.

"I understand your concern but I want to have this child with you, I want to be with you." You shook your head in pain.

"For how long? I can't be stuck in this castle all alone with no help and have my child questioned if his father loves him or not."

"I will never leave your side or our child, I would rather burn than to be absent father," his hand grasped your face before leaning his head against your own, "I'll never abandon you or our baby I promise." You covered his hand with yours before nodding.

~

The door opened making you turn your head to see daemon, he was gone all night with his golden cloaks killing and maiming criminals. He eyes wondered around the room quickly before landing on you he smiled coming over to you, you moved away from to the other side of the bed as he tried to kiss you.

"Uh-uh stop right there." You put up a finger stopping him in his tracks as he went to climb on the bed.

"Your not getting in our bed smelling like a dead rat." He rolled his eyes backing up and moving his side of the bed and kneeling by side you.

"Can I atleast get a little peck?" He asked.

"No." You deadpan, "maybe if you change and take a bath, I considered it." You smiled mockingly.

"I can't have to attend the small council, my brother wishes to see me." He rolled his eyes leaning his head on the bed.

"Yeah, after the screams of your victims echo through the wee hours of the night, I'm not surpised." He hummed before getting up.

"Let's get this over with." He sighed.

"You have fun." He looked down at you with a look.

"No, your coming with I want you there when I announced our marriage to my brother." You gave a strain look a bit nervous, it been five months and daemon kept his word as he stayed by your side through the pregnancy. You be lying if you said that you weren't nervous anything can happen, and you mean anything as sweet as viserys is he is a bit dense and likes to listen to his hand rather than his own.

Nobody knew that you were with child when we arrived daemon made sure you went straight to his chambers unnotice, he wanted to tell his brother face to face rather than have gossip spread through the castle and spoil his plan. You had a cloak on hiding your body as you walked with daemon holding your hand, you walked in the room to found just three members of the council already here.

"Prince Daemon." They all stood up and bowed to him, no one looked your way as they took their seats. You wanted to stand near the window that overlooked king's landing, but before you could move Daemon pulled you to sit next to him making your nerves multiple with each step. Your free hand moved to your stomach when the doors opened reavling the king and his hand, you were such a nervous wreck that you couldn't even get up and so respect so you just looked down at your lap instead waiting for this to be over.

You were surpised that otto didn't say anything to your presents neither did the king, so the meeting begin and they discussed what happened last night. It seemed like time moved slow as they talked, you glanced at daemon who wore a bored looked as he listened to lord strong talk no wonder he hated coming to these meetings they were so fucking dull. You kept yourself from yawning for the fifth time already, how can anyone stand to listen to otto talk when all he been doing is countering everyones response while the king sat there like a statue.

"Now, that we got that resolved. Daemon. What did you wish to announce." Viserys asked looking over at his brother.

"That I have found a wife and she's expecting." He smiled widely looking at you before looking back at his brother, viserys along with the rest of the men looked stunned.

"O-oh, daemon. That's good news." He looked over at Otto a bit lost for words, before looking back at daemon.

"We will be getting married in the beginning of spring." You looked over at Otto who leaned forward with his hands in front of him.

"And may I asked, m'lady. What house are you from?" You swallow as everyone eyes were on you.

"She's doesn't belong to a house–"

"So, she's a commoner. What do your father do?" He asked.

"I never knew my father, my lord." You answered, "...what about your mother?" The king asked making you looked at him hesitated to answer.

"She was–She worked in a brothel back at diftmark, my king."

"Not only a commer, but a bastard one at that." Otto sighs glancing at the king who wore a small frown, daemon looked at Otto with a void look before turning his attention back to his brother.

"I wish to marry her and I want you there to witness it," the king looked conflicted before he can open his mouth otto spoke up.

"We have already arranged a marriage in The Vale with House Royce to lady rhea royce of runestone." Daemon scoffed.

"The Vale? In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women. I can assure you, the sheep are prettier." He said snarky glaring at Otto, you bite your lip holding in snicker.

"She is a good and honorable woman from a great house, while your..." Otto looked at you with disfavor causing daemon put his hand over his sword handle, "...paramour comes from no house has no titles, and fundamentally is a bastard and daughter of a whore. She and her unborn child will bring nothing but shame upon this house." You link your hand with daemon's hand from under the table feeling the rage radiating off him.

"Your words hold nothing to me, she is the woman I wish to marry." Otto rolled his eyes.

"Your grace–" Otto looked to king viserys but daemon cut him off.

"I could have stayed in dragonstone..." he said catching viserys attention, "I could have gotten married without your knowing I could have let you found out through gossip and hearsay but I didn't." Daemon confessed.

"I came to you face to face instead, out of my love for my family and for her. So, I ask you brother for your blessing to marry the woman I love." The men and you were taken back by daemon's words, no one ever heard daemon beg he wasn't weak like that but it seems for you he make a exception.

"You have my blessing."

"Your grace–" Otto said shocked.

"No, I made my decision." The king got up making everyone follow suit, he walked over to you grabbing your hand.

"Welcome to the family." He smiled making you shake his hand thanking him, he left with a brooding otto following after him leaving only you and daemon alone.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

"Like I'm about to be sick." You giggle nervously turning to him, " I can't belive he said yes." Your turned your head to the door where everyone left.

"My brother have a soft heart, one of his biggest weaknesses but also one of his redeeming qualities." His hand rested on your cheek making you to him giving him a teasing smile.

"So, you love me?" He looked down at you before shrugging with a thoughtful look.

"Maybe. Do you love me?" He asked, you made a looking as if you were thinking.

"Hmmm, I'm getting there." You smiled making him lean down and kiss you, but like before you dodge it having him kiss your cheek.

"Come on. You are I need of a bath." He hummed walking behind you with his arms around your waist.

"Will you join me?" He whispered near your ear making nudge him with your elbow slighly making him chuckle.

"I'll think about it." He hmmed again kissing your neck as you giggled echoed through the halls.

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