#I made a list of everything I brought. and I have it! except for this one specific t shirt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

undercoverpena · 2 months

Text

a debt to pay

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: you surprise frankie by coming home earlier than planned, answering the door a-la-fake-porn like, making him drag you to your bedroom.

warnings: smut. established relationship. praise kink. minor (and I mean brief) hand necklace. dirty talk. okay, frankie likes to talk kink. cowgirl riding for iwd. and the pizza goes cold (felt it needed a warning) wordcount: 4.8k an: to the wonderful, amazing @morallyinept - happy international women's day! i hope frankie treating you right is what you had on your bucket list for the day. but if not, just know you inspire me, and i'm grateful for your friendship every day. and ily.

Nothing should surprise him.

He’s seen a lot. A thing some could argue is far too much. In some ways, they’re right.

Frankie isn’t sure people who weren’t doctors should know the exact hue of red that blood is—shouldn’t know the pain from a bullet grazing his shoulder, catching flesh and ruining cloth.

Still, he found himself continually surprised—especially the night he met you.

Falling into him, into his life. Disrupting his days from bleeding into the next, knocking things off their axis. Change should be scary, but it was all welcomed, just not in a way he’d ever thought he’d earned.

Somehow, amidst the chaos you brought with you, you also handed him harmony. You made the corners of his world slot together. Slowly, he even found himself anchoring down to brick and mortar, and calling it ‘home’ for the first time since he’d originally left his for battles and fighting.

In time, even as months became a year, your things found their way to be with his, Frankie had assumed he’d seen everything. Happy to accept it, the routine, the complacency. He looked forward to lazy Sunday mornings with his fingers inside yours, toes curling; Thursday nights in a bar, watching a line appear on your brow as you scoured your brain for an answer to the trivia question.

He liked it, adored it.

And then you opened the front door for him.

Flooding him in golden light that makes him squint, before he finds himself reminded, quickly, he hasn’t seen it all. Not even by a margin.

Because you're not supposed to be here, due back tomorrow.

Your voice on the phone earlier muted, low, "I miss you, Morales," as he stares at your untouched, clean mug on the kitchen counter.

Yet, here you stand. All veiled in barely anything except bits of lace and sheer, a sight his eyes aren't able to tear away from even if he tries. Not even the dryness in his throat or the warmth emanating from the pizza box he's holding (attempting to sear his skin to his palm) is bothering him.

"Bab—"

His words are cut short, ended.

"Oh," you gasp. “Let me take that; and how much do I owe you?”

On registering your words, his eyes narrow, staring.

Doing so from one eye to the next. It taking a while, brain firing, ticking over, taking precious seconds as he remains out in the cold and you stand in the warmth in barely fucking anything, before it dawns on him. Crawls up over him as realises what it is you’re pretending to do, what you're reenacting.

Lips lifting, curling into one of his cheeks he steps in through the doorway. Almost over the threshold, easily able to take another step and close the door behind him.

But he waits.

Fingers twitch at his side, Frankie swallows, eyes dropping, tracing up the bare backs of your thighs as you bend over. Because fuck, you're something beautiful. A thing he always thinks, but finds himself reminded in waves as they crash into him.

Raising his hand, he itches across his chin, scratching along the wiry hair there as his gaze drops to the thin fabric protecting the last bit of your modesty as you and the bits of lace spread across your ass—

“I only have card—unless, I can pay you in another way?”

This shouldn’t be real.

You, like this. Him, standing like this. Not even as he steps inside, eyes trained on you—forgetting what words even mean—as you bend over.

A low exhale escapes, lips remaining parted as he fights to place his palm on the back of your thigh—stops himself from hooking a finger in the band of your underwear and dragging it down your thighs, bending you over the sofa, and burying his—

“I would really like to pay you in some way.”

Your words are almost lost due to the way his pulse has quickened in his ears, thundering, pounding. Feeling nothing but discomfort as his cock hardens against the zip of his pants as you bite down on your lip.

Brain quiet, no thoughts, all rendered silent by your appearance. Only able to shift enough to discard his cap, his jacket—folding it over the back of the sofa, eyes drawing out over you as he takes a step closer. Fingers finding his wrist, pinching, making sure this isn't some dream he hasn't woken up from.

But he can smell the present. The glorious cheese and several toppings, even if devouring the pizza are long forgotten. Because his eyes are raking over you, because how could he not—especially now as you straighten up, softly wiggling your hips.

"Is that so?” his voice rough, words catching. Letters clagging at the back of his teeth as though they attempted to glue to his mouth.

He's aware the three words are stained with want—a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you turn to face him, knowing it too.

But then, you always do know. Having long figured him out.

Like always, your eyes meet his in a way he can never explain, no words to articulate, to explain—just shared understanding dancing between the two of you.

“It’s only right,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fingers reaching out to trace his wire-stubbled jawline. “It’s bad of me to order food and not have the money to pay.”

He catches your wrist, gently but firmly. Pulling you close, steadying you with the other at your waist. Hearing it, the gasp, the briefest of indications you'd been caught by surprise, as he brushes his fingers against the fabric, all unable to stop themself. Half-needing to know what it feels like, as his thumb smooths out, taking his time—forcing the tension to buzz in the air as he leans closer. The distance you small, minimal—almost non-existent—as his breath hitches in his throat.

“You know what you’re getting into?” his voice a low growl, strained.

His gaze locked on you, watching you bite on your lower lip. “I really don’t like being in debt.”

It’s low, the way he replies. Short, two words: okay baby, before he’s leading, guiding, pecking kisses on your lips that likely leave you disorientated. It thrumming in his veins, the fact he gets to undo you, peel off the thin fabric you’ve likely had stuffed at the back of the closet—or even purchased with him in mind on your trip, thighs pressed together, wondering, finger and thumb stroking it as you imagine if he'd rip it off or slowly slide it from you.

He's not sure himself.

A part of him wishes to snap it from your frame in front of open blinds and undrawn curtains. To place his palm on your ass and taste your gasp on his tongue.

But another, the part which has missed you, wishes to wait. Make you wait. Wants to drag it out as long as humanly possible, have you soaked, wet, needy and desperate.

Because Frankie wonders if you've imagined this. Or, if you plotted it or it came to you randomly.

He gets an answer to it when the two of you are behind another door—one more private, intimate.

And it feels different in the bedroom than it did out in the living room.

The lighting being one of the reasons.

In here, you had opted for a darker shade when you’d both redecorated. Told him you preferred it, and had given him a shrug and a smile as you did. It had been a while later when he’d learned it was for him. For his eyes, for the sleep he struggled to grasp. It’ll help, I think? Saying it to him as though it wasn’t the kindest fucking thing someone had done for him.

But then, you are a waking dream.

A thing which has shaped itself and made itself real right before his eyes. Sculpted yourself from wishes and wants, shaping until you’re nothing but tangible and real.

He’s not afraid to tell you that either. Spends hours whispering it into your skin, pressing it close to your ear, repeating it over and over what perfection you are as you look at him with lust-blown eyes and lips parted around his name.

Frankie doubts it’s enough.

Least of all now, when you’re painted in soft white light, all gentle in how it rolls over you, as it becomes clear you’ve been home for a while.

You've drawn the blackout curtains—keeping out the evening—and you'd flicked the little bedside lamp on, doing its best to illuminate the room.

Swallowing, he traces his teeth over his tongue, wondering if you watched him reverse off the drive as you waited to make your move. Wondering if you're snuck in, trying not to disturb—dress yourself up, even if you never need to.

Because you’re a vision always.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even angry because he's left his tools out or with disappointment etched into your eyes because he’s forgotten something, you’re radiant, a goddess on earth.

A thing he finds himself reminded of as he steps closer to you. Fingers fiddling at his side as begins to close the small gap.

If not for the way he’s looking at you, he might have missed the shiver running through you from anticipation—and he knows it because of his action, due to the hungry look he's sure he's sporting as he raises his hands to remove his outer shirt. Balling it up, throwing it, a thing already unremembered before it even leaves his fingers.

"Frankie..."

"I know, just keep your eyes on me."

And you do, ever obedient. A thing no one would believe him off outside of these four walls. Not when you hold yourself strong and are quick to bite back, all wit and quick-thinking in addition to your brains and beauty.

He hooks a finger under the edge of his t-shirt, dragging it up over his head as he hears it—that little hiss, that slight gasp you do as though you’ve not seen him topless a thousand times.

It feels good. Makes heat rise up his neck and flood his ears. For a moment, he forgets he’s not all that. Because he’s soft, a little thicker around the middle, it feels like a lifetime ago he was trained in combat. But the way you look at him makes him feel like that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Fuck, you make him hard. Make him want. Have done since the moment you’d given him half a chance.

It’s why he's quick to pull you close, desperate to slant his mouth over yours. All fiery, hungry. Aiming to claim and write out all the ways he’s thought of you in the days since you’d been away. How the hours of you being gone and the amount he’s missed you have all balled up into a thing that is now fuelling him—sketching his wishes and desires across your lips, against your tongue, burying them past your teeth so they sit in your throat.

He grasps. Likely leaves marks of it on the perfect skin that covers your waist—because his palm is calloused and worn. Reminders of holding things not half as soft as you. A flicker of guilt almost bubbles in his, as he moves to rest it on your cheek, cradling your jaw and ear in one hand, as he slides the other up your back.

You whimper against his teeth before fingers find the clasp—finger and thumb, pinging it open before he feels fabric scrape against him—then you moan.

His chest being greeted with nothing but warm, smooth bare skin—nipples pebbling in the cooler air before being pressed against him, before he cups the swell of one, thumb stroking, playing a pattern.

“Do this for all the deliveries you get?”

You snort, it blowing out in a breath. “Only the ones with packages I like.”

In the time you’ve been together, you’ve said worse, but this time makes cock harden more than it already is. It's almost uncomfortable, in how it presses against his zipper, wishing to be released, as his index and thumb stroke over your skin. Taking it on how warm you are, how impossibly soft—distantly feeling the tremors from your heart hammering into your ribs.

"Too good for me, you are." You hum, as he seals his mouth back over yours. “But, I don’t take card.”

Purposefully, he drops his hand, fingers dipping, tracing across the lace that covers your slit—finding damp fabric as his ears take in the note of a quiet escape leaving your lips. It trying to bury itself between your two mouths open, breathing it in.

“Guess you’ll have to swipe something else.”

He snorts, and buries it into your neck, teeth grazing your skin—nose catching the scent of your perfume. And the scent almost makes him dizzy from how his blood rushes south. How the moment he’d dropped you off for your flight, it had lingered in the cabin of his truck. Remaining there for the first few days you were gone, before slowly fading. Leaving.

Just there on the coat you'd hung near the door and the pillows he slept beside.

The ones he rested his head against when he’d heard your voice down the phone, tell me to touch myself, Frankie, I need you. His own hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as you moaned his name, all those miles away, dripping instructions into your ear.

“You're such a dirty girl.”

You grin in response, fingers tugging at his curls—urging his mouth back to yours.

But, he instead traces his tongue over your pulse, circling it, all defiant in bowing to you as his teeth trace over his path. Instead, his finger dips, traces the crease of your thigh with his gaze never leaving yours.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

His hand slides between your thighs, cupping you—feeling the discernible wetness soaked through.

“Can feel it.”

You scoff, but he kisses it away.

Doing so in a similar way to how he makes you forget, how he pulls you from your mind and brings you to the present. It’s also swallowed by another gasp, one made because of his fingers finding the edge of the lace, hooking a finger underneath, sliding the pad of his thumb against your swollen nerves and slick entrance.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the whine you emit. “Feelin’ needy, querida?”

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

Practically locked in, watching as your lips part, and your hips try to shift for more friction. He’s too fearful he’ll miss it, all of it—a slight curve of a brow or a shimmer on your eyes. All things he thinks over when he dreams, when he wishes for replays of moments until the next day when he makes another that easily replaces a good one.

He likes how you say his name when he slips another finger inside you—how it falls all soft, breathless. So much intention in such a low sound. Even as you squirm, mouth pausing over his; little mewls and moans falling as he drags them in and out, all languorous, teasing.

“Want you.”

His thumb brushes over your swollen clit, a hiss escaping. “I know.”

You gasp his name, stifle a moan, teeth biting down on the underside of your lower lip as your lashes flutter. It’s your nails digging into his scalp that keeps him rooted, that keeps him focused—precise touches and strokes that have you rocking against him and keep him tuned in to you.

“Missed how you sound, baby. You're doing so well.”

You’re close. His words make your perfect pussy clench around him. A chorus of moans escaping as he curls them inside of you, finds that spot, the one which makes you babble and turns your muscles into liquid.

He likes that he can do this.

That he can read you and undo you. That it’s a thing he’s mastered when he’d thought he was far from learning. But then, he’d taken great pride in spending hours studying—in alternating between being on his back and on his knees.

And because of that, he knows when he halt you over the edge. Let you linger, not tipping.

Normally, he’d never tease, never make you want—but, today is a different kind of day as he stops. As he retracts his fingers and allows the fabric to lightly snap back into place.

It’s a different whine that cuts into the room then. It pours out from your lips as your eyes dig daggers into him—but, he knows you.

Knows it’s momentary and nothing he can’t fix. Able to hold his ground against it, digging heels into the floor—all refusing to be swayed by the storm rising inside of you, creeping across the formerly tranquil sea. Instead, his hands move to his belt—undoing it, metal clanging and zip sliding down as your eyes break from glaring to stare hungrily at the outline of his cock.

Watching as you walk backwards, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you’re perching—eyes holding his, tip of your tongue sweeping, tracing, as you move further up the bed. The one you’d picked—chosen.

He’s in a trance.

Under a spell when you hook a thumb on either side of your underwear.

It’s not smooth, it doesn’t glide or remove with ease—there’s even a slight kick out of your legs before it flings from your ankle. But, it makes him tighten the hold on his cock. Because it may not be a thing people ever see on TV or in movies, but then they never feel like this.

They don’t feel real, no rawness, no tangling of his trousers he has to step out of as he strokes himself, eyes flicking down to where you’re bare—where you’re glistening—

“Wanna ride you, Frank.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, hands gripping the base of his cock.

It’s slow, the way he grazes his teeth over his lower lip. “S’that how you wanna pay me, yeah?”

“All I’ve thought about,” you reply, a soft smile greeting him. “Lemme ride you—wanna look at you, wanna watch you come, baby.”

Fuck. He doesn’t fight it.

Instead, letting you guide him, allowing you to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw when he kneels on the bed and groans—because it’s been a long day, querida; he’s not as young as he once was.

“Still know how to be good, though. Don’t you?” you smirk, open mouth leaving a trail down his neck, eyes flicking up when you leave one in the space above his heart.

Hands behind his head, admiring, doing nothing but watching you place your thighs on either side of his as your fingers wrap around his wrists. You pin him, pressing down—aching cock ignored, left to leak against his hip as your lips press to his, over and over, and over until he’s chasing for the feel of them when you pull back.

You only offer a gentle, "I missed you," against the air before you're lining him up, bearing down, sinking, taking him in as he paints a groan against your collarbone.

There’s a beat, maybe two.

Stillness, enveloped entirely by your walls as his mouth wraps itself around your breast, leaving it wet, coated in spit as he groans when you begin to move. Setting a rhythm, slow.

“Not rushing this, Frankie.”

He never wishes you to.

His hands gripping your hips, guiding you. Head falling back onto the sheets as his breath hitches, the sight of you atop him, breasts bouncing—owning him—is a sight he could never grow tired of. One he also never feels worthy of—but he won’t squander, won’t ruin.

Because you’re perfect, head to toe—pussy made for him as it strokes up and down and breaths leave your mouth in short pants.

“Y’so good to me, Frankie. So handsome.”

And he wants to tell you that it's you who is so good—who is nothing but colour in an otherwise grey world. That you’re sunshine and stars, moon and so much more goodness than he can list buried inside of you.

“Go on, querida,” he grunts through clenched teeth, hands squeezing your hips a little tighter as you move a little faster.

As you take a little more. It makes your eyes flutter, parts your lips—watching in nothing short of awe as you use him, as you lose yourself in the moment.

"That's it, just let go. Make yourself feel good.”

It’s something majestic when he sees you nearing release—when he feels you clench and flutter.

“Feels good, y’feel good inside me baby.”

“You need more?”

And you nod.

The green light—the sign—and he doesn’t wait a moment.

Just canting his hips up, making a rush of pleasure spread up his spine. He’s lightheaded, hot—practically dizzy with how good you feel enveloped around him.

The noises filling the air, your slick walls taking him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. It’s drowned by the noises he pulls from you, making a mess of you as your lust-blown eyes land on him.

It almost steals his breath. Thieves it.

Because you’re so pretty, wild—a fucking dream on top of him. All soft and shimmering with perspiration from how good you ride him as he’s bathed in whines, moans and cries of his name.

“You're perfect,” he says, hand clamping on your hip as he shifts, and angles himself before thrusting up into you—watching your eyes squeeze shut. “From your smile to your tight pussy. You know that?”

Studying you as you try to keep the same rhythm. But, you’re nearing your climax—nails digging into his shoulder and neck, half-moons etched there, and he hopes they take hours to disappear.

“Thought about you all week—”

You moan, eyes meeting his. “Thought about you too—missed you. Missed how good you make me feel.”

“Fucked my fist to the thought of you like this. Never thought—fuck—I’d come home to this, baby. Y’fuckin’ perfect.”

Your chin lifts, neck elongating as he spreads his palm across your side, fingers pressing, grasping.

“Love hearing how much you missed me,” he smirks, watching you—thinking nothing but revolving thoughts as to how pretty you look, what a picture you are on top of him—

Then he hears a slam. Heavy boots. A voice he'd rather not hear at all:

“Fish? You home?”

He stops, realisation slamming into him.

A hand drops to the bedsheets, grasping them so hard his knuckles pale, and throb—the bones in his hand aching as he fights shouting and blowing his load right there and then.

The plans he’d made—the ones he’d put into place because you weren’t supposed to be home—all coming back to bite him. How he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone, another evening in front of the television until you could call and tell him about your day—when he should have. He really fucking should have.

And you’re frozen, hips halted in place—his other hand remaining on your waist, fingers digging in as you both tense, keeping movements paused.

He considers it, the two choices he has and decides.

Leaning more against you—half-grinning, whispering shh as you look at him full of alarm—suddenly aware of the impending actuality that you could be caught like this.

And, then you clench around him. He feels it. Head tilting and eyes narrowing as he takes you in.

"Dirty girl," he mouths, and you look bashful, shy—a look he rarely sees when you’re split open on his cock and the base of him is covered in your slick.

“Fish, where the fuck are you?”

“Getting changed Ben, be a min.”

Your pussy flutters around him at your shout, as he moves to not shout the words towards your ear—feeling you clamp down, muffling a whimper. Another falls as he lifts up further onto his palm, dragging his nose down the valley between your breasts.

He knows you’re close—teetering, a few more thrusts and you’d have unravelled.

Dropping his voice, low—barely above a whisper, “Shh, baby. Or, I won’t let you finish.”

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Can‘t, Frankie—I can’t.”

He nods, finger and thumb holding your chin because he knows you can. Seen you do so much, and been witness to what you’re capable of—before his hand guides your hips to begin moving, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hips.

“Touch yourself for me, querida. Be good for me.”

And you whimper, something akin to his name.

But he’s guiding his mouth away, shouting, “Beers in the fridge, Ben.”

His mouth presses to your chest, hearing the shout from his friend back, but it’s the sound of your fingers on your slick and swollen clit that he tunes into. That he wants to flood his ears. Watching you shiver, shake, tremble from it as you tighten around him, choking his cock as he begins to thrust in and out.

He could keep you here. Should do too.

One week has already been too long. A need to make up for it—to have you pay for all the times you ask him those questions you wait until the lights are usually out for and he’s about to tip over to sleep; have you press yourself against him, nudging your ass into him as you cuddle, but really you want his mouth between your thighs. He should edge you, hang you over the edge of pleasure and watch your eyes dig into him until your lips whisper the word beginning with P.

But he won’t.

Couldn’t.

He likes knowing he pleases you too much.

Your moan bringing him back to it. Seeing how your eyes are clenched shut, trying to keep it behind your teeth. Failing, expletives dropping in breaths before he raises his hand, pressing it to your mouth, muffling it, the moans you have to release before you shake your head and fold into him.

Suddenly, he wants to move the dresser and lock the two of you in here. Wants to let them watch whatever fucking sports they want out there, and him just watch you in here.

You’re his favourite sight, after all. Especially like this. Free, not overthinking or worrying, just present, feeling as good as you should—as good as he always wants you to feel.

And you deserve this.

Hearing the low please fall before he plants his feet down, angling his cock up into you as you let out a muffled gasp. His palm flat to your shoulder, steadying you, as he feels your fingers slide it to your collarbone, resting it, fingers an inch away from the base of your neck.

You flick your eyes open—smothering him in permission, in radiant sunshine and lust, before the softest fucking smirk graces your lips—as his own mouth chokes out your name.

“Not tonight.”

It’s less words, and more a noise.

Because he’s close too—it having risen close to the top. Toes clenched around the sheets, digging in.

But he wants to feel you come first. And it’s there—that familiar sign. Lashes fluttering, gorgeous mouth going tight, slack as you tighten around him, locking up, clamping down as your hips move sloppily and out of rhythm.

You’re so fucking close.

“Shh, be good for me.”

Fingers, trembling and weak, slide around the base of his neck, tugging on his curls that are likely slick with sweat.

“N‘gonna last—let go for me baby.”

“Please.”

“Come for me.”

Spearing up into you with more vigour as you rasp, groan, and hiss—spit coating his fingers as he slides them out, dropping his hand from you as his knuckles press to the mattress as he fucks up into you.

Your body bucks, a cry you bury into his neck—a drag of nails against his scalp—as you come undone around him. Convulsing. Muffled cries vibrating against his pulse.

Frankie is barely able to contain the low growl as his hips stutter—heat raging through him, joined by rabid electricity. It sparking, ripping through, making him both ache and feel alive.

The sight of you and the feel of you drives him to the edge—and then over. A grip on your hip all tight as he thrusts into you one final time, unable to contain the growl. His chest heaves as he spills inside of you, and you tremble against him—panting, all messy and boneless as he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back.

"You're incredible," he breathes into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

You let out a small laugh, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips. "So are you."

He smiles against your skin, his heart swelling with affection. He may have assumed he'd seen everything, but you—you continue to surprise him, to captivate him in ways he never thought possible. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Pulling his mouth from yours, feeling you ease him out of you, his hand lightly slaps you on the back of your bare ass.

"I missed you, querida," he murmurs, heart still racing in his chest.

Meeting his gaze, your lips purse. "I know," you whisper, leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I'm here now."

“Shame you’ll have to sneak out the back and come in through the front door. Otherwise, you’ll be in here all night—”

His words trail off, a sly grin tugging at his lips as it dawns, rises up over your face and makes your mouth fall open. “Francisco….”

“Shoulda' told me you were coming home. It's boys night.”

Narrowing your eyes, you tick your jaw—spine straightening. “Well, I could stay in here—like this…”

Smirking, he kisses your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.”

Your mouth opens, a smirk gracing his lips in response as he raises a finger to his mouth, moving and pressing a kiss to your knee. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #francisco morales fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #frankie morales x reader smut

462 notes · View notes

recklessmatt · 3 months

Text

safety net - m.s ⋆°•☁︎⋆

PAIRING: matt sturniolo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1K

GENRE(S): established relationship au, fluffy and kinda sad

SUMMARY: matt helps you through an anxiety/panic attack

WARNINGS: anxiety and self doubt

the past few days have been quite rough for you from balancing your relationship, work, school, family, friends, the list can go on. but all of it has made you extremely stressed. you do a good job of holding up your composure in front of everyone, especially matt, but as of recently, your anxiety levels have been going up higher and higher.

you let out a big breath, fingers aching after rapidly typing on the keyboard, along with the blinding white light coming from your laptop, there were textbooks scattered everywhere on the desk. you were in a time crunch trying to finish up this last assignment so you can start the next one. you decided to take a small break by going on your phone to see all the notifications you missed from the last couple hours. you open up your phone seeing your messages from matt.

as you read all the messages from matt you start to smile to yourself. matt has also been struggling with anxiety and he’s been doing so well. you’re so proud of him but you’re also kind of jealous. he’s in a good place right now and you wish you also could be in a good place. you shake those thoughts away, send a quick reply, and put your phone away. break has been a bit too long for your liking. you turn your attention back to your screen trying to finish up the last bit of your assignment.

minutes pass but your mind is everywhere, it’s on everything and anything except for the thing you need it to focus on right now. you feel your heartbeat quicken, you close your eyes and start taking deep breaths in and out. usually this works for you but at the moment, it’s starting to do the opposite.

you can’t even finish this one little assignment. you’re gonna screw everything up. you’re so fucking weak. tears starting to well up in your eyes, short breaths leaving your mouth. you stand up leaving the mess on the desk to get some air. it doesn’t work. you can feel the tears fall from your eyes falling down your rosy cheeks, throat starting to close up, you bring a hand to your neck trying to get ahold of yourself.

you’re such a fucking failure. you’re gonna let everyone in your life down. your chest rose and fell at a rapid place and you lost it. you fell to the ground on your knees letting out a sob. you couldn’t stop crying, it was all coming at you at once. you were on the ground for what felt like hours. crying, shaking, breath heaving,

“baby? where are you?” you hear the door open and footsteps getting closer. you couldn’t let matt see you like this, you were doing so well keeping your composure in front of him. but you couldn’t calm down, you brought your hand to your mouth trying to silent the cries. the thought of matt seeing you like this made the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. you hear footsteps getting even closer and you let out a muffled sob.

matt takes a peek in the room and he sees you curled up on the ground silently sobbing, holding a hand to your chest. his face dropped and immediately crouched down, bringing you onto his lap, pulling you into his chest. matt knew it all too well to know what was happening. he moves your hair away from your face as you continue to sob into his chest and holding onto him for dear life. he squeezed his eyes shut hearing the cries leave your mouth, hearing you pains him. he did what he knew that helped him through his attacks.

“you’re okay pretty girl. you’re doing so good.” he says kissing you on the forehead and continuously rubbing your back.

“hey, baby, i need you to look at me.” you look up at him with glossy eyes making his heart break.

“i want you to breathe with me okay? take a deep breath in and out okay?” matt breathes in and out slowly. you continue looking at him in the eyes trying to follow his breathing.

“good job baby. keep breathing for me love.” he gives a small smile continuing the breathing pattern. you continue to take deep breaths in and out staring into his eyes, you eventually come to a regular breathing pattern and have calmed down a bit.

“good good good. you did wonderful baby.” matt cups your face, soothingly rubs his thumb against your cheeks and gives you a kiss on your pink lips. he embraces you and pets your head.

a moment of silent passes, “do you wanna talk about it?” matt asks still petting your head. you take a deep breath in.

“im just stressed.” your voice comes out a little shaky. “these past few days have taken a huge toll on me. trying to balance out everything that’s going on and it just got too much for me.” you continue. matt pulls you away from his chest to look at you.

“why didn’t you tell me baby?” he brushes a hair away from your face again, he looks a little hurt you didn’t come to him. you feel tears start to form again feeling bad.

“i’m sorry.” you say shakily.

“you were in such a good place i didn’t wanna bring you down.” a tear falls from your eye, matt swipes it away with his thumb.

“you could never love. you’re my safety net for when im down, and im your safety net for when you’re down.” you smile, closing your eyes, feeling his lips on your forehead.

“it pains me to hear you going through this by yourself, i want you to come to me whenever you start having another attack or when you just wanna talk and i will do the same okay?” he says, cupping your cheeks staring deeply into your eyes. you nod, quivering your bottom lip on the verge of tears. matt kisses your pretty pouty lips.

“i love you my pretty girl.”

“i love you more.” you say kissing him again.

taglist: @luverboychris

authors note: HEHE hi again back w a lil story but this time fluffy in honor of valentine’s day 🙏🙏 and hella short lowkey oops, and im also obsessed w this song which inspired me to write this, fanks for reading love you mwah matt smut is next 🤓 happy valentine’s day my sexy human beings 🫶

REQUEST:

#Spotify #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fluff

621 notes · View notes

celtic-crossbow · 18 days

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 29

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Slightly graphic depictions of labor and childbirth A/N: Maybe a cliffhanger. Maybe not. You'll have to read to find out! ;) Daryl is definitely ooc in this. I'm sorry, I tried to get as close as I could to how he might react. Also, the saying he uses is one we use in the south that means "how is that relevant?" You'll know it when you read it, lol.

“About 4cm now. Progressing nicely.” Hershel informed, wiping his hands on a cloth that Carol had provided.

Rick and T-Dog were out doing yet another night run in the van. It was also low on fuel but the map showed another town close by. Fuel, gloves, and other necessities were on the list. Glenn was on watch with Daryl for backup if anything happened. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it couldn’t be helped.

Thumper was calling the shots at that point.

Before the men had left, Daryl had confiscated all the blankets except for those that were for Lori and Carl. When Glenn began to complain, one look from the anxiety-driven archer had brought the young man very close to hiding behind Rick. While some blankets were used for your comfort, others were fashioned into a tent-like structure over the bare branches of a decently sized bush. You needed some sense of privacy.

Carol and Lori had dug through the maternity clothes that hadn’t been lost on the road and found a button up dress. It was comfortable and made things much easier than leggings.

After your immediate needs had been met, Daryl then perched himself just beside your shoulder and hadn’t moved since.

“S’the number we’re aimin’ for?” He asked with frustration lacing his tone, making sure the blankets were back over you and tucked tight to keep you warm. He had been muttering to himself how he wished he had made time to read the rest of the books. Daryl was not a man that liked being in the dark on anything. It made him feel helpless, as you had learned over the last several months.

“She needs to be at 10cm and the baby needs to be in the correct position before she can push.” The old man positioned the ear tubes of the stethoscope before pressing it against several spots on your belly. “Heart beat is strong. Everything is looking good.”

You had remained quiet until that moment. “Do I just—I don’t know—lay here?”

“Walking encourages the cervix to dilate and soften. Once you dilate a little further, the contractions will likely be stronger, whether painful or not.” The calmness that man practiced really made you want to strangle him with that stethoscope. “Make sure you don’t go alone, and—”

“She ain’t.” Daryl snapped.

Hershel shot him an admonishing look. “As I was saying, take breaks. Sleep when you can. I’ll check you periodically. You’ll need to keep timing the contractions, son.” Daryl nodded. “Sip small amounts of water, no food. Keep me informed of any changes. And as unpleasant as it may sound, if you feel the pressure and urge as if you may need to have a bowel movement, call for me immediately.”

You, as well as Daryl, reared back, lips curling.

“The fuck that gotta do with the price’a fish?” The archer queried, not so nicely.

“Settle down. The pressure from the baby’s head moving into the birth canal can feel similar to that.” Shaking his head, Hershel shuffled his way out of your tiny tent.

Finally alone, you turned onto your side and scooted your upper body toward Daryl. He stretched out his legs so you could rest on his thigh.

“Get some rest.” His hand wiggled beneath the blanket and rubbed up and down the length of your upper arm, but moved to your belly when another contraction took over. Without prompting, he slid his warm palm around to your lower back and applied the least bit of pressure, rubbing small circles. You buried your face into his thigh to ride it out, but you had to admit the light massaging helped, if only a little.

“You’re supposed to be—” You were panting when you rolled your head to remind him, but found the watch already lifted to eye level, his gaze shifting from it to your stomach.

“Sleep if ya can. I got this.” His brow was furrowed in concentration, your heart swelling and warm. Any worry you had entertained of him running when things got real, just gone in an instant. He was there. He was there.

“I’ll try.” You whispered, the pain finally an afterthought. You felt him slide his hand back to the side of your stomach before you let yourself succumb to exhaustion.

“Sorry, Sunshine. Doc says up, so up ya get.”

You let Daryl take your dead weight and pull you up by a grip beneath your arms, making it as difficult as possible so you might get to stay in your warm little nest. You were still at 4cm. Hershel had said you had to start walking to help labor progress.

“This isn’t fair.” You whined, rubbing your back once you were upright. The pain that accompanied each contraction had lessened but was still ever present. “Can’t you walk and I dilate?”

Daryl snorted. “Don’t think that’s how it works.” He placed a careful hand on the small of your back and kept your pace, slow as it was.

“Okay, then how about if it gets worse, I kick you in the balls and punch you in the kidneys so you can participate properly?” You were only half joking.

“If it gets ya through this, I guess.” The archer shrugged. You regarded him with a skeptical brow arched.

“You’d really let me do that?”

“Hell nah, but s’the thought that counts or some shit like that, right?” He didn’t even try to dodge the smack you aimed at his shoulder.

“You’re hilarious.” You deadpanned, even as you leaned into him while you strolled in circles around the perimeter. The moonlight caught the watch in his right hand, his finger tapping against the casing. Bless him, he was taking his role of supportive partner very seriously. You gasped when the next contraction came, stopping to bend slightly and breathe through it while Daryl secured an arm around you and flipped open the watch.

When it was clear you weren’t falling, he slid his hand to the middle of your back and massaged the length of your spine using gentle pressure from the heel of his palm. He never said much—if anything—during the episodes themselves, but kept you informed of the timing of each one.

“Oh, goddamnit, this one sucks.” You managed through clenched teeth. You swayed slightly when it was over, grasping blindly for the man next to you.

“Thirteen minutes since the last’un. A minute, twelve.” He was slow and careful when turning you back toward camp. “Let’s getcha back to Hershel.”

You shook your head. “One last loop, then we can go back.” Daryl didn’t say anything but you felt him tense. “I’m sure. They’re just getting a little more painful in the stomach, less in the back.”

He still hesitated. “Alright. One more.”

Hershel stepped into your path before you started the second loop, allowing Daryl to fill him in on the last contraction.

“Do one more. Rest. And then again.” The old man ordered curtly.

Once he had vanished back toward the small fire, you mocked his words. “Rest and then again.” Daryl shook his head beside you. “I mean seriously, how much help can walking actually be?”

“Fuuuuuck!” You were digging your fingers into the blankets below you, swatting away Carol’s hand when she tried to dab your face with a piece of cloth. Daryl was sitting beside you, wide-eyed and lost, the watch forgotten by his leg. Hershel was between your knees, sporting his medical gloves that had been brought back by Rick and T-Dog.

The archer cleared his throat. “She alright?”

“Do I look alright, Daryl?!” You hissed, making an admirable attempt at breathing the way Carol was instructing. The contraction finally ended and you fell back onto the folded blankets. “I’m sorry.” You found his worried blue eyes easily and fumbled for his hand.

“S’okay.” He whispered, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“She’s at 6cm. We can still time the contractions but I think she may need your attention more than that watch does now.” Hershel reached for the item and placed it in his pocket once Daryl handed it over. “Keep moving but stay closer, no more perimeter walks.”

Daryl nodded, you whimpered.

“I’ll be back soon to check again. If we’re lucky, things will move a little faster now that you’re in active labor.” Hershel left the tent while Carol fixed your dress.

“I know it hurts, but you two will have little Thumper in your arms in just a matter of hours.” She smoothed your hair and tucked it behind your ears. “You’re doing great.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing great.” You murmured, ducking your head almost bashfully. “I’m really sorry I snapped at you, Daryl. It just—well, it hurts and it’s hard to think.”

“Ain’t mad.” He tried for a half smile but it was weak. “Better than gettin’ kicked in the balls, I reckon.” You laughed and squeezed his hand. “Guess we oughtta getcha up again.”

“I’ll help.” Carol offered. You could see that a refusal was on the tip of Daryl’s tongue but he never voiced it. With Carol under one arm and Daryl under the other, you were pulled upright.

Your body already felt wrung out and sore, and the epic finale hadn’t even begun. Still, you allowed Carol to pass you off to Daryl.

“We movin’ on? Be better to find a house or somethin’.” He looped an arm around your back, following as you shuffled your way around.

Carol shrugged, not touching you but keeping up with your small strides. “Both vehicles have fuel but Hershel isn’t sure we should move her. He thinks the baby will come soon and she needs to be kept in one place.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back in frustration. “She is right here. And if my opinion matters, I’d rather not—” The contraction came on strong, halting you suddenly with your hand fisting into the lower part of Daryl’s vest. The archer stepped around in front of you, rough but gentle hands grasping your wrists to guide your arms to his shoulders.

“Try to breathe. Sometimes humming or even moaning helps, like an outlet.” Carol advised while rubbing your back.

Your head fell forward against Daryl’s chest, a deep but quiet moan muffled against the firm muscle beyond his shirt. His hands had fallen to your hips, his body followed you as you swayed back and forth. The episodes were growing more intense, coming closer together and lasting longer. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that things would be growing more difficult to handle.

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do for ‘er?” Daryl asked quietly above you, each word blowing his warm breath over the top of your head. Carol must have answered in the negative because his fingers flexed against your hips.

The skin of your belly was pulled so tightly that you swore it would tear open, the muscles feeling as if they would pulse right out of the gaping hole your torn flesh would leave.

“Shit.” You whimpered, your voice finding its way back during the last dregs of pain. You almost didn’t register warm hands gliding up and down your sides, a smaller hand on your back. “I don’t want to have the baby here.” You argued weakly. “It’s too open. Things will be too chaotic, too loud.”

“I know, Sunshine, but the doc says—”

“I don’t want to risk Thumper here in the open, Daryl. With—with walkers or people.” With enough strength having returned after the pain, you lifted your head, eyes pleading. “Please.”

The archer was visibly upset. He was just as vulnerable as you were at that moment, torn between what he felt was right and what Hershel said was for the best. His tongue wet his bottom lip before he pulled it in between his teeth, looking to Carol for guidance.

“Could lay down the seats in the van. Use the back.” He suggested. “Plenty’a room an’ if we need to move fast—”

“I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” Carol agreed, rubbing your back in a few soft strokes before beginning to move away. “I’ll go talk to Hershel. You two keep walking.”

You watched her go, turning your gaze up to Daryl when he shifted back to your side to urge you along. “Gotta keep movin’.” You groaned, dragging your feet with your head falling back in frustration.

You were in the middle of a contraction, when you heard it. A snarl, a raspy growl much too close. You were already clinging to Daryl and breathing through the pain that was readying your body for Thumper’s arrival, but you’d have to let him go. He had to protect the baby. And to do that, he had to protect you.

But he didn’t move. He was nearly vibrating, rigid beneath your hands on his shoulders. He was just as scared as you were, even more so. He knew he could take the walker but that would mean letting you go. He needed to protect you but he wanted to support you. He had told you he'd never let you fall and you knew he had meant it.

“Go.” Your hands slid from his shoulders, down his chest before they released him completely to clutch your belly.

His boots disappeared from your view of the ground but you couldn’t focus after that. The pain was growing in intensity, immobilizing you with your lips tightly pressed to withhold the cries that vibrated behind your teeth for release. You couldn’t, you just couldn’t make a sound. You’d attract more, endanger everyone. You’d endanger Thumper. Daryl.

There were scuffles. More snarls. Tears were threatening your waterline. Pain was coursing through you like a serpent, slithering around each muscle and tendon and pulling them tight. You felt disappointment and guilt over all the agony when your mouth fell open with a guttural moan, your will to cut off the scream that begged to follow barely holding true.

“D—Daryl.” You cried out. And he was there, hands on your face, your biceps, your belly.

“M’here. M’here. Gotta move, though.” He swept you up with the slightest strained noise. “Gonna getcha to the van. Gonna find somewhere safe for ya.” The pain was fading. You could focus on the dark blood on his face, the dirt and grime.

“Herd?” You whispered.

“Ain’t your fault.” His expression emanated fear and stress. “The hatch.” Someone was with him. The small hands that opened the back of the van and spread out the blankets, those were Carol’s. She sat a pile of smaller blankets and squares of fabric toward the indents on the floor where the seats had been stowed.

“Get as many in the truck as you can! In the cab and the bed!” Rick was calling out at the same time that Hershel climbed into the van. Daryl was careful when he placed you inside, climbing over you before pulling you further in to make room for Hershel and Carol.

Through your haze of exhaustion, you saw Rick climb in the driver's seat and Maggie beside him. That meant that five others had to somehow fit into the truck.

“Is everyone okay?” You asked, eyes pleading with Daryl for an honest answer.

“Yeah, they’re all good.” He nodded, smoothing a hand over your hair.

The van was moving, though you didn’t realize when it had started. Hershel was between your knees when another contraction came. It felt like only moments had passed since the last one. In the safety of the van, though you couldn’t be bothered to consider that, you bowed forward with a scream. Daryl gingerly worked your fingers loose from the blanket to take your hand.

“She’s at 9cm. This baby is coming soon.” Hershel didn’t move this time, he and Carol began sorting things that you couldn’t see. Panting, you leaned to the side, knowing Daryl would be there. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and squeezed.

“What—” He swallowed audibly. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Just be with her.” Carol poured some water from a bottle onto a piece of fabric and passed it across you for Daryl to take. “Wipe her face, put it behind her neck.”

The archer’s hand was trembling fiercely when you felt the blessed cool cloth touch your forehead. The moan that left you was not one of pain but utter relief. “Oh, that’s nice.” You breathed. Your skin was on fire, every cell of your being felt twisted and wrong. But that trembling cloth wiping at your face grounded you, centered you around what your body was preparing to do.

You were so close to being a mother.

But that didn’t stop the scream that ripped from your throat when the next contraction tore through you. You sat up, propped on your elbows with your eyes screwed shut. Tears leaked from the corners, the wailing cutting off into wretched sobs when you felt Daryl’s forehead fall against the crown of your head, his mantra of m’sorry m’sorry m’sorry shattering you into a million shards.

You couldn’t tell him it was okay. You couldn’t remind him why you hurt. You couldn’t reassure him that he was the one you wanted and you were more than happy to do this with him. For him. You didn’t have the breath.

“Don’t push, Y/N. Not yet.” Hershel’s tone was even but not cruel, his gloved hands on your knees.

“It fucking burns!” You shrieked, squeezing Daryl’s hand until you were certain you felt the bones shift. The contraction let up, the fiery sensation dulling but ever present.

“What’s happenin’?” Daryl sounded breathless. Terrified. You were still catching your breath when you looked up at him. His tan skin was white as a sheet, no color in his lips. His blue eyes were brighter than you’d ever seen them. From tears or fear, you couldn’t be sure.

“The baby’s in the right position. Y/N, it’ll be time to push soon. It’ll be very important for you to listen to everything I say. Can you do that?” Hershel wasn’t looking at you, between moving around things Carol was handing to him and keeping a constant eye on your progress. Distantly, you wondered why it was Carol at his side and not Maggie. Maybe because you were close with Carol? For your comfort?

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You turned your attention back to Daryl when his grip on your hand loosened slightly. He swayed, the pallor of his skin growing more concerning. “Daryl?”

The archer shook his head almost violently. “M’good.”

“Okay, I just—oh, fuck, already!?” You grit your teeth as your stomach tightened, a visible shift beneath the fabric of your dress.

“Maggie, can you climb back here?” Hershel requested calmly. His eldest said nothing but maneuvered her way into the back and on your opposite side. “I fear we may lose Daryl at any moment and Y/N will need support.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Daryl snapped but it was a weak effort. He inhaled deeply and began squeezing your hand to keep you from dislocating his fingers.

“Here.” Carol passed him an opened bottle of water. “Drink a few sips. You’re white as a ghost.”

You were barely aware of everything happening around you, shaking almost violently to refrain from bearing down until Hershel told you to do so. It was bordering on excruciating.

“Jesus Christ, it feels like you’re holding a flamethrower to my fucking pussy!”

Hershel sighed while Maggie and Carol chuckled and Daryl snorted out a quiet nice, Y/N.

“It’s just the birth canal stretching to make room for the baby.” The veterinarian explained coolly.

“Just?” You mocked. “Just, he says while it’s my—oh Jesus fuck!” With all the presence of mind you could summon, you managed not to start screaming at Daryl for putting you in that position. You knew that beyond the pain and fear, you wanted Thumper in your arms more than anything in that fucked up world.

“Okay, Y/N,” Hershel patted your bare knees just at the tail end of the contraction to ensure he had your attention. You had fallen back against Maggie while Daryl held the cool cloth against the back of your neck. His hand was vibrating your skull to the point that you nearly asked him to move away. “You’re ready. On the next contraction, you need to push.”

“God, your calm voice makes me want to kick you in the teeth.” You didn’t mean it—mostly. Hershel must have known that because he chuckled. You could feel the next contraction already building when the van lurched to a stop, throwing everyone in it.

“We got a herd in front of us!” Rick called from the front.

“Go ‘round it! Turn ‘round! Just keep ‘em off us!” Daryl yelled as the pain peaked. “Fuck!” He bellowed when your hand began to shake with how hard you squeezed his own.

“Push!” Hershel shouted over the bumps and jerks of the van doing whatever Rick had deemed best. “Good, good!” He began to countdown from ten while you screamed.

You were being torn open. Thumper was going to rip you in half on their way out. Your throat was raw, surely bleeding from your wails. When the old man reached one, you fell back against Maggie but Daryl’s hand was there too.

“Maggie, Daryl, hold behind her knees. Help support her legs. It’ll keep her hips open.” Both moved forward, taking you with them to sit you up a little straighter. Daryl had to release your hand to hold you and your leg. The archer hissed with the pressure against his abused palm. “Perfect. Alright, Y/N. A nice, strong push this time.”

You almost snarled. “Last one wasn’t good enough?”

“Easy, Sunshine.” You felt Daryl's lips against your temple and yearned to keep them there.

“I’m sorry, Hershel.” Once again, the man simply smiled. Lori had told you that childbirth in the movies was often dramatized but so far, you weren’t seeing the truth in that statement. When the contraction reached a crescendo, you leaned forward while Maggie and Daryl held your legs steady. The pain was extraordinary. You almost wished you could see what was happening, but any train of thought was derailed with Hershel’s next words.

“The baby is crowning!”

Gasping, you swallowed hard, glancing at Daryl—who had a front row seat to what was happening—and then back to Hershel. “Crowning?”

“The head will be out soon.”

“All this and we don’t even have the head out?!” You screeched, just as your stomach rippled into a rigid mound and you were pushing again. This pain was different. Thumper was definitely ripping you apart. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! It burns!”

“S’that—” Daryl cleared his throat and swallowed, swaying on the spot. “S’that normal?”

“Perfectly normal.” Hershel glanced up at the archer, back down, and then up again. “Carol.” He needn’t say anything else. The other woman was moving to grab the back of your leg and let Daryl fall against her so he didn’t smack his head on the side of the van.

You were completely unaware, your entire focus centered on the inferno between your legs. There was no way any woman would willingly do this unmedicated. Never in your life had you wanted drugs more than you did in that moment. Thumper. Thumper, Thumper. You chanted internally, even as your vocal chords vibrated harshly with your screams. And just as you thought you would lose consciousness from the pain, it lessened. It hadn’t disappeared but comparatively, you would take that over the prior.

“The head is out!”

Panting, you smiled but then fell into confusion when you saw Carol beside your leg and Daryl slumped against her. “Daryl? Daryl?!” You shifted but Maggie held you still. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Hershel chuckled.

“Who knew a man that could gut a walker without batting an eye couldn’t watch his baby’s head come out?” Carol smiled but began to act, jerking her shoulder to jar the archer. “Daryl. Daryl, wake up. You don’t want to miss this.” He stirred and started to lean back. “Think you can take a look without losing it again?”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head hard, grunting. His hand was the first thing to move, sliding beneath Carol’s to take hold of your leg. Then he was looking at you. “M’sorry. That was—fuck, m’a pussy.” Maggie was moving your hand and pulling you forward as you watched your partner.

Then your fingers were touching a soft, albeit slimy, head.

You gasped. “Daryl.”

The man gulped, but then sat up on his knees a little. You watched the fear and apprehension melt away into awe, his jaw loosening, eyebrows rising, and eyes beginning to shine. “S’that—”

“That’s Thumper.” You were able to say before Hershel announced your miniscule break was over. He didn’t need to say a word, your body was already letting you know. Daryl’s hold felt stronger now and he was watching with an awestruck intensity that just made your heart want to explode even as you rode out the waves of agony. You were going to be a little family.

Then, out of the blue, you could feel something was different, wrong.

“Her—Hershel—Ow, fuck—” You fingers clawed at Daryl’s chest, his wet eyes going wide with concern. The contraction ended and you were gasping and swallowing convulsively, feeling nauseous regardless of your lack of food. Daryl’s eyes were darting back and forth between you and the old man. “Daryl, something—something’s wrong.” You could tell the baby had not moved an inch during the pushing, but not only that, it felt like they had actually pulled back toward your opening.

“I know.” Hershel’s voice had lost the calm and was taking on an emergent edge. “The baby is stuck.”

Panic flashed over Daryl’s face in the form of anger. “The fuck ya mean stuck?!”

Still trying to catch your breath, sweat dripping into your eyes, you thought for certain Daryl was going to jump across your leg and attack the old man. Thankfully, he remained at your side. Trembling and breath stuttering, but he wasn’t moving.

“Shoulder dystocia. The baby is turned in such a way that the shoulders can’t fit through the pelvis. Carol, I will need your help, please.” You were already on the edge of the next contraction when Hershel nearly barked “Y/N, don’t push.”

“What the fuck’re ya doin’?” Daryl snapped, leaning over your leg to investigate. So many emotions were battling for dominance in his expression that you couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was feeling.

“Daryl, please.” You pleaded, trying your hardest not to sob. For once, you cared nothing about being self-reliant or what the group thought of you and how much you needed Daryl. As you fought through the pain and against your body’s natural insistence to push, you just cried. Daryl kept a hand below your knee, too afraid to move unless Hershel gave the okay, but he leaned as far as he could to hold you without influencing your position.

“S’okay, Sunshine. S’gonna be okay.”

“Y/N, listen to me. I can feel the shoulder.” Now, the veterinarian’s tone was just downright frightening. “Maggie and Daryl are going to pull your legs back on the next contraction. I’m going to apply some pressure above your pubic bone. It’s not going to be pleasant, but if I’m correct, the head should come and then the baby. I need you to push with all you have, do you understand?”

You pressed your cheek further into Daryl’s chest and nodded, hiccuping through ragged, exhausted breaths. When the contraction began to tear through you, Maggie and Daryl reacted immediately, pulling your legs toward your belly while you curled inward with a guttural scream. Hershel pressed into the area just above your pubic bone, the pressure only compounding the whirlwind of pain you were already caught in. And then it was over and you let the two supporters take your weight.

The van rocked again, but was ignored. Hershel looked at Carol gravely and shook his head.

“S’that ‘bout?” Daryl hissed, trying hard for your sake not to lose his cool.

“It didn’t work.” Before Daryl could speak, the old man continued. “We’re going to try one more time. If it doesn’t work, there are a couple of other things we can try but time is of the essence. The baby isn’t getting the oxygen they need like this.”

“Whatever ya gotta do. Just take care’a both’a ‘em.”

Hershel nodded. “Alright, same thing, Y/N. A big, big push for me.”

You shook your head, exhausted. “I can’t.” You whispered, your eyelids heavy as hope attempted to flee and you accepted that once again, the world would take from you. It would take from Daryl. “I’m so tired.” You felt movement beneath your left leg and then Daryl’s hand was grasping your chin, firm but gentle.

“Hey. Cut that shit out.” He wasn’t angry. He was using the same tone you’d heard him use when he had told Thumper to cut you some slack. When he had started communicating with the baby. “Ya’ve gone through hell an’ back for this an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya quit at the goddamn finish line, ya hear me?”

“I’m tired, Daryl.” Your face screwed up in pain as the next contraction began to build.

“Nu uh. Ya ain’t gonna bust into my life an’ fuck up my world six ways from Sunday, make me love ya an’ this kid, an’ then just give up. S’you an’ me an’ Thumper. S’what ya said!”

You blinked at him, slowly starting to sit up.

“I’ve seen ya be a badass before, Sunshine.” Your breaths were coming faster, the contraction nearly on top of you, but you only had eyes for Daryl. “Be a fuckin’ badass now.” His hand left your face and went back to your leg, pulling it toward you at the same time Maggie moved the right one.

You screamed so loud that you were certain the rocks and bumps of the van were due to your wails alone. Something shifted, you felt it and it hurt. You were on fire and aching at the same time. When the contraction ended, you still felt painfully stretched and bruised and uncomfortable. “Did—did it work?” You panted, grasping desperately for Daryl’s shirt.

“The head is out, the shoulders are turned. One more big push, Y/N. Just one more.”

You breathed harshly through your nose, trying to amp yourself up. Maggie and Carol were throwing encouragement your way, but you didn’t hear them. You only felt Dary’s breath against your ear, his stubbled cheek rubbing against your skin.

He whispered, only for you to hear. “I love ya.” Kissing your temple, he moved back to his spot and when you looked at him, exhausted and crying, the corner of his mouth twitched and he nodded.

You could do this.

When the next contraction ripped through you, the world went silent. It was only you and the pain, white hot and all consuming. You were indeed being torn in half but if it meant Thumper would take that first breath, would open those little eyes to see the world—fucked up or not—then you would gladly be wrenched into pieces.

The moment the baby slipped free of you, you felt the emptiness. You still hurt, but the worst of the pain was suddenly absent. Sound and sight came back to you in an onslaught that had you sucking in a breath like your lungs had been starved.

“Is—Hershel, the baby?” You asked, trying to move as Daryl and Maggie lowered your legs. The archer was leaning across your knee. You couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, but his eyes were wide and darting.

“Doc—”

The ferocious first cries of the distraught newborn echoed throughout the van. Maggie had moved behind you to keep you sitting up while Daryl had staggered backward and fallen on his ass against the interior wall, eyes on the little thing that Hershel was looking over intently. Maggie reached over your shoulder and began unbuttoning your dress, whispering in your ear as she moved.

“The baby needs to nurse, bond with you on your skin and it’ll help when you have to push out the placenta, okay?” You blinked at her, concerned. “It’s okay. It’s nothing like what you just went through. One or two small pushes and it’s out.”’ You nodded robotically, watching Hershel maneuver some sort of tape around a slimy cord.

Thumper was not happy. They were probably cold and that thought made your heart ache. Your baby should never be uncomfortable. Daryl was slowly, clumsily making his way toward you, but wasn’t taking his eyes off the baby. When he was sitting beside you, Hershel finally leaned over you and placed the squirming, slippery baby on your chest.

“Congratulations. You have a daughter.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #pregnant!reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl angst #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd

347 notes · View notes

sourcherryandsprinkles · 10 months

Note

Can I please request a Jeremiah x reader smut where it’s both of their first times! Smut but also cute and fluffy! Thank you ♥️

This is my first time writing for Jeremiah, please be nice. While I like him in the show - I am not team Jeremiah though -, I find him difficult to write about, so idk if I'll keep him on my list...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When it comes to losing your virginity, you've always wanted to wait for the right moment to do it. Maybe it was watching rom-coms and reading hundreds of romances that implanted this vision in your mind, or maybe it was just you wanting to make that big moment perfect, knowing you could never re-do it if you jinxed it…or worse, regret it.

‘’I have not,’’ Belly confessed quietly, shaking her head. ‘’Cam and I went on our third date. It’s way too early.’’ She picked at a loose thread on her shorts, not exactly comfortable talking about sex but feeling comfortable enough to talk about it with you. ‘’Have you and Jere..?’’

‘’No,’’ you said, excluding the other things you and Jeremiah had done that weren’t full-on penetrative sex. ‘’But we are thinking about it.’’

Belly’s attention snapped up. ‘’Oh?’’

You nodded, a light flush tinted your cheeks.

‘’Are you nervous?’’

You nodded again.

So many things could go wrong even if you make sure everything is perfect. You also heard some girls say it hurt the first time and that they bled, which scared you a little.

Belly grabbed your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. ‘’I may not know anything about sex, but what I know is that it’s Jeremiah. He loves you. There’s nothing to be nervous about,’’ she assured you.

A few weeks later, the day finally came.

Your mom was out at her book club meeting and your dad was at the country club, leaving the house to yourself for a few hours. Taking advantage of their absence, you texted Jeremiah to come over…and to bring the condoms.

It was bold and definitely had him grinning on his couch at home before making up an excuse to ditch Steven at video games and shower and get ready for the big event.

While Jeremiah was getting ready, you did the same. You put on matching bra and underwear, gave your hair an extra brush and spritzed yourself with Jeremiah’s favorite perfume of yours, lit some candles for ambiance although it was burning hot outside. You made sure everything was perfect.

Except it wasn’t perfect.

Right when Jeremiah unhooked your bra, his phone started blaring loudly and wouldn't stop. After the fifth ring, Jeremiah answered and left, needing to pick up his mother at the country club. He said he could come back after, but the moment was already ruined.

By some miracle, you were presented another perfect opportunity a few days later.

Susannah was out with Belly and Laurel for a debutante dress fitting, Conrad was at the beach surfing, and Steven was with Shayla.

You and Jeremiah were having a swim in his pool to cool down from the sun. Summer was beautiful, but the heat was too much sometimes. Thankfully, Jeremiah had a nice pool, which you loved to take advantage of. As always, playful splashing turned into kissing and soon enough, you were making out.

You moved things upstairs to Jeremiah’s room for more privacy, and also because didn’t want your first time to be in a pool or on the Fisher’ back porch.

‘’Careful!’’ Jeremiah reminded as the two of you hurried upstairs, leaving water all over the floors despite being wrapped in a towel. ‘’The floors are slippery when we—’’

You caught his arm in time before he could slip and fall, sending the two of you in a fit of laughter. The fun was interrupted when he backed you against the wall and kissed you in the hallway. You melted against him and let your towel drop.

Jeremiah brought you to his bed, not caring about the wet patched your wet baiting suits would leave behind. It's not like you were going to keep them on for very long.

Hands were all over each other's body, exploring and grabbing while you were kissing with desire. You undid the ties of your bikini, chucking it on the floor, then moved to your bottoms. Your whole body was on fire under Jeremiah's touch — you needed it all off.

You reached for Jeremiah's shorts, helping him out because it was harder to take off when wet...and horny, but that's when Steven decided to walk in like he owned the place, catching sight of Jeremiah's bare ass.

For the rest of the summer, you weren't able to find a good moment. Jeremiah was either working at the country club's pool, or someone was home. You could have snuck to an empty bedroom at a party, but a stranger's bedroom was nothing romantic for a first time.

You were starting to get impatient so, one night he was supposed to drive you home, you made him pull over and stop the car. It was dumb and had high risks of getting caught, but you didn't care.

‘’Are you sure?'' Jeremiah asked, seeing you pull your dress over your head. ''We don’t have to if you don’t.’’

You shook your head, looking right into his beautiful blue eyes. ‘’You’re my best friend, Jere. I want it to be you. I want it to be now.’’

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1

TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777

#jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher imagine #the summer i turned pretty imagine #the summer i turned pretty

831 notes · View notes

wasawattpadkid · 1 year

Text

Housewife

Part - 3

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, masturbation

Part 1

Billy normally did this sort of thing with Stu. He had a feeling his friend would be upset that he went alone. That's something he'd have to deal with later. Your room was on the second floor with no obvious way up to the window. If you were the only one home he'd find a way in. With current company that wasn't exactly possible. Binoculars, cellphone, and his trusty voice changer, were all he had to work with. Doing this sort of thing without a knife was unusual.

He positioned himself where he could see your bed and the posters adorning the walls. Rear window, The Birds, Vertigo, and Psycho. You were an Alfred Hitchcock fan. "And Stu said you didn't have good taste in movies." He scoffed. Billy shook his head the binoculars close to his eyes. He watched as you walked in the room towel wrapped around your frame. One foot closed the bedroom door behind you. You looked to the window as you slowly dropped your towel. Did you know he was out here?

That was impossible. It was pitch black outside with the exception of the moon. Billy watched as you pulled the dress from the bag. A smile lit up your face which in turn brought one to his lips. A sense of pride filled Billy's chest knowing he picked it out. Once again your eyes found the window looking out as if someone was right on the other side. Slowly you pulled the fluffy nightgown over your head, the frill dropping right under your ass. Billy's hand slipped down his abdomen resting over his zipper.

You grabbed the matching panties from the bag dragging them up your legs letting the elastic slap your skin. Moving away from the window you looked yourself up and down in the mirror. Billy and Stu knew what they were doing when they bought you the nightgown. You spun letting the dress drift around you. Air seemed to catch in your throat as you got happy. A smile so painful your cheeks hurt, was one of the many indications you were elated with the gift.

The only thing you could think that would make it better was some music. Walking to your records you grabbed the worn out 45 listed under M for Monroe. Lifting the wooden cabinet cover you sat the vinyl down placing the needle in the first groove. Within a second "I wanna be loved by you" filled the room. You mouthed the lyrics as you danced around. That giddy feeling only getting stronger. Your hands slid up and down your body as if you were the best stripper on a Saturday night. It was classy though and Billy took note. The dancing wasn't the best, if you could call it dancing. It was like you were in love with yourself and the world around you. Playing around with the air that filled the room.

Billy started softly rubbing the bulge that began to strain again his dark jeans. His eyes never leaving you as you danced for an audience of one. Your towel dried hair swug around sure to fling left over water. You were his own personal burlesque dancer. Billy's hips grinded up into his palm. The knuckles wrapped around the binoculars began to turn white with his grip. He had no clue what song could make you ooze with such lust but he needed to use it to his advantage. You were walking innocence. Something he lacked throughout his life. You weren't stupid, you were incredibly brilliant. Every move you made it was intentional. You were putting a show just for him.

His hips quickened as the pressure grew. Little whispers of encouragement fell on deaf ears. Billy needed your glossy lips around him. He needed the hem of that frilly little dress to fall over his lap as you bounced happily. He needed... You. "Fuck!" He cursed through gritted teeth. He needed new underwear. "Fuck." He dropped the binoculars by his side to assess the damage you caused. The mess you made. A small damp spot began to make an appearance through the denim next to zipper of his jeans. Ignoring the uncomfortable mess he picked the binoculars back up noticing you were now buttoning up your pajama shirt. "God damnit!"

Now that your little burst of energy was over you were ready to crawl in bed. You switched the record over to something more peaceful, one that would take longer to end. Billy put the binoculars down to focus on the phone number staining his hand. His finger tapped the buttons double checking the numbers before hitting call. He could hear the ear piercing ring all the way outside. Before you could answer he pulled the voice changer from his pocket.

Quickly you leaned over grabbing the phone off the receiver. Placing it right back down with a click. It was too late for anyone to be calling. Billy took a deep breath redialing the number. Once again the phone screamed for your help. "Hello?" You asked politely to Billy's surprise seeing as you were obviously upset at the intrusion. You hoped it was Billy. "Hello.." He spoke not really sure where to go with this one. Well at least you know who it's not. You picked up the phone sitting the receiver on the bed next to you. You got comfortable with the phone resting against to your face. "Hi what's up?" You spoke. No asking 'who is this?' or 'why are you calling?" Maybe you were a little dumb.

"Um-" Billy cleared his throat thinking of a quick response. "The sky." He squeezed his eyes closed in shame. His eyes opened to find you with a smile. A small laugh could be heard over the phone. "Okay smartass what's down?" This was stupid. You were supposed to angry at the caller, suspicious even. Who calls a girl all alone at this hour? "The ground." You laughed clapping your hands. "That's right! Not too bad mystery man. But what do you need? Why'd you call?" Finally.

"What if I just wanted to talk?" You scooted yourself underneath the covers thinking about the caller. "Okay but I'm not doing no weird shit. You can call one those sex hotlines for that." Billy smiled at your assertion. "Fair enough. Who might I be speaking to?" It was a test. You barley gave him a name when you first met he doubted you'd give it to a psychopath on the phone. "I would say we could exchange names but what's the fun in that? I don't know you, you don't know me. What's your favorite song?"

The question was out of left field so much so he wasn't ready for it. "What's yours?" He asked to your disappointment. Billy saw the sad look on your face. "Am I talking to Socrates right now? I asked first." Billy begrudgingly gave out his answer. "1979 by the Smashing Pumpkins. Now what's yours?" You nodded your head at the answer. It seemed fitting. "Oh gosh." You sighed. "I honestly don't have a favorite. And if I did it would change next week. Have you heard Landslide by Fleetwood Mac? It's really popular you probably have." You took a deep breath in. Sighing out the air in one go. "Anyways I really like that one. It's kind of sad though if you think about it."

Billy sat listening to every word you said. "Your turn." He always had the most important question on hand. Billy wasn't really sure if he wanted to ask knowing what normally happened afterwards. "Do you like scary movies?" Billy put down his binoculars focusing on just your voice. "I'd say I do. I like a very specific genre of scary movies though." Billy sat up listening closer if that was possible. "What do you mean by that?" The voice on the phone became lower sending a slight chill down your spine. "Everyone likes scary movies to be bloody. The more guts and gore the better. You don't have to have that to make a scary movie. Vertigo is scary but there's practically no blood and Rear Window is one of the best movies made about a murder with no body ever being seen."

"Scary movies should get inside your head, make the viewer wonder if they are next. Make them wonder if they are just as screwed up as the villain." Out of everything you could've said he wasn't ready for that. "You are very smart girl." Billy didn't intend for it to come off as sexual. However you definitely took it that way. "Has anyone told you that you've got a very attractive voice?" Billy smiled holding back a laugh. "Is that so?" You nodded as if he could see you. "Yep. Anyways it's getting late mystery man. I'm going to get some sleep. Sleep well okay?"

"Okay. Goodnight mystery girl." Billy whispered into the phone. For the first time he was the one to hang up. To end the call without screams on the other end. It made him feel surprisingly good. The light in your room turned off letting him know you were actually going to bed. Billy quietly packed up his things and started the walk to his car. He wasn't sure if this little talk changed anything for you but it definitely changed things for him.

Part 4

Taglist: @katie-tibo @danodoll21

2K notes · View notes

moonlight-prose · 10 months

Note

For your Sinful Soiree, could I possibly request "you're hot when you talk back" from the 1st prompt list, with Joel Miller (because I'm a basic bitch) but maybe with the reader saying it to Joel? ♥️

MORE AND MORE

a/n: i really went off with this one babes. it was supposed to be filthy and short, but i somehow turned it into a fic about being loved entirely and loving each part of a person. i still made it filthy because you can't have smut without angst. right? i hope you enjoy it!

summary: "he wanted to know every part of you, everything you kept hidden for fear of it being rejected. and you let him."

word count: 1.1k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (m receiving), mentions of violence, angst, cumplay/cumeating, spit play sort of, joel being cocky, the kinkiness of loving someone's dark parts.

He snapped in the middle of the bar. His hands curling into fists, eyes blazing with a fire that usually came as he held his rifle, the barrel pointed at imminent danger. It burned in his chest, spreading to the very tips of his fingers. Until his vision flared red and he could taste copper in the back of his throat.

It was a fire that only came when he had to protect what he loved—what he couldn’t lose. You’d grown to know it well. Falling in love with the hidden craving he tried to hide beneath the surface—the darkness that lurked beneath.

Except this time the danger came in the form of a man. Drunk and stupid, but still brave enough to challenge the man who could easily take him down. The man who was five seconds away from letting his fist fly through the air until blood stained his skin. But that was the thing about the two of you. When it came to situations like this, you would have let him.

One glance at Tommy standing on the sidelines let Joel know there was no place for violence in the bar. And the snowfall outside was too much of a hindrance to take the fight somewhere else. So Joel snapped. Told the man to shove his comments up his drunken ass or Joel would help him sober up. The gleam in his eyes and the lilt of his tone was all that the other man needed to back off and sulk in the corner.

Giving you a chance to drag Joel home.

Per the request of Tommy.

Although if you were being honest with yourself, (which you hardly were at a time like this) you dragged Joel home for a different reason altogether. The same reason that you were now willingly scraping your knees on the shitty rug beside your bed. Joel’s voice a breathy rumble of praises and half mumbled comments about how gorgeous you were.

His fingers dug into the back of your neck, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of red, and eyes fixed on the sight of your lips spread around his cock.

“What…ah, fuck sugar your mouth is heaven.” You felt the urge to grin overcome you, but chose instead to press your tongue against the vein that ran on the underside of his cock. “What brought this on?”

Spit trailed down your chin as you raised your head—knowing for certain that you looked like an utter mess. But that didn’t stop him from running his thumb across your bottom lip. Spreading the mixture of your spit and his precum along your cheek—watching in rapture as it shone against your skin.

You shrugged, a grin playing at the corner of your lips. You knew he had an idea about it five seconds into his pants being pulled down. He just needed confirmation that it was true. Your refusal to look at him did just that—causing his own lips to pull into a smirk. A sight that had you pressing your thighs together desperate for some friction.

“So that did it for you huh?”

The cockiness in his demeanor nearly undid you. Heat spread through your cheeks and down to your chest as he continued to watch you. Peeling back another layer in your psyche and yanking it forward before it had time to sink into the darkness. He wanted to know every part of you, everything you kept hidden for fear of it being rejected.

And you let him. Because deep down you knew he wouldn’t turn it away. He’d cherish them, allow them to thrive in his presence. Just as you did with the darkness he hid away from the rest of the world.

Glancing up, you caught the sincere glimmer in his brown eyes. A look that had you melting into his touch, practically preening as he continued to make a mess against your cheek.

“You’re hot when you talk back,” you said softly, as if you were nervous.

He merely smiled, his tongue peeking out to slide against his bottom lip. “You like when I’m like that?”

He didn’t say it explicitly, but you knew what he meant. When he lost his cool, letting a little bit of the Joel that existed before you seep in. The Joel he continued to hide. You wanted to explain that you loved him regardless; you wanted him every way he would give himself to you. But words wouldn’t do your feelings justice anyway.

“I love all of you,” you breathed, leaning into his touch, your hand stroking him slowly—keeping him hurtling towards a release he tried to stave off.

It’s when your lips wrapped around his cock again, pushing yourself until he reached the back of your throat, where you proceeded to swallow, that his words fell free. He moaned, his hand trying not to keep you right there, but failing the second you cupped his balls. A stream of you’re perfect and I love you and I'd do anything to keep you safe fell from his lips, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” he spit, his other hand gripping the sheets so tightly you were sure they would rip any second. So you slid your hand into his, letting him press your palm into the mattress as he would when he was thrusting into you.

You moaned when he thrusted into your mouth, the spurt of precum spreading on your tongue. And that did him in. He came with a hoarse cry of your name, his head falling forward and body crumpling in on himself. You wanted to burn the image of him like this into your mind. So you could see it every time you closed your eyes. But you settled for keeping him this way until he could no longer take the hot wet feel of your mouth, the divine caress of your tongue.

“Sugar I’m gonna—fuck,” he gasped, pulling you off him and watching whatever you couldn’t catch in your mouth drip down your throat. “You tryna kill me?”

A smile crossed your lips as you got up with a slight wince, crawling into his lap. “I wasn’t done yet.” You pressed your finger to his bottom lip, pulling at it lightly. “I wanted all of you in my mouth.

“Shit,” he breathed, his thumb gathering the pearly cum that still streaked down your throat, dragging it up to your mouth. “Well then open wide baby. And then it’s my turn.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us #my writing #sinful soiree🥀

596 notes · View notes

kenzlovesyou · 8 days

Note

kate martin x reader who loves to cook? maybe not a big back, but someone who loves cooking for others and trying new foods?

yes i love this idea sm thank you for sending! as always, requests are always open! i hope you guys like this one :)

Made With Love - Kate Martin x Reader

You loved to cook. Whenever you did, it brought back memories of your grandmother and a happy home. The smell of soup boiling on the stove, brownies in the oven, it all reminded you of love. So now, you think of love whenever you cook. You were never good with words, so you used taste to show your affection for others. You’d always imagined the day you would be able to cook for someone you cared the most about. Your cooking was “scared” though, so you always waited to save it for the right person

After dating Kate for about six months, you realized you finally found the person you loved most. The one you wanted to cook for. Kate was smart, beautiful, kind, athletic, the list went on. You couldn’t name one thing about Kate that you didn’t love. Well, except her away games. That you didn’t love. You hated being away from her. However, it posed as a perfect opportunity for you to prepare what you wanted to make Kate as a surprise for her return. You needed a dish that said ‘Hey! I missed you!’ but also something that said ‘I suck at words and I’m trying to say I love you’.

Of course, you settled on a romantic but simple dinner. Chicken and pasta. Besides the fact that it was something you knew how to make like the back of your hand, you also knew it was Kate’s favorite meal. You were so excited you just had to tell Kate to expect something special.

Y/n 💕

get ready for a surprise when ur home ;)

Kate ❤️🧸

Oh my

Y/n 💕

nonnonono stop not like that

Kate ❤️🧸

😂🤣 I miss you so much!

You smiled at Kate’s messages. They seemed dry, but that was just Kate. You hoped she was missing you as much as you missed her. You hoped she was finally ready to say ‘I love you’.

While you were semi starting to panic, you went to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients you needed. You wanted to go above and beyond for Kate, like she always does for you, and make homemade pasta. You searched through the aisles and definitely splurged on a few higher quality (but also higher priced) items. You told yourself it was for Kate, but really it was for both of you. Once you were finished picking out your assortment of items, you checked out and went home to get to work.

As you rolled out the fresh pasta dough you’d just made, your mind floated to your favorite thought: Kate. You simply loved the thought of her. Something about cooking for her felt so domestic to you and for once it wasn’t scary. It wasn’t scary to think about life with Kate. You knew she cared for you and you cared for her. She was your teddy bear and protected you from anything bad, you loved her more than anything.

You looked at the time. It read 4:45. ‘Perfect timing!’ you thought to yourself. Kate would be home around 5:30, so you should have everything ready by then. You quickly placed the store bought flowers you had gotten into a vase with water and an ice cube and put it onto the dining table. You took two plates out of the cabinet and dished servings onto them. Right as you placed the plates on the table, you heard keys jingling outside your door. There she was.

You ran up to the door and swung it open as Kate unlocked it from the other side. Kate saw you and her face immediately brightened up. She put her bag down and pulled you into a tight hug. You smiled as you snuggled into her, you’d missed this a lot.

“Hi, my sweet sunshine!” Kate said to you as she placed a soft kiss on your cheek. You giggled and took her arm in yours, dragging her to the dining room. “Hi baby! Come on, I made you dinner!” Kate was shocked to say the least. You’d told her about you special your cooking was to you and how you were saving your skills for when you fell in love with a special person. She remembered how she’d joked that in that case you and her would be cooking for each other in no time.

The two of you sat down to eat and you looked at her expectantly as she took her first bite. You looked up into her eyes hopefully.

“Baby, this is amazing! I can’t believe you did all this for me!”

“All for you, Kate kat! It’s just my way of saying…y’know..”

Kate stared at you, waiting for you to finish what you were saying. When you realized she really wanted you to say it, you finally let the words fall out of your mouth.

“It’s my way of saying that I love you, Kate Martin. I love you so much. And I’m sorry it took me so long to say it but here I am saying it now because I’m crazy about you. I’ve never felt this way before. I love you.” You spilled out your feelings at a quick pace, almost not stopping for a breath of air. Kate simply smiled and got up from her seat. She bent down to where you were sat at the table and kissed you. It didn’t feel like a regular kiss, something about this one felt so much more natural and much more full of warmth and love than all your other kisses had felt like. It felt explosive like fireworks.

“I love you even more, Y/n.”

Kate finally broke the kiss and you two returned to your dinner. Once it was finished, Kate happily washed the dishes and you put on a movie. Neither of you paid much attention to it though, you both finding the other much more appealing to look at.

“So,” Kate smirked, “since you made me dinner does that also mean I get dessert?”

#kate martin x reader #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #kate martin #lv aces #wlw #wlw post #iowa hawkeyes

134 notes · View notes

oddinary4bts · 8 months

Text

When the End Comes | ch 2 (jjk)

☆summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)

☆genre: breakup!au, slice of life!au, angst with a big A, smut

☆warnings: moving, curses, alochol, explicit content: female and male masturbation, pain kink (Jungkook), mentions of blowjob and penetrative sex

☆word count: 8.7k

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: I don't even know what to say about this chapter, just that I FEEL their pain so much :'( justice for my babies

☆a/n pt2: Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3

☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!

☆Add yourself to the taglist here (if you were on the taglist for The Forgotten Spaces, you're already on the taglist for When the End Comes!)

☆☆☆☆☆

But love never leaves a heart, where it found it, found it You found it Someday, I'll fall into you That's where I'll be now when the end comes

When the End Comes, Andrew Belle

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, July 6th

Days and weeks have passed. Apparently, even months have. Jungkook hasn’t really noticed – he’s been stuck in a daze, stuck replaying your breakup over and over again. Wishing he’d begged you to stay, though he could tell that nothing would have been fruitful.

You had made your decision already.

He hasn’t done anything since you left. Hasn’t left your apartment except for looking for a new one, when Yoongi forced him to go. Because alone, he can’t afford the one you had together. And it’s too filled with memories anyway.

All the pictures on the shelves by the window, turned towards the wall the night you left. The echo of your laugh, in every room he steps in. The ghost of you, just a silhouette he can’t ever reach when it’s dark and his mind is playing tricks on him.

The night you left, he thought it was a joke. A sick, twisted prank, and he believed you’d come back. When hours passed and dawn approached, he got up from the spot where he was sitting in, near the door, and turned the pictures towards the wall before heading to bed.

He hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed, and he’d slept with Bam directly on the floor.

A few nights later he’d made an actual bed with blankets on the floor, and he’s been sleeping there since then. But not tonight – tonight he’ll try sleeping in bed, in his new apartment.

A space that shouldn’t remind him of you too much.

He’s packed almost everything before today. He had nothing else to do, and it served to keep his mind busy during the long hours of the day. At night he usually has nothing to keep his mind from going to you, and he thinks he’s stuck in the moment when you left.

It’s a looped film in his mind, a horror movie that will forever haunt him.

The boys are helping. They brought most of the boxes he’s packed to his new place already, a small studio in the same building as Yoongi and Kiko. It’s on the other side of town, far from where he built a life with you, and he really hopes your ghost won’t follow.

Though he doubts he’ll ever escape it.

Everyone is currently doing a trip to the other apartment, except Jungkook and Yoongi. Mostly because Jungkook has been standing in the empty living room, save for the pictures on the shelves.

You left with the couch and the dinner table, telling him to keep the TV even though you were the one to buy it years ago. And that day you came to pick up your stuff…

Another haunting moment to add to the long list that’s been tormenting him since you broke up.

He shuts his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, jaw clenching as the familiar ache takes over his heart. He doesn’t want to cry today – at least not before he’s alone in his new place. Because he hates how his friends are concerned, hates that he can’t just stay home alone.

None of them understand the sorrow that’s been plaguing him – hell, all of them except Jimin are happily dating. A dirty, ugly part of him hates them for it, and he’s been trying to distance himself.

“You good?” Yoongi asks, startling him.

Jungkook’s hand falls to his side, and he forces his eyes open. Yoongi is next to him, an eyebrow cocked in question. “Yeah.”

“Do you want me to put these in a box?” Yoongi enquires, and Jungkook clenches his fist as Yoongi’s pointing to the pictures.

“I can take care of it.”

It takes him a few seconds before he does get in motion, and he heads to the shelves. There’s already a box waiting for the frames, one Taehyung put there earlier before Jungkook told him not to touch anything.

“Do you want help?” Yoongi asks carefully.

Jungkook steels himself as he grabs the first picture. He already knows which it is, from its placement on the shelf. It’s one of his exhibit’s pictures. The one he titled ‘Where I found hope again’. It’s the sunset from the living room of the apartment he’d found for you.

Seeing it hurts, but he barely pays attention to it, carefully putting it in the box before grabbing the next one. There you are, cheeks red and smile bright in the snow of December, and he feels like dying as he remembers the name of that one.

‘Where I learned to love again’. It feels like it’s laughing at him right now, like life is having a good laugh at his expense. He wants to throw it away, to burn and watch your beautiful form crumbling into ashes.

Instead, he puts it away, before moving to the next one. He thinks he goes blind – he doesn’t see the next pictures. Doesn’t focus on any of them, and lets the ache take over his action, over his heart. When he’s done, he realizes that the apartment is once again filled with voices – none of them being the right one, and he wishes to be alone.

Wishes to be allowed to crumble, to let himself be carried by the wind.

The rest of the day is a blur. He barely remembers getting to his new place, riding shotgun next to Jimin while Taehyung and Namjoon talked about something on the backseat. Jimin was silent, respecting Jungkook’s need to not speak, and maybe it’s for that reason that Jungkook says yes when Jimin asks if he wants some company when the others finally start filing out at the end of the day.

They all hug him tight, tell him that they love him and hope he’ll like his new place. With everything placed, Jungkook knows that he’ll always hate it, because it lacks the only thing that he truly wants – you.

And he’ll never have that again.

“Want to order something?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook is sitting on a kitchen chair, watching the condensation on his glass of water when Jimin speaks. He raises his head – his friend is scrolling on his phone, and he shoots Jungkook a look as he remains silent.

“Sure,” Jungkook finally answers. “Did you have anything in mind?”

Jimin nods. “There’s this great dumpling place nearby, and they deliver.”

“Oh.”

If Jimin notices Jungkook’s lack of enthusiasm, he doesn’t mention. Because Jimin is a good friend – he’s been one of Jungkook’s closest friends for years for a reason after all.

“Pork and green onion works for you?” Jimin asks.

“Sure.”

“I’ll get the marinated cucumbers too.” Jimin pouts at his phone as he focuses, and then his gaze darts once to Jungkook. “Anything else you want? They got bobas too.”

Just thinking about drinking boba makes Jungkook feel nauseated, so he shakes his head no. Jimin purses his lips, nods curtly and then says the food is on its way.

His statement is followed by silence, until the front door opens as Yoongi returns with Bam, as promised. Kiko was taking care of him all day, since she and Yoongi live in the same building. Yoongi promises that Bam was a good boy, and then he leaves again, nodding his head at Jimin.

As if to say ‘thank you for being here’. Jungkook hates the gesture, hates that he let Jimin stay, but he figures he can always just ask him to leave when they’re done with the food.

He had to eat anyway, right?

Needless to say, his appetite has been off, since the day you left. He’s been working out more though, something to keep his mind busy, but he’s been unable to eat like before. Jimin forces him to eat half the dumplings though, and Jungkook reckons that even after everything, dumplings still slap.

Not a lot of things in life still slap without you around.

One thing that does suck is, Jimin tries to make conversation through dinner. He asks Jungkook if he has any project coming up, if he ever plans on returning to Europe. The answer is easy, and Jungkook gives it without an ounce of hesitation.

“No.”

Jimin cocks an eyebrow, as if surprised by his answer. “Why?”

Jungkook grits his teeth, but offers no answers. He thinks it’s obvious – he’s been hating the European continent ever since the night you left because he can’t bring himself to hate you instead. So he directed it to the place that took you from him, and so far it’s been keeping him going.

“You know…” Jimin carefully says. “We’ve all been avoiding talking about it. But how are you even doing, bro? Every time I see you it’s just…”

Worse. He’s convinced that’s what Jimin was going to say, and he doesn’t blame him. It’s worse every time because he has been getting worse. As if adding another mark on the calendar equals to adding another on his heart, and the wounds haven’t had time to heal.

He doesn’t think there’s enough time in a lifetime to heal from losing you.

“I’m okay,” Jungkook lies easily.

Bam offers him salvation, barking by the door. As he rarely does, Jungkook gets up, a frown moving on his features. Jimin lets him go, even as Jungkook mumbles he’ll take the dog outside. His friend remains silent, and Jungkook is able to slip into the evening without Jimin pressing him about the lie.

As Jungkook had assumed, Bam just needed to pee, and probably barked because of the unfamiliar environment. Jungkook debates taking him on a walk, hoping Jimin would be gone by the time he comes back, but it feels too cowardly, even for him.

So he takes Bam in right away – the walk would have been hell anyway.

Jimin hasn’t moved while he was gone, and Jungkook tries to avoid the conversation by cleaning the table, putting away the empty dumpling container in the recycling bin after he’s rinsed it thoroughly. He feels Jimin’s gaze boring into the back of his head, but he does his best to ignore it.

“You shouldn’t drop your job in Europe,” Jimin suddenly says.

Jungkook whips around from his spot by the counter under which the recycling bin is. “What?”

“Isn’t it…” Jimin winces, shaking his head slightly. “Listen, this will be tough love, but isn’t it losing everything if you just… drop it too?”

Jungkook sees red. “Get the fuck out.”

“Bro.”

“Get the fuck out,” he repeats, putting emphasis on each word.

“We’re just worried about you,” Jimin says carefully, still not moving from where he’s sitting.

Jungkook has half a thought that he could carry his friend out if he wanted to, but surprisingly enough his heart breaks in his chest, tears blinding his vision.

“I just can’t go, okay?” he chokes out, and his nails dig in the palm of his hands as he clenches his fists hard. “I just can’t.”

Jimin watches him carefully, before sighing deeply. “Okay. It’s okay. There’s plenty of stuff you can do here too.”

Jungkook gulps, blinking the tears away until Jimin is clear in front of him again. “Can I…”

He stops, because he knows he shouldn’t ask. Knows he shouldn’t care, yet he can’t help himself. Jimin doesn’t press, waits for him to be able to speak. It takes longer than Jungkook thought possible, and he has to shut his eyes and lean against the counter before he finds words again.

“Can I ask how she has been doing?” he voices, words falling softly, almost soundlessly, in the space between them.

“Jungkook…”

“Just,” Jungkook lets out, eyes shooting open. “Please tell me she’s okay.”

Jimin’s silence is telling enough – you must be going through it too. It fills Jungkook with bitterness, with something vile and disgusting that tastes like bile on his tongue. Because you don’t get to be suffering, you don’t get to have made this decision and suffer from it.

Why the fuck did you make that decision then?

“You know,” Jimin starts carefully. “You guys were together for a long time.”

“Why?” Jungkook asks. “Why did she do this?”

And then the tears are moving freely, and Jimin quickly gets up to hug him. Jungkook rests his forehead against his friend’s shoulder as he breaks in the embrace, like he’s been doing for weeks now.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jimin promises when the tears recede and Jungkook stops trembling, as if his body, too, is too tired to keep on breaking.

Strangely, he gets the feeling there’s nothing left to break anyway.

“How?”

Jimin remains silent for a while, as if searching for the exact right words to say. Jungkook doubts they exist – how can someone repair a broken heart such as his?

“Life finds a way,” Jimin eventually chooses to say. He pulls away from the hug, though he still holds onto Jungkook’s shoulders. “Life always finds a way.”

Saturday, July 15th

You’re tired. Have been tired. Think you’ll forever be tired. A relentless exhaustion has settled over you like a mantle of snow settles on the land during the months of winter. With it comes an unshakable cold, and even though it’s summer you’ve been cradling your hoodie to your frame, draping yourself with it as if it’ll chase the cold away.

The cold is never going to leave. You think your heart turned to ice in your chest, and it pumps freezing blood into your veins. You’ve been trying to warm up, but heat is a mirage to you, an illusion you can’t reach.

Heather and Bridget are hosting a dinner at their apartment today. You’d wanted to avoid it, but considering they offered you a room for a few weeks before you found a new apartment, you couldn’t say no. Yet you dread the moment you’ll be faced with the other girls, some of them your friends because they are dating… his friends.

You’ve been trying not to think about him too much. It’s hard – he’s lurking at the back of your mind, a reminder of your failures. Of the places where you went wrong, the mistakes you committed. Not that the breakup was a mistake – you think you made the right decision, or at least you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you have.

But you didn’t lie to him – you love him. Still do, though now it’s more like grief. Though, what is grief if not the next step in the eternal timeline of love?

You worry at your lips, bury your hands in the pocket of the hoodie. You fumble with your keys as you wait in front of the door, as you try to knock but find you’re unable to. Because it means talking to them, it means pretending that you have been able to eat or sleep for weeks.

You reckon Heather and Bridget know, to a certain extent. Saw you wither like a flower when autumn comes, though you think now you’re settled in deep winter.

You think it’ll pass. You doubt a pain like this can last – no soul can withstand it forever. But that would be admitting that he was your soulmate, and you aren’t stupid.

Soulmates don’t exist. Because if he was, why then was the distance enough to break you up?

You sigh, eyes falling to the ground in front of your feet. You take a steadying breath – it does nothing to help.

You’re a coward. You’ve become a coward, and you think it might be because you put all of your courage in that night weeks ago. It broke you, broke the steel you used to be able to drape yourself with.

Now you’re stuck in the never-ending winter, withered and lifeless.

“Y/n!” Jo says, and you startle.

You turn your head to the side to see Jo as she’s walking around the corner, and she smiles at you as she makes her way towards you.

“Hey,” you reply as your throat goes dry.

If he has a best friend, or at least a female one, you think it’d be her. They’ve been friends since before you reconnected with him, since before you even knew her. Seeing her feels like it’s wrong, but then again everything has been feeling wrong lately.

“Did you already ring?” Jo asks as she stops next to you.

You purse your lips, shaking your head no. “Huh,” you let out. “I was about to.”

Jo nods, and you think she immediately senses your unease. She’s a good person though, and an even better friend. She doesn’t say anything, and she rings the door for you.

You don’t know what to tell her. All that you can think of is, if someone has news about him, it would be her. She’s the only one you believe there’s a chance he’s been honest to.

Before you can say anything, the door opens and Bridget ushers you inside. You realize that you’re the last ones to get there – you usually never are. Usually always make sure to be the first, only so that you can help the hosts.

It seems losing him changed that.

You greet everyone half-heartedly, quickly moving towards Jiho. Jiho hugs you, tells you she’s happy you came. You can’t return the sentiment, so you offer her a tight-lipped smile as Heather announces that dinner is ready.

Their chatter is lively. You feel like you’re watching the scene through a frosted window. Like you’re stuck in a blizzard, watching people reveling in the warmth of the other side, wishing somehow that they’d share it with you. And it’s not that they don’t try; multiple times throughout dinner the other girls try to talk to you.

You reply, you always do, but there is just so little to say, so little words your brain can conjure up. It’s like your thoughts are slower – you’ve been that way at work too. You’re lucky, you haven’t been working on anything big in the last few weeks. But next week you will be, and you don’t even know if you’ll be able to do it.

At least Harrison is on the case with you. As one of the most talented junior partners of the firm, you think he’ll be able to manage the case even with you at his side.

You eat what you can, though you’ve run out of appetite before you even broke up. You force yourself, mostly because you don’t like how Kiko’s looking at you. How you notice her leaning to speak in Jo’s ear more than once during the meal.

You’re aware that they’re speaking of you – do they hate you as much as you hate yourself?

You doubt they can.

When dinner is over, you offer to clean the dishes. Jo ends up on washing duty with you, and you work in silence, water sloshing around as you rub the plates clean while she dries.

You’re cleaning a wine glass when she says, “How have you been?”

The question is a simple one. The truth isn’t so, and you wonder if you should lie. You think it’d be a mistake. Jo’s perceptive, she’d see right through the lie.

“I’ve been better,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders as if it doesn’t matter.

That much is a lie, because everything about him mattered.

“I can understand.”

Heavy silence follows, and you pass the glass to her. You hope she won’t speak more, hope she’ll offer you kindness and let you dwell on your mistakes, but you know it’s unlike her.

Indeed, she speaks up after a minute. “You know…” She pauses, and you glance once at her to find her features troubled. “I was wondering… what brought you to this decision?”

You freeze, hands in the water. It’s hot enough that your skin is turning scarlet, yet you barely even feel it. “What?”

“If you don’t want to speak about it it’s fine,” she gently says. “But I’m just concerned about you.”

“Did he ask you to ask me this?” you enquire, accusingly. You frown at the tone of your voice, and apologize as you resume washing the glass you’re holding.

“No,” she answers. “He hasn’t really been talking to anyone.”

You shudder, with horror and compulsion at the person that you were weeks ago, the one that caused him to isolate himself.

“Oh.”

Jo waits a moment, but when it’s clear that you aren’t going to speak again, she says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t prod.”

You wet your lips, swallow around the lump in your throat. “It’s okay.”

Perhaps that’s also a lie. Perhaps you believe nothing is okay, nothing will be okay again. But you don’t voice it – it’s all your fault anyway.

“It’s okay if it isn’t okay, you know,” Jo gently says as you hand her a glass.

Your vision blurs, but no tears fall. No tears are left – you cry them to sleep every night already.

“Long distance is a bitch,” is what you eventually say. “You think you can make it through everything, and then long distance happens.”

You want to clench your hand around the third glass, want to feel the shards of it cutting through your palm like the shards of him have been stabbing through your heart. You force your grip to remain loose, lest you stain the sink with blood.

“Like for real, without it we would have been fine.”

You’ve told Jiho the same thing. You think you’ve told him the same thing, but you barely even remember the breakup. Just remember holding onto him at the end, and then winter seeping in through the crevices in your soul.

“I’m sorry.” Jo looks at you kindly when you glance her way. She offers you a sad smile that you want to hate, yet it just makes you want to break. “I’m really sorry it came between the two of you.”

You take a deep breath to tame the aching in your chest, nodding once. “It’s whatever.”

“It’s not.”

She’s right, so you remain silent. Choose to seek solace in a wordless moment, one you spend finishing the dishes. And when you’re done, and she’s wiping the last one, you find yourself asking, “How has he been doing?”

She stops moving, meets your gaze before letting her gaze drop to her hands. “As I said, he doesn’t really speak to anyone.”

“Which means he hasn’t been great.”

You know him enough to know that. She does too – she nods, before shrugging her shoulders. “Jimin and Tae have been making sure he’s okay though. Surviving.”

Because sometimes all there is to do is survive.

You’re relieved that his friends are there for him. It lessens the pain somehow, to know he’s not alone. You aren’t either – Jimin is your friend too and, even though she’s a mom of two, Jiho has been there for you ever since the breakup.

The first time Lisa asked you where Jungkook was though… felt like heartbreak uttered in an innocent sentence. Like the universe had gone wrong, like left and right were interchanged. You were lost then, and you still are today.

All at your expense.

“Good,” you answer.

She looks conflicted, pained – you understand why when she asks, “What about you?”

You clench your jaw out of reflex, as if it’s an accusation. As if admitting that you’re going through frozen hell is wrong of you, somehow. You think it is. After all, this is supposed to be better than the distance.

“I’ve got Jimin too, and Jiho,” you reply, voice strained. “Bridget and Heather too. They’ve been helping.”

Jo nods. “Good. Don’t isolate yourself.” There’s a pause, and her features turn pensive. “And you know, you got me too. You have all of us.”

Tears blur your vision, but like your soul they turn to ice before rolling down your cheeks. “Thank you.”

Smile apologetic, she nods again, as if her job here is done. And it must be – Kiko and Bridget walk into the kitchen, and they clearly don’t sense the atmosphere that’s clinging to you. They strike conversation with Jo, happily, and her stance switches to one that’s more relaxed.

You decide to leave them alone, because these three have always been a little closer to each other than you to them, and you return to the other room, where Chaeyeon, Valeria, Jiho and Heather are lounging on the couches. You debate leaving, debate claiming that you have to work early in the morning, but somehow you choose not to.

Is it a sign that you’re moving on? You don’t know.

When you do leave, later that night, at the same time as Jo and Chaeyeon do, you find yourself walking next to Jo as you head to your respective cars. Lance is picking Chaeyeon up, and she waves you two goodbye as you walk away.

You stuff your hands in the long sleeves of your hoodie, as if the air outside is remotely cold. It is not – there’s been a heatwave around for a few days. Luckily enough for you, a freezing heart seems to be a good remedy for the heat, and you still seek the comfort of your hoodie.

“I was wondering,” Jo says as you near where your car is parked. “Are you still planning on coming to the wedding?”

The forsaken wedding. The thing that set everything in motion – the spark that caught fire on years of your relationship.

You purse your lips, shrug your shoulders. “I think so,” you voice. “Yeah. You two are my friends, even if…”

If you’re closer to him. You don’t say as much, but it’s needless. Jo nods, understanding as ever, and she tells you that you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.

You think she’s a fool for believing that you wouldn’t want to go. Because… what’s wrong with wanting to make sure he’s okay with your own two eyes? What’s wrong with needing to see him in another context than this never-ending winter?

That night, you lie awake for hours. Picturing him behind your closed eyelids, only to find emptiness where he should be. The blankets are cold, the fan overhead not needed, yet you can’t bring yourself to turn it off.

Can’t chase the feeling of his absence from your heart.

You seek solace in memories of him, in the thought of his lips on yours. Of the featherlight kisses you used to exchange in the dead of night, when sleep was evading you or him. You must be half asleep – because suddenly you can almost see him here. Can almost hear his voice as he’d call you baby, mouthing the word against your neck before he’d suck on it.

Your heartrate picks up with the memory – they’re flooding in. The smell of his skin, the taste of his lips, the inebriating sweetness of his kisses. You remember the weight of him on you, the press of his knee between your legs.

And then you seek solace with a hand between your thighs, trying to remember how he touched you. How his long fingers always dragged you to a land of pleasure, how he’d managed to keep you there until you were insane with his taste.

You breathe out his name, a soft moan, though it’s almost a plea. A plea for him to appear, for him to never have been gone.

For you to never have pushed him away.

When you come down from the high that finds you in your memories, you lie on your side, holding one of your plushies to your chest. They don’t replace him; they never have.

You end up crying yourself to sleep over the memories, over the July night sky and the dance crew and every night you took for granted, believing that he’d be yours forever.

You cry for your decision, no matter how right it was. Because you know it’ll always feel wrong.

Friday, July 28th

There’s something about work that’s been setting you on edge. That’s been making you want to pull your hair out of your head – if only that was possible. It’s strange; you’ve been thinking about the breakup less now that you’re neck deep in work.

Now that you spend hours upon hours at work, after the usual closing time.

Luckily enough, you’re almost never alone. Harrison accompanies all of those late evenings as you work through the case, as he tells you what to do and you tell him you don’t need his help. He laughs at that – Harrison has an easy laugh. It makes its way to his lips whenever you speak, and it’s been like a ray of light in the otherwise dark land of your heart.

He’s a good coworker. Someone that’s noticed just how bad you are, but that’s decided to not treat you differently. To let you nurse your heart in peace, while he offers you the normalcy of what work should be.

Today, at lunch break, he suggested going out for dinner and drinks, along with the rest of the team that’s been working on the case. Mostly because you’re finally closing in on something that is clearly going to be good, and he believes it’s important to celebrate. You don’t have it in you to say no, and that’s how you find yourself squeezed between him and Anna, the paralegal that you’ve worked with the most, in the booth of a nice pub near the firm.

You’ve been sharing a nacho plate with Harrison and Ian, another one of the junior partners of the firm, and you’re sipping on a glass of the pitcher of sangria that Anna ordered for you and her. The buzzing of chatter and laughter makes the pub into a lively place, and you reckon you like the atmosphere.

You like the plants that cascade from their pots on shelves in the walls, like the hanging lights that shine brightly onto the tables, like the brick wall that gives the pub a nice industrial vibe. It just feels right, different than your usual.

Or maybe it’s the fact that the crew is different. That you aren’t with people that inevitably remind you of Jungkook, even though they shouldn’t.

Harrison’s English accent catches your attention as he says something to Ian – something about leaving work related conversation to the firm. As you turn your head towards the man at your side, he offers you a glance.

Harrison has clear blue eyes. Pale, like they hold the Caribbean sea in them. His eyes are beautiful, sparkling, and you offer him a smile.

He’s quick to smile back, and then he continues his conversation with Ian, who’s decided to speak about sports instead. You decide to join in, even though you know practically nothing about sports, and the two men tease you for it.

There’s no bite to it, yet it feels familiar. Reminds you of someone that used to tease you all the time, and with the sangria coursing through your veins, you decide to jump on the occasion. To let the past be the past, and live in this moment, for once.

Perhaps it holds some sort of salvation for you.

“It’s not my fault if football is boring!” you insist. “It’s just dudes throwing a ball. Who cares about that?”

Harrison nudges you with his elbow. “Hey come on,” he says. “They don’t only throw a ball, sometimes they kick it too.”

He’s got a teasing smile on his lips, and to your surprise you find yourself rolling your eyes. “And the point system? Stupid.”

“It isn’t!” Harrison says, faking offense. “You wound me.”

You cock an eyebrow as Ian laughs, before turning to speak to Sam next to him as the guy asks him a question.

“Aren’t you British anyway?” you ask him. “Why do you watch football?”

“Because I like dudes that throw balls,” he jokes, before realizing that his sentence sounded wrong as you burst out laughing. “Well, not like that.”

“No, of course not,” you tease back.

“It’s just a fun sport,” he insists. “Used to watch it with my step-dad when I was younger.”

Now, the revelation eases the teasing mood that you’ve been diving into, and you offer him a small smile. “Sounds like fun.”

Because you can get that. You can understand the need to love something because someone you loved introduced you to it – dance was that for you, once upon a time. When your mother had introduced you to it, when you were too young to realize that to her, you dancing was just going to be an accomplishment.

Until it became a curse, as you chose to not pursue ballet the way she wanted you to. But that’s old history – even though you still don’t talk to your mother all that much, the hatred you’ve held for her for years after she’s kicked you out is lesser now. Practically non-existent, and you have your therapist to thank for that.

Years of therapy really did help, eventually.

You realize, tonight, how you haven’t really been living since you broke up. You’ve been a mere ghost, a mere winter wind, but tonight you think the air warms up. It warms up into a tentative spring breeze, and you cling to it.

You say yes when Harrison suggests heading to a club after, a VIP one where he’s a member along with Ian. Say yes to the shots offered to you, and you ignore the texts in the group chat with the girls saying that they want to meet up for lunch tomorrow. You focus on the now, focus on the fact that he’s not all you’re thinking of.

No, his big, doe eyes barely exist in your mind right now, replaced by ocean blue and an English accent. At least that’s what you tell yourself as Harrison says he’s a shit dancer, and you admit you were on a dance crew for years.

He cocks an eyebrow, says you’re full of shit, and that’s how you find yourself pulling him to the dance floor, not caring that his hair is paler than your usual, that his smile rings different.

Harrison is not a good dancer. He’s awkward, clumsy, and he steps on your feet more than once as you dance face to face, swaying to the beat of the club music. The flashing lights feel like a haven, like you don’t have to hide in the darkness left by Jungkook’s disappearance from your life.

You let Harrison put his hands on your waist, let him pull you closer, until he’s resting his forehead on yours. Your eyes shut from the proximity, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath. Somehow, that’s what makes you remember – not the dancing, but the intimacy of the position. It makes you crave another, makes you need to forget, and you’re the one that closes the gap.

You’re the one who kisses him first, and he kisses you back all wrong. There’s something missing – the piercing, perhaps – but you don’t let it deter you. Focus on the swipe of his tongue on your bottom lip, and you sigh as you let him in.

But Jungkook is there, in your mind. When Harrison’s hands tighten on your waist, it’s in Jungkook’s hair that you want to thread your fingers through. When he groans softly in the kiss, as you bite his lower lip, it’s Jungkook’s lips that you want to be sucking on.

And you think it’ll always be Jungkook. He’ll haunt you forever – a reminder of your weakness, when it came to the distance. A reminder that, after everything, you’re the one that ruined it.

You’re the one that put an end to what was supposed to be forever.

It aches, coldly. You think your heart barely knows how to beat anymore. It’s erratic, painful, and when Harrison pulls away from the kiss, his blue eyes finding yours, you think his irises are made of ice.

“Hey,” he says gently.

“Hey,” is all you can think to reply.

If he sees the torment in your eyes, he ignores it. Guides you back to the table, where he leaves you with Ian and the rest claiming that he’ll get a water for you. And he does – he comes back with two bottles of water, and he hands you one as he sits next to you.

You think that’s what undoes you. That’s what breaks you, spills the content of your aching soul right there on the club’s floor. You don’t know who’ll pick up the mess – the one it belongs to is far away from these flashing lights. Far, yet closer than he was when the ending came. Somewhere in the city, you believe, because you don’t think he’s gone back to Europe yet.

Would he answer, if you were to call him? Would he pick up right where you left off, whisper sweet nothings in your ear as if you haven’t destroyed his beating organ?

You hate it. Hate how, weeks later, the torture hasn’t diminished. Hate how you believed it’d be just a few rough days, when it’s been weeks and months and winter hasn’t changed.

So you do what you do best. You escape. Tell the table that you have to go, and make it outside before Harrison catches up to you. He asks if he can walk you home, which makes sense because you live in the same complex anyway. Not the same building, but Harrison lives in the one across the small square-like courtyard between the three condo towers where you’ve found a place to rent after Jungkook.

Up above, stars twinkle in the sky. They seem unaware that, after that cataclysm of a July night, the story came to an end. Like the universe never meant it, when it put you and him together. Or maybe it’s you – maybe you created a new cataclysm. Wrote your own fate, and all that crap.

You’re getting dizzy. Both with alcohol and spinning thoughts, but luckily enough the walk is short. Harrison grants you silence, sensing that you need it, probably. Because he’s gentlemanly. Not that Jungkook wasn’t – it’s just different.

And you shouldn’t be comparing him to Jungkook, but it’s far too easy. Especially as your treacherous little mouth asks him if he wants to share a drink in your apartment, as you tell him that you feel better now that you’ve breathed some air.

He says yes, though he seems unsure. He seems unsure all the way up to your floor, and even more so as you pull him in a kiss when the door closes behind you and him. Especially as you breathe against his lips, “Do you think you can make me forget?”

After everything is done, and you lie awake next to his naked form, both of you staring up at the ceiling in silence, you know the answer to that question.

And it’s quite simple – no. Because no one will ever be able to make you forget the one you were supposed to be with until you turned to stardust. Until all that would have been left of the two of you was etchings on a stone, and memories in the space between this life and the next.

Harrison is kind – he tells you that he senses you shouldn’t have done it, gently. Tells you that the only person that can make you forget is yourself, and time. And when he leaves, he tells you not to worry about anything. That he can be a friend, if you need it, but that he doubts you want anything more.

He’s right, and you cry yourself to sleep holding onto Totoro and Appa, hoping weeks ago you would have listened to Jungkook when he’d said not to break up. Hoping to turn back time, cursing the linearity of it. Remembering the punctuate events of you and him, wondering how the distance was enough to undo your timeline.

The sun winks at you when it rises, mocking you as night ends, with no answer for you. The what-ifs shine as brightly as the rays of the morning, all of them piercing through your darkened heart.

You shiver and hide your face in Totoro, hoping one day you’ll be able to evade winter.

Friday, August 18th

Jungkook’s first thought when he steps into the restaurant is that it’s too loud. Too bright, with happy couples and smiling families sharing a meal as if life’s never ended, three months and ten days ago. He feels like an imposter – he hasn’t smiled since you left, and hasn’t laughed since before that.

He doesn’t know why he agreed to this, when Taehyung suggested it. Maybe because Taehyung and Jimin can be firmly persuasive, when they decide they’ll do something. Though, this time around, they’re not doing anything.

Anything other than having set this blind date with one of Taehyung’s coworkers.

Jungkook decides to find solace in his thoughts. Away from the bustling crowd of the restaurant, into the cool darkness where he’s been evading since he moved to his new apartment. Somewhere where the pain is lesser, where he doesn’t cry all the time.

That’s where she finds him. A shy smile, rosy cheeks as she voices, “Jungkook?”

He meets her gaze, finds her long lashes as she looks up at him innocently. He’s struck – she’s way out of his league. But so were you, and he’s got a whole story to tell about you now. He looks around as if to make sure the girl was speaking to him, as if she didn’t say his name, before he answers, “I assume you’re Emma.”

Another shy smile, and Emma nods her head. “The one and only.”

Jungkook wets his lips, and when the server comes to bring them to a table, he lets his gaze drop to the ground as he follows behind Emma.

He sits in front of her, feeling odd as she blushes and looks through the menu. Her shyness makes him feel awkward, and he doesn’t know what to say.

With you, he always knew what to say.

He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and then lets his eyelids flutter open so that he can look through the menu too. He thinks, he just has to make it through the evening. Doesn’t have to see the girl again, even though her shy smiles are cute.

She is cute, but she’s not you. No one will ever compare to you.

He takes a deep breath once more, tries to push you out of his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, it’s not as hard. Maybe because his awkwardness is winning over, making him all too aware of every glance the girl throws his way.

They order, barely exchanging a word, until the girl throws him a lifeline. She asks about his photography, admits Taehyung told her about it, and Jungkook settles in his comfort space as he tells her about it, as he answers her question.

It’s impersonal, almost professional, but at least it keeps the pain at bay for a while. He even thinks he’s enjoying himself – by the time they’re eating and he’s drank half of his beer, he does feel lighter. Like he can finally breathe, like the hand clutching his heart in his chest has loosened.

Or maybe he’s just been getting too good at burrowing his feelings deep inside of him. Still, he barely smiles, barely laughs. And he knows none of his smiles quite reach his eyes, and he knows the girl must have noticed. She doesn’t say anything though, focuses on telling him what she does for work, and then goes on to tell him about what it was like for her growing up.

He zones out, nods when he figures he has to, tries to smile when there’s a lull in the conversation. He’s clearly not good at that – he’s never really gone on dates before. Except with Laura, before you, but even that barely counted as a date. Perhaps because he already knew Laura, and he’s struck thinking that the girl in front of him is a stranger. A stranger, yes, but she’s kind. So when she suggests sharing a bottle of wine, claiming that it’s her favourite and that she’s wanted to drink it in a long time, Jungkook doesn’t have it in him to say no.

Even though they’re already done with eating. She does order dessert, and he watches her eat as he nurses his glass of wine, taking sips from it once in a while.

He hasn’t drunk in a long time, and the effects start to be felt faster than usual. Or maybe the beer he drank before the wine was strong. Either way, his head starts swimming with alcohol before they’re out of the restaurant, and he relishes in the feeling.

Revels in Emma’s suggestion to take a walk to clear their head, along the small river near the restaurant. The evening air is fresh, though clouds hide the stars from view. It smells of rain – there are leftover puddles from earlier today – but it doesn’t seem like the sky will cry again tonight.

A soft breeze plays in Jungkook’s hair. He hasn’t cut it in a while. It used to be a lot longer, but he’s not used to it anymore, so it feels weird whenever strands of his hair pass in front of his eyes. He tries to push them back but to no avail: the strands stubbornly always fall in front of his eyes again, and he ends up giving up after a moment.

Turns out Emma is a gamer. She suggests playing some games together the next time they hang out, and Jungkook doesn’t have it in himself to tell her that they, as a matter of fact, won’t see each other ever again. Not because she isn’t sweet – she’s just not what he wants. And he doesn’t even want the distraction.

He did that once, and it didn’t serve him good. Even if he managed to have you in the end.

“What’s your favourite game?” Emma asks as she stops next to some railing overlooking the water. She leans against it, forearms resting on it as she looks at the water, eyes following the ripples in the river.

“I don’t game as much anymore,” he admits. He shrugs, tries to ignore the way his lungs burn.

Because he used to game with you next to him, and he doesn’t need reminders of you.

“Mine is Valorant,” she says, and she smiles at him as if she expected that to make him happy.

“Oh,” he lets out. He offers her a tight-lipped smile, and feels bad when her face falls a little. So he quickly adds, “I took you more for a Sims girl.”

She fakes offense. “What? Why?”

There’s a twinkle in her eyes, and he’s struck silent as he watches it. She seems to take that as a cue for something else, because she takes a step closer to him, eyes dropping to his mouth.

He thinks he’s frozen on his spot when she tilts her head back, tiptoes, and presses a featherlike kiss on his lips. Eyes wide opened, he watches her, until he figures he should be kissing her back.

So he does, hesitantly, as lead forms in his stomach, making him think that he’s going to be sick. Because she kisses him all wrong. Tastes all wrong too, and suddenly you’re burning in his mind, bright magma that moves in his veins until pain suffocates his lungs.

He takes a step back, and Emma’s eyes shoot open, as if startled. They stare at each other for a time, and then she gulps.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t care for her apology. Doesn’t care about anything other than the fact that he feels disgusted with himself. And for what? It’s not like he owes you anything anymore. As a matter of fact, he should be enjoying this. Should be enjoying that even though he was his most awkward self, he still was able to get the girl to kiss him.

Instead, he burns and he chokes on his saliva as he tries to swallow. He wonders why his vision is blurry, and he furiously blinks his eyes trying to keep Emma in focus.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “Gosh, I read this all wrong. I…” she pauses, shaking her head slightly, and it seems she’s been wearing a mask all evening, because it crumples into nothingness. “I just got out of a long relationship, Tae said you too and I just… Fuck I just assumed we could comfort each other?” When he remains silent, she continues, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She’s rambling, and Jungkook just hears his blood pumping in his ears. When he still doesn’t speak, she apologizes once more, and then tells him that she should go.

He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t even look as she walks away, head hung low in what he assumes is shame. All he feels is the deep burning sensation, as it settles under his skin. Like a sunburn – he wants to scratch at it, wants to rip it from his skin, but he can’t.

He can’t because you’re gone, and this ache is all that’s left of you. It’s all that’s left, so he clings to it. Tries to keep it close to his heart, where you belong. Picks at the scab, at the wound, until he’s bleeding all over again, breaking out in the city, where anyone can see that he’s lost you.

He doesn’t know how he makes it home. All that he knows is that he’s in the shower, later, head pressed against the tiles as cold water runs on his back. It mingles with the tears streaking down his cheeks, mixes with the saltiness of heartbreak.

It doesn’t cool the sunburn ache, doesn’t ease the pain in his chest. And you’re everywhere then – in the cracks on the wall, he believes he can see you. Believes he can reach out for you, though what he ends up doing is cranking the temperature of the shower up, until it’s not cold anymore.

Though he reckons he barely can feel it anymore.

So he forces his eyes shut, chases memories of you like a dog chases its tail – round in round, in a circle, because he thinks he’ll always circle back to you anyway. He imagines you, in all your glory. Imagines you’ve never left, imagines you’d still run your hands on his back, still dig your nails in his skin.

He doesn’t even know how his hand finds its way to the base of his dick. Doesn’t even know why he’s horny, why the pain makes him crave you more. Why it makes him touch himself, imagining it’s your touch. And with his eyes squeezed shut, you’re everywhere. The goddess of the land of his mind, and he can almost believe you’re still here.

He grunts, perhaps in pain, and picks up the pace on his dick. He remembers words whispered on your skin, your spit on his dick as you’d swallow around the tip. He remembers your tight walls, clutching him, holding him in as you’d ride him like there was no tomorrow.

He remembers a hot tub and the night that followed, remembers breaking and healing with you. Remembers the darkness of the accident, and the light you’d shine on him. The light is gone now, and only darkness remains. It’s not the same – it’s lonelier, somehow. Because he had everything, and now remains nothing. Just the ghost of what once was, and he wishes he could be taken back to the night on the hotel rooftop, wishes you’d never left.

And when he comes, it’s your name that he moans. Like a blessing, though now you’re a curse. A curse to him, and he wishes the pain would go away, wishes it would stay. Wishes it would bring you back, yet knowing he’d push you away. Because he doesn’t think there is pain as great as what you caused him, and then he curses himself for the thought.

That night, he lies awake in sheets cold as winter, weakened by his broken heart as he chases sleep that never comes.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Taglist (add yourself to the taglist here) (strike through means dumblr isn't letting me tag you)

434 notes · View notes

1d1195 · 3 months

Text

Traditional Extra VI

Read Traditional here

Here's a little angsty bit from our lovely (jealous) MC this time around based on this ask

~4.5 k words

“I think you should talk to him.”

“No way,” she snorted. “Do you know how embarrassing that would be? And pathetic.”

Louis laughed. “The man has literally fired his best friend over jealousy of you. This is nothing,” he promised with a shake of his head.

“You don’t need to go with me, baby.”

“M’not arguing ‘bout this,” Harry muttered holding the door open for her to go through first. As she passed him, he glared at the cast on her delicate arm. For the last six weeks he looked at it loathingly. It hurt him to know she was in pain those early weeks, shaken, and physically broken.

Fortunately, it was the last day of glaring at it.

Things were better at Styles Incorporated. Her brilliant idea of course was beyond helpful, lifesaving in more ways than one. Harry was certain without it he would have had to make some deep cuts and would have ruined an innumerable number of his employees’ lives. They didn’t even know she was responsible for the idea.

Thanking her would never ever be enough.

Niall wasn’t fired anymore. She brought Harry tea every day at quarter past one. His office was spruced up with new furniture and electronics once more. Niall caught M&Ms in his mouth that she tossed from her desk and passed notes to her during meetings. Everything was right again.

Except her fragile arm. After the first week, she claimed it didn’t bother her (it didn’t, truly; but Harry was miserable about it). It was a little inconvenient. Showering was a challenge, but Harry rarely let her do that on her own without a broken bone, so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Having sex with a cast on was also her least favorite. There was nothing un-sexier than a honking plaster on her forearm. Harry swore it didn’t even register in his brain.

I hope this doesn’t bother you... But m’never looking at your forearm when we’re in bed whether y’have a cast or not.

So, there was that.

Harry was still Louis’ least favorite person. It made him extremely anxious; in some ways, he was more worried about Louis’ feelings for him than her arm being broken or even the state of his company. There was no her if Louis didn’t like him. She reassured him that he was being extra, and she would speak to him, but he was certain Louis would melt him with his eyes if he could.

“It wasn’t his fault, Louis!” She whined laying across the sofa dramatically. “You’re being the worst right now!”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t like that you got broken.”

“It’s not like Harry was the one that crashed into me or snapped my arm,” she reminded him.

“I don’t care; you shouldn’t have left.”

She groaned. “So blame me!”

“Never,” he shook his head decidedly. Even getting Eleanor to talk him off the ledge was no help. Louis was almost unbearably stubborn. Eleanor swore she would keep working on him.

Once the cast was off, she was hoping it would go back to normal.

That day was today. She waltzed up to the counter to check in and then sat beside Harry on the hard plastic chairs. He was on the phone while she checked in, speaking in hushed whispers so as not to bother the others in the waiting room. It was definitely a business call—it was the middle of the day and she almost got away with leaving without him knowing and fussing but Niall told him.

Niall walked toward their office when he dropped Harry off at the elevator beside her.

“Tattle tale,” she glared at his retreating figure. He turned his head over his shoulder and winked at her with a telling smile that he didn’t care at all.

Harry frowned. “Kitten,” he sounded so hurt waiting alongside her. “Why didn’t y’tell me?” He pouted.

She sighed. “Because you’ve been so fussy. They’re just going to take it off. Plus, it’ll smell and—”

The elevator pinged with its arrival cutting her off from listing anything else. The nice thing about riding the elevator with the CEO was rarely did anyone want to be caught in the elevator with Harry. It meant they often got to make out privately in the middle of the workday. Harry stood at the back, leaning against the handrail. He looked at the ceiling as they descended the floors with the world’s weariest sigh. She stood beside him and tilted her head up as well. “I’m tired of you being upset about it.”

“You’re the most important thing in the world t’me, kitten,” he reminded her. “M’not taking this lightly.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I know. I know, baby. But you’re... it’s not your fault. And I don’t need you to be here for this. I know you’re busy. I saw your schedule. That’s why I didn’t tell you about it. If you had the time I would—”

“I’m never too busy for you,” his look was nearly ferocious. Intense and serious. Way too much for getting her cast sawed off on Thursday. He grabbed her hand and twined their fingers together. “Y’have t’know that,” he whispered. “I’d...I’d give up everything for you.”

“I don’t want that,” she shook her head with a little eye roll, but the gravity of his words ached her heart. She could feel each syllable shaking her body and soul.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She smiled. “Say it again,” she teased.

He chuckled pressing his forehead to hers and pecked her lips quickly. “I love you,” he repeated.

“Again.”

“I love you,” he promised and cupped her face between his hands and kissed her until the elevator brought them to the main floor.

“You can stay out here while it gets cut off,” she offered when he ended the call and scrolled through a plethora of texts and emails.

“Absolutely not,” he murmured without looking up from his phone.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her good arm around her stomach and let the cast arm lay limply in her lap. He was way too overdressed. It wasn’t his fault. He was just dressed for work. A button down tucked into a pair of fitted slacks. He looked like a model for Armani. She stared at him and looked at her outfit—having known she was leaving early for the cast cutting, she wore a pair of leggings and a jersey dress over it. She was comfortable—not overdressed but still presentable for work. She looked like a mess in comparison to Harry.

“S’matter?” he asked glancing from his phone. “Are you in pain?”

“You look really nice,” she murmured.

He smirked and shook his head. “Yeah? S’that make y’sad?”

“I look like a goblin right now.”

He chuckled, tucking his phone back in his pocket. He shook his head. “You look beautiful. You always do.”

“Hey Harry, what are you doing here?”

They turned to the sound of the woman standing at the door leading to the patient rooms. The woman was stunning. Even in scrubs, with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her cheekbones were sharp and accented by the prettiest contoured makeup she had ever seen. Her eyelashes were full and lovely. She was almost certain they were natural.

Her jaw dropped a bit just looking at her, seeing that she very obviously knew Harry.

“Oh, hi, Soph,” Harry stood and cleared his throat. “Um... my girlfriend,” he gestured holding his hand out for her to take and she rose to her feet. “Her cast is coming off today.”

“Oh, you can come this way. Sorry! That was a bit unprofessional. Just surprised to see Harry,” Soph smiled sweetly and gestured for the pair of them to walk through the door. She glanced at Harry as she followed behind the pretty woman in scrubs. Harry looked a little paler. If she wasn’t so obsessed with him, she might not have noticed the change in his expression. But she had seen the worry in his eyes hidden behind the careful front he managed to keep composed when he talked with other businessmen and businesswomen. Usually when they said something that irked him because he disagreed with their philosophy or work ethic—Harry was good at what he did and had been for a while. It was hard to listen to all but bad ideas.

But she hadn’t seen it in relation to a woman she had never heard of. Was Soph short for Sophia or Sophie? Or something else? How did he know her? Why did he call her by a nickname?

“How’s your arm feel?” She asked gesturing for her to sit on the patient table while she walked to the counter to type on the chart on the tablet she carried.

“It’s fine. I think it could have come off two weeks ago,” she said still feeling weary about how Harry knew her. Harry rolled his eyes.

“She’s been trying t’rush the healing process,” Harry said.

Soph smirked. “I don’t blame you,” she said looking back at her. “It’s no fun with a cast. I was in a splint for my ankle after an ice-skating thing, remember how irritated I was?” Her question was directed to Harry. She felt the pit of her stomach churn and warm with anxiety.

Harry smirked at the memory almost instinctively. “I remember,” he mumbled quietly. It felt like a knife had been twisted in her heart. She hoped her face wasn’t betraying her internal feelings.

Soph pulled the saw off the table that would cut the plaster off her arm. She had trouble focusing on what Soph was saying because she was almost unbearably pretty. Soph went through the standard cast-cutting procedures as if she said it a hundred times a day and showed her how the saw wouldn’t cut her, pressed it to her own hand as proof and reminded her to speak up if for whatever reason she felt pain and wanted to take a breather.

“You two know each other?” She couldn’t help but ask while she sliced through the plaster. Harry was staring at her arm and nothing else.

“Like four years ago,” she smiled softly. “I was in college; my roommate was an intern at Styles Incorporated. She hated it there,” she laughed quietly. “But she brought me to the holiday party, and I asked for a drink at the bar and this guy bumped into me; spilled my drink all over me. I was glad I was wearing a dark colored dress.”

“Niall shoved me,” he grumbled looking away briefly to hide the irritation he felt over the little faux pas.

“It wasn’t a big deal. Obviously, I was used to frat house parties so having a nice Chardonnay spill on me was a lot better than party punch,” she rolled her eyes. “He was beside himself though,” she glanced at Harry with this knowing smile that made it seem like a secret. Harry’s lips twisted slightly in a half smirk. Her insides twisted again, and she had to remind herself internally to keep calm. They had a private thing. Something she didn’t know about.

Harry was clearly with this very pretty girl. Someone he obviously cared about. Sure, it was ages ago, but it was everything she feared. That stupid woman from one of the worst days of her life was right. Harry didn’t date plain girls. Not if Soph was any indication. “Have you been dating long?” Soph asked.

“Just...” she shook her head trying to do the math and feeling pathetic that it didn’t add up to much. “Just about a year,” she murmured.

“Officially,” Harry added quickly. “We dated for about six months prior,” he reminded her and told Soph like it was necessary she knew.

“That’s sweet,” she cooed kindly. Her smile was genuine. Soph was genuine. There wasn’t an ounce of jealousy or cattiness in her voice seeing Harry. She wasn’t sure she would feel the same way if the roles were reversed which made her inferiority ache in her stomach and chest more. “Well,” Soph had excitement in her voice. “Here it is,” she smiled and pulled the plaster and cushioning off her arm in two pieces. “It might be a little stiff. Regular over the counter medicine will help alleviate any final pain from the muscle stretching a bit more freely. But you’re good to go,” she patted her arm.

She shook her head trying to remind herself that she was supposed to be polite. But the feeling of inadequacy washed over her. “Thank you,” she said kindly. “I love your nails,” because she did. They were pink for Valentine’s Day maybe and the little hearts on the ring finger were adorable. It also made her notice that she didn’t have a ring.

“Oh thanks! I am actually really disappointed in my nail place—I need these off, but I don’t want to go back to where I went—they’re so outgrown,” she frowned. “I’ve been trying for ages to find a good one.”

“Oh,” she pulled out her phone. “I go to this place—not very often, admittedly. But they’re good,” she offered and held her screen out to show her.

“Thank you so much, that’s awesome! Your nails look so healthy and lovely, I noticed while I was cutting the cast off. You don’t even have a color on them and I’m so jealous of them,” at least the feeling was mutual. “Would you mind texting me the name?” She asked with a kind smile. “Harry probably still has my number,” she turned to Harry for confirmation.

This time Harry’s posture was as stiff as her arm. He cleared his throat. “Mm.”

“Perfect,” Soph smiled as if she hadn’t a clue how weird this all was. As if she wasn’t aware of the anxiety and jealousy coursing through her. Maybe she was a good actress. “It was nice meeting you!” Soph chirped sweetly. “Nice to see you, Harry,” she pressed her hand on his arm as she passed out the door and left the pair of them to leave behind her.

Harry chatted on the phone while he drove back to Styles Incorporated. Normally, she listened in on the phone calls trying to help as best she could when needed. Muting his call when she had something important to add or a tidbit of information, a file, or something to help with the call.

But the feeling of inadequacy was the only thing she could focus on during the car ride. She scrolled through her phone and tried to ignore the images of someone so pretty with Harry. She was a good three inches taller than her. Her skin was flawless. She looked like she worked out often. The thought of her in Harry’s personal space made her feel sick.

She was nothing like her.

How could Harry want someone like her when he had dated someone like Soph?

“Y’okay, beautiful?” He asked. “Your arm hurt?” He wondered, reaching over and placing his hand on her thigh. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Just kind of tired all of a sudden. Skipped our coffee.”

He smiled softly. “I was going t’stop on the way,” he promised.

“Thank you.”

“’Course, kitten.”

She hoped the feelings of inadequacy would have dissipated by now but after tracking down Soph’s phone number she even sent her a pic of her new nails thanking her for the recommendation.

An M&M hit the side of her head. “You okay, darling?” Niall asked.

It was hard to keep it in. “Do you know Harry’s ex, Soph?” She asked.

“Sophie?” He blinked in surprise. Her heart felt heavy knowing her full name. “Yeah...they dated a while back...uh...for like a year, maybe? She was in college. Harry was only just getting Styles Incorporated under way. The second or third year?”

A year?

She nodded. “She cut my cast off,” she explained.

“Oh,” Niall tilted his head. “Was she...mean?”

“No, she was...really nice.”

“Yeah. I kind of figured. She always was.” As awful as it felt to watch Soph and Harry share a smile at the fond memory of ice-skating—even if it ended with her in a splint—knowing that Niall thought she was nice was somehow just as awful. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked. “Is your arm bothering you?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Just a little distracted. I didn’t sleep well,” she lied.

“You should go home, I think Harry left for a lunch meeting,” Niall explained.

“He left?” She asked quietly.

Niall smirked biting his lip. “Sorry, darling. He pushed the lunch meeting to today so he could go to the hospital with you the other day.”

She hated when he did that.

“Okay,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

She gathered her belongings trying to feel less ridiculous but unable to quell the frustration she felt. “Call me if you need something,” she reminded him.

“Always, darling. Same to you,” he eyed her suspiciously.

Louis was glad her arm was freed of the cast. “Maybe you should get my name tattooed on it,” he suggested missing his name across the entire plaster more than he hated the reason for the cast. She snorted.

Eleanor was still at work, but Louis returned to their place early per her request. They sat on the sofa, watching a movie and snacking on popcorn and candy. “Do you want to tell me why I left work early?” He asked.

She shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Trouble in paradise?” He questioned.

“Drop it, Louis,” she muttered stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

He did.

For like four minutes. “Did Harry mess up?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing Louis, I’m being ridiculous.”

Another minute. “Are you finally mad about him breaking your arm?”

“Can you not be a child for like, five minutes?”

“Probably not.”

She sighed and pressed her palms against the length of her face and kept them over her eyes. “Harry’s ex cut my cast off,” she mumbled. “She was beautiful and nice,” she explained. “It was so humbling. I’m nothing like her. She was this dainty fairy and I looked like a potato farmer in comparison,” she sighed.

“Babe,” Louis frowned. His voice was gentle. Him acting like a child finally ceased. “Obviously I’m still mad at Harry—”

“Stupid,” she grumbled.

“–But that man loves you more than anyone has ever loved anybody. Except me with El of course,” he reminded her. “There’s a reason they didn’t work out.”

She bit the inside corner of her lip and tried to stop the feeling of tears in her eyes from surfacing. “She was so pretty, Louis,” she whispered. “It wasn’t even close.”

“But Harry loves you,” he repeated. “I know I’m being a little ridiculous about my frustration toward him, but honestly, there’s no one I trust with you more than him. He would probably break every bone in his body for you still.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I think you should talk to him.”

“No way,” she snorted. “Do you know how embarrassing that would be? And pathetic.”

Louis laughed. “The man has literally fired his best friend over jealousy of you. This is nothing,” he promised with a shake of his head. Her phone vibrated with a message. “Speak of the devil?” Louis asked. She ignored him reading the message from Harry.

Niall said you weren’t feeling well. Hope everything is okay... Let me know what you want for dinner. See you later, kitten xx Tell Louis I said hi (and I’m sorry.)

“Can you imagine your ex-boyfriend doing that for you?” Louis asked reading over her shoulder.

She sighed and put her phone faced down. “Just tell him?”

Louis nodded. “Communication, babe. You might even get to have really hot sex after too.”

She spared her best friend of the details that all of their sex was really hot.

Harry had laid out a feast for the two of them when she arrived home. “Whoa, it smells good in here,” she called from the entryway kicking her shoes off. The relief flooded him. Niall told him she left early while he was gone, and it made him almost crazy immediately. It shouldn’t have, he had her location (she had his too) and he knew she was at Louis’...but it was more than that. She had been off all weekend. Less chatty with him. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes which always happened right before she got sick. She had gotten a nasty cold twice since he knew her, and he also remembered her cycle messing with her regular, adorable self.

He hurried around the corner to look at her. She was in a black turtleneck with a pair of tweed overalls. She was so pretty it hurt his chest and he had seen her at work, and he still felt speechless. As much as he loved to get a peek at her cleavage, he thought the turtleneck was so sexy and she looked like a princess. Her hair was twisted in a clip, a few pieces falling forward to frame her face. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked. “Are you okay?”

“God, you’re beautiful,” he sighed dreamily.

She laughed and looked at her feet briefly, her face warming at his compliment. “Thank you, baby.”

He pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. “Are y’okay?” He asked. “M’worried. Y’were a little off all weekend. Like when y’get sick. I made y’some comfort food,” he explained. She nodded against his chest. He had swapped out his work clothes for a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“M’fine,” she murmured in his shirt. She inhaled his heavenly scent and tried to steel herself to be brave and have the conversation she needed to have.

“Yeah? Y’seem sad, kitten. Tell me s’matter and I’ll fix it.”

She bit the inside of her lip. Part of her knew it would break Harry’s heart for her feelings of inadequacy. He had done nothing but adore her and she knew that. It was just... well, she couldn’t help the shake to her confidence (or lack thereof) seeing the pretty, nice girl who knew Harry intimately. “Is dinner ready or can we sit outside for a minute?” She asked. With her face still pressed to his chest, her body caged in his arms, she could feel his heartbeat flutter. She thought it was weird.

“We can sit outside,” he murmured and released everything but her hand and tugged her to the cold bed outside. Harry flipped on the heated lamp and aimed it toward the bed. She pulled a blanket from the basket near the swinging furniture and climbed onto the mattress. She waited for Harry to join her and wrapped the blanket around him, especially with his short sleeves.

“I have to tell—”

“Are you breaking up with me?” He blurted.

“Oh, for the love of God,” she rolled her eyes. “No Harry, of course not. You’re stuck with me,” she gave him a squeeze now understanding the flutter of his heart against her cheek was anxiety.

His relief deflated out of him in a sigh. “Oh,” he sighed. “Then what’s wrong?” He frowned. She closed her eyes and tucked her face into his collarbone. He rubbed her back soothingly, brushed his lips on her hairline. “Kitten,” he murmured. “Y’can tell me anything. M’sorry you’re upset—”

“I’m jealous,” she whispered.

He blinked, pulled back a bit from her so he could peer awkwardly at her face. “Jealous?” He repeated.

She closed her eyes and nodded. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“Jealous of what?”

“Soph,” her voice was so quiet Harry wasn’t sure he heard her right.

“Who?”

“Oh, stop it, Harry,” she grumbled.

“Kitten, I have no idea who you’re—oh. Oh,” there was a long pause. “You’ve been upset since Thursday?” He asked. “Why didn’t y’tell me?”

“Cause it’s embarrassing.”

He snorted. “Kitten, I fired m’best friend in a jealous rage,” he reminded her. “Y’have nothing on me.” She imagined when she told Louis about this, that not even the embarrassment she felt would feel as bad as Louis’ smug I told you so. “Did I do something t’make y’uncomfortable?” He asked. She could see his mind spinning thinking back to Thursday and the entire interaction.

“Harry,” she sighed and looked at his green eyes filled with concern for her. His gaze was gentle. It felt like a hug in itself just to be looked at him. “She is so pretty.”

“So?”

He was going to make her say it. “I look nothing like her,” she whispered.

“Well, ‘course not. You are much more beautiful,” he shrugged casually.

“Harry,” she whined and pressed her face into his chest.

“Are you jealous because you think she’s prettier?” He asked, tilting her warm-shamed face back up to look at her with those beautiful eyes. “Kitten,” he frowned.

“I am not jealous because I think she’s prettier,” she grumbled and looked down at her nose to avoid his gaze. “I know she’s prettier,” she mumbled.

He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Kitten, s’absolutely wrong,” he promised. “You are infinitely more beautiful than her. Look at how pretty y’look right now. And every time y’hold a door open for someone? Or how you jus’ know what I need in every meeting before I do. Or for anyone. The kindness y’have for everyone you meet. You were jealous of her and y’still told her where t’get her nails done,” he reminded her. “She would never do that. She’s pretty and nice but there is no comparison t’you, my love. We dated ages ago and it didn’t work. S'no reason t'be jealous of her.”

“I know but—”

“Kitten, I don’t think you would ever make out with someone else while we were dating; even if y’were drunk and at a college party,” he explained silencing her completely. Her lips parted slightly in surprise trying to process it. “We were at different stages in life. I was too busy for a girlfriend while m’company was starting. She wanted t'have fun in college. M’glad she’s happy. But when she told me she kissed someone else, I was relieved,” he explained. “It hurt a bit, but it was jus’ easier t’let go of something I knew wasn’t really right for me.”

“She made out with someone else?” She asked in shock. “How could she do that while dating you?”

Harry laughed loudly. He nuzzled his face against her ear and kissed the side of her head. “S’exactly why I know y’have nothing t’be jealous of, kitten,” he whispered. “M’so in love with you. I think if y'made out with someone else, I would probably kill him,” he admitted. “I didn’t feel that way with her,” he was quiet for a few moments. “Does that make y’feel better?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“M’sorry if I didn’t make y’feel beautiful or perfect, kitten. Y’very much are. Think I’d lose m’mind without you.”

She frowned slightly. “You always make me feel beautiful.”

“S’because you are,” he murmured and kissed her softly on the lips until he pulled away and kissed her forehead. “Y’ready for dinner?” He asked.

She nodded, but stopped him before he fully climbed off the bed. She gabbed his face and kissed him again, a smile on his lips as he kissed her back. “I love you,” she sighed softly when she broke away. His gaze was soft looking at her eyes again.

“Say it again,” he whispered, making her giggle.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus

Traditional taglist @tpwkstiles @matildasatellite @jessitpwk @jerseygirlinca @ameerakane20 @kimmi-kat @avasversion @youcouldstartacult @manrocket-mo @golden-hoax @harryssky1 @michellekstyles @soachibstel1 @morklee02 @harrysflorencex @cherrycolas-things @emma34501 @wish-upon-a-star-1310 @daphnesutton @pandeebearstyles @acesofspadess

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #ceo!harry #sugardaddy!harry #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #traditional

151 notes · View notes

strwbrythoughts · 4 months

Text

a topic worth discussing | alhaitham

Alhaitham comes home to you (and Kaveh, much to his dismay) with a traveler and their flying companion in tow.

Divider by @/osqrie

My original work from my main blog, revised and reposted here.

As the front door of the quaint house opened, the traveler expected everything else other than a person -who is not Kaveh- greeting Alhaitham with a huge smile on their face.

"Sweetheart, you're home!" said person exclaimed, putting their arms around the man. The person captured Alhaitham in a sweet embrace. What was more surprising to the two observers was definitely the fact that Alhaitham made no effort to push them away with disdain; he reciprocated the hug quite happily.

"I'm home, indeed," he whispered into your ear, the sheer love he had for you evident in his voice. The hug was cut short and interrupted quite rudely by a certain flying emergency food's question. "Uh, so...who is this, Alhaitham?"

"Oh, you brought guests home! Welcome, welcome. I apologise for not noticing you sooner," you exclaimed, pulling yourself away from your beloved. "I am [Y/N], Alhaitham's spouse! My dearest here rarely brings any guests home, so please make yourself comfortable here." I smiled at the two guests behind him before disappearing into the kitchen.

The golden-haired traveler and their companion's eyes looked as if they were about to blow out from their eye sockets. The Acting Grand Sage of the Sumeru Akademiya never seemed to be lacking of surprises; rather, he was full of them. This action of theirs, no matter how much they tried to hide it, had not gone unnoticed by the subject of their interest.

"You can stop being surprised, you know," said Alhaitham with a small chuckle that could only be heard if one was close enough to him. "Though, I can't blame you for your shock; surely you didn't expect me, out of all people, to be married, hm?" His question was only responded to with awkward chuckles and eyes averted to the floor.

"Hey Alhaitham, help me with this painting I'm trying to- oh hey, traveler, Paimon!" A voice barged into the awkward conversation that took place in the living room. Kaveh's sudden interruption had no doubt brought some sort of shame to Alhaitham. An embarrassed sight left his lips before replying, "Now, you can either have a seat and behave; or you can leave this room without a word."

Before the architect could retaliate and respond with a snarky reply, a sweet voice cut him to it. "Oh dear, don't be so harsh on Kaveh, will you? Here, have some of these, it will re-energise you just right, after such a long day," you interrupted, setting down a tray filled with a teapot and a few teacups onto the table, enough for the guests, your husband and Kaveh. As you poured some tea into each cup, a fragrant and relaxing aroma filled the cozy living space. It was as if it had the power to calm all the inhabitants of the room.

No words were exchanged whilst everyone except you enjoyed the tea you had brewed, a look of bliss present on each of their faces. Truly, your amazing skills at brewing tea was one of the things Alhaitham loved about you, though it was not the only reason he fell in love with you. If he were to list down what made him fall for you so hard, he'd have filled the House of Daena with books that contained each and every reason, all explained with elaborate details.

The moment of silence was soon broken by none other than Kaveh. "Thank you for this, [Y/N]. Your tea never fail to calm me down after a long and stressful day." You shot your usual sweet smile at him. "Of course! Nothing makes me happier than helping people relax."

You didn't know if it was your imagination or not, but you could've sworn Kaveh shot a smirk at your husband, who sent him the slightest glare. Oh, these two's antics will never find an end, will they?

Deciding to ignore the two men, you turned to your two respectable guests. "So, you are the renowned traveler who is traversing across the seven nations, and you are their honourable companion, Paimon. Correct?" You inquired to your guests in an attempt to start a small conversation, as to not let them feel awkward.

The traveler merely nodded while Paimon replied to you for the both of them, "Yep, yep, you're absolutely right! But don't worry about us, let's talk about you! You are Alhaitham's spouse? That's super cool! When did you two get married?" You were slightly caught off guard, since you didn't expect such question to come from her.

"Ah, curiouser than a cat, are you?" Paimon merely let out a giggle at that. "Well, we actually got married last year after dating for a few years, when we were still in the Akademiya as students," you responded with a smile. The shiny glint in the traveler and Paimon's eyes told you that their interest was very much piqued. "Wow, that's really unexpected!"

"I think it's rather rude of you to say that I, of all people, would be quite the shocker to the whole of Teyvat if I were to get married," your husband interrupted, tone as sharp as ever. Before you could gently chide him, Kaveh spoke his mind first, "Well, I don't think it's unreasonable for others to think like that, no? What with your aloof and 'I don't care what others think of me' personality going on."

Alhaitham merely glanced at Kaveh before he decided to roast his roommate. "Well, despite not having the best personality others would expect from me, at least I have the financial freedom to have a nice house that was originally meant for my spouse and I only." You knew an agitated Kaveh would start a fight, and so you decided to shoo them away to another room. "An argument is coming up and we all know it; so please, kindly leave the living room." No disagreement was expressed towards your statement, and both men stood up to continue where they left off in the library instead.

A sigh left your lips. "I'm utterly sorry you had to see such an unsightly display like that. Please, continue asking me more questions if you still have them?" The traveler and Paimon assured you that they had already withessed one of their arguments back in the House of Daena at the Akademiya, and were more amused than annoyed by it. You could only chuckle at that.

"Anyway," Paimon started, her -and to a certain extent, the traveler's- want to satiate their curiosity regarding you and Alhaitham's marriage was quite strong. "How'd you manage to get him to fall in love? As far as Paimon can see, he doesn't seem like he has the abilities to feel any empathy, let alone love." You let out a hearty laugh at her words, even though it was not the first time you heard such things from other people regarding your husband.

"Well, Paimon, you should know that love is one of the most mysterious emotions for humankind. It can appear in anyone at anytime and anywhere, even to the most stoic and rational people. Pure love cannot be suppressed easily, and it is necessary for one to act according to the love they feel, lest they hurt emotionally or in the worst cases, die."

Paimon shor a confused glance at the traveler who nodded with understanding at your words. "Uh, well, Paimon was not expecting such a logical answer...are all people from the Akademiya like this? All of you talk like you're writing an academic paper or something!" You grinned at the little flying companion. Truly, she never failed to amuse anyone with her blunt words and thoughts.

"Well, if it can satisfy you much better than my previous answer, I can tell you how we started having a crush on each other, all those years ago," you said, the grin still stuck on your lips. "Ooh! Please do, Paimon and the traveler would love to hear it!" The small glint in their eyes had been replaced with stars that shone quite brightly. Quite a comical sight.

Before you could open your mouth to begin your story, a familiar pair of arms enveloped you into a back hug, well, they enveloped your shoulders it seemed, as you were sitting. Ah, it seemed that the two arguing men had finally became tired of arguing. "Must you barge into other people's love lives? Is that really all that you can entertain yourselves with these days?" Alhaitham questioned, annoyed that others kept trying to know his very much private love life.

Paimon pouted, bringing out the childlike attitude she sometimes had. "Hey, [Y/N] wasn't forced to tell us, so why are you saying that as if we coerced them into this?!" "Come now, the stoic and rational Akademiya's Acting Grand Sage's love life is definitely a topic worth discussing and you know it," Kaveh chimed in, indirectly supporting Paimon.

"Come honey, we should take a stroll around Razan Garden tonight. I'm sure the darkness of the night will only ensure that the plants glow even more magnificently than ever," Alhaitham interlaced his fingers with yours, pulling you up from your seat and ultimately ignoring Kaveh and his guests.

"Come back, you two!" Annoyed voices called out to the two of you. You looked back but your husband's hand on your waist was proof that he had no desire to entertain them any longer. You could merely shoot a small, apologetic smile as Alhaitham opened the door of the house.

"See ya."

Thank you for reading! <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #writing #writers on tumblr #berry writes

300 notes · View notes

eggtrolls · 13 days

Text

haiku misinformation: a fact check

there's an post going around about haiku that has a lot of incorrect information about haiku, its terminology, history, etc. I will try to debunk some of the biggest inaccuracies here. everything in quotes is a direct statement from the original post. this is also really, really long.

"Haiku are made of 14 on, which are essentially the equivalent to Japanese syllabic structures, except the nature of how Japanese as a language is constructed versus English means that any given proper haiku could be translated in extremely and intensely different ways, each giving a subtle but distinctly different meaning."

Starting off strong - haiku are (usually) made of 17 on. It's the classic 5-7-5 pattern! 5+7+5=17! [possibly this is a mix-up with wakiku (脇(わき)句(く)) which is another type of Japanese poetry that does use 14 on but who knows.]

Definitions: an on is a phonetic unit, the equivalent to a mora (pl. morae) in English. this concept a) exists in English and b) like on, is related to syllables but distinctly different from them (i.e. ba is one mora but baa with a long vowel is two morae). On can be counted using the number of hiragana (phonetic syllabic characters) when the text is transliterated, so a word like Osaka that has the long O sound (made up of 4 kana) would be 4 morae or 4 on (o-o-sa-ka; おおさか). it's not really a syllabic structure at all, and more importantly has nothing to do with translation. idk where that last part comes from because that's really...not the point here. Yes, any given "proper" haiku could be translated in different ways with a subtle but distinctly different meaning but that's true of just...translation, period. check out Deborah Smith's translation of The Vegetarian by Han Kang for more on that.

Furthermore, haiku were/are not rigidly locked into the 5-7-5 on pattern. That's just not true, which is why I said usually above. Easy example: a 1676 haiku by Matsuo Basho that uses 18-on:

冨士の風や　扇にのせて江戸土産; ふじのかぜやおうぎにのせてえどみやげ; the wind of Fuji /I've brought on my fan/a gift from Edo <- that first line is 6-on!

2. "The best way I can explain what I mean is that in English a good poem can be defined as a shallow river, whereas a good haiku is a deeply-dug well."

Not dignifying this with a response. Deeply incorrect and untrue. @bill-blake-fans-anonymous can handle this assertion.

3. "The presence of the kigu. There is a specific series of characters/words which are used to imply a season, and specifically a specific aspect of a season which the haiku revolves around. The creation of a haiku is often done as a meditative practice revolving around the kigu--you're essentially contemplating on this particular natural feature (nearly always the temporal aspect emphasizes either ephemerality or the opposite as well bc Buddhist ideas of enlightenment and beauty begin coming into play) and building an evocative and purposeful point that revolves around it like a hinge. It functions as both ground and anchor."

First (and largest) problem: the word. is. kigo. kigo. It's ki (季; season)-go (語; word) = 季語. Both the English and Japanese language Wikipedia, or a 3-second google search, will tell you this immediately. I have no idea where the term kigu comes from.

Second problem: plenty of haiku, both traditional and contemporary, do not use kigo. these are described as muki (無季; seasonless). Matsuo Basho, the haiku-writing poet non-Japanese people are most likely to know, wrote at least ten seasonless haiku that exist today. Masaoka Shiki, the Meiji-era haiku poet and reformist, wrote hundreds of kigo-free haiku and as an agnostic, tried to separate haiku from Buddhism and focus more on the shasei, the sketches from daily life. you can actually, today, buy what are called saijiki, which are lists of words and terms that refer to specific seasons (in the traditional Japanese calendar, so there are actually a lot of "micro" seasons as well). some saijiki include a whole section of "seasonles" words - here's an article about non-season kigo in a saijiki.

so the claim that English-language haiku are invalid or not "real" haiku because they lack a kigo doesn't hold up, unless you invalidate a whole bunch of Japanese haiku as well. the op also claimed they would categorize a lot of English "haiku" as senryū which is...an opinion. Yes, haiku tend to be focused around nature (more on that below) and senryū tend to be more comedic or about human foibles but...that's it! it's a tendency! it's not a hard and fast rule!

Third problem: the claim that a haiku is as meditative practice revolving around the kigu kigo...yeah, no. the earlier form of haiku, the hokku, were the introductory poems of the longer poetic form, the renga and the hokku gradually became a standalone poetic form known as haiku. the hokku had a lot of purposes and we have a historical record of them going back ~1000 years to Emperor Juntoku where they were declamatory poems tied to events (births, deaths, etc.) or social events (moon-viewing parties) - not really meditative. haiku, if a genre can focus on a single idea, focus on an experience and that can be real or imaginary, direct and personal or neither.

Here's another Basho poem for your consideration:

夏草や兵どもが夢の跡 (natsukusa ya tsuwamonodomo ga yume no ato; summer grasses--/traces of dreams/of ancient warriors)

both the dreams and the grasses are those of Basho (contemporary) and of the warriors (ancient); it's about travel, it's about connecting the present to the ancient past, it's not really so much about the summer.

(Fourth, minor problem that I'm not really going to get into: you'd have to take this 'Buddhist ideas of enlightenment and beauty' up with haiku scholar Haruo Shirane but he explicitly says in the Routledge Global Haiku Reader (2024) that "pioneers of English-language haiku [such as D.T. Suzuki, Alan Watts, and the Beats] mistakenly emphasized Zen Buddhism in Japanese haiku".....so.)

4. "The presence of the kireji...it's a concept borderline absent from English because it's an intersection of linguistics and philosophy that doesn't really exist outside of the context of Japanese."

Let's begin with clarification. What is kireji (lit. a 'cutting word')? It's a class of terms in Japanese poetry that can do a few things, depending on the specific kireji and its place in the poem. In the middle of the poem, it can mark a thematic break, a cut in the stream of thought highlighting the parallel(s) between the preceding and following phrases. At the end of the poem, it provides a sense of ending and closure - it helps mark rhythmic division, to say the least, and it is seen as the 'pivot' word.

Two problems with claims above:

a. there are haiku that do not use kireji. For the hat trick, here's a Matsuo Basho haiku from 1689 AD that is kireji-free: 初しぐれ猿も小蓑をほしげ也 (hatsu shigure saru mo komino wo hoshige nari; the first cold shower/even the monkey seems to want/a little coat of straw) <- NB: I love this haiku so much

b. the idea of a kireji, as in a pivot word that provides an inflection point with rhythmic division and structure, exist not just in English poetry but in multiple different types of poetry across time and space! The caesura in Latin and Ancient Greek! The volta in sonnets! Whatever is happening in the third line of the Korean sijo!

final thoughts:

the op included language, which I won't quote here because it was messy and tied into other rbs, about Orientalism and appropriation in English-language haiku, which is definitely a real thing. but this blanket statement ignores that the relationship between haiku and "the West", much like Japan and "the West", was and is not a one-way street. Western writers were influenced by haiku and, in turn, those writers influenced Japanese writers who wrote haiku inspired by these influences - this process has been going on for well over a century. Furthermore, English and Japanese are not the only languages in which haiku are written! Nobel Prize winner Rabindranath Tagore was writing haiku in Bengali; other Indian poets were and are writing them in Gujrati and Malayalam, particularly by the poet Ashitha. the Pakistani poet Omer Tarin has written haiku about Hiroshima! The Spanish poet Lorca published haiku in, get this, Spanish, in 1921 and the Mexican poet José Juan Tablada published more in 1922! Italian translations of Yosano Akiko were published in 1919! any discussion of the idea that English/non-Japanese-language haiku aren't really haiku because they don't hold to the "rules" (which Japanese authors have been revising, adapting, critiquing, and/or straight up flouting for centuries) or because English/non-Japanese poetry is "a shallow river whereas a good haiku is a deeply-dug well" just shows a lack of knowledge around traditions and depths of...well, poetry itself.

my god this is so long.

in summary: this is a complex topic. If anyone would like some actual information about haiku, its history, common themes and forms, or a collection of good poets, the Routledge Global Haiku Reader (2024) and Haiku Before Haiku : From the Renga Masters to Basho (2011) are great references and really accessible in their language! hmu if you're interested and I can send you some pdfs.

#'99% of all haiku written in English might at best be called a senryu' is QUITE a take #the idea that kireji is a uniquely mysteriously super special Japanese term that has no equivalent and could never be understood. hm.#where have I heard that line of thinking before.....#haiku #Japan #long post

86 notes · View notes

amhrosina · 1 year

Text

I Wanna Love Me The Way That You Love Me

(Frank Castle x f!Reader) - Hurt/Comfort

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

Summary: Frank uses a mirror to remind insecure!reader how beautiful she is. (In a fluffy and a smutty way!)

Warnings: reader is not very kind to herself, fluffy frank, like FLUFFY frank!!!!, super soft!boy frank, the softest of franks ive ever written, some body descriptions but I tried to keep it super vague, (later on) whew chile smuttttt, fingering, frank makes you watch yourself come in a mirror (lmfao), frank is sort of a dom but in the loosest sense, frank just loves reader so much!!!!!)

A/N - Thank you to @wheredidiputmyfish for being an absolute doll of a beta reader!!! I have a couple more Frank fics otw (i cant help it, i love that stupid man) and a poly!fratt x reader one hopefully soon after that!

You huffed as you pulled the green blouse over your head, annoyed that yet another online purchase didn’t fit right on your body. Just this week alone, you’d already made two trips to the post office, and Frank was bound to ask questions if you went for a third time so soon.

You couldn’t even remember why you’d started buying nicer clothes to begin with, except that Karen always looked nice and Frank had been in love with her at one point, so why wouldn’t the same concept apply to you? The only problem was that you couldn’t seem to find anything that fit you correctly, and the idea that Frank might grow bored with your everyday attire kept you up at night. And of course, Frank had never actually said anything about your clothing choice – this was just the overthinking part of your brain going into overdrive.

You flopped onto the mattress, shoving your face into your palms and groaning. You couldn’t figure out exactly what Frank saw in you, and it was hard not to compare yourself to his late wife or Karen. They were both beautiful women – definitely Frank’s type – and that was not exactly how you’d describe yourself. The thought of it brought tears to your eyes again. You quickly blinked them away when you heard the front door shut.

You joined Frank in the living room, where he was removing his boots. You threw the package you needed to return on the table by the door, and though you tried to do this casually, Frank noticed it and your expression immediately.

“You sendin’ care packages to some other boyfriend or somethin’?” He teased, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You giggled. “No. It’s just another return.”

“Not that I’m not supporting this new wardrobe thing,” he started, eyeing the package by the door, “but why are you returnin’ everything you buy?”

You shrugged. “It just doesn’t fit right.”

“I bet you look great.”

“I don’t think so.” You shrugged again, avoiding his eyes as you stepped into the kitchen.

“Sweetheart.” He followed you into the kitchen, though it was clear he was struggling to figure out how to broach the topic. “Is everything okay? You’re talkin’ down about yourself again.”

Your smile faltered slightly. “I’m fine.”

“Baby,” Frank wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling your chest into his, “You’re not fine. You wanna know how I know that?”

You remained silent, avoiding eye contact, but nodded.

“Because you won’t look at me.” You lifted your chin and stared into his warm gaze out of spite. “And because I know you and I love you, I know that you start avoiding me when you feel bad because you think I’m going to miraculously start to hate you and leave.”

You didn’t respond, instead gnawing on your cheek and curling into yourself. Frank’s hold around your waist remained steady, and as you tried to look away from his meaningful gaze, his hand gripped your chin and held it steady, too.

“You’re beautiful, baby.” He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “I love you no matter what you do or wear or say. You’re beautiful.”

You tried to push away from Frank, suddenly aware that you hadn’t fixed your makeup or hair that morning. He was lying. He had to be lying, right? No one thought that about you, least of all Fra-

“Don’t.” Frank was gentle in his coaxing, running his knuckle over your cheekbone in a soothing pattern while pressing his fingers into the small of your back. “Don’t do that to yourself. I love you. I’m not goin’ anywhere. You have to trust me.”

You fiddled with your fingers, wringing them together in an uneasy gesture, unsure of what to say. He gently grasped them and pulled them into his chest, cradling them as he held your gaze.

“Come with me. I wanna show you somethin’.” He murmured, tilting his head toward the bedroom.

You followed close behind him, curiosity outshining your desire to crawl into bed and never get out. He led you to a stop in front of the full-length mirror, resting his hands on your shoulders behind you. A clear and decisive frown formed on your face. The last thing you wanted to do was look at yourself.

“What do you see?” he asked, holding your gaze through the mirror.

“What?” You furrowed your brow.

“What do you see, sweetheart? Be honest.” he asked again, patting your shoulders encouragingly.

“Well, um,” you breathed, starting at the top of your head and making your way down with your observations, “I see dull hair, bags under my eyes, and a nose that’s too big. My shoulders are broad, my hips are too wide, my skin looks lifeless, and I’m wondering why you ever gave me the time of day and why you stay with me when there are so many people out there that would look better standing next to you.”

Frank stayed quiet throughout your assessment, expression turning grave as you brought up your deepest insecurities about yourself. He let you finish your observations before pressing a long kiss to your head.

“Now ask me what I see.” he prompted. Confusion overcame your features again, but he silenced your doubts with an encouraging nod.

“What do you see, Frankie?” You quietly asked, unsure if you really wanted to hear what he had to say.

He brought his finger to your face, tracing each element as he pointed them out in the mirror.

“I see a pair of beautiful eyes and a perfect nose. I see the most sensual lips I’ve ever felt pressed against my mouth. I see a beautiful, strong body that can handle anything thrown its way. Remember when you had to carry me from the living room to the bedroom after I passed out? That shit was impressive, sweetheart.” A soft smile rested on his face as he continued. He folded his arms around your middle and pulled your body against his. “I see hands that hold my entire heart in them, and a body that has all my love. You’re beautiful, baby, and I love you so much. Every piece of you.”

You tried to blink away the tears that clouded your vision, but Frank’s speech combined with his gentle touch and open expression sent a wave of tears down your face. You curled into his hold, turning so you could bury your face in his chest. He cradled you against him while you cried, pressing soft kisses to your hair every few minutes until you were calm enough to look up at him through your eyelashes.

He swiped his thumbs through the tears that had gathered under your eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, blinking up at him. “Thank you. I love you,” you murmured.

He pressed his forehead against yours, which had always been his way of showing love. “Anytime, sweetheart. You hear me? Anytime.”

Bonus Scene: In which Frank comforts you in the bedroom later.

“Frank, what are you doing?”

Your tone was a mixture of confusion and curiosity, combined with the lazy haze that had taken over your body for the time being. Frank had jumped up from his relaxed position between your legs, where he’d licked up every bit of your desire after making you see stars, and had begun fiddling with the floor length mirror across the bedroom.

“Hang on.” He called over his shoulder, tugging the heavy glass across the carpet.

“Why are you moving the mirror?”

“Wanna try somethin’.”

He stepped back, looking between your slick, bare skin and the mirror with a smug expression. You were now face to face with your reflection, and as soon as you realized Frank's plan, a string of fire worked its way directly to your core.

“Wanna show you how perfect you are.” He crawled on the bed behind you, settling himself before tugging your body back against his. Both sets of eyes, yours and Franks, were focused on you, and boy were you a sight to behold.

Your limbs, still shaky from your first orgasm were splayed out, giving both you and Frank the perfect view of your glistening cunt, which was busy clenching around air as Frank worked his needy fingers down your skin.

“Shit, baby. You look fuckin’ perfect like this.” He breathed. The proximity of his warmth to your ear sent a wave of goosebumps down your body, and you had to fight the urge to clench your legs together. “Look at how beautiful you are, sweet thing.” He murmured, holding his gaze on the treasure between your legs.

You looked, fully looked, and felt heat crawling up your neck as his sensuous fingers swiped through your arousal. A low groan emanated from his throat, and he couldn’t stop himself from circling your clit. You watched as a moan left your mouth, your back slightly arching against Frank’s chest.

“You see how perfect you are, sweet girl?” He cooed, circling your clit again. “Your pretty pussy drives me crazy.”

His other hand began to rub your nipple in light circles, and if that weren’t enough to have you gasping for air, the touch of his lips to the spot below your ear was. You squeezed your eyes shut, throwing your head back against Frank’s shoulder. His fingers halted – no, everything halted – and the whine that came from his sudden stoppage wasn’t entirely a conscious decision of yours.

“You stop looking, I stop moving, sweetheart. You got that? Keep your eyes open.” he asked, locking eyes with you in the mirror. His gaze held no room for negotiation, so you shyly nodded before returning your gaze to your body. His focus remained on your flushed face, panting as he worked you closer to another orgasm.

You could see what he was talking about. For the first time in a long time, the girl that looked back in the mirror wasn’t someone you shied away from. She was beautiful, and confident, and sensual, and she looked good next to Frank.

“You look stunning, baby.” He murmured.

“I know.” You responded, briefly lifting your eyes to his before returning them to his fingers. His winning smile was priceless – wide and open and beautiful, and you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

Light twinkled in your eyes as he inched you closer and closer to your release, and as soon as you locked eyes with Frank again, you were a goner.

Frank worked his fingers around your clit, coaxing out one of the most intense orgasms you’d ever experienced. It washed over you in waves of fire, and it was a struggle to keep your eyes open for it, but you were glad he had asked you to, because you looked glorious coming around his fingers.

You panted, body gleaming with sweat. Your heartbeat finally slowed as you leaned against Frank for support. He ran soothing hands over your limbs, massaging feeling back into them and kissing every inch of skin that he could reach in the process. The silence as you returned to your body was long, but comfortable, and when you finally had full use of your limbs again, you pulled Frank’s arms around you.

He kissed your hair, resting his cheek on your head.

“Do you see what I see now?” he asked, glancing at you through the mirror. You nodded, carefully lifting your chin so you could look at him – the real him – to respond.

“I love you.”

He grinned, leaning down and planting a sloppy kiss to your lips.

“I love you, sweet girl.”

Tag List:

@alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt @aynsleywalker @queenofthenoobs @xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @callsign-mama @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @rayray787 @ginnysculture @megmastersgf

475 notes · View notes

bottlepiecemuses · 10 months

Text

Let’s Be Honest He Appeals To Women A Different Way

People call Oda Oda sexist, but in my opinion focusing on his target demographic isn’t bad. Girls aren’t excluded but I think it’s good he’s not automatically pandering to them through romance because in my opinion if he did those elements would feel forced in this show. And I think unintentional pandering to your unintended audience tends to be better than when you intentionally do so and it could potentially turned off that segment.

The most obvious attraction that women have to this series is the dilf hot males, especially the villains. Seriously, it’s really the most unintentional of pandeirng that Oda creates these types of villains and the female audience eats it up. While most shonen series focuses on hot young men, this series give attraction to old men as well and we female fans are eating it all up.

And again the female characters, despite the criticisms of same character mold I do think when it comes down to it excluding romance has helped. Seriously, while on the surface level the latter three are attractive and used for fan service, Oda does his best to also flesh out their characters. For instance, Nami and Robin are different types of smart guys on the crew and are critical to helping Luffy on his journey by traveling safely through the world and knowing the secrets about the messages of the Poneglyphs. In my opinion, it makes them stand out to me because they serve more than fanservice but also as people who have their place in the story. They might not get as much fights, but they manage to be strong female characters in their own right.

Another is Vivi who isn’t the strongest fighter but has the strongest spirit and has taken on evil organizations and now the government itself to stand up for what she believes is right. Vivi might not be an official member but she is in spirit a close secret ally of the crew and her presence really brought a great dynamic from the crew that makes them all still miss her being around.

And finally Big Mom why is she on this list, because interesting enough Oda could have just made her a one dimensional fat fuck, but instead he made her a complex character even though she’s a villainess. And even though everything she’s gone through is not an excuse for her behavior, it still makes her a compelling character to read because again someone like her ended up this way because so many people wanted to use her and enable her worst qualities for their selfish ends. And in the end we have a woman who not only can’t emphasize with people and feels entitled to everything due to how she was taught to see the world. In my opinion Oda, didn’t have to do this but I am glad and it makes antagonists like her very happy to see.

And again even though One Piece isn’t about romance, it really gives compelling canon couples some spotlight. Seriously, one of them is Capone and Chiffon, who you wouldn’t think make a wholesome couple but they do. He seriously showers this woman who was so abused by her mother for what her sister did and adores the son they have together. He even goes up against her brother who was going to kill her even though she pleaded to leave her. This guy really does love his wife and would anything for her like a real man would. And again in my opinion, lovey dovey romance is something Oda will never do but I admit I think any woman would want a man like Capone to stand up for her like that. And in my opinion, if you ever see a married couple in this franchise you will bet your ass that married couple will have something deep and lasting. With exceptions being Yassop and Big Mom herself.

#one piece #one piece oda #oda #big mom #vivi #king the wildfire #sir crocodile #doflamingo #charlotte katakuri #nico robin #nami #capone pez #capone bege #charlotte chiffon #charlotte linlin

245 notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 1 year

Text

Best Worst Christmas // Jake Seresin

Summary: After some life altering news. You confide in Hangman which leads you to ticking off something incredibly important on your bucket list.

Warnings: Terminal illness. Mentions of death. Dark humour. Jake Seresin x Reader. Angst & fluff—Jake being just the best version of himself.

Word Count: 4.8k

Author Note: TRUST ME TO DO THIS. Because we can’t have anything nice here. Even at Christmas time. Got this idea from Bianca’s story line from Shameless. Not your typical happy go lucky Christmas fic.

Slow motion. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. From the way Bob brought the lip of his glass of lemonade up to his mouth to hide his infectious smile to the way Bradley twirled Phoenix under his arm and pulled her into his side. Dancing to whatever song had been blaring from the jukebox.

Slow. Slow and silent. You couldn't hear a single thing beside the high pitched ringing in your ears that sounded like just the right pitch to break the glass of the windows out front. No laughter, no music, no mundane chatter from other patrons littering the Hard Deck on this oh so average Friday afternoon.

Except there was nothing average about being told just forty five minutes ago that you were dying. Merry Fucking Chrismas.

“I'm sorry, Payback.” You shook your head softly as you blinked a few times, the ringing in your ears clearing as everything seemed to come back into real time, sound and all. “What did you say?”

“I said you don't look so good, Jake mentioned you left early for a doctor appointment off base, you good?”

“What is Hangman doing with my name in his mouth?” You spat before you took what was left of your beer into your mouth, skulling the burnt amber liquid like there was no tomorrow. For you there really wasn't all that much time left. Paying attention to how your liver processed alcoholic beverages had become an afterthought. “But yeah, I uh– I did.”

“Something any of us should be worried about?” Payback had always been a kind and gentle soul. You envied his passion for all things Christmas. His ugly Christmas sweater told you everything that you needed to know, his was down bad for the holiday season. “Nut?”

“Everything’s just peachy keen Fitch, you don't gotta worry about me.” You tried your best to hide the ever mounting pressure you felt in your chest through a pained smile and soft gaze. “But–” You held your empty glass up as you twirled around on the barstool you'd been sitting on. “I'm tapped so I'm gonna grab another beer and then you and I are gonna have a game of pool once shit for brains is finished showboating.” Reuben followed where your eyeline had evidently landed and low and behold there stood none other than Jake Seresin, claiming his title as undefeated pool champion with a grin so prominent on his face it made you feel sick to your stomach. “Be right back.”

You slid off the stool and fixed the ‘Christmas’ dress that had been sticking to the back of your thighs. It wasn't anything special, just a red mid length dress that fit the Christmas attire that had been mandated but Reuben Fitch himself. Head and only member of the party planning committee. It wasn't anything special, but at least the dress was red, right?

You'd been excited for the staff Christmas party for months up until the moment your doctor had sat you down and handed you a one way ticket to the afterlife. You thought maybe the reason you'd been feeling so unwell over the last few weeks had been an imbalance in your birth control or a shift in seasons or just something, anything other than what your final prognosis had ended up being.

“What can I get you Nut?” Penny asked when she saw you leaning against the bar, card in hand, swinging on the barstool. “The usual?”

“Uh can I get a double Jamison please Pen, on the rocks if you could.” Penny got to work fixing up your order as Jake slipped in beside you. Not turning his head in your direction as he fished his wallet out from the back of his jeans as he sat. The stupid matching Chrismas shirt he wore with Bradley looked ridiculous on him. Only Bradley Bradshaw could pull off a Christmas themed Hawaiian shirt. It wasn't Hangman's usual attire, it looked idiodic on him in the best way possible.

“Another beer if you can Penny, extra tenner on the bar for you too.” Jake was, if anything, a charmer at heart. But despite his ability to smooth talk his way out of any situation and into anyone that had a hole he could put it in, you couldn't stand him. “You seem even more shrewd than usual this afternoon there Nut, not feeling the Christmas cheer?” and he couldn't stand you either. Or so you both led on.

“Bit me.” Penny slid you the class, brown bourbon had never tasted so good before as you downed the double shot you ordered before slamming the glass back down. It wasn't the best move you could have made because the second you swallowed? Your stomach churned. “I gotta go.” You were quick for a woman who could barely walk in heels, racing towards the nearest exit without so much as causing a scene. Leaving Jake in your dust as he almost gave himself whiplash trying to crain his head fast enough to keep up.

“Wait, hold on the parties just getting started?” Jake took the beer bottle from Penny, being gentleman enough to say a quick thankyou her way before making a dash after you towards the front door. “Nwet hold on!” Your call sign had you as the Goddess of the sky. The name originating from Egyptian Mythology, but for some reason or another that had been shortened even further. Everyone just called you Nut for short.

“Not now Hangman, I’m serious I’m not fee–” You didn't get a chance to finish your sentence before you were throwing up the contents of your stomach in the nearest pot plant on the front deck. Down on your knees as your hands gripped at the ceramic. Coughing and splattering as Jake put his beer down on the railing and balled your hair into his first to keep it from falling into the backsplash.

“Alright, I'm cutting you off killer, how much have you had to drink?” Jake crouched down beside you as you sat back on your heels, whipping your mouth on your forearm. “You good?”

“Get me another drink and I'll be even better.” You had heard loud and clear what Jake had said but just chose to ignore it. You didn't have much choice anymore. Jake just looked at you like you were on another planet. His eyes wide as his mouth fell slightly open in shock. There weren't many people who could render Jake Seresin speechless–but you always seemed to manage.

It was the same look he gave you whenever you'd get into a heated argument over training sessions or whenever you’d go head to head in another one of your PTI’s latest workouts. The same look he gave you when you said you were fine when you had to miss the last few days of flight training, the same look he gave you when he found you making your doctor's appointment in the rec room between his runs. He looked at you like you hung the stars in the night sky just for him and once he’d finished admiring them you'd knock them out of the sky just to watch them shatter before him. Unpredictable and oh so beautiful.

“Uh, no–I'm not gonna get you another drink when you're throwing up in Pennys plants.”

“It's not the alcoholic, Jake.” You sighed out in response as you pressed your palm to your forehead.

“It most definitely is I can smell it on yo–” You didn't know why, out of all the people you could have told first. Your Parents, Your Commanding Officers, any of your colleagues that seemed more and more like family every day, you chose Jake fucking Seresin to drop the biggest life ending bomb on. The worst Christmas Present ever. Deep deep down you knew exactly why. But there was no time left to figure it out now.

“Jake it's not the Alcohol.” You cut him off, shutting your eyes as tight as you could because you couldn't look at him when you told him. “It's cancer.”

“What?” When you opened your eyes again Jake's expression had softened to something you’d never seen before. “What do you mean it's cancer?” This couldn't really be happening could it? You wouldn't be cruel enough to play such a sick joke on him. But with the way you were looking at him right now? Jake felt his heart collapse into his stomach. The love of his life had cancer? “What do you mean by cancer Y/n?” Jake repeated as he brushed your hair away from your shoulder. “You aren’t being serious right now are you?” You didn’t respond right away because you were stunned at the saddened and stunned look Hangman had been stricken by.

“What I mean by cancer is that I have a shelf life.” You tried to make the moment a little more lighthearted. “A cosmic fuck you when you were just getting started huh.” It was the hardest thing you'd ever done, to sit in front of the man you loved to hate and hated to love and tell him you were dying. You hadn’t even had a chance to see what you could have been. You'd both been too caught up playing the long con that you'd wasted whatever time you had.

“What's the uh–?” Jake didn't know how to ask as he stood with you and moved over to the nearest table that was clear and free. “What's the prognosis?”

“Stage three Pancreatic–well basically stage four but—” Silence fell as Jake sat beside you completely stunned. His mind was running a million miles an hour, thinking of all the times you’d smiled at him. Beamed his way whenever he taunted you or teased you for something stupid and meaningless. You took everything like a champ because you could dish it out in return. He’d learnt to expect an elbow to the ribs whenever you had this one particular look in your eye.

“And what's the going rate for stage three?” Jake wanted to hear you say at least something promising, but that wasn’t the case at all.

“Two Percent, Doc said even that was being generous.” His heart stopped for a moment. This wasn’t happening, not to you. Not to the one woman he had ever loved.

“Okay but what about chemo? What about other treatments that could surely raise that number up right?”

“Oh, I ah–I don't wanna do any treatment.” That knocked the wind right out of Jake, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Like the entire world had just been knocked out from under his feet. “I saw what it did to my friend's mother Cathy, she spent whatever time she had left being pumped full of poison, because of it she became so weak she couldn't enjoy the things she could have been while she still had time.”

“You can't not try Y/n.” Jake had moved as close to you as he possibly could. So much so it was easy enough for you to accept your own mortality with your head resting gently on his shoulder. “It's probably really selfish of me to say this but I'm not ready to just let you go.”

“Please, spare me the hallmark card sympathies Seresin.” Scoffing, you took the beer bottle Jake had been sipping infrequently on. Taking a gulp of the yeasty beverage. “I don't need you treating me any differently now that you know I'm practically worm food.” It was the way Jake looked at you like he couldn't believe what you had just said. Did you expect him not to laugh or something? Strifally back a laugh so pure Jake waited for you to crack first, the symphony of highs and lows that sounded like the most prim and proper orchestra surrounded him as you laughed with him.

“When did you find out? You seem to be dealing with the inevitability of it all well.”

“About fifty minutes before I told you.” The smile had been whipped clean from Jake's face once again. The laughter that had just filled the atmosphere around you both now replaced with silence so heavy you were sure you had just been buried alive. “I haven't told anyone, and I wasn't planning to either.”

Although you and Jake pretended most days to loathe each other's existence, there was no real animosity there. It was simply a childish act. Your mother had told you at an early age that boys who pulled your pony tail on the playground at school must have liked you. So you learnt play rough too, showing your affection by taunting and teasing between lingering eyes and daydreams of what it would be like to be with Jake as more than just whatever the fuck you were.

“Why did you tell me? I mean I thought I would have been the last person on earth you would have spilled your darkest secrets to.” Jake felt nothing but content when you let your head fall back to his shoulder. He decided this time though to wrap a comforting arm around you—drawing you further into his side.

“Believe it or not you were the first person who came to mind when I was told.” You'd thought about what Jake would say. If he’d even say anything at all when he found out, if he’d change the way he treated you or if there would be a small part of him that would be relieved that you wouldn't be around to annoy him anymore or challenge him whenever he thought he was better than you. “I thought maybe you’d be a good person to tell because you wouldnt look at me like I was weak.”

“If there’s one thing you are, it's not weak.” Jake shook his head as he finished the remains of his beer. Standing as he offered you a hand. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

“What? Where are we going?” You didn’t protest all that much—knowing what Jake had in mind was probably better than wallowing in self pity. You took his hand gracefully as he guided you to stand, meeting his gaze yet again.

“We’re gonna go back to your place—“

“Oh, as if you would.” You cracked a smile as Jake looked at you a little confused. “I’m dying Hangman, don’t get that confused with desperate.” It wasn’t that you wouldn’t, you would in a heartbeat—but the feeling you got from your back and forth taunting just made the prize all the more worth it. Jake just stood in front of you, eyes trailing from your gaze to your lips then back to

Your eyes. Committing every last detail of your face to his long term memory.

“I didn’t mean it like that, but we’re going back to yours.”

“I told Payback I’d play a game of pool with him.” You explained as you tried to push past Jake, all he did was grip your wrist, stopping you from getting any further away from him. “Jesus Christ Jake what has gotten into you?” You stood there questioning his sudden need to be overbearing.

“You just told me you have terminal cancer and you’re asking me what’s gotten into me! Jesus Y/n.” Jake let go of your wrist as he ran his hands through his hair, extinguishing a frustrated sigh as he looked anywhere but directly at you when he let his guard down. Nothing good ever came with Jake Seresin let his guard down, so he didn’t do it all that often. “I was just told the woman I’ve been obsessed with for the last year is dying and there’s literally not a single thing that I can do to stop it!” You let your walls down almost instantly at the confirmation, softening your shoulders and letting yourself just enjoy the satisfaction of the moment you thought would never come. Jake knew you were thinking—he could practically see the cogs turning in your head as you stood before him smirking a bashful smile. Suddenly doe eyed and willing to step a little closer. “What?” Jake scoffed as his lips curled into a smile that matched yours. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“So you’re obsessed with me huh?”

“That’s your take on this whole situation?”

“Oh yeah—“ Wrapping your arms around the back of Jake's neck you drew him all the more closer as his hands instinctively went to your hips. “Because I didn’t have to admit that I’m obsessed with you first.” You really didn’t give him a second to respond with some witty remark on how he was just saying it because he felt sorry for you—instead you let your lips press against Jakes softly. Testing the waters before diving into the deep end. Pulling back as you slowly opened your eyes. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to love me, especially knowing what you know—“ It was Jake's turn to cut you off before you could try and talk him out of spending whatever time you had left right by your side. His lips connected with yours as his hands came up to cup your cheeks as your tongue danced with his. Savoring every second because you’d always wondered what type of kisser Jake Seresin was. The answer? He knew what he was doing.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.” Pulling away momentarily Jake tan the pads of his thumbs across your flushed cheeks. “How long?” Jake didn’t really want to know the answer but he knew deep down it wouldn’t be long.

“Anywhere between six months to a year.” It broke your heart the way Jake dropped his chin slightly at the realisation. “Depends on my lifestyle.”

“Then I’m gonna be by your side for the next six to twelve months.” Jake promised as he held his hand up to wrap his pinky with yours. “Till the end of the line.”

***~***~***~***~***~

Not a single person had seen you or Jake leave the Hard Deck unannounced. Payback had texted you a few times before you decided enough was enough and sent him a quick message saying you were with Jake before placing your phone on do not disturb.

“Okay so you’re sure this one has the built in lighting?” Jake asked just one more time as you both stood back and looked at the piles of broken down Christmas tree that you’d sectioned into piles on your living room floor.

“For the millionth time, yes—“ You’d leant Jake a pair of your ex’s old sweatpants that you’d forgotten you had until he was long gone. They fit snug, but well. In true Hangman style though? He was parading around your house, shirtless. Sweats hanging low leaving very little to the imagination.

“Okay well, let’s start by fanning these prongs out before we attach anything to the trunk.” You’d changed into your Christmas pajamas—a cartoon version of the grinch saying it’s about to get naughty right across your chest. Jake had thought your house would be full of Christmas decorations by now—always the life of every holiday season. But when he stepped through the threshold and saw you hadn’t been bothered he knew that had to change.

Especially if there was a possibility this could be your last Christmas.

“You got your tree up yet?” You asked as soft melodies of Christmas songs played from your speaker, filling the living room as you and Jake sat on the ground amongst a sea of fake Christmas tree. Jake nodded softly as he worked to fluff out the prongs.

“Yep, had it delivered the first of November—got a real one this year.”

“Yeah you would be the type of person to have a real tree wouldn’t you.” It’s not that you had anything against it, it’s just that a real tree always seemed like so much work. “But if I get the chance to see next Christmas, I’ll get a real one.”

“We can go Christmas tree shopping, new ornaments and all.” Jake offered as his pile grew a little faster then yours. “How come you hadn’t put your tree up yet?” He asked, perplexed. “You’re always drowning on about how the holidays are your favourite time of year.” You didn’t answer right away, you were going to make up some lame excuse but then you remembered Jake Seresin was the o my other person besides you general practitioner that knew you were dying. You could tell him.

“I just haven’t really had the energy to.”

“The cancers the reason you haven’t been flying as much isn’t it?”

“Yep.” You popped your lips at the P. “Probably won’t be too long now before I’m stuck behind some desk in the admin building doing some mundane Johnny pencil pusher projects.” Sighing, you reached for another set of prongs. “Even a swivel chair will eventually make me gag—I don't know how much longer I’ll be able to withstand G’s and barrel roll.”

“Well damn Nut, who’s gonna keep the top of my head from popping off?” Jake teased as he came to sit beside you, leaning back on the couch as he legs fell either side of you. Your back to his chest as he took the prongs you were working on from your hands and finished it himself. “You’ve always kept my ego from inflating.”

“God help the crew when I’m dead and gone.” You chuckled softly as you left your sink into Jake's embrace. “You’ll just have to remember who’s the goddess of the sky, I’ll still be around to kick your ass.”

“Oh yeah? How are you gonna manage that killer?”

“I’ll wiggle your ear whenever you do something stupid.” You grinned, reaching up and around to wiggle Jake's earlobe. “Like that, whoever you get a little too hot headed, you’ll feel me.”

“Deal.” Jake smiled softly as he kissed your shoulder from behind. “Now, while I’ll sit here fanning these things out, why don’t you make a list of all the things you wanna do between the next six to twelve months?”

“Like a bucket list?” You asked softly as you lulled your head back to catch the glint in Jake's eyes.

“Exactly, whatever you wanna do, I’ll help you do it.” You really couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Settling back against Jake you started listing off things in your notes app.

“I wanna get a tattoo, something stupid but meaningful—maybe even just something funny.” You’d end up getting a matching tattoo with Jake a few weeks later. Both in the same spot, on your tricep just above your elbow. Two hands pinky promising—till the end of the line written in calligraphy.

“Solid plan, I approve, what else Nut?” Jake reached for another pile to fluff up, almost having made his way through all the pieces.

“I wanna skinny dip at the beach, at night, or even when the suns just starting to set.” Jake takes you. You both strip down and race towards the waters edge. You wrestle and fight until you're hooking your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. Kissing him like you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. His hands hold you up by your ass—and you squeal when a rogue wave knocks you both down. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Shameless Y/l/n, but deal—what’s next.” You add about six different things onto your list, telling Jake every single one as you both stand to place all the pieces of your tree together. Deciding that you were both committing to the entire project together. Making a trip into your garage for the ornaments.

“Maybe I should have a threesome?” You held the ladder at the bottom of your manhole Jake had climbed up into to fetch the seasonal box. “Yeah, never had one of those before but maybe it’s worth checking out.”

“Two guys or one guy and one girl?” Jake handed you the box before he jumped down with a soft thud. “Or you and two girls?” You just raised a brow in response. “Hey—“ Jake was quick to hold his hands up in surrender. “I dunno what your sexual preferences are! I’m just being inclusive.” He sent you his signature shit eating grin. “But uh, pencil me down for whatever you decide.”

“You wouldn’t be included in the girl on girl fantasy.” You gained back as Jake took the box back from you, walking side by side down the hall back to your living room.

“But you’re saying there’s a chance I’d be included in the other two choices.” You never do end up having a threesome, it never actually makes the list. “Can’t say I haven’t dreamed of that a few times.”

“Really? Funny that, I had a dream that I dropped you down a well just the other night.” You didn’t even look Jake's way as you fished out a few ornaments and started hanging them on the tree. Jake followed curiously. “And get here you are dreaming of having sex with me?”

“I definitely like my dream a lot better—“ You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you shook your head, turning on your heels to fetch more ornaments.

“I’m not having sex with you Hungman.” Jake raised his eyebrows in response to what you’d called him over your shoulder. “Isn't that what they all call you?”

“Seems a little rude, and also short sighted.” He was quick to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, kissing your neck as you tried to pull away. Secretly enjoying the affection you could have been experiencing for a whole year before now. “Add it to your list.”

“I’ll reluctantly add it to my list.” It didn’t take you and Jake all that much time to finish decorating your Christmas tree. Stepping back to admire your work, you turned on the lights and dimmed down your overheads. Jake held his fist out for your to fist bump before he drew you into his side. You had told Jake you’d add to fuck him onto you bucket list—he even watch your write something down into your notes. But it wasn’t that. No—it was something much better.

“Best worst Christmas ever, don’t you think Nut?”

“Best worst Christmas ever Hangman.” Turning into Jake you kissed him once again, only for a fleeting moment. “Thankyou for this, just being here—I felt like I was drowning at the bar.”

“Like I said, till the end of the line.” Kissing the top of your head, you asked Jake to say the night, it was the first time Jake Seresin had slept in the same bed as a woman and he didn’t fuck her. All he did was hold you till you fell sleep—and that’s when for only a few brief moments he let himself cry. He loved you, truly.

***~***~***~***~***~***

Eighteen Months Later //

“Are you thick or are you fucking stupid Rooster!?” Jake barked as he walked down the tarmac towards his wingman. “I said break right and follow back and under—talley two at five o’clock low means exactly that!” Jake was seeing red. “Do you wanna get yourself killed in a real fight?”

“Ease up, we’re alive and we still have the fastest time on the leaderboard—Coyote, Payback and Fanboy are nowhere near us.”

“That’s not the point, Bradshaw! You just didn’t fucking think!” Jake was seething, his face was red and if Bradley looked close enough? He swore he could see steam coming out of Jake's ears. “Something’s gotta be in there—it can’t just be air in that thick—“ Before Jake could finish, he felt a tugging sensation on his left earlobe. Shutting up instantly as he reached up to tug at the phantom sensation.

“Nut got your ear?” Bradley asked as he tapped Hangman on the shoulder, Bradley had been the one Jake confided in when you finally passed on. He didn’t believe in the afterlife until he couldn’t let you go. “Mum used to say dad would whistle around the house, she’d smell his cologne too.” Bradley caught the sun catching on Jake's wedding band. You’d both decided fuck it one night and high tailed it to a Vagas to get hitched. “She’s probably trying to tell you to stop yelling at me!”

Christmas had long passed and Jake still had his dead tree up. Something about taking it down meant saying goodbye and he wasn’t ready to do that. You’d only just managed to make it to new years before deciding you just couldn’t do it anymore. But you were wrapped to have two best worst Christmas’s under your belt.

Jake held you close till you took your last breath, you weren’t in some hospital somewhere hooked up to all sorts of machines. No. You were down by the ocean, in Jake's arms. Talking about how you were so thankful to have completed everything on your lift. The final one being the most important.

“Here—“ Jake remembers you saying softly as you handed him a letter. “I wrote them down so you’ll never forget everything you did for me.”

Jake scanned the page of about fifteen different things you had done together, the last one though he never knew you wrote. He couldn’t help himself as he held you a little tighter, a little closer. He framed the letter and placed it on his bedside table—The tick next to number fifteen his favourite thing of all.

Number 15: Know what it’s like to fall in love on the worst, best Christmas ever.

#jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fan fic #top gun hangman

665 notes · View notes

bupia · 7 months

Note

Heeeey, Bael

It's me again :P

24 with Rain, pleaase?

Love u bye

SEXTING

“I wanna touch you too.”

There's a smut under the cut, +18 only, please.

(AFAB!Reader: dirty talk; masturbation; mentions of masturbation; I can't make rain say "fuck" ok? he is pretty sweet and gentle)

Available on AO3

Day 24 | Day 26

In the world of Ghouls, having a phone was far from common. There were no hard and fast rules against it, but the idea simply didn't resonate with them. After all, they were Ghouls, mysterious creatures whose true nature remained an enigma. Owning a phone didn't seem to be high on their list of priorities.

However, there was an exception to this rule. You had a close friendship with one of these Ghouls, and he was on the verge of embarking on a tour that would keep him away for months. It was during this moment of impending separation that you decided to break the norm. Digging out one of your old mobile phones, you handed it to him on the eve of his departure. With patience and dedication, you taught him the ins and outs of this, in his own words, "unnecessary but fascinating contraption."

Nearly a month had passed since he left, and you found yourself missing his presence at the ministry more than you cared to acknowledge. You couldn't help but wonder if you had underestimated just how much you enjoyed his company, and maybe, just maybe, how much you liked him beyond that as the days without your favorite person from within the ministry felt dull and uneventful, leaving a void that was hard to fill.

Despite the longing for Rain's presence, you knew you had to keep your head up and carry on with your daily routine. Today, it was your turn to assist the other siblings in the kitchen. You walked down the hall, determined to focus on the tasks at hand.

However, as you made your way, your steps suddenly came to a halt when you felt a vibration in your pocket. Swiftly, you retrieved your phone and saw Rain's name illuminated on the screen, accompanied by a message. The mere sight of it brought an immediate and wide smile to your face.

Leaning against the corridor wall, you eagerly opened Rain's message, a sense of anticipation causing you to nervously bite your lip.

"Hi 😬"

A simple "hi" from Rain, and you found yourself blushing and your stomach tightly gripped in a whirlwind of emotions.

"Look who learnt about emojis..."

"That's the name of it?"

"Yes it is"

"That's interesting." "How are you?"

"I'm fine" "wbu?"

"wbu...?"

"what about you" "sorry" "sometimes i forget you are new on the phone thing"

"I'm fine." "How's everything at the ministry?"

"It's fine."

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised to type more, but you hesitated. Should you let him know how much you missed him, or was it wiser to skirt around the subject, not delving too deep into those emotions? After all, you didn't want to reveal too much. Just as you grappled with this internal debate, your phone vibrated again, pulling your attention back to the screen, revealing another message from him.

"I miss you."

Those three words on the screen sent a shiver through your entire body, and that tight grip on your stomach returned with a vengeance. You took a deep breath and blinked your eyes repeatedly, as if to reassure yourself that you were indeed reading those words. For a brief moment, you couldn't be sure if those words had slipped out involuntarily from your own fingers or if they were actually coming from him.

Another vibration, and your attention snapped back to the phone, revealing yet another message from Rain.

"Sorry."

"What?" "Why are you apologize?"

"I don't know." "I think I said too much."

"Saying you miss me is saying too much?"

"I don't know." "Is it?"

"It is not."

"So" "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"You do?"

"Of course!"

"I'm happy to read that." "I was afraid I was the only one." "With this strange feeling."

"Strange feeling?"

"Yes"

"What strange feeling?"

"Emptiness."

"So you feel empty when you are far from me?"

"Yes" "And I didn't know I would feel that way"

"Does this bother you?"

"A little"

"Why?"

"Because I wish I could be with you now" "Hug you" "Touch you" "I don't know" "Maybe" "Kiss you?"

Your eyes widened in astonishment as you read the words "kiss you" on the screen. What did he mean by that? Did Rain want to kiss you? The idea caught you completely off guard, and you couldn't help but wonder when these feelings had started to surface.

"What??????"

"Sorry"

"No, don't say sorry!!!!" "What do you mean?"

"I mean that..." "I want to kiss you."

"Since when?"

"Since a long time."

"Why you never told me about it, rainy?"

"I didn't know how to say that in front of you" "Looking at you" "It's a little scary" "I get nervous."

Your back gradually slid down the wall until you found yourself sitting on the floor, a broad smile on your lips and a sparkle in your eyes. You couldn't help but think about how much you wished he was right there in front of you at that very moment.

"You don't have to get nervous in front of me." "We are friends."

"That's exactly why I get nervous" "You see me as a friend" "And I'm here wanting to kiss you."

"Who told you I don't want to kiss you too?"

"You do?"

"A lot"

"Can you summon me back to the ministry?"

Laughter bubbled from your lips as you read Rain's message. You brought your legs close to your body, supporting your hands on your knees, and bit your lower lip to stifle the urge to laugh even louder.

"Rain!" "You know this is not how it works"

"I wish it was"

"Yeah..."

"So I could kiss you now"

"I kinda want to kiss you right now"

"It will be hard to let this feeling go"

"So don't" "Keep think about how much you want to kiss me"

"My thoughts can lead me to other things"

A deep blush colored your cheeks. Was Rain really about to say what you thought he was about to say?

"What do you mean?"

"A kiss" "Can lead to a touch" "That can lead to more touches" "And then" "It can become something else" "Something I would like to have" "Or to try" "With you"

"Rain..." "Are you trying to talk about sex?"

"Yes I am talking about sex"

"So tell me more."

"Are you sure?" "Isn't it morning there?"

"Wait"

As you lifted your head and looked around, you noticed a few siblings passing by in the corridor, their curious glances directed at you. Realizing that it was morning and you couldn't linger there, you swiftly got up and scanned your surroundings. Going back to your dormitory wasn't an option; it was too far away.

Your eyes settled on a nearby door, one that led to where the ministry kept old or broken furniture. Waiting until the last of the siblings disappeared from your view, you hurried toward the door, relieved to find it unlocked. You slipped inside and closed the door behind you, placing a chair near the doorknob for added security. No one would get in without your knowing, but it was always better to be cautious.

"Ok I'm back."

"Hi"

"Hi" "So keep going" "Not only you want to kiss me" "Now you want to have sex?"

"Yes" "It's embarrassing to talk about it even when you are not in front of me."

"Stop it" "I want it too."

"You do?"

"Yes" "I would love that those kisses become something else." "And you started to touch me." "I really want you to touch me."

"I wanna touch you too." "A lot."

Unintentionally, a soft hum of pleasure escaped your lips as you settled on the floor, leaning your back against an old desk.

"Rain"

"Yes?"

"I need you"

"Don't do this to me."

"You started!!!!"

"I did" "And now I really want you"

"Tell me what you want."

"I want to..." "kiss" "you"

"And what more?"

"I want to" "make love to you"

"Yeah?" "Keep going"

"I want to feel you" "All for me" "Close to me" "All mine"

Your body reacted to the messages from Rain, and another involuntary hum of pleasure escaped your lips. You could feel the heat rising within you, your desire intensifying as you read his words.

"What more?"

"Feel your body on my hands" "Feel how warm you are" "How soft you'd feel under my touch"

Your hand moved towards your lap, your fingers finding their way to between your legs. The anticipation of Rain's messages had your heart racing, making you acutely aware of your own body's reactions. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each message. The thought of his hands on you, the feeling of his lips against yours, the warmth of his body against yours... you wanted it all.

"Rain" "I'm getting... hot"

"So I'm not the only one feeling hot"

"Not at all..."

Your fingers found the soft folds of skin between your legs, and you felt your wetness as your fingers found the spot that always you moan when you touched yourself, and you began to move them in slow circles, feeling your arousal grow with each circle.

"I'm touching myself."

"Are you?"

"Yes" "Fuck" "I want you to fuck me"

"I need to have you right now" "Stupid shows"

"Don't say it" "I know you love to play with the band"

"I do" "But at this very moment" "I'd rather to be playing with you"

Rain's words brought a fresh wave of embarrassment to your cheeks, and you couldn't help but feel a physical response. Your body tensed, and your walls clenched around nothing.

"But as I can't" "Play with yourself for me" "And I'll play too"

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing mind.

"Let's do it"

You pulled up your habit up to reveal your panties, already damp. You rubbed your fingers over them, pressing into your core through your underwear. You moaned softly as you did so, and you felt a slight temor run though your body at the sound. Your fingers continued to rub gently, teasing yourself.

"I'm pretty wet..."

"And I'm pretty hard" "Getting harder" "Are you sure you can't summon me?"

His message brought a chuckle to your lips, and you bit your lower lip in response.

"I'm pretty sure" "Or you'd be with me right now" "Fucking me" "Non-stopping"

"That's exactly what I need" "Feel your pussy" "Around me"

"I'm so wet, rainy"

"What are you doing?"

"Just rubbing it"

"Forget rubbing" "Touch your pussy for me" "And tell me how wet you are" "How wet" "How tight"

You pulled your panties aside slightly, exposing your glistening folds to the cool air of the room. You dipped two fingers inside yourself, spreading your juices around. You whined, softly. You bit your lips as you imagined Rain's hands doing the same thing, teasing you until you were begging for release.

"Rain" "I'm so wet for you" "So hot for you"

"I need to taste you" "I bet you taste so good" "I want to savor you"

You closed your eyes, imagining Rain's tongue tasting you, licking you, sucking you. You imagined his lips around your clit, sucking you in. You moaned loudly, feeling yourself getting wetter by each second you thought about him.

You pressed harder, moving your fingers in and out, slowly. You imagined him leaning in close to you, his breath hot against your ear. His voice would be husky, low and seductive. Your phone continued to vibrate with a flurry of notifications, one after another, as Rain's messages flooded in. You couldn't help but keep your eyes fixed on the screen, eagerly devouring each message.

"Keep going." "Don't stop." "Think about my cock" "Inside you" "Taking you all for me"

You moved your fingers up to your clit, rubbing it slowly, imagining his tongue flicking across your nub, his teeth biting down on it. He would whisper to you how much he wants you, how badly he needs you. You would met under his words.

"Rainy..." "I need you to tell me how much you want me."

"I want you so much." "I want all of you" "Just for me" "The whole night" "Day" "Evening" "Doesn't matter" "I want you now"

You started to move your fingers faster and harder on your clit. You dropped your phone on the floor, going with your hand to your neck, feeling his sliding his tongue slowly across your neck, your collarbone. You gasped with the thought and took your phone in hands again.

"I need to feel you" "All over my body" "Just you and nothing else"

"Don't worry about that" "I'll make you feel desired" "I'll consume every part of you" "I'll cherish and worship every inch of your body" "And then I'll fuck you until you cry for pleasure"

His words made you even more aroused and your fingers went back to your entrance. Slowly, you slid them inside you. You moaned his name not worrying if someone would hear you. Your fingers started to move faster, sliding in and out of you. With your trembling hand you started to type.

"Rain" "They are inside" "I'm so hot" "So tight for you"

"And I'm so hard for you" "So very hard right now" "I need to feel your pussy so much"

You began to move your hips in rhythm with your fingers, thrusting them harder and faster as you started to imagine how good he'd stretch your walls. You slid a third finger inside you and arched your back, feeling like if you were offering yourself to him.

"I'm so tight" "I need you to fill me right"

"I will" "Don't ever bother about it" "I will fill every inch inside of your pussy with me"

You whimpered, starting to move your hips, just as if you were grinding against him. Imagining his face between your legs, tasting you. You rubbed yourself faster, imagining Rain's hands on your body. You imagines his fingers on your nipples, pinching them. You imagined him kissing you, taking your nipples into his mouth. You needed him so much.

"Rain I don't know if I can keep going too longer."

"Do you want to cum?"

"Please"

"Cum for me" "Cum thinking of me"

You groaned imagining his hands moving downwards, between your legs. How he would stroke your clit, rub it gently. How he's slid his fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. You imagined his thumb rubbing your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You could hear his voice in your ear, as he slid his length deep inside you, thrusting in and out. He would pound inside you harder and harder, until you came all over his shaft. Your hips started to move in circles, your walls clenching around your fingers.

"Don't stop" "I'm almost there" "Cum with me"

You started to move your fingers faster as you curled them inside you, hitting your spot, feeling yourself getting closer to orgasm. You purred to the sensation, your breathing becoming shallow. You were almost there, you could feel your orgasm building, the heat in your belly growing stronger by the second.

"I'm close" "I"

With that last message sent, you looked down at your fingers, watching them slide in and out of your entrance. You watched your fingers disappear inside you, and coming out covered in your wetness. You moaned, your body shuddering. You pictured Rain's face as he watched you, watching you cum for him. You imagined him smiling, seeing you loose control like that.

"Cum for me" "Now"

A loud moan escaped your lips and you felt yourself starting to cum, your whole body tensing. You let out a cry, feeling your muscled spasm.

"Rain!" you screamed out his name, dropping your phone on the floor as you felt yourself cumming, your juices flowing freely. Your voice echoed through the room you were. You felt your body shaking violently, as it twitched uncontrollably.

You felt your orgasm subside, your muscles relaxed, and you looked around, briefly searching for something to clean up with. However, you quickly remembered your surroundings and decided to focus on your phone, picking it up with both hands.

"Rain?"

"Yes, I'm here"

"Did you?"

"Yes, a lot"

"Me too..."

"I really need to get back to the Ministry."

"I will be counting on the days until you get back."

"But I think we should also talk before."

"For sure... but I think we will keep each other very busy to talk."

#kinktober #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost the band #rain ghoul smut #rain ghoul x reader #rain nameless ghoul #rain smut #rain #rain ghoul #smut #nameless ghoul x reader #nameless ghoul #nameless ghoul smut #rain x reader

129 notes · View notes