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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 11 months

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The List (1)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: Not Beta’d. I was going to conclude this with an actual ending, but it was getting long so I’ll let the readers decide how it ends. If enough people are interested, I might do a part 2. Comment if you want a part 2.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Rumors spread through the underground of New York like the plague. Four murders of New York's most elite in the past 72 hours. Floating around the city was a list of names, a hit list for anyone involved with the mafia. Bucky was no stranger to a threat on his life. Being a mob boss, he constantly walked a thin line, a trapeze artist always one slip away from falling into the hands of death. Bucky had the resources and power to not be taken out so easily. If his name was on the list, he’d be toward the end, but no one knew home long the list was or who was on it. His team had spent the past 3 days searching the city for any information on the list. He had to know who was on it.

“Mr. Barnes, sir,” Peter Parker stammered, catching his breath in the doorway. Peter was a prospect, a good kid with a good head on his shoulders. Bucky couldn't understand why such a gifted kid was so eager to join the mob. Regardless, Bucky couldn’t be happier to have such potential, but the kid picked the wrong time to join them. “We have a lead.”

Bucky’s head snapped up from his desk. He had been engrossed in his own research on his laptop that he had forgotten about his men’s quest. Peter’s spine went rigid under the mob boss’s intense stare. He had yet to get used to it. Peter was certain that was why Bucky’s right-hand man, Steve Rogers, had sent him to retrieve Bucky. Well, that or it was part of Sam Wilson’s attempt at a joke to haze the new guy. Either way, Peter had been a fan of Steve growing up. Steve usually was the face while Bucky worked in the shadows, which only made Bucky more intimidating to Peter. He respected Steve though which is why he found Bucky without hesitation.

“Follow me, sir.”

Standing abruptly, the chair Bucky had been sitting in crashed into the wall behind him with a loud bang. He smoothed his rough palms down the front of his pristine white shirt before straightening his black suit jacket. Without a word, he extended his hand behind Peter, encouraging him to lead the way.

Peter anxiously peered over his shoulder the entire way down the hall. He thought he might have been walking too fast, but Bucky’s pace never faltered. Bucky was hot on his heels, always one step behind him. Stopping unexpectedly outside of the boardroom, Bucky hissed nearly crashing into the teen. Before Bucky could reprimand him, Peter explained, “Before we go inside, Steve told me to give you a message.” Bucky’s shoulders relaxed a bit leaving Peter relieved his boss wasn’t going to chew him out. Still, his own dress shirt began to cling to him with the amount of sweat he was producing. Bucky may have relaxed a bit, but his posture was always disciplined, predatory, and intimidating.

“Spill it out,” Bucky huffed, his hands resting in the pockets of his slacks.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Peter nodded, “Right, um- He said don’t do anything stupid and that we need her.”

The jaw of the boss twitched before he stormed past a confused Peter. His hands pressed into each of the double doors using his full force to slam the doors wide open. All eyes snapped to Bucky as he strode into the room, confidence and determination oozing off of him. Peter ushered in behind him, awkwardly failing to close the doors several times before succeeding. A string of apologies escaped his lips as he stepped further into the room. The serious look Steve shot Peter had him clearing his throat and adjusting his dress coat.

Sam and Steve stood side by side on one end of the room, their arms crossed. They were cautious, guarded rightfully so. Any one of their lives could be on the line. For all they knew, everyone in the room was on the hit list. Spying the woman sitting at the middle of the conference table, Bucky stalked across from her. With his eyes trained on the floor, he dragged the chair away from the table but made no move to sit down as he stepped up to the table.

When his eyes met hers, he puffed out his chest. His arms remained at his sides, his hands burrowing in his pockets. Without so much as a greeting, Bucky began his interrogation, “Who created the hit list.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, a frown etched on her crimson-painted lips. “Right down to business, huh Buck?” A smirk replaced her frown. “I should’ve known, you never were one for much foreplay.”

Bucky pressed his tongue to his cheek. He had expected this, her teasing. It was always a dance between them, one he wanted to avoid by cutting to the chase. She always knew how to rile him up, in more ways than one.

“Princess-”

‘No,” she stopped him with her hand raised, “you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Bucky snorted, leaning forward, “Isn’t that what you are now?”

“Who is she?” Peter attempted to whisper to Steve, but everyone heard him.

Taking pity on the clueless teen, Sam answered, “She’s Bucky’s ex-wife, Y/N.”

Ignoring the other men, Y/N flashed her diamond engagement ring at Bucky. The light reflected off of the ring making it impossible to miss even from where Steve, Sam, and Peter had been standing.

“That title is pending, followed by queen,” she sassed.

It started out as a term of endearment. Y/N always had a taste for the finer things in life, Bucky’s lifestyle satisfied that craving. He enjoyed spoiling his princess, but that was all she would be. A princess, someone no one would take seriously. It had been an ironic twist of fate that she had met an actual prince after her divorce from Bucky.

Examining the rock on her finger, her signature red nail had been replaced by a nude shade. She was no longer accepting his blood money; she had a good man and clean money now. His eyes traveled back to her face, zeroing in on her red-painted lip. Her hands may be clean now, but her lips were still tainted. The secrets she could talk about his business alone could ruin him which reminded him of why she was here in the first place.

“Who created the hit list, Y/N,” he tried once again to control the conversation.

Pursing her lips, she let him.

“I don’t know,” her gaze dropped to the table, “but I know who has it.”

Finally getting somewhere, Bucky reached back pulling the chair behind him. Once he was seated, he snapped his fingers. Not a moment later, a pen and paper were placed in front of him.

“Give me a name,” Bucky demanded, pen in hand.

Y/N raised her head, the man twirled a pen between his fingers tempting her to sign a deal with the devil. Shaking the image from her head she placed her hand over his, ceasing his movements.

“It’s not that easy. He won't meet with just anyone.”

“He?” Steve asked.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Bucky isn’t just anyone,” Sam called out.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “He may very well be suspect number one. It would be bad for anyone to meet with Bucky alone.” Feeling Bucky’s hand turn beneath her own she went to pull away, but he grabbed her hand.

“What about a future queen?”

Eyeing him beneath her lashes, Y/N pulled her hand back to her chest. Noticing the hesitant look on her face, Bucky leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t a fool to think she was here willingly. She wanted something; she needed something.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Bucky asked, “What do you want?”

Thumbing the ring on her finger, she contemplated lying. She didn’t want to need Bucky, but she did. One look at Bucky and she knew he would see through any lie she would come up with, so she told the truth, “I need protection.” Suddenly she felt exposed with everyone's eyes on her. “If my name is on the list,” her voice shook. She wasn’t Bucky’s dirty little secret. People knew she was his wife, well ex-wife. She had ties to the mob and if her name was on the list or if her fiancé found out, the engagement would be called off.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke, “Get me access to the list and let me worry about the rest.”

Relief flooded Y/N. He could have turned her away. He could have blackmailed the information out of her, but he didn’t. Bucky was a rough man, but he was also kind. She had seen it first-hand for many years. Guilt ate away at her for her earlier actions. He knew she had been engaged but she didn’t need to rub it in his face. She wanted to hurt him but only because he had hurt her. A small part of her hoped he would protect her not because he was kind but because he still loved her.

Y/N was able to request a meeting with the man not even 24 hours later. His assistant had sent her an invitation, but it wasn’t for what she had been expecting. Instead, the man had invited her to a gala. He was a businessman after all, and her appearance would be good for business. At a time when she should be laying low, she was about to attend a high-press event.

It wasn’t long after Bucky was notified that he insisted he escort her. Y/N protested but he had argued that he couldn’t protect her if she was dead. That had convinced her, on one condition, they arrive separately. She was still engaged.

The event was beautiful but high glass windows had Y/N on edge. Anyone could see her. She tried to distract herself by searching for the host. There were so many bodies and no sign of the man who had invited her. In the middle of her search, a hand circled her wrist tugging her in the opposite direction. Y/N began clawing at the man’s wrist, an attempt to pry him off. When he stopped and spun around, she crashed into his chest. With her face in his chest, the unmistakable scent of expensive cologne hit her. She shoved his chest putting enough distance between the two.

“Bucky,” Y/N hissed, “you’re supposed to be laying low.”

Surveying the crowd, Bucky muttered, “I am. It’s you who is running all over the damn place.”

Y/N shook her head glaring at him. Not only did he smell good, but he looked good too. He had shaved since she had last seen him. He had traded in his white dress shirt for a black one, forgoing a bow or tie. The top button of his shirt was open, relieving his collarbone. Instead of drooling over her ex-husband she continued to glare at him. It was easier to hate him than to pine over him.

“If someone takes pictures of us together and my fiancé finds out-”

His cerulean eyes shot down to meet her eyes, “Where is he anyway? Shouldn’t you be asking him for protection? Surely, he has the resources.”

Y/N froze, her hands clutching the sides of her silk gown. “He doesn’t know,” she mumbled, then her voice grew. “He doesn’t know about the list, my past, or about you.” Bucky’s eyes softened. He had his doubts before, but he was certain now that she wasn’t happy. He wanted to gloat, to rub it in her fiancé’s face. He knew Y/N better than her fiancé did, and even better, she wanted to tell him. Bucky wanted to make a joke about how keeping secrets in a relationship was unhealthy, but he kept his mouth shut. Y/N sighed, running her hands down her dress to smooth out the wrinkles she had created. “He’s out of the country right now.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she wrapped her arms around herself. His gaze dropped to the floor, but Bucky’s remained on her.

He recognized a lonely soul when he saw one because he was one himself. His lifestyle left few people he could trust. He hadn’t always been lonely though, and neither had she. Bucky’s hand twitched to reach out and hug her, but he didn’t think she would appreciate that with cameras around. He took in her appearance and couldn’t help the squeeze he felt in his heart.

“You look beautiful.”

A giggle escaped her lips, “Thanks, Buck. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He had meant to cheer her up, but her giggle was unexpected. He missed it, he missed her. Everyone he knew in the mob lifestyle had died in the mob. It was poetic in a live by the sword, die by the sword type of way. No one got out, but she did. With his status, he’d never get out and a selfish part of him wanted to pull her right back in.

“You got out, you got away from the life,” Bucky hummed, admiration in his voice, respect.

Y/N shook her head. “No, I just got away from you.”

It was his turn to laugh, “Now if that were true, I wouldn’t be standing here with you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. I am standing here with you, not you are standing here with me. He meant it. Even if she was here because of him, he was here for her, to protect her. He put her first.

“You of all people know once you’re in there’s only one way out.”

That was it for Bucky. He wasn’t pulling her back in. She never left. They might have been divorced but they had both meant it on their wedding day when they said, “Till death do us part.” Bucky’s calloused hand cupped her jaw just below her ear, pausing. She didn’t push him away. With both hands, she cradled his jaw pulling his face down to meet hers. Their lips brushed one another, slowly at first, testing the waters. Then his other hand slid up the length of her neck, sliding back to tangle his fingers in her hair. It was a dance they were all too familiar with.

The flash of a camera penetrated Y/N’s eyes beneath her closed lids and it was like pouring a bucket of cold water over her. Quickly, she pulled away shoving Bucky’s chest when his lips tried to follow her. She was fucked, royally.

“Y/N?”

Wiping her smudged lipstick, she ignored Bucky’s lingering gaze before turning to face the new voice. A woman in a blue silk dress approached the pair.

“Virginia?” Y/N asked.

The woman waved her hand in the air. “Please, call me Pepper. We spoke on the phone yesterday. Mr. Stark is ready to meet with you. Follow me.”

Without looking back, Y/N followed Pepper through the crowd. She knew Bucky would be right behind her. She would deal with him later. Right now, she needed the names on the list. Upon their arrival, Pepper exited the room, pulling the door shut behind her. On the other side of a glass desk was one of the wealthiest men in the world, Tony Stark.

“Did I interrupt something?” Tony asked eyes darting between Y/N and Bucky. “I swear there wasn’t so much tension before you two walked in.”

Y/N sent him a tight-lipped smile holding up her left hand. “I’m engaged.”

Tony shrugged, “What you do is none of my business. Besides, something like this would be published on the front page.” Y/N’s stomach dropped. “You know what they say, all press is good press.”

“Says the man with a new woman every week,” Bucky grumbled.

Tony smiled. “Precisely, I would know.”

“Mr. Stark-”

Tony loosened the bow tie around his neck. “Call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Y/N corrected, “so you know anything about a list?”

With a raised eyebrow Tony laughed, “If it’s a list you want, I suggest you talk to Pepper. She handles all of that stuff.”

“Not just any kind of list,” Y/N took a step forward, her hands clasped in front of her, “a hit list.” From this distance, Y/N couldn't miss the way Tony’s eyes shifted to Bucky.

“Are you looking to assassinate anybody?”

Bucky held up his hands, “I’m just looking to protect the people I care about.”

Y/N stood still, watching the intense stare-off between the two.

Eventually, Tony sighed, “I don’t want to be in the middle of any of this.” He tapped a few keys on the computer on his desk before turning the screen. “You better get out of here before your fiancé sends someone.”

“What?” Y/N gasped, blindly clutching Bucky’s forearm beside her. Both of their names were written in green on the list. Beneath them were some of Bucky’s most trusted men; their names written in white.

Tony leaned back in his chair. “Green means active. You’re both next on the list and judging by the number of cameras here, someone probably already knows you’re here.”

“You knew,” Bucky growled.

Tony barely flinched. “Your names weren’t active until recently. Other people’s lives are on the line. I can’t get to everyone in time.”

“Wait, why would my fiancé send someone, he’s not even in the country,” Y/N asked, trying to wrap her head around everything.

Tony frowned. “Your fiance is the one who put the hit list out. What better alibi for your significant other’s death than being out of the country at her time of death.”

Y/N would have collapsed if it wasn’t for Bucky’s quick reflexes. He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

“Why?” Y/N whispered wide-eyed.

Bucky wanted to drag her out of the building toward safety but was there even a safe place? People already knew their location.

Tony shrugged. “The New York mobs aren't the only mobs out there. They're all over the country, they're in other countries. There are some real higher-ups in the mafia in other countries. The mafia controls everything, it's one of the most powerful positions. Take out other mobs and you can control more area, more power.”

Y/N felt sick. When she said you never get out once you get in, she hadn’t realized how deep she was in life now. Turning to Bucky, he was already on his phone typing. “Bucky, we need to go.”

“No. I text Steve, he’s rounding everyone up. They’ll be here soon.”

Tony’s eyes widened, his eyebrows reaching his forehead. “You can’t be serious. There are cameras everywhere. This will be plastered on every news station.”

Bucky shrugged, lifting the back of Y/N’s hand to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, a quiet promise to protect her. “All press is good press.”

Next Chapter

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jilixthinker · 1 month

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sweet taster

=͟͟͞♡ minho × fem!reader

word count: 1.6K

content warning: smut, established relationship, sub!minho, cock play, kinda chubby (but not really) minho, a little bit of feederism if you squint, it's all very loving and sweet

a/c: i feel things about minho's imaginary soft tummy, that's it.

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

"That was definitively too much."

Your home smells like savory and sweet, the nice scent lingering in your living room like a warm blanket, and Minho groans in delight as he plops on the couch with his eyes closed, stress from the work beginning to melt away. He loves when he comes home to the smell of one of your cooking, it makes him feel spoiled and pampered.

The portion of bibimbap was more than generous, but what truly tested his stomach capacity were the three big slices of apple pie he gobbled down while you watched him with adoring eyes, fingers softly caressing his plush tighs.

Minho has a sweet tooth and you love cooking and baking for him, that is always been your love language. In addition to that, in the last year of your relationship you started to experiment in the kitchen with lots of different baking recipies, and your loving boyfriend has been your official taster since that.

You cook, he eats, and you look fondly at him while he savors your baked goods, making a series of cute tiny sounds of pleasure that leaves you cooing and pinching at his soft cheeks. That is how you would describe happiness.

"Are you full?" you ask, sitting next to him and immediately nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck.

Minho smiles and his arm circles your shoulder, bringing you closer to him. You nose at his sweater and he smells like candy, smells sweet and intrinsecally like home and Minho. “So full,” he chuckles, placing a wet kiss on the top of your head.

"I guess you don't have space for one last treat then..." you smile against his skin as your hand drops to his belly. It feels tensed and a little swollen because of all the food he ate, and you start to massage it slowly.

"Treat?" Minho's eyes get all round and you hear him sniffing at the air in search of a distinct odor that will make him understand what are you referring to.

"I tried baking some cream eclairs." you smile at him, pinching the soft pudge below his belly button between your thumb and pointer. It's so soft that you wanna eat him whole.

"Well, I guess I can make some space, then".

You sit up again just in time to catch a glimpse of Minho's tongue lapping at the corner of his mouth, pre-savoring the dessert, and you feel a familar warmth spreading through your body. He is just too cute, too precious, too sweet to be yours.

"Let me get it for you. Wanna feed you." You smile as you stand up and head to the kitchen, the platter of creamy sweets ready in the oven.

When you come back, Minho is waiting for you with big pleading eyes, eager to taste the product of your baking. You place the plate on a cushion next to him, but instead of sitting down on the couch, you find your place on his lap, straddling his soft yet muscular thighs.

"Open wide." you say, taking one eclair in your hand and bringing it to Minho's mouth. You tap him under his chin and his mouth falls open easily.

Keeping eye contact, Minho leans forward to take a big bite, chewing slowly to let the flavor really envelop his senses. The lemon cream is sweet and warm, and it melts in his mouth.

You stare at him, pushing the eclair back to his lips when Minho is done chewing, inviting him to take another bite. With a loud gulp, Minho opens up again, and his tongue swirls against your thumb.

"How does it taste?" you ask while you brush a few crumbs from his lips.

Minho swallows the last bit of the eclair and the tip of his tongue laps at his plump lips once again. "Tastes amazing." he puffs out, his breath smells exactly like the cream.

"Want another?" you ask, taking the second one on your hand without even waiting for his answer.

"I am very full, baby." he mumbles, arm falling down to rest on the top of his stretched tummy. "I don't know if I can fit another one. But they taste like heaven."

"Just one more." you murmur as you leave a small peck on the corner of Minho's mouth, licking a bit of sugar away. "You look so cute when you eat. Please, just one more."

Minho sighs, his tummy is stretched and slighly uncomfortable, but saliva begins to pool inside his mouth as a pavlovian response to the thought of the sweet taste. "Just one more." he conceeds.

You hum and bring the pastry in front of his mouth. Minho diligently parts his lips once again and accepts the eclair. Crumbs are all over his shirt and pants, and there are cream smudges all around his pretty red mouth, even stuck between his teeth.

"So gorgeous for me." you whisper as your hips buck involuntarily against Minho's groin. And then you notice that you are not the only one enjoying this.

"You're hard, uh?" you ask with a chuckle, lowering your hand to cup him through his sweats and squeezing him lightly. Minho hisses and you rub his protruding stomach, feeling the soft skin under the fabric.

Minho finishes swallowing and breathes a sigh of relief as he hears you lowering the band of his sweats. “Yeah. It was sweet,” he huffs. "You are sweet. Got me all hard."

You take the opportunity to remove his pants completely to gain easy access to fondle him through his briefs in the process. Minho's breath is is soft and tender, and he smells amazing, all sugary and pretty for you.

"Wanna touch you. Can I, baby?" you ask, finding a comfortable position on the floor, between his parted legs.

The room is warm, but Minho's legs are tensed and his thin hair are fluffy. You caress them and massage the muscles underneath, and you see his fattened cock twitching against his groin. You see a few pearls of precum glistening on the chubby tip, and you wonder if his release would taste like cream if you fed him enough sweets. The thought is enough to rub your legs together, your panties are already sticking to your folds. But this is for Minho, you think.

"You can do anything you want to me." he murmurs, eyes almost closing and head resting on the cushions behind him.

You smile and you scoot forward to wrap one hand around his cock, squeezing it. His swollen cock immediately chubs up even more and wets the fabric of the sweatshirt. The cockhead looks all sensitive, and you tentatively circle the palm of your other hand around it, coaxing a sweet moan out of Minho's lips.

"My sweet, sweet boy." you coo, starting a lazy rhythm of stroking and circling, stopping just to stimulate his spongy head every once in a while. "You are so sweet that I wanna eat you up."

Minho's chuckles breathily and lets out a soft sob as his thighs begin to shake.

"Am I your dessert?" he asks, looking down at you with big eyes and still a few crumbs of eclair on the corner of his mouth. He mindlessly licks them off.

"You so are, pretty. You are my candy, my cake, my chocolate milk." you answer, sliding your thumb against his slit and making him whine slowly. "And I really need to eat you. I am serious."

You lower your head past his leaky cock to brush your cheek against the soft pudge under Minho's belly button. And then you bite him.

The tender flesh is warm and squishy, and the taste of Minho's skin, together with the cream scent still lingering in the air makes you moan against him.

"F-fuck, baby." he mutters, and you feel his cock throbbing in your fist.

With the tip of your tongue you lick at the velvety scar across his lower stomach and then you twirl it inside of his belly button, mimicking the way he usually fucks himself into you. He whines at the movement and his body twitches again.

"Love you." you whisper, keeping your grip steady on him. "Love how soft you get for me. How sweet. Love when you eat well and you look like this. You are so delicious, Mimo."

You keep biting softly at the fluffy fat of his pudge, savoring its taste and jerking him slowly, letting the schlick sound of his wet cock resonate through the room. Minho is pliant under your touch and his eyes are glassy.

"Uhm – I am. I-I am cumming, baby. Sorry." he moans when your finger dips a little into his slit.

"Don't be sorry, honey. You wanna cum?" you ask with a loving tone while your hand slides smoothly on his aching muscle. "Wanna cream on me like the sweet pastry you are? You can, pretty baby. Let it all go for me."

And Minho obeys, as he always does. With one last pump he begins to shoot thick ropes of creamy cum all over your hand and his round belly, covering his pale skin with glossy spurts that accumulate on the curve just above his ribcage.

When he is done, you lap at some of his release and it actually tastes sweet. It could be your imagination or just the fact that you are aroused, but you swear you can taste some of the cream on his orgasm.

"Wow." he puffs, hand covering his eyes in a shy attempt to hide himself. "That was... something."

You chuckle and kiss his tummy one last time before looking up to his face. "Then you will not be surprised when I'll tell you I baked more, right?"

Minho's face blushes to an adorable shade of pink. "Maybe... m-maybe I can eat one more".

©️ jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

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christinarowie332 · 5 months

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stupid horny fucks .

chris sturniolo x reader (smut)

warnings: accidental dick pic lmao . smut ovs ? quick fuck . possible angst if u squint . possible series . not proof read

in which : chris accidentally sends his bestfriend a none PG photo …….. resulting in tears of tension being released…. but was it a mistake?

ps : don’t send unsolicited nudes , it’s weird as fuck . this is heavily fiction . don’t be a weirdo .

————

the room was a calm environment, me , nick, matt and chris all sat in dim lighting from the tv , my legs sprawled over nicks lap on the couch as we all relax in our shared space. this was a normal night for us all , a movie in the background, snacks and drinks arrayed out as we all engage in absent minded easy conversations. chris was quieter tonight. i notice as i allways do , subconsciously focussed on him , it’s hard not to be when your surrounded by things that remind you of him , and of course himself . i’ve always felt wierd with chris . it’s not all the time . 70% of the time he’s just an annoying, loud , funny , sweet friend . same with nick and matt . but that 30% , that’s something even chris himself couldn’t get out of me . god he’s attractive. the way his legs are spread , his sweatpants pressing against his dick , the shadow of his bulge basically begging to be touched. his fluffy hair , swept against his features , the loose curls lightly lay on his forehead. his sharp facial features being illuminated by his phone screen as he looks down to it , his pink lips puckered as he concentrates. god everything about him just makes my skin crawl , goosebumps literally growing on the skin of my arms at the thoughts that run through my head. the way his veiny hands would look around my neck. the low tank top he’s wearing , and how his sleek collarbones would feel on my lips . fuck .

i cross my legs on nicks lap , squeezing them together to relieve the growing tension between them . nicks head turns towards me , his confused expression catching my attention. “you good?” he asks , shifting himself on the sofa , his voice making matt and chris glance over at us .

“i’m fine , just getting comfortable” i send him a reassuring smile after speaking , all three of the brothers attention going back to the tv or phones . thank god . i try to distract myself from my thoughts (chris), pulling my phone from beneath my body on the cushioned seat . i open snapchat and start scrolling through my recent snaps , random guys , my friends , team snapchat (wow i have no life) . i start snapping them back , ceilings , selfies . chris . i open his snap and it’s just a normal photo of him , sexy as fuck ,but just a normal face snap , i send him one back and carry on with the rest of them .

after a while , i’m watching a instagram reel and get a chat notification from chris . i look up at him with furrowed eyebrows. “chris i’m literally in the same room as you why are u snapping me ?” i ask , waving my hand around with my phone in its grasp . he doesn’t look at me as he responds, his thumb still lazily scrolling on his phone. i roll my eyes beofre opening the chat . said eyes basically fall out of my head when i open it . i audibly gasp and my head shoots towards chris , making literally everyone look at me .

“sorry.” i replies to their stares , i watch all three of their attentions go back to their original places , before chris’s head snaps towards me , his eyes wide and jaw muscles clenched . the photo he sent me , was probably the last thing i ever thought i would see . his dick . in all it’s glory , veins decorated up the shaft , towards his tip , pre cum dripping down the side . it was fucking huge . i look down at my now vibrating phone in my hand , chris frantically texting me .

chris | I DIDNDTTT MENBA TO SEND THET

: DONT FUCKIJG SAY ANYTHING.

: Y/N

: OLESSE

: THAT WAS NOT MEANT FOR YOU

: bro i’m so sorry

: please just forget u saw that

: nah im actually sorry

it takes me a few seconds to contain myself . before i decide to text him back .

me | chris bro it’s literally fine .

chris | i’m so sorry

: i’m acc so sorry

me | chris .

: i said it’s fine .

chris | are u sure ? i’m so fucking sorry .

me | why are u sorry ???? that’s a nice ass dick .

why the fuck would i say that . chris’s bitmoji stops typing . and just stays still for a while before i see a new message.

chris | my room . five mins .

me | i’m going now . follow me idfc

i immediately get up from my seat , throwing to phone to the sofa and twlling the boys i’m going to bed . i make it to chris’s room in seconds , leaving the door open and waiting for him there . it’s a minute until i watch him speed into the room and slam the door behind him , walking towards me and grabbing my neck to slam his lips onto mine .

the kiss is fast and needy , clothes being torn off as our lips collide and tongues explore each others mouths . he leads me to the bed in just his boxers , and unclips my bra before dropping me onto his mattress . he watches the recoil from the springs in his bed make my tits bounce , a small smirk playing on his lips beofre climbing on top of me and attaching his mouth onto my neck .

he pries out small wimpers as he bites and sucks on my skin , leaving bruises up to my ear and over my chest , my hips thrusting forwards to reach his bulge , aiming for any friction as the tingling between my thighs intensifies .

“are you sure ?” he breathes into my neck , it’s like all i’ve been relying on is pure instinct, his words barley make it into my head and i’m drunk in his touch . “yes fuck , just hurry up and fuck me” i reply, lurching my hands to his face and bringing him up from my chest, reattaching our lips . his fingers make his way to my clothed pussy , his middle finger drawing circles over my swollen clit . his muscles contort as he moves , curved shadows against his pale skin . the veins running up his forearm from his slender fingers .perfectly smooth and sharp at the same time . “so needy……” he says moving his fingers upwards before putting them under my underwear, running his cold finger between my folds . “and so fucking wet” he continues, making his way to my clit with his fingers , making me lift into his touch and moaning at the sensation. he continues his movements placing his knee forward towards my heat , slowly prying my legs open so he has better access , slowly increasing the speed making me a whimpering mess underneath him .

he pulls his fingers away and swiftly takes off his boxers , pumping his dick a couple of times before placing the tip at my entrance and running it through my folds . “are u one hundred perfect sure?” he asks , i nod frantically, readjusting my self underneath him making myself comfortable. “words baby , you know i would love to fuck you sensless but right now i need your words”

“YES CHRIS JUST FUCK ME”. i raise my voice , i see his eyes flicker and an eyebrow raise before he slams into me , a smirk growing on his face as he watches me sink into the bed , all confidence gone as he pounds into me. “JESUS FUCK , fuck” i allmost scream as he thrusts into me, my hands slapping his back , nails digging into his back at the feeling .

his hair flops against his forehead at each thrust , groans and heavy breathing falling from his lips. his hands hold his up as he towers over me , silencing my own cries of pleasure with his mouth on mine still sloppily placing kisses on my lips before moving down my neck. “your doing so well , i’m so close baby i’ve wanted this for so- fuck” he breathes out as he keeps thrusting , each minute pulling energy and sweat from our body’s as we both edge closer to our release . my hands hold his shoulders pulling myself into him to deepen his reach into me , feeling his ruthless abuse of my g spot , not allowing any thoughts to come from my brain . quite literally fucking me senseless .

“FUCK , chris i’m so close , CHRIS don’t stop please” i plead to him , making his speed pick up . “me too mama me too , come baby please” he says as his finger moves towards my clit , the circles matching his thrusts as he eggs my release on . i feel his dick twitch inside of me , at this i feel myself completely release around him , loud moans being silence as his hand rests on my throat as he kisses me through my orgasm . moments later i feel him also topple over the edge fulling out and feeling warm strings of cum coat my stomach and chest .

he flops down next to , his chest heaving and loose curls wet slightly around his neck with sweat .

“what the fuck just happened” i say looking over to him

he just stares at the ceiling .

what the fuck just happened .

————

i’m so drunk rn this is such a mess .

————

taglist :

@mangosrar @soursturniolo @biimpanicking @kvtie444 @kenzieiskoolaid @cabincorematt @urmyslxt @chrisenthusiast @mattsd0ll @iheart2021chris @recklesssturniolo @lovingsturniolo @loveesiren @paper-crab @daddyslilchickenfingers @strniohoeee @ermdontmindthisaccount @sturnphilia @bluesturniolo333 @lea0518 @chrisolivia4l @its-jennarose @kitaysworld @liz-stxr @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @mattslolita

———

side note : i love u all sm , like acc . sorry for the delay in the fics but i hate posting shit that’s half assed or rushed , and i like to make sure that my shits realistic to the boys . you know ? hope y’all still love me LMAO !!!

-🍼

#chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #milkietalks #chris sturniolo x reader #milkie is down bad #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo imagines #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut

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prythianpages · 4 months

Note

Ohhhh would you ever write more about the witch reader x az. I loved it! I want to see feyres reaction :)

I might! I think I'd be open to making it like a series/au bc witch reader x Az makes me so soft 🥰 and I'm currently obsessed with the song that inspired it bc the song is so beautiful and whimsical and makes me wish I could experience a love like that

if you haven't read the original imagine, you can find it here.

here is a small drabble of feyre's reaction 😊 :

When you and Azriel return to the river house, Feyre is in the sitting room. She's lightly bouncing an agitated Nyx, who teethes at a cool wash cloth. "I know, baby," she coos at the infant.

Her blue-gray eyes are on you as soon as you enter and they light up when she notices Azriel's hands are ungloved and one of them is holding on to yours, fingers intertwined with another.

"How was the trip?" She asks, her lips curling up into a knowing smile.

"It was fine."

"She almost cursed Eris."

You're turning to Azriel with a playful glare and his wings twitch in response, his usual stoic demeanor now much lighter and Feyre knows it's all because of you. "It could've been a nice little hex that'd make his eyebrows fall off, you know. Just something to get him off his high horse."

Feyre laughs at the image that comes to mind. "I hope Eris didn't give you much trouble?"

"He shot an arrow through Azriel's hand."

"No."

You and Azriel exchange another look, missing the way Feyre's eyes grew distant for a brief moment.

They're holding hands! Feyre nearly screams into Rhysand's mind and he can feel all her excitement and joy through the bond.

He's sitting outside by one of the tables in their garden with Cassian and Mor on either side of him. If it were up to him, he'd be inside by his wife. But it was her who had kicked him outside, not wanting to overwhelm Azriel and you. "Out you busybodies!" She had exclaimed as she ushered them all out of the house.

"Hey, Cas," he grins. "You owe me twenty coins."

Cassian nearly spits out his lemonade. "What?" He sputters with wide eyes. Mor leans forward in her seat.

Rhysand then shows them the image Feyre had send him. It's of you and Azriel bickering and fussing over one another like an old married couple.

"Let's just call it even." Cassian insists, setting his cup down. "I am the one who got rid of all the dandelion root from her apothecary shop."

"Hey! Don't take all the credit. I am the one who kept her distracted!" Mor cuts in, dramatically throwing her hands in the air. "And also the one who kept Azriel from suspecting anything when Feyre had asked for an escort. Do you know how hard it is to sneak things around those two?"

"Thank you, Mor. Your hard work is much appreciated here," Rhysand says, his grin growing wider as he rises from his seat, knowing it'd only irritate Cassian further.

He catches the glare Cassian sends his way. "20 coins," Rhysand reminds him, holding his hand out expectantly.

"In a way," Cassian begins, not wanting to accept his loss. "I helped you win the bet!"

"That's not my problem." Rhysand replies with a smug shrug.

Cassian grumbles and digs into his pocket. He throws all twenty coins at Rhysand's face, who easily intercepts them with a wave of his hand. They fall gracefully into the palm of his hand instead.

Mor laughs as she also rises from her seat. Twenty coins is nothing to them. It's barely enough to buy a cheap bottle of wine.

Cassian follows shortly after, the three of them scurrying inside and wanting to catch a glimpse of you and Azriel holding hands in person. Although, they find you nestled on the couch with baby Nyx in your lap. You rub the elixir you had made earlier over Nyx's gums, smiling when you feel the babe relax in your arms, as you tell Feyre all about your venture earlier.

Azriel is seated on the armest of the couch right next to you, cutting into your story when he deems necessary. Everyone takes note of the way his hand is resting on the small of your back and one of his wings instinctively curls around your smaller form. They also take note of the lingering scent of your bond in the air, stronger now that you both have acknowledged the bond. Cedar and lavender.

a/n: I considered the whole Nyx being in pain to be a lie, a glamor made by Feyre to trick reader into having to go scavenge for dandelion root but decided it was better to just have Cassian and Mor be sneaky instead :)

#azriel drabble #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x witch!reader #az!dandelions #thank you for the ask!

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narumi-gens · 4 months

Text

The L Word

Miya Osamu x f!Reader

summary: Love makes people stupid. Osamu knows it firsthand.

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, established relationship, love confessions, fluff with a teeny hint of angst, happy ending, small miscommunication bc Osamu is an idiot but it gets cleared up, Atsumu to the rescue, Osamu being the dumber Miya twin for a change, Osamu really goes through it in this fic but it's all okay bc you love him

notes: literally wrote this entire thing today bc Osamu just does something to me. this takes place earlier on in the Meet the Miyas couple's relationship and you don't have to read the other fics to get this one, but I sure would like you to.

words: 3.6k

part of the Meet the Miyas series

Osamu’s date with you was meant to be a quick dinner. If he was thinking more clearly, he wouldn’t have suggested seeing each other that night at all. It’s been a hectic week for the both of you and he knows that you have to catch an early morning train for a meeting out of town the next day.

But he can’t think clearly when it comes to you. Because he loves you. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but he knows it was probably after only a couple of dates, which he also knows is crazy.

Again, he can never think clearly when it comes to you.

It means that he’s spent the last few months in a love-induced haze of happiness as your budding relationship has progressed. It’s even been enough to dull the irritation he would normally feel at how smug Atsumu has been about being the one to set the two of you up in the first place.

Of course, none of that is on his mind now. The only thing he can currently think about is how much he doesn't want your evening together to end.

It’s a desire of his that you’re more than willing to indulge in as your time at the restaurant stretches on long past dessert. When he offers to walk you home even though you live in opposite directions, you don’t even bother to give a perfunctory protest. You merely nod with a wide grin, happily accepting the arm he wraps around your shoulders as you curl into his side.

And what began as a sweet kiss goodnight outside of your building is now bordering on something inappropriate for a public setting, even on an empty street.

Your soft lips move against his and his tongue slips into your mouth to taste you. One of your hands rests against his neck, while the other runs through his hair, making him shiver at the sensation of your fingernails gently running against his scalp. Both of his are tightly holding onto your waist, holding you as close as he possibly can so that the only thing separating you two is the clothing you both are wearing.

“Come upstairs,” you breathe as he begins to trail his lips from yours to the spot just below your ear that always has your knees feeling weak whenever he lavishes it with attention.

Unfortunately, Osamu has just enough of his sanity left to know what the responsible choice is.

“Ya need to sleep,” he murmurs against your skin before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck that makes you sharply inhale. “Yer meeting tomorrow is important. Gotta be well rested.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease as you guide his lips back to yours to give him another heated kiss, only to pause for air a moment later. “I promise. No funny business. We can just sleep.”

He can’t hold back his snort at your suggestion or his laugh when you pout at his reaction. He rests his forehead against yours, looking at you with a fond smile on his shining and slightly swollen lips.

“We never ‘just sleep’ when I come up,” he reminds you and your pout deepens.

“But I don’t want to say goodbye yet,” you tell him, and damn if his heart doesn’t ache with how full of love it is for you.

“Okay. We don’t have to say goodbye,” he agrees and your expression lights up. However, it falls as he continues to speak. “We’ll just say goodnight instead.”

“Osamu,” you whine and he presses a soft kiss to your lips before you can say anything else.

“Goodnight,” he says.

When you open your mouth again, he gives you another smiling kiss.

“Goodnight.”

You open your mouth again, a smile of your own tugging at your lips, which he kisses again.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

You playfully open your mouth as you pretend to say something. He kisses you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Another attempt on your part to protest. Another kiss to silence you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Your mouth opens. He gives you a kiss.

He loves you.

“I love you.”

He freezes, but not because he’s accidentally spoken the words that have been on his mind these past months.

It’s because the words don’t come out in his voice. They come out in yours.

His eyes snap open to find you gazing up at him with a small hint of nervousness, but otherwise nothing but pure affection and fondness and love. It’s everything he’s been dreaming of — literally. He has literally been dreaming about this exact scenario.

But in his dreams, he gently murmurs that he loves you in return and softly runs his thumb along the apple of your cheek. The two of you then kiss beneath the first soft snowflakes of winter or the floating spring cherry blossoms or a drizzle of summer rain.

Reality is much worse. Because in his shock and disbelief, all he can do is open and close his mouth, struggling to put all of his joy and excitement and love in return into words. And the longer the silence stretches on, the touch of hesitation that was initially present on your face slowly begins to morph into sheer horror.

Your embarrassment is visible at his lack of a response and when you force out a small, self-conscious laugh, he knows that you’re regretting ever speaking those three beautiful words aloud.

“Sorry,” you wince and a cold shard of ice pierces his heart.

No, no, no. Don’t apologize. Never apologize. Not for loving him. Not when he loves you, too.

You clumsily try to extricate yourself from his hold and he’s too wrapped up in his own mortification over how stupid he is that he easily lets you.

“I don’t…s-sorry!”

Your voice breaks as you stumble over your unnecessary apology and even while you refuse to meet his gaze, he can see how quickly your eyelashes are fluttering as you try to blink back the tears that he’s caused.

“Night, Osamu,” you manage to say through a soft sniffle before hurrying towards the steps of your building.

The only thing worse than the panic and anger that he’s feeling towards himself is whatever it is that you’re feeling. You opened yourself up to him, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and trusting that he would keep your heart safe.

And he was too much of an idiot to be able to offer his own heart in return.

He just needs to get the words out. Just get the words out.

Just get the fuckin’ words out, ya big fuckin’ pussy.

Relief floods through his veins when he’s finally able to blurt your name as he calls after you. He can fix this. He can tell you that he loves you and that he was just so elated that he was physically incapable of putting any words together.

You stop, your foot on the bottom step as you turn towards him. While your eyes are shining with tears, he can also the hope in them as you silently plead with him to continue.

A deep breath releases from his lungs. He hasn’t ruined it yet. You’re willing to listen to him. You’ll give him a chance to make things right and prove to you that he deserves you. He’s so fucking grateful to you.

“Thank you!”

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Maybe a car will pass by and run him over. Could he be lucky enough for a freak thunderstorm and to be struck by lightning? When nothing happens, he contemplates dropping to his knees and banging his head repeatedly against the concrete sidewalk.

All of it would feel better than watching how quickly he’s shattered the last remaining pieces of hope that you were desperately clinging onto. You stay still just long enough for him to see your lower lip tremble before you dart up the stairs of your building.

And because of how the stupid apartment buildings in this country are designed, he gets a perfect view of you racing up the exterior staircase and then towards your apartment, pausing only to unlock the door, which then slams loudly shut behind you. The sound echoes through the quiet street, reverberating against the pavement and buildings, but also in his mind.

Osamu takes a slow, deep breath and holds it before exhaling. He then buries his face his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair, and lets out an unintelligible scream that’s filled with a nauseating mixture of frustration and embarrassment. The noise is louder than the slamming of your door and a dog starts to bark in the distance.

In a daze, he somehow manages to make it to his bus stop. Likewise, his phone is now somehow held up against his ear. And somehow, Atsumu’s screeching voice answers on the other end.

“Thank you?” he greets angrily and Osamu loudly groans as he slumps forward so far that his head is practically between his knees. “My best friend, the woman yer totally in love with, says she loves ya and all ya can do is thank her?”

“I was just so excited, I couldn’t think straight. I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I know, okay?” he mumbles. He hears a bus pull up to the curb but he’s too distraught to even look up and see if it’s his as he lets it pass. “She already told ya?”

“She’s on the other fuckin’ line right now, crying because of you, ya scrub,” Atsumu bites back and somehow, after everything that’s happened in the past ten minutes, Osamu manages to feel even worse.

There’s a long pause and his guilt and mortification must be so bad that his brother can hear it through the phone because Atsumu gives a sigh of pity.

“Look, just make it right. We share the same DNA. Ya must have gotten a little bit of my ability to be romantic.”

In any other situation, Osamu would scoff and roll his eyes. But right now, he doesn’t have the right to make fun of anyone, not even his twin. Instead, he simply nods even though Atsumu can’t see it over the call.

“Can ya find out what time her train gets in tomorrow?” he asks pitifully.

“Okay, sure,” the setter offers before sighing again. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, don’t keep her waitin’.”

He wonders if you know that it’s him Atsumu is talking to. You must. But Atsumu is a pretty good liar, much better than Osamu anyway. He’s had plenty of practice lying over every little thing under the sun since they were young. Surely, he can convince you that it was a teammate or his agent or anyone else but the man responsible for your distress.

“Same goes for you, Samu,” Atsumu warns him, but there’s at least a gentle undertone of sympathy in his voice that he probably only extends because they shared a womb.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling truly grateful to his brother in a way he hasn’t felt since he set the two of you up.

“I think ya said that enough tonight, ya scrub.” Atsumu then ends the call and Osamu’s gratitude dwindles.

But Atsumu does come through for him, texting him the information on your train, which Osamu reacts to with a mere thumbs up, knowing that any form of thanks will have him being called a scrub for the third time that night.

The next day, Osamu closes the shop early. It’s for the better as he keeps getting orders wrong and has to offer so many discounts in apology that if he stayed open any later, he would probably end the day at a loss.

His mind has been so preoccupied that there’s no room left in it for onigiri. All he’s been able to think about is his plan to make it up to you. He’ll go home and change into his nicest suit. He’ll go to the florist and buy the nicest bouquet they have. He’ll stop by the bakery near your apartment on the way and order a slice of your favorite cake.

And then you’ll come home to find him waiting for you outside of your building, where he’ll give you the speech he spent all day on. He’ll tell you how sorry he is and explain how much of an idiot he was and tell you that of course, he loves you. He’s even written down exactly what he wants to say on an order sheet from the restaurant so he doesn’t forget a word.

But apparently, the universe has decided that it wants to laugh even more at his expense.

Everything starts smoothly. Despite not having worn it in over a year, his suit fits as perfectly as it did when he bought it. And after a quick iron, it looks like he just picked it up from the dry cleaner. When he arrives at the flower shop, the kindly older woman working there helps him make a custom bouquet filled with flowers that all represent some form of love and apology.

It’s at the bakery where things start to go wrong.

First, it’s so late in the afternoon that the display window is picked clean over. Your favorite cake has sold out entirely and all that’s left are a variety of croissants, donuts, and croquettes. He stupidly decides to buy a donut anyway, because although the image of him giving you a donut is much less romantic, he’s always believed that food is the best way to show you care about someone.

Then, just as he’s finished paying and in his rush to make sure he gets to your apartment before you do, he runs right into a teenager holding a bright green melon soda, which spills all over the front of his clean, white dress shirt. The girl gasps in horror and immediately begins to apologize, repeatedly bowing as she offers him the napkins in her hand.

However, he knows it was his fault and that he can’t make another girl cry in less than 24 hours. He assures her that she wasn’t to blame and after patting his shirt dry to the best of his ability, he buys her a new drink and then helps the employee clean up the spill. He leaves the bakery with a squished donut and an obscenely green, large stain on his shirt.

And of course, he gets one block away from the bakery when it starts to rain. It’s not the soft, romantic drizzle that he’s imagined might color such an important moment in your relationship. It’s a true downpour that has people ducking into stores and under doorways. For just a moment, he considers stopping at a konbini and buying an umbrella but he’s already drenched and when he sees how long the line is, he decides that it wouldn’t be worth it if he has to miss you.

It’s another block away from the konbini that the bag holding the donut breaks, dropping the baked good into the gutter where it’s quickly washed away by the rainwater. As he looks at the soggy remains of the bag in his hand, he decides not to worry about it and shoves the mess into his pocket. The flowers are enough on his own.

The flowers, which he’s just now realizing aren’t in his hand and weren’t with him at the bakery. The flowers that he remembers setting down on the bench at the bus stop but doesn’t remember picking back up when he got onto the bus.

The voice in his head is frantic as it tries to assure him that everything is fine. If you really love him then you don’t need flowers or baked goods or him in a dry, unstained suit. You’ll love him just as he is when you find him waiting to greet you after a long day.

He’s thankful that the sound of rain falling is loud enough to mask the panicked, high-pitched whine he lets out when he turns the corner onto your block to find that you’ve beaten him to your place and are already standing on the bottom step of your building’s staircase, protected from the rain as you shake the worst of the water from your dripping umbrella.

There’s the smallest part of him that wants to just go back home and hide beneath the blankets like he used to do after losing a volleyball match.

But then, without his consent, your name leaves his lips and his feet begin moving on their own to meet you. You freeze mid-umbrella shake and look up at him in shock, clearly not having expected him, and definitely not in this state if the way your eyes widen is anything to go by.

Your senses come back to you quicker than his did to him last night and you open your umbrella back up and rush out to meet him, hurrying to finally protect him from the rain.

“Osamu, what are you doing? It’s pouring,” you say with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. You look him over from head to toe and frown. “Why are you so green? You look like you spilled a melon soda all over your shirt.”

It’s okay. He still has his speech. He’ll win you over with his words. Whether it was volleyball or opening his own restaurant, when has he ever given up?

Instead of answering you, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out the order slip. He’s relieved that it’s held up better than the bakery bag and vows to keep buying order pads from the same supplier for the rest of his life.

At least until he unfolds the paper and finds that the ink he wrote in has run because of the rain that soaked through his jacket. His shoulders sag as he sighs in defeat.

“Osamu?” you ask with a timidness he hasn’t heard from you before and it’s enough to snap him from his own wallowing. His idiocy left you in tears last night.

The flowers, the suit, the pastry, the speech, this entire big, grand gesture he was trying to make all boil down to one thing.

“I love ya,” he says and it feels so good to finally be able to say the words aloud to you for the first time. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest, leaving room for how big his heart has grown with all the love it holds for you. “I’m so sorry about last night. I’ve been in love with ya since, like, our third date but I knew I’d seem crazy if I said it that early. And when ya said it first, I just couldn’t believe it and I was so stupidly happy that I just couldn’t say anything.”

Now that he’s started talking, the words won’t seem to stop. But from the way you’re looking up at him with so much warmth and affection and love, he doesn’t think you want him to.

“And then I started to panic because I couldn’t say anything, which made it harder to say anything else. So, I came up with this big plan to win ya back with flowers and cake and a big speech but literally everything went wrong.”

“Osamu,” you try to gently interrupt him, but by this point, he couldn’t hold anything in even if he wanted to.

“I forget yer flowers at the bus stop and the bakery was out of cake. Then I almost made this teenager cry so I had to make that right. And of course, this fuckin’ monsoon had to sweep in outta nowhere. And my speech got all ruined, too,” he complains, holding out the order sheet for you to see the proof.

“Osamu,” you try again. Only he’s too wrapped up now in this bizarre, stream-of-consciousness monologue to even take in the adoring way that you’re looking at him.

“If it was gonna rain, couldn’t it at least have been a soft, romantic type of rain? But I guess nothing says romance like a flash flood warning. It’s a good thing ya live on a higher floor with how much it’s comin’ down,” he continues. “All this little love confession is missing are some warning sirens—”

“You love me?”

The question finally shuts him up. But it’s a different kind of silence than the one from last night. Because you look so utterly happy as the three words occupy the space between you. His own expression softens and he crumples up the paper in his hand before shoving it into his pocket.

His hand now free, he tenderly cups your face and presses the softest, sweetest kiss to your lips as the rain continues to come down in sheets around you, only your small travel-size umbrella keeping you both safe.

As his lips part from yours, he rests his forehead on yours, an almost mirror image how you two were wrapped up in each other last night.

“Yeah, I love ya,” he whispers as he affectionately brushes his nose against yours. You smile back at him and his heart pounds with excitement at hearing you repeat the sentiment back to him.

But then, your eyes begin to sparkle mischievously as they always do when you tease him.

“Thank you,” you say and he thinks he’s somehow managed to fall even further in love with you.

#miya osamu x reader #miya osamu #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu fic #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #miya osamu fluff #osamu fluff #mel writes #meet the miyas #the l word

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joelsgreys · 1 year

Text

words left unspoken l a safe haven drabble

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter

summary: You accidentally fall asleep in Joel’s arms; on the walk back to reality, he almost says those three words.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. mostly angst. reader has some post sex feelings she has to work through. Joel carries reader. soft, soft Joel. we all love some soft Joel, right?

Word Count: 2.7k

“Peach, baby—hey, you’ve gotta wake up now.”

Joel’s deep voice breaks into your slumber.

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, giving them a gentle but firm squeeze as he tries rousing you from sleep without startling you. It’s only been an hour or so since you’d fallen asleep in his arms—Joel had been keeping close track of the time to make sure that he’d be able to get you back home well before sunrise.

“Hm?” you mumble out sleepily as you nuzzle your face into his warm, bare chest. You can feel his heart beating, steady and strong against your cheekbone—his heartbeat was what had soothed you to sleep in the first place. You have one arm draped over his stomach, and the other is curled uncomfortably between your naked bodies, completely numb.

“C’mon, sweet girl.” Joel lifts his other hand to touch the side of your face, his index finger trailing a soft line from your temple down to your jawline. Although he had done his best to savor every last second of you being fast asleep in his arms, somehow it had still gone by way too goddamn fast. “S’time to wake up, darlin’. We’ve gotta get goin’ pretty soon before people start gettin’ up for their mornin’ duties.”

Finally, your eyes flutter open.

You lift your head off of his chest, feeling dazed and confused. “Joel?” Your eyes meet his in a silver stream of moonlight. “What are—where are we?”

He chuckles and plucks a piece of hay out of your hair, showing it to you. “This ring any bells?”

You take it from his hands and your eyes widen as you pinch it between your fingers.

Letting out a loud gasp, you quickly sit up on the blanket and look around almost frantically as it all starts coming back to you. You and Joel were still together in the barn. “I fell asleep?”

“Sure did,” he replies, sounding thoroughly amused. “Asked you if you were gettin’ sleepy, you said no, then passed out ten seconds later.”

“How long was I out for?” you ask him, your entire body flooding with sheer panic. “Do you know what time it is right now? Fucking hell, where are all our clothes—”

You start to get up off of the blanket, the feeling of dread pooling deep in the pits of your stomach.

Joel sits up and one of his hands reaches for yours to stop you. His mere touch calms you down—not completely, but enough to keep you from spiraling.

“Relax, peach. I was keepin’ track of the time,” he promises you as he runs his thumb across the back of your hand. “You were only asleep for an hour.”

Frowning at him, you chide, “Joel, why the hell did you let me fall asleep in the first place?”

“‘Cause you were fuckin’ exhausted, that’s why,” Joel states. He offers you a small, crooked smile and adds teasingly, “I could tell ‘cause as soon as you knocked out, you started snorin’ up a fuckin’ storm, sweetheart.”

You stare at him, mortified. “I was snoring?”

He nods, chuckling. “Like a fuckin’ bear, baby. It was kinda terrifyin’ but also kinda cute.”

Flustered, you run a hand through your hair. “Joel, you shouldn’t have let me fall asleep,” you scold him again lightly. “That’s too risky! What if you would’ve accidentally fallen asleep too? Or lost track of time somehow? Then we would have been screwed. We could have been caught. The first thing the stable hands do in the morning is come into the barn to get hay for the horses—”

Joel squeezes your hand. “I was wide awake, darlin’. I swear it on my life.” He leans forward and softly catches your mouth with his in a reassuring kiss. “I wouldn’t let anythin’ like that happen.” Letting his lips linger against yours, he murmurs, “I wouldn’t let anythin’ bad happen to you, peach. Not if I can fuckin’ help it. Y’know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I know that,” you utter, quietly.

“Good.” He pulls back a little bit further, his gaze catching yours in another beam of light. “Besides, it was kinda nice just layin’ here with you asleep in my arms. It was real nice, actually. Somethin’ I could really get used to if I had the chance.”

You detect a hint of sadness in his tone, and an emotional lump starts to quickly climb its way up your throat. Now that you had a chance to come down from the high and the post sex haze had worn off, there was an overwhelming feeling of guilt that lingered like a thick, dark cloud over your head—and it had nothing to do with the fact that you’d just had sex with a man who isn’t your husband. This guilt, it’s different because it has everything to do with Joel and the fact that this arrangement was incredibly unfair to him.

He deserves so much better than a relationship he's forced to hide. He deserves far more than the scraps of time that you gave him—Joel deserves a woman he could actually be in a proper relationship with, a woman he could complete his family with. A woman who can give him everything that you can’t.

He’s wasting his time—his life—with you.

“Peach?” Joel’s voice breaks into your train of thought. He peers at you with concern. “You alright?”

You manage to give him a small nod and force a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, Joel.”

Although he isn’t entirely convinced by your answer, Joel doesn’t want to push you—so he lets it go for the time being.

He stands up and holds his other hand out to you in an offer to help you up off the blanket. “C’mon. We need to get dressed and get a move on. Sunrise is in a couple hours and we need to get you home.”

You nod again as he hoists you to your feet.

It takes a minute or two for the both of you to find your discarded clothes around the barn—how one of Joel’s boots had landed about six feet away from the other one was beyond either of you. You pick it up and hand it over to him in silence. He hands you your shirt that he’d found in exchange.

“Thank you,” your murmur, taking it from him. You turn around and slip your camisole back on, feeling a tightness deep inside of your chest. It’s unfathomable how you were supposed to just go back home to Luke after Joel had made you his own.

His kisses would linger on your lips forever and his touch was now permanently etched into your skin like a tattoo.

You don’t want to go home to Luke.

You want to be with Joel—you want to be the woman he deserves. But you fucking can’t and that feeling inside your chest grows even tighter, making it hard for you to breathe.

After you and Joel finish dressing, he walks over and picks up his blanket from the makeshift bed of hay. He quickly dusts it off and inspects it, being thorough as he makes sure it is free of any dried grass before draping it over your shoulders. Taking your hand tightly in his, he leads you out of the barn and the both of you begin the fifteen minute walk back to the residential side of the settlement.

“You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” he observes after a few minutes into the trek. You’ve both just reached Main Street—usually bustling with crowds, at this time of night it’s empty and silent. “You sure you’re alright?”

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously as you debate whether or not to voice your concerns to him—what if he agrees?

What if he also realizes that he deserves better than you?

Selfishly, you don’t want that to be the case.

Selflessly, you will respect it if it is.

“Baby.” Joel halts in his tracks, stopping you too. He turns to face you, the familiar crease between his eyebrows appearing as he looks at you with worry. “Look, I know you well enough by now, darlin’. I know that you’ve got somethin’ on your mind. Talk to me, sweet girl.”

You hesitate.

“I just wish our night didn’t have to end like this—I wish none of our nights together ended like this. It has to be one of the worst feelings in the world to have to say goodbye to you and go back to—” You stop yourself from uttering his name. Shaking your head, you look up at Joel and frown. “It isn’t fair, Joel. None of this is fucking fair.”

“Oh believe me, I fuckin’ know it ain’t fair.” Joel chuckles in spite of himself. His laugh comes from his own bitterness over the fact that you now have to go back home and lay in bed with Luke. Joel drops your hand from his and he takes a step or two back to put some distance between the two of you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shakes his head, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Your stomach sinks slightly. There it is. The beginning of the end.

The moment he realizes he does deserve better.

“Joel? What is it?”

“You should be comin’ home with me,” he states, his dark eyes fixed on the dirt road as he speaks. “You should be comin’ home with me. Not goin’ home to him. And I don’t just mean tonight. I’m talkin’ ‘bout every night.”

Disappointment laces his tone.

Warm tears brim your eyes and you try your hardest to blink them back. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel.”

His head snaps up and he frowns. “What?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—”

“Sorry for what, peach?”

“For this.” You make a gesture between the two of you with one of your hands. The other clutches his flannel blanket that is still draped around your shoulders. “I’m so fucking sorry that I dragged you into something like this.” “Timeout. What the hell are you talkin’ ‘bout?” He approaches you, quickly closing up the very same gap of space he’d created himself. He gingerly cups your face between his hands. “I ain’t all too sure what’s goin’ in that pretty little head of yours, sweet girl, but I need you to know that you sure as hell didn’t drag me into anythin’ at all.”

You scoff, arching an eyebrow in disbelief. “Joel, you’re having an affair with me. You’re having an affair with a married woman. You’re sneaking around in the middle of night, risking your neck for just a couple of hours with me.”

“And that’s my fuckin’ choice,” he reminds you.

You swallow harshly, inwardly cursing the way a stubborn tear slips out of the corner of your eye and rolls down the side of your face.

“Sweetheart, I’m here ‘cause I wanna be here,” Joel assures you, delicately wiping it away with his thumb. “I’m here ‘cause I lov—”

He stops abruptly, his eyes widening slightly.

They’re there, right on the tip of his tongue.

Those three words.

He’d been so close to uttering those three fucking words and for some reason, he lost the nerve at the very last second

“Baby—” He trails off, unsure of what to say or do next.

Joel leaves those three words unspoken, but you don’t let it take away from the moment. You know what he feels for you—you see it in his dark brown eyes when he looks at you, feel it in the way he touches you and kisses you. You’d felt it when he made you his.

You know exactly what Joel Miller feels for you. And you feel the same for him. It only makes the whole ordeal even fucking harder.

After a minute or two, Joel speaks again. “I’m choosin’ this,” he reassures you again. “Alright?”

“But why? Why choose this when you can have an actual relationship with somebody else?”

“‘Cause I don’t want somebody else, that’s why.”

“But Joel—”

Joel’s hands hold your face firmly, but he’s still gentle.

“I don’t want somebody else,” he repeats. “I only want you, so I’m gonna keep on choosin’ this. Day in and day out, I’m gonna choose this because it’s worth it to me. You’re worth it to me.”

“But this isn’t fair to you,” you whisper, another tear sliding down the side of your face. Just like the first, he wipes this one away too. “Joel, you deserve someone you can be with. Someone who you can have a normal relationship with, not one that you have to hide. Think about Ellie—”

“Ellie fuckin’ adores you,” Joel reminds you. “More than you probably even know. Hell, all the kid ever does is talk ‘bout how fuckin’ great you are. Makes me think she likes you better than she likes me.”

Under different and less tense circumstances, you would have laughed at his statement.

“And I adore her too. But she deserves to have a real family, Joel.” You hear your own voice break slightly as an image of her face appears in your mind. You’d never imagined that you would be able to care for anyone this much ever again, not after losing your father. And now here you are, realizing that both Joel and Ellie mean the absolute world to you and you want what is best for them. “You two deserve so much more than what I can give you. Don’t you see that?”

He sighs. “Ellie knows ‘bout us, peach.” Upon seeing the shocked expression on your face, he adds, “Don’t ask me how, I just know that she does. She’s too goddamn smart for her own good and I know that she’s just waitin’ for the right moment to confront me ‘bout it. Or you. So consider this your warnin’ because it’s comin’,” he remarks. “I also know that if it ain’t you in our lives, she ain’t gonna have it.”

Joel drops his hands from your face and seeks yours. He finds them and laces your fingers together.

“She doesn’t want anyone else around and neither do I, alright? I’m never gonna want anyone else,” he declares. “Even if this is how things have to be for the rest of my natural born fuckin’ life. I just don’t care.”

“But—”

Joel rolls his eyes and crashes his mouth against yours, silencing you. His tongue brushes along the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart and he deepens the embrace. He has the burning desire to drag you right back into the barn, has every urge to rip your clothes off, and fuck each and every last single one of your doubts away. He would gladly spend hours upon hours showing you that he means it when he says you are the only woman he wants, devote every minute of every night you have together to prove to you that his heart belongs to you and only you.

He pulls back after a minute, resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath and you catch yours.

“Listen to me, peach. I’ll fuckin’ say it untill I’m blue in the fuckin’ face—I don’t want anybody else but you. It doesn’t matter to me that we’ve gotta run around in secret. I want you and I’ll take you any way that I can get you. I don’t care if I get two minutes with you or two hours. As long as I get to see you, my sweet girl. That’s all that fuckin’ matters to me. Alright?”

You release the breath you’d been holding.

“Joel?”

“What is it, baby?”

“How much longer until sunrise?”

“‘Bout an hour or so.” Joel cocks an eyebrow at you, curiously. “Why do you ask?”

Biting your lower lip, you nod over towards the barn in the distance.

“Seriously?” he stares at you in complete disbelief at what you’re suggesting, but you notice the way that the corners of his mouth start to turn upwards into a grin. “Let me get this straight. We just had sex for the first time an hour ago and now you want a fuckin’ quickie? That it?”

You shrug and step away from him.

“Well, we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Just as you start off in the original direction you two had been heading in, Joel reaches out for you and catches your hand, yanking you back towards him.

“Fuckin’ naughty girl.” Joel lets out a loud, strained grunt as he hoists you over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You giggle as he starts back towards the barn.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller series #joel miller x oc #pedro pascal characters #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller hbo #fic: ash #fic: a safe haven

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asbealthgn · 1 year

Text

(part one here)

Steve drives over the Munson trailer first thing in the morning after spending the night at Robin’s. He feels a little bad since he knows that Eddie doesn’t like getting up early, but Steve’s pretty desperate to talk to him. Now that he knows he has feelings for Eddie, he doesn’t want to waste a second.

Wayne’s truck is parked outside the trailer, meaning he’s home from work, but he’s probably in bed by now. All the same, Steve goes around to Eddie’s window instead of the door. He kicks a crate over to stand on to reach the glass and raps his knuckles against it. After maybe thirty seconds, Steve hears motion inside and sees Eddie appear at the window. Steve can’t quite figure out what his expression is—some mix of apprehension and embarrassment and hope.

Eddie slides open the window. “What do you want, Harrington?” he asks.

“Can we talk?” Steve asks. Eddie stares back at him for a long moment.

“What about?”

Steve curls his hand around the window sill. “C’mon, you know what about.”

Eddie is silent for a long moment before shaking his head. “Can we just forget it ever happened?” he asks, “Pretend you never heard anything?”

“Eds, please,” Steve says, ready to start begging. “Will you just let me in? Or come out here so we can talk?”

He’s afraid Eddie’s going to shut the window. The way he’s eyeing it is definitely concerning, so Steve puts his other hand on the window sill as a deterrent. Eddie looks down at his hands and then sighs.

“Meet me out front on the couch,” he says. He backs away from the window and disappears to where Steve can’t see him. This is progress though.

Steve makes his way back around the trailer. He skips up the porch steps and settles in on the couch. A few seconds later, Eddie emerges wearing a hoodie, his hands inside his sleeves and arms crossed. It’s a little cold out here, but not freezing. Steve thinks it’s more a defense mechanism than a response to the temperature. Eddie sits down on the couch, leaving a couple feet between them.

“Eddie—” Steve starts.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” Eddie says, squeezing his arms tighter around himself. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“It’s okay, I—”

“I get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore, seriously,” Eddie says, “I know I made things weird—”

“—no, Eddie—”

“—but I do really want to be friends with you,” Eddie says, plowing over Steve. “Our friendship means so much to me, and I don’t want to do anything to fuck it up.”

“Eddie—”

“So please, please just pretend like I never said anything. I can get over it, I can—”

“—Eddie, will you please—”

“—I get that you’re straight, I know nothing will happen between us, I don’t want to ruin—”

Clearly this approach is not working. If Eddie isn’t going to let Steve get a word in edgewise then he’ll just have to resort to more drastic measures. And maybe this is really stupid, but it’s honestly the only thing Steve can think of to shut him up and get his point across at the same time.

He grabs Eddie’s face in both hands and kisses him.

If Steve still had any doubts about his feelings for Eddie, then this puts them to rest. He feels warmth spread out from his belly through the rest of his body. God, he likes kissing Eddie. It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up and realize that Eddie is completely frozen against him.

He pulls back. Eddie’s eyes are wide, mouth falling open. The seconds stretch without a response, so Steve speaks. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he says, brushing his thumbs lightly over Eddie’s cheeks. “And I don’t want to forget what you said. It’s what made me realize that I have feelings for you.”

That finally gets a reaction out of Eddie, a series of quick blinks. “You…have feelings for me?” Eddie asks, voice almost inaudible.

Steve nods. “I do,” he says, “I really do.”

“Kiss me again,” Eddie whispers.

So Steve does, leaning forward and pressing his lips back to Eddie’s. This time, Eddie kisses him back, and fuck. This is everything Steve could have hoped for and somehow so much more. It’s only been about seven hours since he figured out he likes Eddie and he already doesn’t know how he’s lived his whole life without kissing him. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to stop.

“Steve,” Eddie murmurs, pulling back slightly. Steve can’t quite hold back the whine that starts in the back of his throat, which makes Eddie smile. “We should go inside,” he says, glancing around. It’s not like there’s anyone else out here, but they’re still pretty exposed.

Steve gets up and follows Eddie inside. As soon as the door shuts behind them, Steve grabs Eddie again and pushes him up against it, kissing him. Eddie starts to say his name, but Steve swallows the sound, desperate to never let go of Eddie again.

From the direction of the kitchen, there's the sound of a throat clearing.

Jerking back, Steve looks over and sees Wayne standing by the counter, eyebrows raised over the edge of his Garfield mug. His eyes are sparkling.

“Mornin’, Steve.”

tagging: @bisexualdisastersworld @cr0w-culture @axl-is-online @awkotaco24 @justforthedead89 @bumblemyrtle @justmiiriam @brassreign @beautifulphantomstarlight @croatoan-like-its-hot @cosmicanamnesis

#i don't plan on writing more of this #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #stranger things #ficlet

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7ndipity · 8 months

Text

Accidental Announcement

Taehyung x Idol Reader

Summary: You and Tae’s relationship is revealed to his members in an unplanned, slightly awkward way.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: suggestive, like one swear, Tae refers to reader as his girlfriend,

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anons who sent both of these requests! I decided to combine them into the same piece, I hope that’s okay. Idk why, but it’s funny to me that I went from not really knowing much about Idol AUs, to having several ongoing series’ of them on this blog!

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The backstage area of the music show was always so crowded and noisy that it made it easy for Tae to slip up beside you without anyone really paying attention, catching your hand in his before leaning in closer than nessary to mumble lowly in your ear.

“I’ve got a room to myself tonight, do you want to come over?”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” You asked, casting a sidelong glance at him, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth.

“Whatever you want.” He replied, slipping a keycard into your hand smoothly before going back to find his members.

You were a bit surprised by his brazeness of the action, the past few weeks apart while traveling with your respective groups having apparently made him a little more needy than usual, though you couldn’t say you minded.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Tae to slip off to each others rooms when you found out you were staying at the same hotel, but it was usually brief since there was the constant risk of one of the members walking in on you, due to having to share rooms all the time. But having a solo room meant there was no such threat for once.

You slipped down to his room after he texted that the coast was clear, spending a relatively quiet evening together before getting ready for bed, borrowing one of his t-shirts to sleep in, having conveniently ‘forgotten’ to bring your own pj’s with you.

As you wandered back out of the bathroom, you noticed Tae very engrosed in whatever it was that he was watching on his phone.

Out of curiosity, you snuck up behind him and peeked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse at his phone, surprised to see yourself, winking at the camera as you danced earlier that night during the music show.

“Are you watching fan edits of me?!” You squealed, making him jump and drop his phone, which you were quick to snatch up to get a better look.

“Ya! That was just in my recomendations! Give it back!” He jumped to his feet, chasing you round the bed, but you were too quick, darting across the mattress to save yourself from a full body tackle. You tried to make a dash for the bathroom, but were to slow, as he managed to grab hold of your arm and spin you so you were pinned between him and the front door.

“Give me that!” He giggled breathlessly as he wrangled his phone out of your grip.

“I can’t believe it, you’re such a fanboy!” You laughed, equally out breath, choosing to wrap your arms around his neck both for support and to pull him down to your eye level.

“Only because you’re so cute.” He cooed, catching your lips in a teasing kiss, trailing his hands up your sides slowly and making you squirm against him, momentarily lost in the feel of each other that you didn’t hear the sound of his door knob turning.

“Taehyung, do you know where- Yi-ash!” Before either of you could react, the door had opened, resulting in you and Tae falling out into the hallway, landing squarely at Jin’s feet in pile of limbs.

For a moment, you all froze, staring wide-eyed at each other in shock.

“Hyung, I-” Tae started.

“What was tha- whoa.” The door to the room next to Tae’s opened, revealing Jungkook and Jimin now peering out, equally shocked. “Y/n?”

“Hi, guys.” You said awkwardly, hyper aware of how compromising your current position looked. “Uh, Tae, can I get up?” You whispered, snapping you boyfriend out of his daze.

“Yeah, sorry!”

“What’s going on?” Jin asked as Tae scrambled to his feet and helped you up.

“Nothing! We were just-”

“Does Namjoon know about this?” Jungkook asked.

“Know about what?”

“Oh, for shit’s sake!” Tae whipped around to face the leader and Hobi, who had just exited the elevator, trying to hide you behind his back, as if that was going to help anything at this point.

“What is with all the noise?” Yoongi opened his door, blinking tiredly at the sight of everyone standing in the hall for several long seconds before wordlessly closing the door again, deciding against involving himself in whatever scene was unfolding right now.

“What’s going on?” Joon asked, glancing around at his members, eyes widening slightly as he spotted you, wearing one of Tae’s t-shirts and wishing to dissolve into the wallpaper. “Y/n?-”

“Y/n’s my girlfriend.” Tae blurted out loudly, causing everyone’s attention to whip to him, including yours. ”We’re dating, but I haven’t told the company yet.”

There was another pause as that information sank in, before Junkook spoke again, breaking the silence.

“Way to go, hyung.” He grinned at you and Tae.

“Yeah, good for you guys.” Jimin agreed, shooting you both a thumbs up.

“You’re not mad?” Tae asked, glancing at everyone nervously.

“Why would we be mad? So long as you’re careful, It’s your life.” Hobi said encourangingly.

“Yeah, I mean, I would’ve rather not have found out by catching you two doing that-” Jin said.

“We weren’t doing anything!” Tae exclaimed.

“Tell that to the hickey on you neck.” Jimin chirpped, dissolving into giggles as Tae clapped a hand to his neck in alarm.

“Okay, um, we can talk about this later, can everyone just please go back to your rooms before one of the staff shows up?” Joon said quickly, herding the two younger members back into their room.

“Be safe, you two!” Jungkook called, closing the door before Tae could snap back at him.

“Thank you, hyung.” Tae said to Namjoon.

“Don’t worry about it, man, we’ll talk later.” Joon replied, patting Tae on the shoulder before nodding to you. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” You said, catching Tae’s hand before making your way back to his room.

“Oh, hyung?” Tae leaned back out into the hall to address Jin. “What was it you came to ask me?”

The eldest member blinked for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t even remember.”

Tae nodded. “Alright then, goodnight.” He closed the door firmly, making sure both locks were engaged before slumping against it with a groan.

“Well, that’s not how I planned for that to go.” He said, rubbing his face tiredly.

“What? Telling you bandmates about us, or asking me to be your girlfriend?” You asked, leaning against the dresser as you studied him.

“Both.” He admitted, looking at you apologetically. “I am so, so sorry.”

You shrugged. “At least it was just them and not your manager.”

He nodded before slowly straightening and coming to stand in front of you. “Will you let me fix one of my missteps from tonight?”

“Depends which one it is.” You said, smirking up at him.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” He asked you, staring down at you solomly.

“Hmm.” You pretended to mull it over. “I guess.”

“You guess?!” He balked, making you laugh.

“Yes, you goof, I will.” You relented, wraping your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss.

“Good, I don’t think my heart could take any more surprises tonight.” He mumbled against your mouth.

“Plus, the guys would be upset.”

“The guys?” He raised a brow at you before hoisting you up and dropping you on the bed. “I don’t want to hear about ‘the guys’ again for the rest of the night.” He grumbled, climbing to hover over you.

“Are you possesive now?” You asked, grinning up at him.

“You’re gonna find out.”

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dateko · 8 months

Text

˚｡⋆ GLITTER AND GIGGLES | GETO SUGURU

contents: domestic fluff brain rot, papa!geto with the twins, tatted!geto, reader and suguru are married, & suguru being the best dad even though it is written quite poorly

“I’m home!” You announce as you enter the house, feet screaming as you kick off your heels.

Surprisingly, no one greets you back. The absence of the familiar rumble of footsteps that usually storm toward you causes you to frown. There isn’t a pair of mischievous twins that wait for you at the top of the stairs, nor is there a handsome husband dressed in an apron telling you that he’s missed you all day. You deflate at this, but your ears pick up the lovable sound of hushed giggles coming from the living room.

You creep up the steps gingerly, careful not to disrupt whatever fun the girls seem to be having. And that’s when you see it. There, splayed all over your ridiculously expensive rug that is now littered with markers and glitter glue, is your husband. Your two girls occupy his sides, hovering over his bare back with busy hands.

“Girls?” You break their playful trance, and they turn to each other before you with wide eyes. “What are you two doing?”

Mimiko attempts to gather the markers into her arms as a stuttering Nanako waves her hands in your face, doing a very poor job at obscuring your view when her hands are so incredibly teeny. “Mommy! It’s nothing! We were just cleaning up.”

Your brow raises at this since you know well you didn’t raise a liar. Catching a glimpse of Suguru’s sleeping figure with his bare torso flat on the floor almost makes you think the two tired out their own father to death. But as you step closer, the sight almost makes you laugh out loud.

The tattoo of the rainbow dragon that trails down Suguru’s spine finally bears truth to its name. You’re not exactly sure where to look first. You follow the lines of pink and purple scribbled messily outside the inked lines, the loose glitter that sticks itself between the crevices of your husband’s back muscles, and the series of Sanrio stickers that wander down the side of his neck. It’s ridiculous, almost like a unicorn had vomited all over him, yet precious all at once.

Mimiko tugs at your sleeve. “Are you mad?”

Shaking your head with a smile, you pinch the little brunette’s cheek. “Hand me a marker.”

The girls giggle behind you as you kneel beside Suguru’s sleeping face. He’s gorgeous, always been, and always will be. Thought it was a shame you were about to ruin it. The marker in your hold draws an elaborate beard on his face, making sure to dance with a few swirls and twirls. You beam at how your canvas scrunches his nose, eyebrows furrowing at the feeling of your marker gliding across his skin.

Suguru scratches his face before opening his eyes, blinking repeatedly at the moment he realizes you’re home. “Morning, beautiful.” You grin, tucking a piece of his dark locks behind his ear.

“Sweetheart,” He sits up immediately, unaware of the glitter that falls from his skin behind him. “I missed you.”

You decide against scolding your husband for falling asleep instead of watching your children when he leans in to seal a kiss on your lips, and you turn away, stifling a giggle. “Come on, no kiss?” Suguru pouts. “What’s so funny?”

“Papa, you look so weird.” Mimiko pips from behind you, trying to hide her laughter.

“You have something on your face, Papa!” Nanako adds, squealing when Suguru grabs her to tickle her stomach. The house is filled with an abundance of happy laughter once more, and you can feel your heart swell with contentment. Your husband extends his arm to you and Mimiko, a soft glint in his golden eyes. The expression on his face is delicate, yet he is still completely unaware of the ridiculous lines that paint his features. “Come over here, you two.”

Suguru beams as his three favorite girls pile on top of him, bubbles of joy bouncing off the walls every which way. You can’t help but finally kiss him. You could never resist Suguru, especially when he’s always been such a good husband and an exceptional father for the three of you. The wet smack you place on his lips causes the girls to grimace, trying to wiggle their way out of strong arms.

The twins scramble out of the living room and scurry off immediately. You stay in Suguru’s lap, hand tracing his collarbone and down his shoulders as he hugs you tighter. “Don’t think I’m letting you go without a punishment.” He teases, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?"

“Oh yeah?” His eyebrow raises, unconvinced. “Well, I wouldn't be so sure. You look like Yaga right now.”

Your hands scramble to your chin as you gasp, noticing the black residue on your fingertips. Your husband watches you as you attempt to scrub off the black beard on your face with your sleeve. Rolling your eyes at his smirk, you give up. Grabbing both sides of his face, you kiss him once more. “Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

“Anything for you, Sweetheart.”

#i did not edit or proofread or put much thought or care i just hit POST!!!! because i love suguru #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x you #suguru x reader #jjk

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junkdrawerfics · 9 months

Text

First Meeting

Jasper Hale X Reader

Series of Firsts

Summary: The first time you meet Jasper Hale is when you get lost in the woods. Is he your rescuer or the danger you should be looking out for, though?

Words: 1712

Note: New series wooh! Hope you guys enjoy!

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Moving to Forks in the middle of summer had its pros and cons.

Pro: You have plenty of time to explore and get to know the area.

Pro: You can adjust to the new home before school starts.

Con: You haven’t been able to meet many people your age and therefore have no friends yet.

Con: You thought it would be nice to take a walk by the woods, but you swear you saw a hurt cat and you tried to help it but it ran away and you followed it and now you’re lost.

The last point may not have anything to do with it being summer, but still.

On the bright side, you did catch the little guy! Not without a few scratches, but you got him.

You perch yourself on a tree stump, a small tabby kitten nestled in your arms, completely tuckered out from running. Careful to not jostle him, you give him a good once over. It looks like he was maybe clipped by a car, or maybe a bike, dried blood running down one of his legs which looks significantly out of place.

Poor thing.

Sighing softly, you tuck him back into your lap and glance around. The trees all look the same, and you have no clue what direction you came from. There’s no way to tell what time it is either, since you left your phone at home and the sun is completely blocked out by the clouds. Not the best situation.

At least it’s still light out, you think to yourself. It could be a lot worse. For now, it’s light, you’re warm, and you told your mom you were going out before you did, so she should notice when you don’t come back in a few hours.

If you don’t make it back yourself, that is!

“I don’t suppose you know the way out?” You hum, scratching the small kitten’s head as he raises his head at the sound of your voice. He looks at you with dark amber eyes, barely open.

“Mew.”

“Hm, I thought so.” You shake your head with a fond smile. “That’s okay. Maybe if I just start walking, I’ll find someone.”

The kitten grumbles a little when you pop to your feet. Might as well go with your gut, right? That’s what people usually do in situations like this. So, you go to set off in the directions you think you came from. Hopefully.

Until you hear a loud snap come from behind you.

Every muscle in your body goes still. The ball of fur in your arms bristles, suddenly far more alert, letting out a quiet, squeaking hiss. It makes your chest tighten, a spark of fear and realization traveling through your bones.

Are there predators in these woods?

“You’ll hit the coast before you find a soul if you go that way.”

The sound of a low, rumbling voice immediately puts you at ease, the tension dripping from your shoulders. Thank the heavens you don’t have to wander even deeper into the woods. There’s no telling how much more lost you could get. You turn to thank your savior, eyes going wide when they land on him.

Pretty. That’s your first thought.

He’s very pretty. For a moment, you could even convince yourself you are just looking at a sculpture abandoned in the woods. He’s tall, very tall, gold hair falling to his sharp jaw, skin shockingly pale in the dim light. His eyes, dark and narrowed, glint with curiosity and maybe a hint of concern as he looks you over.

Heat flares across your cheeks. This feels straight out of some teen romance novel. A handsome stranger comes to the rescue of the damsel in distress. Except, while he is a handsome stranger, you are dressed in an oversized, pastel hoodie with cat scratches all over your face and hands. Not to mention the mangy kitten in your arms who looks like he wants to kill the man.

What a sight this must be for him.

You offer your rescuer a wide, somewhat awkward smile, “Thanks for telling me. I definitely have no clue where I am, if you can’t tell.”

The man tilts his head, brows furrowing, “How’d you end up all the way out here?”

“Well-” You shrug, shifting back and forth on your feet. “-it was just supposed to be a walk, but then I saw this little guy and he looked like he needed help.”

His eyes dart down to the small kitten in your arms, lips twitching in amusement. The fluff ball glares back at him without hesitation. You shuffle him in your arms a little, trying to get him to calm down, but he stubbornly clings to your sleeve so he can see the blond.

“I chased him out here,” you continue, settling for just clutching him against your chest, just in case he tries to be rude. “His leg looks pretty bad and I just couldn’t leave him, you know? I’m pretty sure he needs a vet, but I don’t know how to get back to town. Could you maybe um…”

You trail off. You shouldn’t hesitate to ask for help, you know it’s silly, but you don’t want to bother this guy. What if he was on his way somewhere? Maybe he could just point you in the right direction. But what if it gets dark before you get home? The thought of walking through the woods at night is not one you’d like to live through.

After a hard second of him looking at you, as if trying to figure out whether you’re a threat or not - which feels kind of backwards if you’re being honest - the man seems to soften. His posture loosens and a small, charming smile slants his lips.

Your heart stutters.

In a very old-school, gentlemanly way, he offers you his hand, “It’d be a privilege to escort you back, miss-?”

You stare at his extended hand, completely oblivious to his question until you glance up and see him watching you expectantly, lips pursed, dark eyes dancing with amusement.

Oh!

“(Y/n),” you blurt quickly, face going impossibly redder. “My name’s (Y/n) (L/n)! I just moved here.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/n).” The smile comes back, wider, brighter, and you want to melt. “Name’s Jasper Hale, I’ve lived here quite some time.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, too, Jasper Hale,” you chime, finally taking his hand (much to the kitten’s displeasure). “Especially now. I would've been wandering out here for a long time if you hadn’t showed up. Who knows what’s out here.”

Something flashes through Jasper’s eyes, but he merely smiles and agrees, “You can never be too careful.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you sigh, following him as he starts in the opposite direction you were going to go, “It’s my fault for thinking I didn’t need my phone. It’s just my luck to not have it the one time I need it.”

“Bad luck finds you at the worst times,” he hums wistfully.

“This is your fault,” you whisper down at the kitten, who has settled down a little bit, “You’re not even black, how are you so unlucky?”

He blinks up at you, looking unimpressed. You laugh, scratching his chest softly.

“I think he’s mocking me,” you murmur, “He probably doesn’t even need my help based on the fight he put up.”

“He just doesn’t know what’s good for him,” Jasper chuckles, something fond starting to grow in his chest.

He had been hunting when the scent of fresh blood had drawn him further into the woods. He didn’t even remember moving, hunting it down, nothing until he came to a dead stop there at the edge of the small clearing. That’s where he found you, watched as you slowly, patiently coaxed the angry kitten into your arms.

He doesn’t know what made him stop. What overcame the burning thirst in his throat. But when he laid eyes on you, listened to you talk to the kitten as if it would talk back, felt the gentle positivity coming off of you like pure warmth, it just disappeared.

Replaced with a burning curiosity and something fiercely protective.

Who was this girl he’d never seen before? Why was she all the way out in the woods, at least thirty minutes from the town? Alone? What if something happened to her?

The moment you started walking in the wrong direction, he couldn’t stop himself. Against his better judgment, of course. He couldn’t just let you wander off alone, though. The others will probably be angry with him once he gets back, but at least he can make sure you get home safely.

Which he does.

You stop at the edge of your yard, turning to him with the softest, most genuine smile, brimming with gratitude.

“Thank you, Jasper. Really. I hope this isn’t the last time we meet?” Your eyes glow with so much hope, and he can’t bring himself to deny it.

He should. He should stay far away from you, because something tells him that as much as this new feeling in his chest could be something good, it could also be something horribly dangerous. For you. He should stop it here and now, cut all ties.

But he saw how well that worked for Edward.

So he nods, dares to lift your hand to his lips and press a ghost of a kiss to your knuckles. Jasper can feel your life under his fingers, hear your pulse race, and he expects the thirst to come roaring back, to feel some kind of temptation, but the only thing he feels is your overflowing, bashful joy. And he loves it.

“Until next time, miss (L/n),” he murmurs, and you giggle, “Try not to run after any more injured animals, alright?”

“I’ll try,” you promise, feeling high as a kite.

“Good.” Jasper grins.

He watches you go inside, just to be safe, making eye contact one last time with the furry, little creature still in your arms, right before the door falls shut. It glares at him, tiny tail thrashing.

Unlucky, you said.

Maybe.

You’ll both have to wait and see.

---

I'm pretty excited about this new little series! It'll be super simple, just a series about different "firsts" you have with Jasper, ie first kiss, first date, etc. If you want anything specific, let me know!

Also, I know it might be a little unrealistic, but I don't care! That's not what this is about lol

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #twilight #jasper x reader #series of firsts #cute meet #kinda

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callmemana · 1 year

Text

Arms May Be Wide Open, But The Brain Cells Aren’t There: #4

Bob: *puts feet on the table* I heard you liked bad boys.

Birdie: no?

Bob: *takes his feet off the table* good, that felt terrible.

Hangman: what the fuck are you doing?

Lucky: *hugging Hangy* I promised Cin I would make an effort to get along with you so we’re having a moment and if you ruin this Hangman I swear I will punch you in the dick so hard Cin will never be satisfied again, do you hear me?

Hangman: *sweats* uh, okay.

Whiskey: I’m ready to say three important words to you.

Slider: *touched* okay, let’s say it together.

[at the same time]

Slider: I love you.

Whiskey: choke me daddy.

Slider:

Slider: *experiencing technical difficulties*

Mouse: hey Slider, do you remember when I killed a butterfly and you said, ‘no butter for a week’?

Slider: yeah…

Birdie: and when I killed a honeybee and you said, ‘no honey for a week’?

Slider: yeah, that was months ago… so what?

Lucky: *smirking* well, Whiskey killed a cockroach today, should we break it to her?

Slider: *rolls his eyes* … just get the fuck outta my office

Mouse: *stubs toe on chair*

Birdie: *breaks chair*

Omaha: *hacks chair into sawdust*

Lucky: *sets chair on fire*

Lucky: wow the stars are beautiful

Fanboy: yeah they are

Lucky: you know who else is beautiful?

Fanboy: *blushes* who?

Lucky: me.

Birdie: taco cat backwards is still taco cat.

Birdie: race car backwards is still race car, too.

Bob: Angel, I love you, but it’s two in the morning. Please go back to sleep.

Birdie: dog food lid backwards is Dildo of God.

Bob: *pushes Bird off of the bed and snuggles back into the covers*

Dagger Squad: *sitting down on the couch or around it in front of Ice*

Ice: *arms crossed* okay. who did it?

Dagger Squad: *points to the chaos squad*

Whiskey: it was Rooster- wait- what is this treachery?!

Dragon: so much for family?!

[at a dagger squad + 86 family BBQ outside]

Ice: *walks into room, looks around and squints at Dragon*

Dragon: what?

Ice: where are the kids?

Dragon: in the garden.

Ice: doing what?

Dragon: *examining her nails* doing what kids do best.

Ice: *looks outside window and sees the whole garden is on fire*

Hangman: why did the chicken cross the road?

Birdie: why?

Hangman: to get to the idiot’s house. Knock knock.

Birdie: *sighing* who is it?

Hangman: the chicken.

Birdie:

Hangman:

Birdie:

Hangman:

Birdie: I won’t punch you… under one condition.

Hangman: … yeah?

Birdie: go say that joke to Lucky.

Dragon’s Angels📻: @dragon-kazansky @bayisdying @breadsquash @gracespicybradshaw @mrsjaderogers @starlit-epiphany

🏷️ list: @luckyladycreator2

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 8 months

Text

IX ║ Warmblood

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 8: Silver Pony | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: The hardest goodbye you'll ever say.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, sexual innuendoes, semi-pubic sex, oral sex (F receiving), risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: Here we are, at the end of the longest packtrip ever, and we did it with only one (1) little meltdown last night 😜 More notes at the end, but I just want to say - this has been a once-in-a-lifetime story for me. If a fic can be a soulmate, Palomino is mine.

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, I love every single one of you ❤️ Last thing, I never do this, but I must insist that you play this song when you get there. You'll know when 🥹

Warmblood: An athletic, agile horse that is noted for its trainability and usually calm temperament, is commonly used in equestrian competition, and typically possesses Thoroughbred, Arabian, and draft horse bloodlines.

Your awakening is gentle, soft and blurry around the edges, as if you’re looking through the lens of a Polaroid camera, tinted in sepia. The morning hour creeps across the ceiling of Jack’s bedroom in equal parts light and shadow, the curtains having been left undrawn last night. A crack in the window lets in the faintest breeze, but mutes all the sounds you’ve grown used to seeking out first thing in the morning, when your eyelids are too heavy to lift.

The hum of flying things, feathered or otherwise, charting their flight paths in your head by the buzz of their wings. The brush of the wind like a hand combing through grass and meadow. Even the sun speaks in the morning, raw energy strumming between constantly shifting air particles.

This stillness comes off as almost - unnatural. Even when straddling the divide between sleep and wake, you feel yourself making tiny adjustments to the physicality of being indoors again. Regret stains the corners of your consciousness, knowing it won’t take you long to recalibrate. Your body will return to what it knows, shedding your once-upon-a-time existence in the mountains like a coat discarded at the turn of the season.

When the mattress dips behind you, sensation floods your veins like a shock to the system, flushing out the pins and needles in your limbs that you haven’t even noticed. Jack is warm and solid behind you, where he belongs. One leg nudged between yours, his sun-kissed arm across your waist, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the edge. His breath whistles sweetly over the shell of your ear, and you smile. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that his mouth is parted in slumber.

The next time you come to, it’s the rude buzz of metal on wood that jolts you out of sleep. You squeak when Jack follows, almost inadvertently shoving you off the bed as he startles awake. But thankfully, his instincts are fully intact, and he catches you squarely in the stomach, biceps flexing as he pulls you back into his chest with an easy strength.

‘Sorry, darlin’,’ he rasps groggily, burying his face in your neck in an apology. You uncoil in a languid stretch, opening up your throat to the rough scratch of his moustache, wanting to feel the burn.

‘Phone, cowboy,’ you gripe when the vibration doesn’t stop.

With a heave-ho, Jack reaches over you to grab it, before falling back onto the mattress so heavily that the bedframe shakes. Rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes, he grouses into the receiver, ‘What?’

Teak’s voice on the other line is clear as day even though he’s not on speaker. ‘Where are you, man?’

You burrow into Jack’s side, and the wide span of his palm on your hip holds you to him possessively. ‘Where do you think I am?’

‘Listen. Poppy made sausage gravy and buttermilk pancakes. Y’all know what that means.’

You venture a peek at Jack, whose lips are pursed thoughtfully. You prompt, ‘What does it mean?’

He smiles down at you. ‘She really likes you, darlin’.’

Teak interrupts with a scoff. ‘Like her? She’s basically adopting you, sunshine!’

Your lips wobble - if you soften any further, you might melt into the mattress. ‘Oh, Poppy.’

‘Look, I’ve been stallin’ them, but they’re fixin’ to break down her door. You lovebirds best get here quick!’

Tossing away his phone without a goodbye, Jack drops a kiss to your forehead. ‘Listen, we don’t have to go anywhere, you stay here and I’ll make you - cereal in bed?’ He pauses with a wince. ‘Actually, I’m outta milk. And cereal.’

You chuckle, reaching up to run your fingers through his endearingly askew bed hair. ‘It’s ok, cowboy, we should go. I need to pack anyway.’

Your tummy takes the inopportune moment to rumble audibly, and he pins you with a knowing look. ‘And you want that sausage gravy, don’t you?’

‘Shut up,’ you laugh, pushing him off the bed.

When you step out of Jack’s bedroom in last night’s clothes after a quick refresh in his neat ensuite, he’s already outside, warming up the Silver Pony.

The house is even cosier in the morning. Facing east, daylight fills every corner of every room, bringing out the patterns in the wooden panels. Your gaze lingers where you can’t. You want to study the cracked spines of the paperbacks on his bookshelf one by one, you want to press your nose into the shirts hanging in his closet, you want to peer around the door to a second room that is temptingly ajar -

‘Darlin’?’

You look up, and Christ on a cracker - it’s downright unfair that even after a week of spending every waking minute together, this damn cowboy can still make your heart skip a beat just by standing.

Jack is on the doorstep, in what you assume is his ‘off-duty’ uniform. Instead of a plaid shirt, he’s wearing a simple white tshirt with a round neck that is decidedly not sweat- nor dirt-friendly, tucked loosely into the waistband of dark jeans that look a bit more polished, and if you would believe it, even tighter than the pair he wears in the saddle. While it’s business as usual with the Stetson and work boots, something unfamiliar hangs from the neckline of his top.

Plucking the gold-rimmed aviators from his tshirt, you slide them onto your face, winking at him through the tinted lens. ‘Nice shades. Gotta say, I didn’t peg you for such a snazzy dresser off the trail.’

He grins, all tidy teeth with a deliberately libertine edge, clearly enjoying the attention. Scooping you into his broad frame, he drawls, ‘Gotta look good for the ladies in town, y’know. They’re famished ‘cause you been hoardin’ me all week, darlin’.’

With an exaggerated huff, you elbow past him. ‘I don’t know how you manage to zip your ego into those tightass pants, cowboy!’

‘With lots of practice,’ he retorts, smacking you firmly on the backside.

‘Do you need your sunnies?’ you ask as you climb onto the Silver Pony behind him, pushing the aviators a bit higher on your nose where they’ve slid down.

He shrugs. ‘Keep ‘em. Gives you a reason to come back.’

You smile into his broad shoulders, palms sliding to interlock over his soft belly. The bike revs, startling a flock of birds into flight from a nearby tree, and you realise those six little words are the first to breach the subject of what comes after - which will come to be in a matter of hours, with your flight in the early afternoon, a prospect suddenly so frighteningly real.

But in the same breath, it becomes blindingly clear that you don’t even need to hear the words.

Because you know there is a space for you in his bed, tucked into his body, curled around you. A spot for you under his arm resting on the back of his couch in the living room, in front of a woodfire when it snows outside. A seat for you at the back of his motorcycle, where you are now, breezing effortlessly downhill towards the ranch, the white fences and red roofs winking at you between the gaps in the trees that line the winding country roads.

When you dream in the months to come, you will always smell pine, white cotton, and well-worn leather as the Silver Pony carries you home.

It’s a shorter drive than you remember. Jack’s watch reads just past half eight when you pull into the parking lot. He kills the engine as you dismount, passing him your star-spangled helmet to be returned to its place in the little cabinet for next time. You’ve turned on your heel towards the ranch when a hand on your wrist grounds you to the spot.

Hands that have made you feel safe, protected, wanted in turn over the past week.

There’s no fanfare, no declarations, as you watch Jack lace his fingers with yours, filling the gaps and the tips curling into the valleys between your knuckles. Palm to weathered palm, calloused from ropework and heavy lifting, you look up to meet his eyes.

He peers at you, almost shyly, an incomprehensible notion after all that he’s done to you, and what you’ve done to him, across the expanse of the Wyoming wilderness. But there’s a chastity to this simple action, and you find your throat tight when he asks, ‘Is this ok, darlin’?’

Your heart swells, as if it’s going to grow claws and tear itself right out of your chest cavity. Bringing up your tangled hands, you brush a kiss across his knuckles, and his whole countenance lifts with the upward curl of his mouth.

‘Yes, cowboy.’

The Statesman is putting on a show for your last morning. The sun is out, climbing high into the cloudless sky, with Jack’s aviators bearing the brunt of the harsh glare. It’s déjà vu when you retrace the path you took on the day of your arrival, the same crunch of gravel under your boots, the familiar scent of hay and horse on the breeze.

The bird’s eye view of the ranch has your breath stuttering just like that first time you cast your gaze on the green pastures and the red roofs. And beyond, like a perfectly painted stage set piece, the Bighorns loom tall and majestic. You’ve seen the mountains in all their incarnations over the past week - they change colour as the sun and clouds move during the day, and sometimes, you swear they morph in shape too.

It strikes you suddenly that just yesterday, you were but three specks moving across the vast landscape, the realisation almost bowling you over.

Before all this, it wouldn’t have taken much to convince yourself that you don’t deserve it. That it was the horses doing all the legwork and Jack the navigating, that you haven’t really done anything but sit in the saddle. But something’s shifted, it’s been a baptism by long summer days and the great outdoors - and damn it all, you’re proud of yourself.

You came on this trip alone, with nothing but a broken relationship behind you, a suitcase full of anxieties and riding gear covered in years of dust and neglect. You said yes, perhaps recklessly, when offered the chance to spend a week alone in the mountains with a complete stranger and the glamour of sleeping bags and portable showers, when it would’ve been easier (and certainly more comfortable) to turn it down.

Somehow, you’ve come out the other end, long gallops over untouched grassland and starry campfire nights piecing you back together, only to fall so damn hard for this cowboy that you’re sure to break again when you get on that plane this afternoon -

An unexpected tug on your arm has you tumbling clumsily. ‘Jack!’

He arches an eyebrow and remarks, ‘Ain’t heard those cogs in your pretty head grind that loud since the first coupl'a days, darlin’.’

You shrug and, not wanting to sour the mood, deflect his attention with a lighthearted fib. ‘Just realised that I didn’t even come close to falling off once the entire week.’

When he chuckles, the thought comes to you that you’ll miss the way he laughs with his whole body.

‘You did real good for your first rodeo,’ he pauses, then flashes you a lascivious smirk. ‘You ain’t bad at ridin’ bareback either.’

A rebuke of his crude quip is on the tip of your tongue, but then your nose picks up on the scent of bitter coffee and maple syrup, which is quickly followed by the sighting of the al fresco table set up not far from the grill last night, the singe of smoke and whiskey still hanging in the air.

From a distance, you can see Poppy and Champ engaged in what looks like a heated debate, both gesticulating wildly with fork and knife. On the opposite side of the table, an unbothered Teak mows down his breakfast as if he’s heard it all before, and Ginger is feeding Jameson pancakes under the table.

It’s the younger cowboy who spots you two first. He freezes, brows disappearing under the brim of his Stetson when his eyes flit downwards to your interlocked hands. A huge grin would’ve split his handsome face in two if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of half-chewed pancakes. The beans are well and truly spilled when Jameson comes bounding over, barking his demands for morning cuddles.

Champ looks up, his argument with Poppy promptly dropped. ‘Aha! There she is! Howdy young lady, we were just wonderin’ where you -’

He halts mid-sentence, his head whipping towards his right where the guest lodges are situated beyond the stables, decidedly not the direction you’re coming from. The penny drops as he takes in your hand in Jack’s, eyes wide, and all the occupants of the table seem to inhale a collective breath that stops you in your tracks.

But not Jack. He ignores the gawking with a practised air of been there, done that, and ushers you into the empty seat next to Teak without skipping a beat. Planting a sweet peck on your cheek, he settles to your left and unfolds his starched napkin with a flourished flick of his wrist, which he tucks into the neckline of his tshirt.

‘Mornin’,’ he addresses the silent table in an exaggerated southern drawl. ‘If y’all would be so kind to shut your mouths, you’re embarrassin’ me in front of my lady. Now, pass the coffee if you please, Teak.’

Fittingly, it’s Champ who breaks the silence with a rip-roaring howl of laughter, palms hitting the table so hard you’re convinced everything on it jumps a foot from the surface, the ruckus sending Jameson scampering for cover. ‘Well, well, well! Butter my butt and call it a biscuit!’

Poppy leaps to her feet, halfway to the kitchen before shouting over her shoulder. ‘We’re celebrating! This calls for strawberry milkshake!’

Teak elbows you in the side. ‘Just so y’know, Poppy ain’t the type to make strawberry milkshake for just anybody.’ He salutes you with a crooked grin. ‘Welcome to the family, sweetheart.’

It’s a brand of chaos that is distinctly Statesman. Ginger and Champ are fighting each other to load up your plate with far too much food over your protests, Teak pours coffee into your glass and orange juice in the mug, and Jameson is probing your knees under the table for scraps. You meet Jack’s eyes, and he grins back at you with a wink over the rim of his cup.

There’s no reason why you should be this hungry after the barbeque last night, but you don’t stop until you’ve polished off the sausage gravy and biscuits, the welcome richness settling in the pit of your stomach and making you second guess if you have any room left for pancakes.

‘Young lady, I hope this means you forgive me for the strings I pulled to set you two up,’ pipes up Champ around a mouthful of bacon, washed down by black coffee.

‘You’ll hear no complaints from me, sir,’ you reassure him.

He raises a fist in a pantomime of indignation. ‘You wouldn’t believe the grief Jack and Ginger put me through for playin’ matchmaker! I demand a retraction from y’all!’

Ginger raises both hands in surrender. ‘Fine, I take it all back, even if it means you’ll be downright insufferable about it! But I’ll happily live with that!'

Jack slings an arm around your shoulder. ‘It kills me to say it, but you have damn good taste, boss.’

‘Well, y’all know what they say - ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit!’ needles Teak.

‘Hey!’ You reach across to slap him on the arm as Jack chuckles behind you. ‘I don’t see you with a lid, you loud-mouthed kettle!’

Teak sasses back, ‘Fine, fine, how ‘bout - there ain’t a man that can’t be thrown, or a cowboy that can’t be rode -’

Right on cue, Poppy’s distant shout interrupts, ‘Tequila!’

Jumping onto his feet, the cowboy winks at you. ‘Hold that thought, sunshine - right away, ma’am!’

Unperturbed by the double entendres, Champ brings the conversation right back around. ‘Well, I do declare, this nosy old man gets it right -’

‘For once!’ heckles Ginger.

‘Joke’s on you, m’dear. I only need to be right once!’

There are oohs and ahhs when Poppy and Teak reappear with the decadent milkshakes in retro fountain glasses, topped with whipped cream and strawberry slices, distributed around the table.

‘So, what are we drinking to?’ asks Poppy.

You turn to Jack, holding up your milkshake. ‘To crooked pots.’

There are cheers and laughs up and down the table, and Jack clinks your glass with a grin as he adds, ‘And cowboys that can be rode.’

You think about the cassette tapes that you used to watch when you were young. How at the end of a film, the black tape is all rolled up in the right window, and you were always the one to press the rewind button on the VCR. You still remember the whirr of the film as it went backwards, round and round, right back to the beginning.

When the coffee has gone cold and the morning chores come calling, the breakfast table empties, and you hear the click of that button when Jack offers you his upturned palm to walk you back to your cabin.

The tape rewinds as you pack. The outfit you agonised over that first day or your introductory ride with the cowboy has been laundered, and you slowly fold up each piece - the jodhpurs, the plaid shirt, the socks - and put them into your open suitcase.

The tape rewinds as you close the door to the cabin, and Jack carries your luggage across the yard in one hand, yours nestled snugly in his other.

The tape rewinds as you walk by the stables - you nip in quickly to say goodbye to Whiskey and Bourbon - past the main lodge, and the grazing field next to the parking lot.

Putting your suitcase down, Jack whistles with his fingers, the sound carrying in the wind. You see a familiar golden head pop up from across the field, and your nose prickles with the threat of tears as you watch Scotch canter towards you, ears forward and tail swishing with an attitude you can spot from a mile away. Climbing onto the first rung of the fence, you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his snowy mane as he snoops around your pockets, always looking for treats.

You pull an apple out of your travel bag, neatly cut in two. Scotch nickers, his velvety nuzzle tickles as he carefully plucks each half from your palm.

Combing through his forelock, you coo at him, ‘I’m gonna miss you, boy. You behave with your rider next week, you hear me?’

The key is already in the ignition of your rental pickup when Champ puts your suitcase and tote bag on the backseat floor, while Teak and Jack load the Silver Pony onto the back.

Your arm almost falls out of its socket when Poppy passes you the promised takeaway lunch, packed into a chiller bag.

‘You’re flying Delta right?’ she asks. ‘I’ll call them up with instructions on how to heat up the food. It’ll be good as fresh off the barbeque.’

‘Thank you so, so much Poppy,’ you say as she pulls you into a warm hug. ‘I hope you know you’ve ruined food for me. Nothing will ever come close to being good enough.’

She winks. ‘You’re welcome, honey. Come back soon, ok? There’s more where it came from!’

Ginger is next, and emotion clutches at your chest as you squeeze her slender frame in a tight embrace. ‘Just so you know, I was furious that you wouldn’t give me a refund when I called you up all those months ago.’

‘What can I say? I’m a tough cookie,’ she giggles, and hangs onto you for just a moment longer. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t cancel on us.’

Champ surprises you, forgoing your outstretched hand and giving you a hug for the first time. His tweed suit is softer than expected under your cheek, and smells like pipeweed and leather.

‘It’s been an absolute pleasure, young lady. I’m sure we’ll see you again very soon,’ he winks. ‘And I’ll be in touch about the social media.’

Three steps away, Teak is waiting with his arms crossed, and he pushes off the truck to bundle you into his embrace, the hug as big and as bear-like as him, which makes you chuckle.

‘Anything parting Southern wisdom for me?’ you quip.

‘I’m all out, sweetheart,’ he says, giving you a pat on the back. ‘’Cept, y’know, that cowboy’s been grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet ‘tater all week, and it’s damn annoyin’.’

Jack rolls his eyes, one palm on your back as he herds you towards the truck. ‘C’mon, darlin’, we should make a move.’

Saving himself for last, Jameson trots up to you with a bark, tail wagging. The grass is warm and tickles your bare knees when you crouch down to give him one last hug, giggling at the wet kiss he leaves on your cheek.

The leather of the passenger seat is soft as you sink down into it, while Jack closes the door behind you and crosses to the driver’s side. Inhaling deeply as the engine starts with a rusty rumble, you look up when he gives your hand a grounding squeeze.

‘Ready, darlin’?’

You nod, though not entirely convincingly. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

The Statesman gets smaller and smaller behind you as the truck eases down the driveway, and the four figures waving in the rearview mirror blur into tiny shadows through the mist of your tears. The metal frame of the vehicle squeaks with the movement as it rolls over bumps on the long dirt track, at the end of which, Jack takes a right with a one-handed turn of the steering wheel onto the main road, and the ranch slips out of sight.

The midday sun streams through the windshield, hot on your skin. You’re glad you changed out of the jeans from last night into a lightweight dress, a slightly frivolous last-minute addition to your luggage that’s paid off.

Staring out of the open window at the rolling landscape, it takes you right back to exactly eight days ago when you were driving down the dusty road - except this time, the Bighorn Mountains are behind you, and next to you is a cowboy instead of an empty seat.

Unabashedly, you watch him drive. His right hand is woven in yours, disengaging only to shift gears every now and then. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes are on the road, occasionally darting sideways to find himself on the receiving end of your attention.

It’s certainly an adjustment to see him in the driver’s seat after a week in the saddle - Whiskey’s, then the Silver Pony’s. But it doesn’t matter, there’s no mistaking the competence behind his every movement, be it to ease his horse to a slower gait with the lightest closing of his fingers on the leather reins, or to redirect the truck with an effortless palm on the steering wheel -

‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ he drawls, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

‘Not long enough,’ you grumble, shuffling in close.

He half-turns, moustache brushing your temple as he murmurs, ‘Have I told you that you look beautiful in that dress?’

You press a secret smile into his shoulder. ‘You sure you don’t prefer me in jodhpurs?’

Untangling his fingers to slide blunt nails under the hem of your dress and up the inside of your leg, he replies diplomatically, ‘I can see pros and cons to both.’

Your breath hitches with a warning, but the instinctive parting of your thighs gives you away. ‘Cowboy -’

You startle at what sounds like a sudden crack of thunder, but it turns out to be an enormous interstate truck charging down the opposite lane. In a panic, your knees snap shut, trapping Jack’s wandering hand between the soft cushion of your legs. To your chagrin, he makes a point of waving to the driver as he passes by.

‘Jack, he definitely saw your hand up my dress!’ you chide.

He flashes you a knowing smirk, and you shudder when he digs into the meat of your thigh with a firm squeeze. ‘Somethin’ tells me you enjoyed that, darlin’.’

Your mouth opens, ready to object, but a familiar heat warms the back of your neck the same time your throat goes dry. It’s the same thrill from last night, in the cellar, not knowing if you’ll get caught bent over a whiskey cask, jeans pulled down just enough so that this cowboy could bury his cock deep inside you.

Despite yourself, you shift in your seat, and Jack’s knuckles scrape the fast dampening seat of your panties. Choking on a strangled noise, he turns his wrist so that he can rub the outline of your folds through the thin fabric, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. ��Fuck. I feel that, darlin’.’

Another car comes down the opposite lane, a smaller sedan this time, and you’re bold enough to spread your thighs, letting him slip under your panties.

The car swerves sharply as hisses at the wetness he finds, fingertip gliding slickly between the lips of your pussy, smearing the mess all over as your hips rock into the contact.

Through gritted teeth, Jack groans, ‘Darlin’, you’re soaked for me.’

‘Pull over. Now.’

He does - parking haphazardly behind a tree, barely a couple of yards off the main road before killing the ignition.

You mount him immediately, throwing your right leg over his lap as if pulling yourself into the saddle, the pain an afterthought when your knee jams into the control panel on the door in your haste. Jack grunts as your hips slot flush against his, his usual composure nowhere to be found as he’s caught between undoing his seatbelt, pushing your dress up and scrabbling down the sides of the driver’s seat for the adjustment lever.

The sudden recline of the seatback pulls a squeak from you while knocking Jack’s hat clean off, and you follow to claim his lips in a messy kiss as he palms the swell of your ass.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he bites out, rocking up against your pussy, head thrown back. ‘You’re so fuckin’ sexy.’

He doesn't question you when you climb over him, taking the chance to scrape open-mouthed kisses down your neck instead - and when you sit back down on your haunches, his pupils blow wide at the sight of you wearing his hat and a flirtatious grin.

‘How about now, cowboy?’ you tease.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as his eyes darken. ‘You’ll look even better sittin’ on my face, darlin’.’

Your jaw goes slack. ‘Jack -’

‘I want to taste you one more time. Need to. Please.’

Something breaks loose inside you, unhinges, and you crawl over the length of his lean body to steal a bruising kiss that has him hot in pursuit when you pull back. The hem of the dress brushes his face when your knees make landing on the backseat, on either side of the headrest he’s lying on. Reaching for the grab handle above, you pull yourself upright, bracing the roof of the truck while you hover over his beautiful nose.

Calloused fingers bunch up your dress to the waist, and Jack hums at the display of your drenched panties, before hooking one thumb around the seams and pulling it unceremoniously to one side.

‘Look at that pussy,’ he groans brokenly. ‘Always fuckin’ soakin’ for me. Just beggin’ for me to taste it, hmm?’

‘Jaaaack,’ you whine on an exhale. Looking down at how he’s so wantonly eyeing you, your back arches with a confidence you didn’t know you have. Thighs splaying wider, you know he hears the slick parting of your folds when he stutters a pained moan.

‘C’mere and let me eat that pretty pussy, darlin’.’

From the moment his lips close around your clit in a sloppy suckle, you know this is a different beast from that first time he took you apart with his mouth, deep in the mountains, under the secret cloak of night. The afternoon sun casts shadows where his brow is creased in studious concentration, his keen gaze flitting from where he delicately holds you open with his fingertips, to your cleavage, to your face, and all the way down again. Every twitch of muscle, every whimper caught in the web of his determination to relish all of you.

In no mood to tease, each measured lick and curl of his tongue hits its mark, your physical reflexes compounded by this show of devastating competence. He draws desperate sounds that you don't even register as your own, your needy cunt leaking all over his face and chin.

‘Cowboy,’ you mewl, reaching down to coil your fingers into his hair, the strands beaded with sweat and sticking to his forehead as he doubles down. Your squirming only makes him tighten his grip on your hips to hold you still, the bite of his fingers bordering on painful. ‘I’m so close -’

The insides of your thighs are cool and slippery, a sensation you’re well used to now, his spit and your slick completely soaking through your panties. His three-day stubble rubs your sensitive skin raw, and the top of his Stetson bumps against the ceiling as you angle your hips to catch his puckered lips where you need him most, chasing friction.

‘Jack,’ you whimper when you feel the first spark of orgasm deep inside you, the spiral instant and relentless. ‘Jack, Jack, oh fuck, - I’m there, that’s it - I’m cumming, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t -’

Somewhere on the fringes of your scattered mind, you’re aware that the windows are down, not that you can do anything about it now - you thrash and wail and sob his name, all the while he laps at the mouth of your throbbing cunt. The sounds are obscene as he slurps and wrings every last drop of you until you’re pushing him away, nerves firing blindly from overstimulation, choking hoarsely when you catch your breath.

Watching you in a drunken daze, Jack finally draws back with a lewd pop, wiping his thoroughly soaked chin on your knee, which narrowly misses his nose as a violent, full-body shudder ripples through you.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ he cooes. All your joints have capitulated, so Jack has to bodily rearrange you, dislodging your shaky knees from his shoulders down to his sides to pull you in for a kiss. You moan at the sticky release his moustache smears all over your face, the taste of yourself thick and heavy on his tongue.

His brown eyes snap open when you sneak between your bodies to palm his erection through his jeans, voice strained. ‘Darlin’, we ain’t got the time -’

Deftly undoing his belt, that damned flask-shaped buckle that looks as ridiculous as the first time you laid eyes on it, you assure him, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take long.’

He arches an eyebrow, taking in your face shadowed by his cowboy hat, but stays put otherwise, almost docile as he lets you take the reins. ‘Is that so? And you’re so confident, how?’

Shoving down his boxers and jeans, his cock springs free, hard and ready. With a brazen grin, you sit up and line yourself up to the swollen tip, declaring, ‘Because I want you to cum inside me, cowboy.’

You’re not sure if it’s you sinking down on him, or him snapping his hips upwards. All you know is that by the time your head catches up, he’s driven to the hilt inside you.

‘What are you - fuck you’re so tight -’ he wheezes against your lips, giving you no pause as he ruts into you recklessly, the crude slap of skin on skin filling every space the truck. ‘Whatcha mean by cummin’ inside you?’

‘I don’t know how I can be more clear, cowboy,’ you sass, when a particularly deep thrust almost jolts you off his lap.

‘But you’re not on birth control, darlin’ -’ he tries to reason.

‘I’ll take the morning after pill as soon as I land,’ you promise, holding his unfocused gaze. ‘Do you trust me?’

The wind is knocked out of you when his strong arms pull you flush to his front, his answer immediate and irrevocable. ‘With everythin’.’

There’s too much going on. The coarse scratch of denim on the inside of your thighs, his nails scraping down your ass, the desperate whimpers he leaves in the secret place behind your ear. The air grows humid and thick as Jack feels himself slipping, your pussy gripping him so tightly that his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull.

He gasps in a breathless warning. ‘Darlin' -’

‘It’s ok, cowboy,’ you croon, fingers carding through his dark hair. ‘I want to feel you deep inside me. All of you.’

His bones rattle with a vicious shudder at your words. Snarling, he bucks into you at a pace so unrelenting that you cry out with each snap of his hips.

‘Gonna stuff you so fuckin’ full,’ he vows in between slippery kisses. ‘Been wantin’ to since the first time. Gonna fill your pussy with my cum, darlin’, you’ll be drippin’ with me for days -’

‘Yes yes yes do it cowboy, please -’ you beg, voice cracking.

‘Look at me,’ he orders, nostrils flaring as you knock foreheads. ‘Look at me while I fuck you full, darlin’.’

Choking on a whine, you feel him swell inside you until he teeters right on the brink. The raw need in his eyes robs you of your breath, and you grow faint on empty lungs as you sway with him -

And then his neck strains, his hips jerk, and you feel his abdomen cave in on itself when he lets go with your name on his lips, and his on yours. A primal roar fills your ears as he pumps you full of him, spilling into you again and again until all you feel is his cum hot and deep inside you, flooding your cunt, his whole body spasming as he pants raggedly for air.

A carnal musk hangs ripe and sweltering in the confines of the truck. Floating on a lazy stupor, you draw soothing circles on his quickly rising and falling chest through the aftershocks, his tshirt clammy with sweat, heart pounding under your palm.

Jack reaches up to push off his hat so that he can see all of you before pulling you in for a lingering kiss. When he softens, his spend dribbling slow and hot out of you, two thick fingers nudge between your thighs, and your back arches when he tenderly pushes it back inside.

His plea is a hoarse mumble into the side of your neck. ‘Keep me in you, darlin’. Take me with you.’

You nod, and smile, ‘Always.’

The airport is tiny, and Jack seems to know everyone you cross paths with. From the security guard at the carpark (previously a groom at the Statesman) to the staffer at the car rental counter (Champ’s nephew), he’s busy tipping his hat and dispatching howdy’s left, right and centre.

‘Small town, huh?’ you quip.

He hums, ‘Welcome to cowboy country.’

And he definitely knows the brunette checking you in at the airline counter, all the while glowering at you over the top of your driving licence.

‘Ain’t seen you 'round town much lately, Jack,’ she says, affixing you with a none too subtle glare.

‘Y’know how it is in the summer, always busy,’ he replies a touch too politely. As soon as he drops your suitcase onto the baggage belt, he wraps one even less subtle arm around your waist and pulls you pointedly into his side.

You bite your lip as the woman’s eyes narrow and she aggressively punches your details into the computer system, surprised that the keyboard doesn’t break. Once your suitcase is on its merry way, Jack wastes no time spiriting you away from the counter without so much of a fare-thee-well.

You burst into laughter, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Brrrrrr. That was cold!’

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, admitting, ‘To be fair to her, she didn’t catch me at my finest moment.’

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Let’s just say there ain’t enough of this ol’ cowboy to go ‘round for the ladies in town,’ he winks.

‘Well, I hope they know there’s about to be even less of you going forward,’ you sniff primly.

Preening at the possessiveness in your tone, Jack ribs, ‘A tragedy, some might say.’

You huff, but can’t help a smile. ‘Well, aren’t I lucky to have roped you in, cowboy.’

‘And she can’t even lasso!’ he teases, leaning down to steal a kiss.

Feeling eyes on you, you duck your head, protesting, ‘Jack, people are looking.’

‘Let ‘em,’ he counters, prompting a gasp from you when he brazenly squeezes your ass through your dress. ‘I’m stakin’ my claim, darlin’.’

‘You already did in the truck, cowboy,’ you remind him, instinctively rubbing your thighs together, feeling the weight of his cum wet in your panties.

He hums, as if he knows, the sound deep and satisfied. His lips linger at the crown of your head, and he holds you close with his whole body, wrapping himself around your soul.

All too soon, the old-fashioned Solari board you’re sitting under whirrs into action. The retro split-flap display spins and flips with a mechanical staccato to spell out ‘final boarding call’ next to your flight number, one of five scheduled for that afternoon.

Stubbornly, you turn your face into Jack’s shoulder, inhaling him. He smells like horses and dappled sun filtered through leaves in a tree - you wish you could distil it into a bottle and take it with you.

You’re in denial, that much you know. You’ve warded off the thought of leaving too well, compartmentalised it and pushed it down somewhere it wouldn't be able to resurface.

But that’s the irony - even if you can keep it buried, it doesn’t change the fact that your suitcase is in the belly of the plane parked on the runway, that you’re about to leave Wyoming behind and put thousands of miles between you and this cowboy, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet as the minutes tick down.

Eventually, he murmurs slowly into your hair, as if the words are physically weighing him down. ‘C’mon, darlin.’

Your feet are heavy, dragging, and Jack has to practically strong-arm you out of the airport terminal and onto the tarmac. He holds you as you loiter at the back of the queue, until the crowd disperses, and the stewardess at the top of the boarding stairs gives you both a knowing but firm look.

That’s when the tears spill over the seams of your lashes where they’ve been teetering, held back by sheer willpower and clenched teeth. Ugly sobs bubble out of your throat, and Jack pulls you into him, his own voice thick as he rocks you soothingly. ‘It’s ok, darlin’. I’ll see you before you know it.’

‘But when?’ you wail, almost petulantly.

He answers with no hesitation, and it’s obvious to you that he isn’t just thinking on his feet, that he’s been making plans, but kept it close to his chest.

‘We have back-to-back pack trips the next three weeks, so I can’t get away. But next month, after the Kingsman’s rescheduled bookin’, I’ll take a whole week off.’

‘That’s an entire month away,’ you grumble into the soaked front of his tshirt.

‘I know, but you’ll need time to plan all the things we’re gonna see,’ he jokes, recalling your fireside conversation. ‘You’re gonna take this country mouse to all the museums and art galleries and all kinds of big city adventures, ain’t that right?’

You give him a watery smile. ‘I stand by the sex and Thai takeaway in bed plan.’

‘Even better,’ he answers, and you hold onto the way the crease of his smile lines bring out the soul in his eyes. ‘I’ll call you, darlin’, ok?’

Somehow, you muster the good humour to tease, ‘The cool kids FaceTime nowadays, and I hear your phone doesn’t have a working camera.’

He laughs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s tears clinging to his lashes, or if it’s a trick of the light. He thumbs away the wet streaks from your cheeks, nose brushing yours in a solemn promise. ‘I’ll get a new one.’

‘Just for me?’

And then he’s kissing you, plush lips slanting across yours, dragging slow like honey. When he pulls back, he breathes, ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

Jack has to physically unclench his fingers to let you step back. When your hand slides out of his, it takes him everything not to pull you back, or run after you up the stairs. He grasps the railing so hard his knuckles go bone-white as you turn back to him one last time at the aircraft door.

You blow him a kiss, your smile brave but wobbly. ‘Goodbye, cowboy.’

He swallows hard, wanting to be strong for you, but still, his voice wavers. ‘I’ll see you, darlin’. So soon.’

You nod, your tears catching the afternoon light as the stewardess ushers you into the cabin.

Then it hits him.

You’re not going to be in his arms when he wakes up tomorrow. You’re not going to be there when he reaches around for you - your face, your neck, your voice.

You’re not going to be there.

Jack watches your tear-streaked face appear at one of the windows, and he tries to smile at you, wishing he’d insisted on one last kiss. The heat from the jet engines and the sun is bouncing off the tarmac, but he’s cold, so cold, that his fingers have gone stiff. Nothing feels real, as if he’s been wrapped in cling film and dunked underwater, and he almost doesn’t hear the voice to his left.

The air traffic controller says apologetically, ‘’Mfraid we gotta clear the runway, sir.’

He fumbles over his words. ‘’Course. Sorry.’

Pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips, he waves the kiss at you, which you catch with your palm against the glass. Determined not to miss one single second, he slowly walks backwards with the controller beside him as he waves the batons.

He says sympathetically, ‘It’s always hard, but it gets easier.’

Jack glances at him with a questioning look.

He chuckles good-naturedly. ‘You ain’t the first lovelorn cowboy I seen on this runway sayin’ ‘bye to his city girl.’

His lips quirk despite himself, eyes still on you even as the plane slowly taxis away. He says, ‘I sure hope you’re right, man.’

With one last wave, the plane pivots, and you disappear around the bend.

Empty. He feels empty.

The sadness is helium in his chest, inflating between the gaps of his ribs, and he feels himself drift even with each footfall of his heavy boots on the concrete, while a dull ache ricochets in the hollow spaces of his skull.

Grappling for an anchor, Jack forces himself to focus, one thing at a time. Key in the ignition, twist, the whirr of the engine. Switching on the radio, it cackles between the frequencies as he straps his Stetson to the backseat, then swings one leg over the saddle and puts on his helmet.

The static starts taking on shape, lyrics and guitar riffs cutting through the white noise and catching his attention just as he wraps his fingers around the rubber grip of the handlebars.

I want to ride off on a palomino

Feel the fire in my breath and the breeze in my hair as I go

Why the hell am I even looking back for?

For I know, where you go my love goes

He misses the ghost of your arms around his waist, the slope of your nose tucked into his nape. He misses you. He wants to see your face the minute you get off that plane on the other side of the country. He wants to hear your voice before he goes to bed tonight. He wants to tell you mornin’ first thing tomorrow when he gets up.

As the 737 roars overhead, the shadow passing over him, he wonders if you can spot him from the clouds.

He’d better crack on and get to the shop in town before it closes.

Steering smoothly out of the parking lot, Jack takes a left, the Silver Pony kicking up dust with a purr as she cruises down the country roads -

The same country roads that brought you to him.

Fin

More notes: I've been writing fanfiction on and off for the past 17 years. Corny as it sounds, it feels like everything I've ever written has been leading up to this fic. I put my heart and soul into Palomino, and it's repaid me tenfold. It gave me the chance to write about my love for horses, to fall in love not only with cowboy Jack, but with Darlin', Teak, the entire cast and the horses, this whole universe that I built in my head. And it gave me all of you - the most wonderful, supportive friends and readers I've had the pleasure of writing for.

I hope I will have the chance to revisit the Palomino universe one day. But for now, I'm ridiculously proud for finishing this series and for giving it the ending it deserves. I don't think I will ever write a fic that I love so deeply again. Palomino was it for me, and I'm forever grateful that I got to share this incredible journey with all of you.

There are some special people I need to thank, please forgive me if I leave anyone out, I appreciate each and everyone of you ❤️

LJ @prolix-yuy: The wonderful friend and writer who made me fall in love with cowboy Jack in first place with her epic Westworld Whiskey series, which is also coming to an end next week. I've said this many times and I'll never stop saying it - there would've been no Palomino if not for LJ. Thank you for being my inspiration bestie, you are the literal best.

Ash @mandoblowmybackout: My OG bestie and fellow cat mum, one of the first people I screeched about cowboy Jack to, I treasure our friendship so much, thank you for your support.

Maddie @imaswellkid: Maddie, thank you for being in my corner throughout Palomino and for holding my hand when I need it (which is often). Talking to you about Palomino in person - well, talking about anything and everything to you in person - was one of the most surreal moments of last year, and I'm hoping it won't be long before I see you again.

Sil @psychedelic-ink: Sil, light of my life, thank you for always being there for me, for listening and talking me down from the ledge many times. I'm so lucky to have you, and to have you love cowboy Jack as much as I do. Talking to you is always the highlight of my day!

Peaches @ohsomightypeaches: Screaming at you/being screamed at by you about anything cowboy Jack is always so much fun, and not just Jack, but also Teak, Champ, etc.. Your love for this series is beyond infectious, thank you for your support and for always making me smile!

Skye @iamskyereads: Skye my love, I believe I was admiring you from afar when you popped up in my notifs with a reblog of the first chapter, and I remember how excited I was! So grateful that Palomino brought you into my life.

Heidi @wildemaven: Thank you for gifting Palomino with not one beautiful video edit, but also a gorgeous moodboard! You are an angel!

Jules @julesonrecord: My fellow cowboy aficionado, your enthusiasm for s'mores and Jack always makes me smile. Thank you for your support, truly.

Jo @mvtthewmurdvck: Thank you for listening to me rant and rave and holding my hand during my meltdown. I'm so grateful for you!

Snowsuit anon: It's always a joy to hear from you, and I will hold you forever responsible for sparking the snowsuit craze (affectionate) 💙 Thank you for your support my lovely!

A special shoutout to my lovely readers who have followed Palomino from the very beginning. Thank you for sticking with me, I really feel like we went on this trip together, all of us: @lola-lola-lola, @harriedandharassed, @witchisenpai, @miss-mandalorian, @fireproofmarta, @dreamymyrrh, @inkededucatednnerdy, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @freakrenaissance, @axshadows, @damnyoupedro, @thosewickedlovelies, @peridotsparadox, @radiowallet, @sherala007, @shirks-all-responsibilities

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avastrasposts · 5 months

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A Baker's Dozen - One

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

This is my first original fic after The Pilot and his Girl and it will be a very different read (just in case you're totally traumatised by The Pilot...😬)

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery. The plan is to post one chapter every Sunday night so hold me to that schedule when my procrastination kicks in!

Warnings won't be very serious, just lots of fluff, lots of food, some mention of drugs because you know some of these Pedro boys are just like that.

Series Master List

@harriedandharassed tagging you in this because you said you wanted to read anything new ❤❤❤

The drawback of being a baker is that your working day starts when others are still tucked in bed with hours left to sleep. Or just coming home from a party. But you don’t mind all that much, there’s a certain tranquil peace to being awake and working in the bakery while the rest of the world sleeps.

In the warmer months you prop open the back door so that you can hear the birds starting to sing as the sky slowly grows lighter outside, today is just one of those mornings.

The early morning radio show is on low in the background as you prepare the day. Yesterday's loaves have proofed overnight in the cold storage and are ready for the oven, the pie doughs taken out and softening while you prepare the cookie doughs.

People don’t often knock on the bakery's back door before you open for the day, but it happens, so when you suddenly hear someone shuffle and knock, you’re not surprised. Wiping your hands on your apron you turn the corner into the small back room. A man is leaning on the door frame, but not the sexy, romance novel leaning. No, this man is leaning in a ‘lean-or-fall-over’ kinda way. His eyes are covered by large black sunglasses that he pulls down as you spot him, a tired but cheeky smirk on his face.

“Hey, baker girl,” he grins, his voice gravelly like he’s chain smoked all night, “got any sna- oh whoops!” he giggles madly as he loses his balance and tumbles sideways, catching the other door frame before he grabs onto your arms and almost manages to stand up straight.

“You might need coffee, not snacks,” you say, holding onto him to stop him from falling face forward into your apron.

“I’m fine,” he grins, pushing himself upright again but still holding on to the door frame, “I just came from this party, were you there?,” he asks, giving you another over the glasses look, this time clearly checking you out as his eyes drag up and down your form, lingering on your pink crocs.

“Actually, I would’ve remembered if you were there, love the crocs,” he chuckles.

“What’s wrong with my crocs?” you ask, slightly offended, “They’re great for people like me, you know, people who actually work on Thursdays.”

“No, no, I mean it, I love your crocs!” the man says, wide eyed and shoving his glasses up in his wild curls, “I have like ten crocs, one pair is pink too.”

He furrows his eyebrows, giving you a confused look, “Wait, it’s Thursday?”

“Yeah, five am, Thursday morning,” you say, wondering how to get rid of this disheveled man so that you can get back to the cookie dough.

“Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck….” the man groans, bending double and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I’m so fucked…I thought it was Wednesday.”

He stands up again and you can’t help but feel sorry for him, he looks devastated.

“I was meant to fly out to San Antonio yesterday and take my nice to Six Flags for her birthday, and I fucking missed it!”

He slumps against the door frame and thumps the back of his head against it repeatedly, moaning, “I’m such a fuck up, I’m such a fuck up.”

“Hey, take it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine, just apologize and take her another day,” you say, putting your hand on the man’s arm to stop him from giving himself a concussion in your bakery, “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“You think?” he says, “I’m not the best at remembering birthdays, I may have missed a few in the past.”

“Well, then she’ll be mad at you, but all you can do is apologize right? And try to make it up to her as best you can.”

“Yeah…yeah…maybe you’re right, thanks baker girl.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you notice the smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes, “How about those snacks? I’m fucking starving.”

You can’t help but laugh, the man’s a mess but somehow adorable at the same time with his wild hair and stained t-shirt.

“Sure, I’ll get you something, what do you like?”

“Do you have sausage rolls?” he asks, following you into the kitchen, “I fucking love sausage rolls.”

“What, like those things they made on the Great British Bake Off?” you reply, opening your walk in fridge to survey the snack options.

“Yeah, I did this movie once, in England, and there was a bakery next to my apartment and whenever I got back from a party, early morning, I’d knock on their back door and they’d sell me these fat sausage rolls, fresh from the oven, fucking amazing.”

“Sorry, no sausage rolls in this bakery,” you say, “but my cookies will be done soon, if you can wait.”

You turn back to the man and realize he’s wandering around the kitchen, sticking his nose in your bowls, sniffing loudly.

“Hey, don’t stick your finger in that,” you say, “Health and Safety are going to have my license if they catch you.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the munchies, I’ve been high for like, two days,” he says, waving his arms around, “this place is torture for a high pers-OH! Do you know what I love?”

“No,” you sigh, exasperated, “I don’t know what you love.”

He completely misses your tone as he spins in a circle around the kitchen and you realize that he’s wearing what looks like very expensive pajama pants and no shoes, just socks.

“I love those…what do you call them, like…millionaire’s something?”

“Millionaire's shortbread?” you ask and he spins around to you with a big grin.

“Yes! Those! With like the chocolate and the peanut butter and they’re like the best Reese’s ever, only even more fucking amazing. Can you make those?” “I don’t know, maybe,” you begin and the man actually falls to his knees, shuffling over the floor to you.

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’m dying here, beautiful baker girl, make me happy!”

“Are you asking me to bake for you or proposing?” you laugh, this man is too ridiculous as he grins up at you.

“If you make them for me, I won’t marry you, but there are many other things I can do,” he says, pulling down his dark sunglasses from his head and winking at you from over the edge, his cheeky grin making it impossible to scowl at him.

“Fine, I’ll make them for you, just get up from my floor, please,” you say, reaching for his hand. He takes yours with a bright smile, kissing the back of it, before he stumbles to his feet and follows you over to your big workbench.

“I’m Dieter, by the way. Can I sit here?” he asks, pointing to the stool that stands next to the bench.

“Nice to meet you Dieter,” you say, “sure, go ahead, it’s got wheels on it though so be careful.”

“Awesome,” Dieter says and sits down, immediately speeding across the floor with a kick of his socked feet. He stops himself from crashing into the fridge door by grabbing on to the handle before he shoots off again, rolling all the way over to the open back door.

“Don’t fall out through the door please,” you call after him and you hear him giggle, a second later he comes spinning into the kitchen again.

“This thing is awesome, I need to buy one for my house.”

“Happy you’re enjoying yourself,” you laugh and walk to where yesterday’s bakes are stacked on trays. You’d made a layer of shortbread yesterday, you were planning on making lemon bars but Millionaire’s shortbread will work too. As you bring it over to your work station Dieter rolls past you and stops by the bench. “Can I help?” he asks, looking up at you, his sunglasses back in his messy hair. He’s kinda cute when you think about it, gorgeous brown eyes, and the smile he’s giving you is open and curious with an adorable dimple.

“Yeah, sure, you can be in charge of peanuts,” you say, walking over to the dry storage, “They need to be bashed into chunks with a rolling pin, something tells me that’s something you can probably handle.”

“That sounds fun, please, direct me,” he says, kicking himself over to the storage cupboard on the stool.

“Oops, sorry,” he giggles, grabbing hold of your hips to stop himself from crashing into the storage door, “I kicked too hard that time.”

“Go easy there, Dieter,” you laugh as he untangles himself from the stool and stands up. You get on your tiptoes to grab the peanuts and suddenly realize he’s still holding on to your hips, standing close behind you. You swear you feel his nose brush the side of your head, a quick inhale from him, and then he steps back, letting go.

“Peanuts?” he says, leaning past you and reaching up to grab the bag sitting just out of your reach. His arm brushes over yours and he’s suddenly very close again, his citrusy after shave, mingling with the heady sweet smoke of weed, fills your senses.

“Uhh…y-yeah,” you stutter, “thanks. And the dark chocolate if you can reach it.”

“Sure, this one?” he asks, grabbing the bag of Valrhona from the shelf. This time his chest is pressed against your back, you really should move out of his way, but he’s right behind you, almost pinning you in place, as he has to stretch to his full length to reach. And you find that you don’t mind at all, he’s warm and solid behind you, and this is more action than you’ve had in months.

“That’s the one, thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral.

Dieter brings it down to your level and you take it from him, expecting him to step back and give you room to go back to the work bench. But instead he stays right behind you, and this time you really do feel him bend down and brush his nose over your cheek, down to where your neck meets your shoulder.

“You smell delicious, like a cookie,” he mumbles and your heart literally skips a beat.

“Th-thanks,” you splutter and when Dieter steps back, letting you move, you avoid his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn.

“S-so the…umm…rolling pin is on that shelf there,” you say, pointing down to your right, “and there’s a measuring cup too, just…umm…just get a cup of peanuts, and put them in a plastic bag and bash away. Just wash your hands first.”

“Ok, I can do that,” he says with a grin and he walks behind you to the sink in the corner while you measure out the peanut butter into a sauce pan.

Dieter gets to work on the peanuts with great enthusiasm until you tell him they’re broken up enough.

“Just leave them there, you can come here and stir the peanut butter while I get the caramel ready,” you instruct him and he ambles over in just his socks.

“What happened to your shoes? If you don’t mind me asking,” you point at his stripey, multicolored socks.

“I’m not sure,” Dieter glances down at his feet, “I had shoes when I left home, I’m sure of it, but after that it gets a bit hazy.”

“You’ve really been partying since Tuesday?” you ask and he nods.

“Yeah, it was a good party so we just kinda kept going,” he grins, “there was a huge pool and we all went in. Actually, maybe that’s where I lost my shoes?”

“Maybe, you could go back and look for them?”

“And miss out on baking with a pretty baker girl? Never!” he chuckles and you’re not totally sure he’s being serious or not, but the grin he gives you makes you hope he is.

“I think this is melted,” he says, draggin the spoon through the silky smooth peanut butter, showing you the bowl.

“Yeah, that looks done. Just pass me that tray of shortbread and I’ll pour the caramel on top.”

“Can I lick the bowl?” he asks, looking over your shoulder as you let the thick golden liquid pool on top of the shortbread.

“I’m pretty good at scraping, there’s usually nothing left to lick,” you say, dragging the spatula around the edge.

“Can’t you be a bit sloppy, just for me?” Dieter grins, standing entirely too close, “It smells so good, I wanna taste it.”

This time he’s definitely flirting, the salacious smile on his face while he winks at you, makes you both roll your eyes and squash down butterflies on the inside.

“Fine, I’ll leave some for you,” you smile, looking back at the shortbread again and scraping out caramel, leaving the last of it on the spatula. Putting the bowl to the side, you hold out the spatula for him. But instead of taking it, he grabs hold of your hand, and licks the caramel off the spatula with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes don’t leave yours and the whole thing is so over the top you burst out laughing.

“Jesus fucking Christ, tone it down maybe?” you snort, as he abruptly stops licking, letting go of your hand.

“What?” he blushes, “I saw it in this movie, it looked sexy.”

“Yeah, in a porno maybe!” you say, handing him the spatula, and only the spatula.

He takes it with a sheepish look, “Sorry, that usually works.”

“Not in this bakery, I have to work with that spatula when you’re gone, I can’t have it being used as a porno prop, Dieter.” You grab a new spatula from the holder on the counter and start smoothing out the caramel.

“You do smell good though,” Dieter says, still looking sheepish, “that wasn’t just a line.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a quick smile, working over the caramel, “you smell good too, underneath all that weed funk.”

At this he grabs the front of his t-shirt and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, it’s kinda obvious, huh.”

“Can’t believe you partied for forty-eight hours, I’d be dead on my feet,” you say, mixing the peanut butter into the caramel layer, sprinkling in some of the crushed peanuts, “Do you want coffee or something while we wait for this to set?”

“Fuck yes, coffee sounds amazing!” Dieter exclaims, dropping the spatula from his mouth, “And this stuff is amazing too, I’d eat a bowl of just this.”

“You’d die of a sugar rush if you did,” you laugh, sliding the tray into the large fridge and setting a timer on your phone, “C’mon, the coffee machine is out front.”

One of the advantages of being the sole owner of the bakery was that you got to decide what to skimp on, and what to splurge on. And the espresso machine was something you’d really splurged on. For a shop that mainly sold take out baked goods, it was way over the top, but it meant you always had great coffee on hand for your early mornings. The machine was already up and running, humming quietly as you started preparing two shots.

“How do you take it, Dieter?” you ask and he winks at you. “Anyway you wanna give it to me, baker girl,” he grins and when you sigh loudly, he laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “C’mon! I had to! You set it up perfectly!”

“How do you take your coffee?” you emphasis and glare at him, but your smile is breaking through and he gives you a playful poke as he comes up and stands next to the machine.

“Extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have ‘em.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you smirk, “A guy who loves Millionaire’s Shortbread, of course he wants extra everything. I bet you’re lining up outside your local Starbucks the morning they start selling Pumpkin Spice.”

“I would never drink Starbucks!” he protests, “Fucking vile coffee and the worst of corporate America. But you can’t beat a good pumpkin spice if you’ve got quality coffee.”

“I’ve only got great coffee here, but no syrup, you want a latte? Double shot espresso?”

“Please,” he says, leaning against the counter next to the espresso machine as he looks over the front of your little shop, crossing his arms. You can’t help the glance up at his arms, the t-shirt hanging on for dear life as it clings to his biceps and broad shoulders. The many rings on his fingers look tiny on his large hands as he grips the outside of his arms, and you’re temporarily distracted by them, and his close proximity.

The hiss of the machine pulls you back to reality, coffee sputtering out of the spouts into the cup. You glance back up at Dieter and find him watching you with a crooked smile, a dimple in his cheek.

“What?” you say, looking back at the machine and begin to steam the milk.

“You really are beautiful,” he says, almost matter of factly, “especially when you zone out.”

“It’s early, and I’ve been up since two am, but thanks, I guess,” you reply, handing him the latte and pointing to the sugar bowl on the counter next to the till.

“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything,” he says, sounding slightly hurt, “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re gorgeous.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, immediately regretting your tone, “I’m just not used to compliments I guess, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I should’ve just said thanks,” you look over at him and give him a smile, “Thanks Dieter.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling back.

You knock out the used coffee grounds and fill it up again to make your own coffee. Dieter reaches over and grabs four sugar cubes and drops them in the latte, stirring while he watches you work. He’s watching you closely again and it makes your cheeks heat up. He’s got a strange energy of childish mayhem and intense magnetism, chaos that’s either going to make you laugh until your sides hurt or fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week. And you’re not sure which one you want.

Your coffee done, you add a splash of milk and lean against the counter opposite Dieter, taking a careful sip. He’s wrapped both his large hands around the thick glass and is delicately licking the foam, drawing a pattern in it with his tongue. You watch him for a few seconds until he notices you and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What?” he asks, copying your tone from earlier.

“You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, immediately regretting your filterless mouth.

But he gives you a disarming smile, “Gorgeous. Gorgeous baker girl that smells like cookies and caramel and chocolate.”

“You’re just high,” you can’t help but scoff at him, but he just shakes his head.

“No, not at all.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you, the silence stretching between you until you think something will have to snap and it’s probably going to be you.

The phone saves you, the timer going off just as you don’t think you can stand another second of his chocolate brown eyes looking at you like you’re the snack he’s been asking for.

“Thecaramelisset,” you rush out, breaking eye contact and hurrying back into the kitchen as if another second in the fridge would ruin the whole thing. Dieter comes in behind you at a slower pace, still drinking his coffee.

You pull out the tray and set it down on the workbench before turning on the burner under a saucepan of water, setting up a water bath.

“I’m just gonna melt this chocolate, and then I’ll spread it on top, it’ll set pretty quickly. And then it’s done.” You work quickly, too flustered to look at him and he hoovers just to your side, watching your movements.

The chocolate melts fast, you only need a thin layer, and then you pour it over the caramel. You scrape the bowl clean but leave a generous amount of chocolate on the spatula, giving it to Dieter.

“Don’t burn your mouth, it’s still warm”, you say when he takes it. He doesn’t grab your hand this time, but his fingertips brushes over yours as he nods, and it sends a sharp little jolt through you.

You turn back to the almost finished shortbread but can’t help glancing over at him. His pink tongue comes out and licks the chocolate, this time it’s not over the top, nothing provocative about it, he’s not even looking at you. But you swear you can feel every stroke of his tongue on your own skin, burning hot and wet.

You swallow and tear your eyes away, blindly reaching for the crushed peanuts, taking a handful and scattering it across the chocolate. The Millionaire’s Shortbread is done and you slide the tray back into the fridge, it only needs a few minutes. Dieter remains by the counter, finishing off the chocolate on the spatula as you start to clean up the kitchen and bring out the cookie dough that still needs to be taken care of. You see Dieters eyes widen as he sees the first scoop of dough land on the baking tray.

“Is that chocolate chip,” he almost whispers reverently, spatula forgotten, as he slowly comes over to stare down into the bowl.

“You want to try it? It’s double chocolate chip with browned butter.”

He makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back before he looks at you and nods, “Please, it smells so good.”

You grab a tasting spoon, giving him a generous scoop and watch with a smile as he puts it in his mouth. His eyes close of their own volition as he moans, far too enticingly, around the spoon.

“Oh my god…” he sighs, slowly chewing the dough, “This is like heaven, better than sex, better than fucking coke.”

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckle, “it’s not healthy but it’s sure as hell better for you than coke.”

“And sex?” he asks with a wink, still rolling the dough around his mouth.

“They’re probably on par, but this is tastier than cum.”

Dieter nearly chokes, coughing loudly as you giggle. Between repeated attempts at clearing his throat he points his finger at you accusingly, trying to grin between his coughing.

“You’re…” he coughs again, “You’re a dirty baker girl!” he finally manages, grinning widely as you go back to scooping dough, still giggling.

“I can’t believe I said that, but you did serve it up perfectly.”

“I did, but I never thought your mind was that filthy, I’m appalled” he laughs, placing a hand on his chest in a mock gesture of shock. “Better than cum huh? You have a lot of experience in that department?”

Now he’s winking again, poking to get more details out of you. So instead you take another tasting spoon, scoop up more dough and put it straight into his mouth to shut him up. It works, he grins around the spoon and smacks his lips at the taste.

“So fucking good, definitely better than cum,” he smirks, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you wanna taste it?”

“I’m good, I’ve already tasted the dough many times,” you reply, careful to specify that you’re talking about dough.

“Maybe not like this though,” Dieter says, suddenly bending down and pressing his lips against yours. It almost makes you jump, his soft lips against yours, his aftershave, it all envelops you in an instance. He’s not touching you anywhere else, just your lips, and you can’t taste him, his mouth is still closed. Maybe you should push him off, the thought flits through your mind for a split second. But you want to taste him, taste the cookie dough you know is delicious, mingled with him, so you part your lips, your tongue coming out.

Dieter lets a quiet groan slip out as he part his lips, letting you in, opening his mouth and tilting his head to come closer. You hear the spoon clatter to the floor as his hand comes up and cups your cheek, his big hand reaching behind your neck, another stifled groan from him. He tastes of sugar, coffee and chocolate, all flavors mingling into something enticing that pulls you closer.

There’s nothing delicate about this kiss now, you lick into his mouth, and he offers you all the space you want, holding you close and moaning softly as your tongues tangle.

“Touch my hair,” he mumbles, breathing into your mouth, “I want to feel your hands in my hair.”

“They’re all sticky, Dieter,” you protest but you feel him shake his head, his lips brushing over yours.

“I don’t care, touch me, hold me, I want to smell like you when I leave,” his tongue slips between your lips, and you run your hands through his hair. You can feel it sticking, tugging at his wild locks but he just groans, his hands holding you tighter and, encouraged, you let your own hands run across his body, eliciting another loud groan from him.

Tension is building between the two of you, he is growing hard against your belly, unmistakably turned on and doing nothing to hide it. You can feel heat radiating from your own core, so scorching he must feel it too through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. If this doesn’t stop soon he’ll have you bent over the workbench in a minute, and Health and Safety would definitely have something to say about that.

With a groan and tremendous effort, you put your hands on his chest and push him away. His lips chase yours for a few seconds, eyes closed, a protest coming from him, before he looks down at you with a sigh.

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, not letting go of your cheek, his other hand still around your waist.

“The cookie dough goes really well with the coffee,” you reply, your mouth quirking up in a smile and he matches it, a dopey look on his face.

“Amazing,” he breathes, "you're amazing, baker girl.”

His adoration makes you tremble, you feel the heat in your cheeks, and he sees it, leaning into your lips. He stops and looks at you for a beat, to ask for your permission, and when you don’t pull away he presses a soft kiss to your warm mouth, so different from the hasty, heated kiss you just shared. This one lasts only for a few seconds, gentle, before he pulls back, his hand slowly trailing along your check.

“I should probably call for my ride,” he says softly, “it’ll take a while to get here.”

“Ok,” you nod, “the shortbread should be done too.”

“Ok,” he replies, but he doesn’t make a move to leave and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.

“I really should…” he sighs, tracing his fingertips over your cheek again, “call that ride.”

“Go, do that, I’ll cut the shortbread, we can have some while we wait for your ride.” You lightly put your hand on his warm chest and push him away, smiling, but you really want to bunch your hand in the soft t-shirt and pull him closer.

“Ok,” he says, louder this time, as if making up his mind. He shoves his hand in his pocket, miraculously finding his phone intact as you bring the tray out of the fridge.

The whole thing has set into layers, so you take a sharp knife and start cutting rectangles, slipping them up and onto the tray that goes in your display case, some go into a take away box, two you put on a separate plate and then look around for Dieter, spotting his broad back out by the back door. Just as you come over to him he ends his call, turning around to you with a smile.

“My ride will be here in about twenty minutes,” he says, following you to the doorstep and sitting down. You sink down next to him, maybe a little bit closer than necessary, but he’s wide and takes up almost the whole door frame. Your cookie dough is still waiting for you, you’ll be playing catch up with your baking for the rest of the morning, but it’ll be worth it. This chaotic, disheveled man has made your morning a lot more exciting than usual and you’re a little bit sad to see him go.

“Here, what you came for,” you say, holding out the plate, and Dieter takes one of the Millionaire’s Shortbread.

“I can’t believe you made these just for me,” he grins and bites into it. You watch his face, this is your favorite part of baking, watching people when they taste the finished thing. And Dieter doesn’t disappoint, he groans, loudly, grabbing onto your arm and leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body reacting to the flavors in his mouth as he chews.

“I Iive here now,” he moans, “I’m giving up my career, I’m going to live in your bakery and pay you to feed me for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head up and takes another big bite of the shortbread, groaning again as he looks at you, his eyebrows pulled together, big brown eyes pleading. “How is this so good?” he moans, his tongue coming out to catch an errant peanut crumb, “you’ve got to taste this.”

He holds up the last bite of the shortbread to you, and you open your mouth, letting him place it between your lips. You feel his fingers brush over them as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to swipe over your bottom lip.

“It’s really good, I’m pretty happy with this,” you say, trying to not chew with your mouth open as Dieter looks at you, his eyes on your lips.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, holding up the plate and Dieter nods fervently and groans again as he takes a bite.

“I can’t decide, this or sex, which is better,” he chuckles, and you nod. You know the cake is good, but you can’t help but wonder if sex with Dieter might not be even better.

You sit side by side in the early morning sunshine, eating the cakes. Dieter soon finishes his second one and cracks the lid on the take away box you’ve given him, sneaking a third one with a childish grin that makes you happy to see.

“Seriously, I live here now, I’m moving in tomorrow,” he mumbles, moaning between bites, leaning on you, his head on your shoulder.

“You do that Dieter, I might even let you lick the bowl once in a while,” you say, patting his messy hair.

“Lick the bowl or lick your bowl, baker girl?” he giggles and you give him a light smack, shaking your head.

“Enough with the porn jokes,” you scold him, no menace to your words, he can hear the smile in your voice and giggles again.

“Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, “Nothing weird, I promise, I’m just really tired suddenly.”

“Ok, sure, but your ride should be here soon.”

“Yeah, I just wanna relax my eyes for a while….” Dieter yawns and slips down the stairs to sit on the last step, hooking his arm around your hips and putting his head on your lap. The warm weight of him on your legs is actually comforting, his arm a steady hold behind you. Without thinking about it you start carding your fingers through his hair, adding to the sticky mess, making it stand on end, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It takes him minutes to fall asleep, a low rumbling snore coming from him.

You keep stroking his head for a few more minutes before you carefully lift his head up and slip out from under him, letting his arm be his pillow. You need to go back to baking, your first customers will be arriving soon and you haven’t even put the cookies in the oven, you want them fresh and warm when the early morning commuters arrive.

Back in the kitchen you quickly scoop the rest of the dough on the trays and get them in the oven and start stocking the display case out front with what’s already done. You’re just sliding the last croissants into the tray when the opening hour strikes and you flip the sign on the front door. You’ve been listening out back for a car to pull up but you haven’t heard anything and once the morning rush starts, you’re swamped and a couple of hours pass before you even realize. When it finally calms down you wipe down the counter and clean your hands before checking out by the back door. It’s still open, but Dieter is gone, as is the take away box, not a trace of your chaotic, magnetic early morning visitor.

Hours later, as you’re about to close up for the day, a delivery van pulls up in front of the shop. A man in a uniform jumps out and comes rushing in with a box and an extravagant bouquet of flowers with a vase. “Delivery for you, miss,” he says, handing you a device to sign your name on, and then the flowers and the box.

“Thanks,” you say but the man is already halfway out the door.

The flowers fill the small shop with their scent, and you place them on the counter, next to the till, stopping to stick your nose into the white lilac and breathing deeply before getting the shop closed up.

You flip the sign and take the box into the kitchen, the back door is still open to let the warm spring air in. Sinking down on the stairs where you sat with Dieter just this morning, you open the box. It contains another box and inside that, a note. But there’s also a mouth watering, rich, smell of pastry and meat coming from the box. Intrigued, you open the lid, only to find a thermal container inside, like a small version of the ones used to keep delivery pizza warm. Inside are six fat, delicious looking sausages rolls. Your stomach gives a hungry grumble and you immediately grab one, laughing as you remember Dieter’s first request this morning; sausage rolls, like the ones he bought in England after party nights.

The sausage roll really is as delicious as it looks and you grab a second one before you pick up the note that came with them.

It's a double folded piece of paper, so thick it almost looks like part of a canvas. On the inside a note is scribbled in a looped, flowing handwriting.

“Next time I’m asking you on a date, baker girl /D”

Part Two

If you want to make Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread, here's the recipe I used.

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fanfiction #a bakers dozen #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fluff #the bubble

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seeingivy · 11 months

Text

miscommunication

roommate eren x f!reader

you and eren get lost in translation

**find the mini-series masterlist here

content: eren kissing ur neck beware, mentions of floch and nifa (trigger warning), MISCOMMUNICATION TROPE (im sorry, normal people is my favorite book and it’s just so much better when they realize it later)

an: this is the worst chapter of roommates. one bc I hate it. two bc its short. three bc I didn’t proofread it. four bc I just needed to establish this part so I can put in some sweet, sweet pining, misunderstanding, pretending like you don’t like each other, angry confession okay??? all in good time just bear with this bad chapter SO I CAN ESTABLISH THE REST OF IT OKAY. also I can’t tell if I overhyped that the next day is bad but I think it kinda sucks but if ur let down let me know :0000

previous part linked here

You and Eren wake up at around three in the morning, when Eren promptly falls off the couch and smacks his head against the coffee table. You’re thrown awake by the absence of his arm around yours and the sound of him hitting the floor, blinking in the dark to find him.

“Ren.”

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you to bed, pretty girl.”

You feel his hands on your shoulders, lifting you up, as he drags you back to your room. You’re still half asleep, blinking your eyes open, as he pushes you into the bathroom. You sit on the toilet seat, holding your head in your hands as you try to pull yourself awake. You can hear him moving around in your room, only to return with a pair of clothes in hand.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Change and we can go to bed.”

You nod, your eyes screwed shut, as you reach forward to take the stack of clothes from him. Before you can,, you feel Eren take your hand, stopping you from moving any further.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I just wanted to look at you again. With the dress on.”

Suddenly, you’re wide awake. You pull your hand back, putting them at your sides as Eren presses his hands to your arms, squeezing twice. He’s staring down at you, his bottle green eyes warm with a tint of tiredness behind them.

The closeness is deafening - every sense of yours is heightened, going haywire. His hands on yours, the remnants of his cologne on his neck, the pit in at the bottom of your stomach igniting. You can barely think straight. You swear his hands are trembling, his fingers feather soft on your arms.

“Something wrong?”

“Shut up, Y/N. I’m trying not to kiss you.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist as you push yourself closer into him. At least you do the same effect on him that he has on you.

“You should just do it then.”

You can feel his laugh vibrating through his chest, his heart pounding against your ear. You can’t help but squeeze tighter - the entire thing, him pressed against you like this - making your heart pound, overstimulating you. You can’t tell if it’s the tiredness or him - maybe a little bit of both that makes your heart rush like this.

“Are you listening?”

“Did you say something?”

You feel his hands reach for the bottom of your chin, lightly guiding your face upwards so he can take a look at you. You can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, at the sight of him looking at you, like that.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Nothing.”

You feel him smiling against your forehead, the air catching in your throat when he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. You can feel him moving, peppering warm kisses along the side of your face, a smile pressed on his, as he moves all the way down to your jawbone. It burns more, his lips in that spot, the way his fingers are pressing into yours.

“Ren.”

He’s still moving lower, his lips ghosting over the side of your neck.

“Are you okay? With this?”

“Y-yeah.”

You can feel him giggling against you, his soft lips on your neck, his arms pushing you into the sink behind you. You can feel your skin shaking, the sensation making the tingling in the pit of your stomach stronger, your skin warm to the touch.

You can feel the breath getting tangled in your throat, panting at the feeling of him on your neck. The second you breathe out, you can feel Eren’s hand firm on your shoulder, him lifting his head off the side of your neck.

“Stop doing that. You’re driving me fucking crazy here.”

“Doing what?”

“Breathing. Like that. All breathy. You know what you’re doing.”

“My bad. I’ll just hold my breath for a really long time.”

He lifts his arms, squishing your face in his hands as he smiles at you. You reach forward, pressing your fingers into the dimples on both sides of his cheeks.

“Okay, kitty. Put your clothes on. We’re going to bed now.”

“Ew.”

You wake up to the sound of your doorbell ringing, the space in your bed next to you empty. You blink your eyes open, spotting the tiny green post-it note left on your pillow. You can recognize Eren’s handwriting scribbled on it immediately. You can tell he was rushing, by the way the letters are sliding off the page

morning sleepyhead. picking up breakfast, be back in 30

You jump out of your bed, pulling on the Eren’s hoodie that was in your room, to answer the door. You’re met with a girl, one you don’t recognize, who's balancing a bright pink box in her hands.

“Ah. Thanks. Here you go.”

She places the box in your hand, moving past you and settling into the kitchen table. She’s got short blonde hair, just around her ears, with pale green eyes. Like Eren’s, but duller. Although you suppose any eyes would be dull compared to Eren’s. To you anyways.

You swear the girl is familiar to you, trying to place where exactly you know her from. You settle down into the seat across from her, folding your hands as you observe her.

“Are you Samuels new girlfriend or something?”

“Uh no. He graduated and moved out. I live here now. I’m Y/N.”

She nods, her head lazily leaning against the back of the chair. She’s tapping her fingertips against the edge of the table, like she’s waiting for something. In your house.

“So where’s Rennie?”

Rennie. Eren. You avoid the burning in your chest, the tightness setting in your jaw.

“He should be back soon. Just groceries. How do you know him?”

“We’re seeing each other. I’m Hitch.”

Hitch. Surely she can’t be the same Hitch, can she? She’s suddenly all too familiar, the realization hitting you - you don’t just know Hitch, you know too much about her. You remember wiping the internet, going on every social media platform you owned, just to find out more about her. To figure out why Nifa, why your friends, had to pick her - as a roommate, friend, person - over you.

You remember it all too well, Nifa awkwardly telling you that she had found another roommate that she was more compatible with for the next semester. That Hitch was a better fit. Floch, telling you that you just weren’t the one for him. And every other little friend you had, telling you that you weren’t special, they didn’t want to be around you, that you were no longer friends.

“You said your name was Y/N? Do you know a Nifa by any chance?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you her roommate?”

“Yeah, just for last year.”

“Still loudly sing in the shower?”

You can feel the back of your throat burning, the implication of the question sticking in your mind. Singing in the shower. She knows you sing in the shower because Nifa told her. Loudly. Like it’s a bad thing.

“I’m kidding!”

Nifa never told you it bothered her. She always thought it was funny, claiming that she had front row seats to our concert. Your concert. Is Eren making fun of you when he talks about your singing?

Right on cue, you can hear Eren jamming his key in the door, swinging it open. He’s balancing the bag of groceries in his right hand and bouquet of orange tulips in the other. He sets the bag on the floor, handing you the tulips, as he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

You lean back, burned by the sensation, as you glance over at Hitch, who's still seated at the table. You can see his eyes get wider, his fists curling at his sides.

“Dreyse. What are you doing here?”

At the sound of his voice, she finally looks back up, a smile spreading across her face as she leans over to hug him. Every part of this feels wrong, your stomach burning at the sight of the two of them in front of you.

“You miss me?”

“Uh. Yeah, but-”

“Perfect. Marlowe’s throwing a party tonight and-”

You set the bouquet of tulips down on the table and pull your shoes on, running straight out of the door. You swear you can hear Eren calling your name as you turn the corner to Armin’s.

“Y/N.”

“Jean, perfect.”

You push past him, padding your way into his apartment. You settle directly on the table, tapping on the top for him to take the sit directly across from you. He looks mildly confused, the toothbrush still lodged in the side of his cheek.

“Why are you here at the ass crack of dawn? And half dressed?”

“It’s nine o’clock. And I have something to ask you.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“What do you know about Hitch? Hitch Dreyse?”

You can see his eyes widen, him automatically reaching to scratch behind his neck. He knows. He has to know.

“Jean.”

“Not much. What do you know about her?”

“Bullshit, Jean. Please.”

“Did you hear about her from someone or something?”

He’s not going to tell you. Not unless you tell him first.

“Okay. Promise you’ll take my side? I know you’re Eren’s friend but you’re my friend too. If there’s something I should know, you should tell me.”

He nods, giving you a weak smile.

“After the concert, Eren and I went home. We kind of…had a moment I’m not really sure.”

“Armin owes me fifty bucks.”

“What?”

“Had a feeling the whole flirting thing was gonna piss Eren off. Bet fifty bucks he would make a move after. Go on.”

“I thought he liked me. But I woke up this morning and Hitch was there and he was gone. She told me that they were seeing each other.”

You can see his muscles pinching, his eyes not meeting yours.

“Eren and Hitch…are complicated. They aren’t seeing each other per say, but they also are?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” “They’re both on the soccer team. During the season, there’s a bunch of parties, pre-games, events that everyone has to go to. There’s this really big banquet at the end, for all the athletes, that’s super fancy and catered and stuff.”

You nod, visibly noticing Jean talking slower, dragging out the story as he goes on.

“Anyways, last year, Eren was really hung up on this girl he was talking to, Historia. He thought it would be embarrassing to show up alone, so he made a deal with Hitch. That they do this, whenever soccer season comes around. She has some guy she’s on and off with.”

“What’s ‘this’? Like they just pretend or?”

“No. You know how Eren is, you spend a lot of time together and it just ends up happening. Doesn’t really mean anything.”

You nod, taking in Jean’s words. You spend a lot of time together and it just ends up happening. It doesn’t really mean anything. Like you and Eren. You can feel the tears spilling out of your eyes, warm and salty as they spread down your cheeks. You feel Jean move to your side, his fingers light on your face as he wipes them away.

The words sink deep into your chest, replacing any warm, soft feeling that was left in your chest, because Eren doesn’t like you. You were just there. You stay there till your tears subside, pressing your fingers into your skin to will the pinkess away. Jean opens the door for you and you amble back into the hallway, making your way back to your apartment.

It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. You can just tell him it didn’t mean anything for you either, so it doesn’t stay awkward between you two. He’s your roommate, nothing more, nothing less. You guys were just messing around, it doesn’t really mean anything.

Eren’s been panicking for a better part of the last thirty minutes. He left - to get you breakfast and that stupid bouquet of tulips to start the morning off right. Instead of finding your stupid, sleepy face snuggled in your bed, he found you in the kitchen, with Hitch settled on the table. That’s the last time he leaves you.

He’d seen your face the second you ran out the door and realized he’d messed up. Horribly. Some part of you looked small, reserved, quiet. Like the first month the two of you lived together, when you avoided him like the plague. Nothing like the girl you were with him, the girl you were for the past few weeks - funny, lively, perfect.

God. He’s so dumb. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. He can just tell you that it’s a dumb deal, that he’ll break it off for you. He doesn’t care if he technically owes it to Hitch because you come first.

He hears your key jamming in the lock, the words on the tip of his tongue as you walk in.

You look different. Dejected. Small. He wants to hold you, just so he can see lines around your eyes when you smile, to reassure him. That you’re okay. So the two of you can go and he can kiss you. Tell you that you mean the world. That you’re the moon, the stars, everything in between.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

He sees you lodge yourself on top of the kitchen counter, farthest away from where he was standing.

“So, we should talk about last night, Eren.”

“Okay. What about it?”

“Just what happened, why it did, so we’re on the same page.”

“Okay.”

So he has to tell you now? What about the day he planned? And the stupid Wordscape he spent six hours coding for you?

“It was a mistake, right?”

Oh. A mistake. You think it’s a mistake. He read you all wrong - the fleeting touches, the shy smiles, the long hugs. He read you all wrong. You’re lovely, in all the best ways, to everyone around you. The things you did for him weren’t special or above anyone else - you were just kind enough to do them for him. Because why would a girl like you like a guy like him?

“Right. Yeah.”

“Okay. Good.”

There’s an awkward silence standing in the air, the two of you looking at each other. He’s ignoring the stinging in his chest, the way his heart is burning, but not the way it did when you smiled at him. You’re ignoring the biting, scathing, sharp feeling growing in you - at the thought of Eren, Hitch, Nifa - all of them tumbling into one.

“Cool. Glad we cleared it up. That we can still be friends.”

“Me too. You know, it happens. We can just keep things the same, like they always were.”

You both turn to the side, the dryness settling in your throat. Eren doesn’t catch you wiping your tears. You don’t catch Eren fighting down his.

Eren doesn’t realize that Hitch was the perfect girl to break you in your stead - the only girl that could make you feel so small, you wouldn’t even think twice about it.

You don’t realize that Jean and Eren aren’t as close as you thought they were, that you were better off asking Armin and Annie, who knew how Eren felt about you.

Things aren’t the same after that.

an, again: ok I promise more fluffy, angsty, pining, romance after this I just needed to word vomit this out LOL I promise next chapter will be longer + better and (hopefully) tomorrow. also like this fully didn’t start with plot and then I had to think of one so pls forgive me

next part linked here

taglist: @maliakealoha @smolone88 @mykyoon @squirrelspoetry @roronoazorosbxtchh @fell-4-u @erensleftnutt @thelazylemur @mg63k @filunara @mblrrr @spidersinmybutthole @lezsie @erensmoodygf @maesthebestmonth @nanamiswife22 @lalalucidity @lapin0u @cullenswife @leafguitar @saiyasworld @rebeccawinters @mrs-sullys-blog @red-moon-dream @icansmellsouls @luvinclouds @katestrophes @amourely @6sakusa @miralbdo @k0z3me @celiniverse @txminie-blog

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happilyhertale · 11 months

Text

Destiny is all - Osferth x female!reader, Part 7

Summary: You are Finan's sister. You live in a village in Scotland, near the border with Northumbria. You lead a quiet life until your brother decides to visit you with his boys and your life changes completely.

Pairing: Osferth x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW

Author’s note: Hey you (:

Now I am finally sharing my little Osferth story with you. The events are a little different from the story in the series. (No, Osferth will not die either). I hope you will enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Dear readers... we all knew this moment would come and now it is here.... This is the last part of this story. Thank you for all the great comments and conversations that have come out of it!!! Much love to you Word count: 2.5 k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6