#felt comfortable enough to make an account
Text
Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc
gif from gabelandeskog
Title: Summer Decisions - Quinn Hughes x ofc
Author: Tory / @tkwrites
Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts
Warnings: Highly emotional, angst. mild fighting, lots of anxiety, swearing, crying, fluff. If I missed anything, please let me know.
Summary: An invitation to his family reunion over the fourth of July has Quinn and Sarah tumbling into a long conversation about their future in the off-season and beyond. Though the ensuing fight is resolved, the reality of their commitments vs. their love for each other is put to the test.
Word Count: 4,600
Comments: I’m back with some highly emotional goodness. This fic was halfway done for a long time until your overwhelming reactions to my WIP ask game really got me in gear to start writing again. I really like the way this turned out, and I hope you do, too. It's, like, 98% dialogue, so if that's not your thing, I won't be offended if you skip this one, but it is setting up all of our off-season fics.
If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.
I love Quinn and Sarah, and I’m constantly blown away that so many of you love them, too.
Summer Decisions
A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot
“My parents want to know if you want to come to our family reunion over the 4th of July. It’s in New Hampshire.”
“Oh,” she said, voice quiet.
“Is that not okay?”
“It’s just a big step,” she said, “meeting your whole family.”
“I’m meeting your family in June, aren’t I?” he asked.
They’d discussed him coming to visit when she went home for a few weeks after school. Were it not for the Canucks making it into the playoffs, she would have bought a ticket for the Monday after her classes would be done. Instead, she pushed her visit back until mid-June, wanting to be in Vancouver to support him through the entirety of their run, however long it may be.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
It was a little strange to her how comfortably serious they were, but she couldn’t imagine life with Quinn any other way. It was that fated belonging she’d talked about so much when they first met. Even still, it was a little jarring to think about him meeting her family or meeting his before they even hit the six month mark.
The phrase, ‘when you know, you know,’ never made sense until she met him. She knew, and even though it felt too fast and scary sometimes, she knew it would all turn out okay.
“So we’ll fly out from Van, what? The night before?”
“I’ll have to fly out from Michigan.”
“Michigan? Why?”
“I thought I told you we train in Michigan in the summer.”
“You did, but I thought… I thought maybe that changed?”
“Why?”
“Because of us?” she gestured between them.
“I mean, I’d love for you to come with me.”
“I can’t do that, Quinn.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t just pack up and move to Michigan. I still have my research work, and if I’m not working or in school for more than 6 weeks in a quarter, it violates my education visa. Not only will I have to move back to the States, I won’t be able to finish my degree.”
“Then I’ll fly you out every weekend.”
Pricked, the old wound split open, and she couldn’t quite hide the annoyance in her voice, “so it’s up to me to fly to you?”
Shit. He hadn’t taken her schedule into account again. “Sorry, no. Of course I’d come here, too.”
The annoyance still fresh in her mind she found herself asking, “why do I have to remind you my time matters for you to take it into account?”
Quinn winced. “I know your time matters. I’m sorry, it’s not fair for me to assume you could just pack up and move or fly out every weekend.”
“Then don’t bring it up again,” she said.
Okay then.
“I’m trying here, Sarah. This is all new to me, too.” He’d never felt close enough with June to figure out a summer situation. They saw each other once or twice when he was gone, and that was enough. Looking back, that should have been a huge sign about the trajectory of their relationship.
“And yet, I assume because I have a vagina, I was raised to take other people into account.”
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“No? Then why do you always jump into me coming to you? Into me changing my plans? Into me inconveniencing my life before you do?”
Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. This was supposed to be a nice, light conversation about how he wanted her to meet everyone he loved.
“Maybe we should just break up for the summer,” she said when he didn’t say anything.
“What? No!” Quinn sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, hurt and disgruntled she would even suggest such a thing.
“What would you suggest, then?”
Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Do you want to date someone else?” His voice was hesitant as he braced himself for the blow.
“No. Of course not.”
“Then why do you want to break up?” he asked through the relief easing his mind. “Why would you even say that?”
“Because we won’t be together.”
“That doesn’t mean we should just call it off. Why do you always jump into ‘we should break up’ or ‘I should go’ when something hard comes up?”
“I…” Sarah broke off, caught. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should figure that out because I’m willing to put in the work here,” he said, gesturing between them.
“That’s not fair.”
He raised his eyebrows instead of throwing her words back in her face.
“I’m sorry, Quinn. I am trying, and I know you’re trying.” Tears pricked at her eyes, “I’ve just…” her mind whirred, trying to find the right explanation. In the end, as it always did with Quinn, the truth won out. “I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up and I don’t want to lose you.”
Bridging the space between them with one big step, he pulled her against him. When they boiled down to the heart of the problem, they were both scared of the same thing.
Tucking his nose into her hair, he breathed in the calming, smokey scent that was uniquely hers. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” he said. “We can still be together. Just separately.”
A laugh snorted from her nose, and she pulled back, “what?”
“Long distance?”
It was Sarah's turn to suck on her lip. “I’ve never done that before.”
“I have. It's not easy. But I think we're both committed enough to make it work. Plus, we'll see each other pretty often.”
She had her thinking face on as a pregnant pause passed, so Quinn didn’t interrupt.
“What would that look like?” she asked, finally.
“We’d talk on the phone and video chat a lot. I can come see you every weekend.”
“That doesn't make sense, Quinn. You go to Michigan to train and be with family. If you're flying back here every weekend, won't that mess with those things?”
“Probably, but —”
“Then it's out of the question. You need to do what you need to do.”
He felt whiplashed. “I thought you wanted me to come here.”
“Only in equal measure to me coming to you. I won’t let you give up your summer training for me.”
It stuck him how much care and understanding were laid out in that statement.
“Just like I know you wouldn’t want me to give up my research for you. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Still wrapped in each others arms, Sarah rested her head on his shoulder as they thought.
Tucking his face into her hair again, Quinn breathed deeply. As always, that smokey, vanilla scent was so calming to him. He couldn’t ever get it out of his mind.
“This fucking sucks,” he said, voice muffled.
“I know,” she agreed. “I wish it could be different."
It couldn’t. They both had commitments that needed to be fulfilled, and they just didn’t match up.
“I wish I’d known. I would have made different plans.”
“How would you have known?” she asked. “We only met four months ago.”
“Has it only been that long?” he asked. The reality of the swiftness of their relationship hit him full force. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
“I know. I do too.”
“I don’t want to go the summer without you,” he said, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“I don’t either,” she agreed, “but it’s not like it’ll be five months where we just don’t see each other.”
“Four,” he corrected.
“What?”
“Four months, I come back in September.”
Well, that was a relief.
“Okay, four months. I mean, we already have stuff planned. Let’s talk through what we do have,” she suggested, breaking away from him all together and pulling her planner from her bag. Flipping to the summer months, she lay it on top of her comparative physiology textbook and sat at the table. The urge to make a plan itched beneath her skin.
He sat next to her, leaning in.
“So we have my family in June,” she said, pointing out the 10 days she had blocked out for her visit, “I sort of expected you’d come on the weekend?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. And our reunion over the forth,” he said, flipping the page. “Then, we’re going to Hawaii at the end of July. You can come. I’ll get you a ticket.”
“Hold on, have you talked to your family about this?”
“No, but it’ll be fine.”
She shook her head.
He couldn’t believe she was turning down the option to spend two more weeks together.
“That’s your family vacation, Quinn. I’d love to come, but I don’t want to go inserting myself —”
“You’re not inserting yourself, I’m inviting you.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t come unless all your family is okay with it. Including Jack.”
Even though Quinn had assured her Jack was a good guy and very devoted to his family and would come around once they met, he was still aloof anytime she happened to be around when he and Quinn were talking. Even Ellen had said as much, but Sarah still felt hesitant. Until she saw it from Jack himself, she wasn’t about to jump into an already planned vacation. She knew what it was like having a new person join the family. She didn’t want to make it any harder than it had to be.
Quinn huffed.
“The last thing I want is to come between you and your brothers,” she said gently.
His expression softened. “Okay. I’ll talk to them about it when they’re here.”
“So, it looks like we’ll see each other every three weeks or so, depending on when you come to Nevada and what Hawaii looks like. At least until August.”
Every three weeks felt like too long. He could hardly stand a week on the road, and they weren’t even living together. Yet.
“I’d like you to come out to Michigan,” he said, “meet the guys. See the house.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “And you can come back here sometime here,” she said, her finger circling over a few weeks in August.
Quinn nodded. It certainly wasn’t going to be easy, but it did feel better to have a plan.
“Are you renting this place out for the summer,” she asked, “while you’re gone?”
“I kind of thought you might move in here.”
“What?”
“I mean, it’s just going to be empty, and I’d really like to live with you when I move back.”
She couldn’t believe he could drop such a huge bomb so easily. As she tried to reconcile what he was saying, she repeated, “what?”
“I mean…” he paused, voice and expression suddenly hesitant, “only if you want to.”
Her brain finally caught up, “it’s not that. It’s just…we haven’t even talked about living together, and now you have this whole plan about how I should live here over the summer.”
“I just thought there’s no real need for you to pay for rent anymore, since you spend so much time here anyway.”
“I…” she was struck with the care in that statement, “that’s really sweet, Quinn.”
He beamed.
“But I can’t live here alone all summer.”
Expression falling, he opened his mouth.
“I just —” she interrupted before she lost her nerve. What was one more in a series of already vulnerable conversations? “I’d love to live here with you, but I can’t…I don’t know how my depression will act up if I live alone for that long. I’ve never lived on my own before, and I don’t think a summer where I’m missing my boyfriend is the best time to start.”
The thought that she’d be here alone hadn’t crossed his mind. Not in a concrete way. Like, he knew she’d be here, and he knew he’d be in Michigan, but he never thought about it like she would be the only one in the apartment.
“Oh,” he whispered, taking her hands in his, “then of course not.”
His immediate acceptance made tears rush to her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked as she took a hand back to wipe her face.
Smiling despite the tears on her cheeks, she shook her head. “I just really love you.” Her voice sounded full, almost like she had a cold.
“I love you, too,” he said, feeling a little confused, “but I don’t know why you’re crying.”
“Just…” How could she explain something like this? “The way you accept and trust my needs. It’s really nice.”
“The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy, Sarah.”
This brought on a new wave of tears, and she tucked her head into his shoulder, trying to pull herself together.
Quinn still felt a little whiplashed but tried to roll with it, running a soothing hand over her back.
“What?” he asked when she mumbled something into his shirt.
Pulling back, she wiped her nose before repeating, “I’ll have to sign a new lease. It comes up in July.”
“I’ll buy you out of it,” he said as if it was the simplest, easiest solution to any of the problems they’d discussed that day.
“I can’t let you do that, Quinn. That’s a lot of money.”
Her eyes went wide. They’d never discussed money so concretely. She knew he made big bucks. All pro athletes did, but, “eight million?” she asked. “What do you do with it?”
He hated having this conversation, but it needed to be had. It was actually a little surprising to him that it’d taken this long for it to come up. June had asked him about it a month into dating.
“Sarah, I make eight million dollars a year. I can buy out your lease.”
“I have a financial advisor who’s helped me invest most of it,” he said, “and I don’t really have all eight million available all the time. But I paid off my parents and some of our families’ houses, and I give quite a bit to charity.”
She’d seen the way he was with money. He never worried about it, but he certainly didn’t throw it at anything and everything. He wasn’t irresponsible.
Opening her mouth to say something, she found her mind still reeling and closed it again.
The annoyed look he would give her when she paid the dinner bill flashed in her mind. No wonder. He made so much more than she did. All the same, she wasn’t about to become some sugar baby. That went against nearly everything her parents had taught her.
“I still want to pull my weight,” she said.
Quinn was a little taken aback by the fierceness in her voice, “what?”
“If we move in together, I still want to pull my weight.”
His lips pursed, and he held back his initial response in favor of gathering more information. “What do you mean?”
“Like, if I make $80,000 a year, I want to pay whatever percentage that is of what you make.”
“You only make $80,000 a year?” he asked.
“No. Right now, I make $50,000 a year from my research stipend. It pays for my schooling, too, so it’s technically more, but $80,000 is a general base salary for a marine zoologist.”
“You’ve been living on $50,000 a year?”
“Yes, and I’ve been fine,” she said, giving him a look that stifled any follow-up questions he may have had. “My point is that if —” she paused to correct herself, “when we live together,” he beamed and she lost her thought for a moment before continuing, “I want to pull my weight, even if it is just a small percentage of the household. I don’t want to be some beholden trophy wife.”
“Beholden?” he repeated, an amused smile playing on his lips.
“Yes, I don’t want to be some kept woman. A lot of financial advisors that I listen to say you should split the household and each pay the percentage compared to your salaries. How much do you pay here a month? Do you rent? Is it a mortgage?”
“It’s a rental. It’s not really smart for me to buy a place when there’s a chance I may get traded in three years. It’s not enough time to build adequate equity on a home.”
Sarah stuck a mental pin in that to come back to, “and how much is your rent?”
“12,000.”
“A year?” she found herself asking, even though she knew that couldn’t possibly be the answer.
“A month,” he said with an indulgent smile, knowing it was her shock speaking more than anything else.
She wasn’t quite sure why, but this fact struck Sarah harder than anything else they’d talked about. She knew she’d never be able to afford an apartment like this on her own, but this was insane. More than a fifth of her yearly salary went to Quinn’s rent each month. She counted herself lucky to find a private room for under $2000.
“Okay, so if I make,” she paused, doing mental calculations - moving decimal points. Her voice was flat when she spoke again, “one percent of what you do…” She trailed off, looking into his face, “Quinn, this is insane.”
“I know,” he agreed. “I’m happy to just pay, but if you would feel better paying whatever, I’m happy for you to do that, too.”
“So, I’d pay one percent of the household expenses.” Saying it out loud, it sounded so silly. One percent? That seemed minuscule, too insignificant to matter. “Maybe I could pay ten percent? One feels too tiny.”
“Sure,” Quinn said, knowing this was important to her. Unless she was storming in, trying to take over all the bills, he was happy to have her contribute in whatever way she wanted. “If you want to do that, let’s do that. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
They sat quietly for a moment, and he gathered his thoughts.
“I know it’s important to you to contribute,” Quinn said gently, “and I’m not saying you shouldn’t - but I just want you to know I’m happy to pay for things. I know I’m insanely blessed to make the kind of money I do to play a sport that I love. I’d really, really like to live together once I move back. So if that means I need to buy out your lease, I’m happy to do it if you’re comfortable with that.”
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she thought. If Quinn paid off her lease, she wouldn’t have to put off moving in with him or live on her own in this giant apartment or find a place to live for the two months between when he was home and when her lease was up.
She wondered if this was one of those instances her grandmother often talked about. “Sometimes,” she would say while they were cleaning the basement or kneading dough, or working in the garden, “life showers you with blessings. And it’s up to you to catch them.”
She always accompanied this wisdom by shaping her hands into a bowl as if to fill them with water.
Sarah did the same now, pulling her other hand out of Quinns to cup them together.
Eyebrows knitted together, he glanced from her hands to her face.
She giggled and told him the story.
“I should start doing that every morning,” he said, cupping his own hands together.
“Every morning?” she repeated.
“Well, every morning that you’re here. When I wake up next to you, I feel like the luckiest guy alive.”
Despite it being incredibly cheesy, Sarah couldn’t help feeling moved. “Quinn that’s really sweet,” she said. “I feel like that, too,” she paused, feeling like she needed to add a caveat. “And I want you to know your money isn’t part of that. I would love you no matter how much money you were making.”
“I know,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips over hers, “I’ve known that from the start.”
His hands found her waist as their lips connected.
A while later, that pin she’d stuck in for later snapped back into her mind, and Sarah pulled away. “What did you mean about getting traded?”
Well, they might as well have all the hard conversations all at once. “I’m in contract for the next three years, but after that, or even before, there’s always a chance I could get traded.”
The trade deadline had already passed for the season, and Sarah had watched, fascinated, as players were moved around from club to club, like pieces on a chess board as organizations tried to build the best teams possible. Now, she had a new level of understanding, knowing lives and families were being uprooted in the process.
“But they love you here.”
His smile was wide and genuine, “I love it here, too. I don’t really expect I’d be traded anytime soon, but I can’t say never with what I do. I could get seriously injured, or my game could crash.”
She gave him an incredulous look.
“Its happened before.”
“To you?”
“No, but it has to people I know. I really like it here, but I can’t guarantee I’ll play here forever, or even for the next three years. I think I will, but I can’t say for certain.”
“What happens if you get traded while I’m still finishing my degree?”
“I don’t think that will happen, but I guess we’d make it work apart until you were done. Most players get traded right at the end of their contract, so we’d be apart for the rest of the season, and then we’d decide what to do moving forward. If I was moving clubs by choice, we’d decide where to go together. ”
She nodded. “Do you get any say in trades?”
“I think I probably would, but it doesn’t always work out that way. I mean, Bo had a monster year last season, but they couldn’t come to an agreement, and so he got traded, and I know he would have liked to stay. It’s just never guaranteed.”
“How do you live your life like this?” she asked.
He shrugged, “you just kind of have to get used to the idea that things could change tomorrow.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
The concerns his parents had expressed when they were here snapped into place, and a sudden, consuming worry that she might not want this kind of life overwhelmed him.
“Are you,” he paused to lick his lips, trying to find the right phrasing, “I mean, do you think you could be okay with that?”
Even as it was racing with anxiety, the worried look on his face melted Sarah’s heart. It was difficult to reconcile the fact that while it felt steady now, his life had the possibility of being in flux all the time, and that where he chose to work was only partially up to him. At the same time, she didn’t want to be without him. The pull between them was too strong, too fated in a way she couldn’t deny. She was too in love with him to be scared of the reality of his life.
There was only one thing for it. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I think I can,” she said. Perhaps this wasn’t even something she needed to be worried about. Thoughts buzzing, she tried to think of players on Quinn’s level who’d been traded recently. She couldn’t remember any off the top of her head. She’d have to look it up.
He gave her a relieved smile, and she saw moisture shining in his eyes.
“Oh, Quinn,” she said, her hands coming up to cup his face. The course hairs of his beard tickled her palms. “I think I’d probably move to the ends of the earth with you.” The words just fell out of her mouth, and once they were out there, spoken aloud for everyone to hear, she realized how true they were. For someone so practical, it was strange for her to have such a frivolous thought mean so much.
His face split into a beaming smile, and he pulled her into a hug. Tucking his nose into her hair again, he let a few grateful tears fall. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he said.
“I don’t know either.”
A sudden, surprised laugh barked from his chest, and he pulled back with a raised brow.
“Oh no,” her hand went to her mouth as a blush blazed over her cheeks. “I meant that I feel the same way.” Shaking her head, she wondered if she had ever said something so stupid. “You’re the most understanding, accepting man I’ve ever met, Quinn. I’m so glad the Universe brought us together.”
He nodded, “me too.”
Looking into his eyes, which seemed more hazel than usual to the point that she could almost see a ring of green near the iris, the reality of what was coming hit her square in the chest, “this summer is gonna fucking suck.”
“I know,” he said, pulling her into his lap.
Arms around his shoulders to bring herself closer, her feet hung awkwardly off the sides of the chair. Though she knew her toes would be tingling from lack of blood flow within a matter of minutes, she didn’t readjust, savoring the feeling of his solid chest against hers.
The deep breath she sighed out moved her whole body against his. “We’ll get through it together, right?”
Tightening his grip, Quinn agreed.
As the minutes passed, his hands traveled over her back in slow, calming waves that put her totally at ease.
“Do you have homework?” he asked quietly, almost as if he didn’t want to hear the question himself.
“Yeah, but it can wait a while.”
A pleased little hum filtered up his throat, and he pulled her tighter against him.
“Can we move to the couch, though?” she asked. “My feet are falling asleep.”
Laughing, he stood, hands cradling her butt to keep her wrapped around him. When she hooked her ankles around his back, Quinn filed the position away to try later.
Halfway up the stairs, Sarah unwound herself from him. Sure, he was an athlete, but carrying her up the stairs was still taking a toll.
She lay down on the suede couch and held her arms open for him. He gratefully lay on top of her, his head on her chest.
Running her fingers through his hair, Sarah replayed their relationship in her mind. Knowing what she knew now, both about Quinn’s celebrity status and his quiet nature, the fact that he came up to her at all was a miracle. He could have any woman in the city, and he’d stuck his neck out for her. It was overwhelming to think about sometimes. She hoped she was living up to his expectations.
Half an hour later, Quinns phone chirped with a notification, bringing them out of their sleepy reverie. By that time, they’d switched places, and Sarah was draped over him.
“It’s 6,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve got to get up to make dinner.”
Even as she whined, Sarah pushed herself up. This soft, caring version of Quinn was always her favorite, and she didn’t want to let him go. “I love you,” she said, looking down at him.
“I love you, too,” he said, standing and hugging her to him again before they had to get back to real life.
Her arms tightened around him. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, Quinn Hughes, but I’m so glad you’re mine.”
Tucking his face into her neck, he pressed a few soft kisses there before telling her, “Sarah Roberts, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist
To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist
#quinn & sarah snapshots#quinn hughes#quinn hughes fic#quinn hughes fanfiction#quinn hughes imagine#quinn hughes x oc#quinn hughes fanfic#quinn hughes oneshot#nhl fanfiction#nhl imagine#hockey romance#hockey fanfiction#hockey fic#qh43
156 notes
·
View notes
Text
All of Elain mentions in Acosf 🌸
True hell, because that was Elain lying on the stone floor with the red-haired, one-eyed Fae male hovering over her. Because those were pointed ears poking through her sister’s sodden gold-brown hair, and an immortal glow radiating from Elain’s fair skin.
***
And the sound of that voice, the voice of the male who had done this to Elain …
***
The King of Hybern—he had done this. To Elain. To Cassian.
***
The Cauldron struggled like a bird under a cat’s paw. She refused to relent.
Everything it had stolen from her, from Elain, she would take from it.
***
Prologue
🌸
He sketched a bow, not daring to take his eyes off her. She’d emerged from the Cauldron with … gifts. Considerable gifts—dark ones. But no one had seen nor felt any sign of them since that last battle with Hybern, since Amren had shattered the Cauldron and Feyre and Rhys had managed to heal it. Elain, too, had revealed no indication of her seer’s abilities since then.
***
Feyre and Elain had tried to convince her to move. She’d always ignored their advice. Just as she’d ignore whatever was said today. She knew Feyre planned a scolding. Perhaps something to do with the fact that Nesta had signed last night’s outrageous tab at the tavern to her sister’s bank account.
***
It was the King of Hybern’s fault. She knew that. But it was hers, too. Just as it was her fault that Elain had been captured by the Cauldron after Nesta spied on it with that scrying, her fault that Hybern had done such terrible things to hunt her and her sister down like a deer.
***
Cassian held her gaze as he stalked for her, then reached out an arm—
And plucked the cerulean-and-cream scarf Elain had given her for her birthday this spring off the hook on the wall. He gripped it in his fist, dangling it like a strangled snake as he brushed past her.
***
Even their gods-damned father had a portrait on the wall along one side of the grand staircase: him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit. Sitting on a stone bench amid bushes bursting with pink and blue hydrangea. The formal gardens of their first home, that lovely manor near the sea. Nesta and their mother were nowhere in sight.
That was how it had been, after all: Elain and Feyre doted on by their father. Nesta prized and trained by their mother.
***
Like Nesta, Amren did not possess court-specific magic related to the High Fae. It didn’t make her influence in this court any less mighty. Nesta’s own High Fae powers had never materialized—she had only what she’d taken from the Cauldron, rather than letting it deign to gift her with power, as it had with Elain. She had no idea what she’d ripped from the Cauldron while it had stolen her humanity from her—but she knew they were things she did not and would never wish to understand, to master. The very thought had her stomach churning.
***
Where the hell was Elain?
***
Chapter 1
🌸
Rhys had laid a comforting hand on Feyre’s, squeezing gently before he looked at Azriel, and then Cassian, and laid out his plan. As if he’d had it waiting a long, long while.
Elain had walked in halfway through. She’d been toiling in the estate gardens since dawn, and had been solemn as Rhys filled her in. Feyre had been unable to say a word. But Elain’s gaze remained steady as she listened to Rhys.
***
Amren had suggested a few days in a dungeon in the Hewn City, but Feyre had simply said that the human world would be more than enough of a prison for someone like Nesta.
Someone like Feyre, too. And Elain.
All three sisters were now High Fae with considerable powers, though only Feyre’s were let loose. Even Amren had no idea whether Elain’s and Nesta’s powers remained. The Cauldron had granted them unique powers, different from other High Fae: the gift of sight to the former, and the gift of … Cassian didn’t know what to call Nesta’s gift. Didn’t know whether it was a gift at all—or something she had taken. The silver fire, that sense of death looming, the raw power he’d witnessed as it blasted into the King of Hybern. Whatever it was, it existed beyond the usual array of High Fae gifts.
***
“Elain needs to be able to see me—”
“Elain agreed to this hours ago. She’s currently packing your things. They’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.”
Nesta recoiled.
Feyre didn’t relent. “Elain knows how to contact you. If she wishes to visit you at the House of Wind, she is free to do so. One of us will gladly take her up there.”
***
Feyre toyed with her silver-and-star-sapphire wedding ring. “I told you: it wasn’t that I didn’t care. We—everyone, I mean—had multiple conversations about this. About you. We— I decided that giving you time and space would be best.”
“And what did Elain have to say about it?” Part of her didn’t want to know.
Feyre’s mouth tightened. “This isn’t about Elain. And last I checked, you barely saw her, either.”
Nesta hadn’t realized they were paying such close attention.
She’d never explained to Feyre—had never found the words to explain—why she’d put such distance between them all. Elain had been stolen by the Cauldron and saved by Azriel and Feyre. Yet the terror still gripped Nesta, waking and asleep: the memory of how it had felt in those moments after hearing the Cauldron’s seductive call and realizing it had been for Elain, not for her or Feyre. How it had felt to find Elain’s tent empty, to see that blue cloak discarded.
Things had only gotten worse from there.
You have your lives, and I have mine, she’d said to Elain last Winter Solstice. She’d known how deeply it would wound her sister. But she couldn’t bear it—the bone-deep horror that lingered. The flashes of that discarded cloak or the Cauldron’s chill waters or Cassian crawling toward her or her father’s neck snapping—
Feyre said carefully, “For what it’s worth, I was hoping you’d turn yourself around. I wanted to give you space to do it, since you seem to lash out at everyone who comes close enough, but you didn’t even try.”
***
“The others are waiting,” Feyre said. “Elain should be done by now.”
“I want to talk to her.”
“She’ll come visit when she’s ready.”
Nesta held her sister’s stare.
Feyre’s eyes gleamed. “You think I don’t know why you’ve pushed even Elain away?”
Nesta didn’t want to talk about it. About the fact that it had always been her and Elain. And, somehow, now it had become Feyre and Elain instead. Elain had chosen Feyre and these people, and left her behind. Amren had done the same. She’d made it clear on the barge.
Nesta didn’t care that during the war with Hybern, her own tentative bond had formed with Feyre, forged over common goals: protect Elain, save the human lands. They were excuses, Nesta had realized, to paper over what now boiled and raged in her heart.
Nesta didn’t bother replying, and Feyre didn’t speak again as she departed.
There was nothing to bind them together anymore.
***
Chapter 2
🌸
“Did you keep those fighting leathers from the war?” Cassian said to Nesta by way of greeting as he stalked into the entry hall. “You’ll need them tomorrow.”
“I made sure Elain packed them for her,” Feyre replied from her perch on the stairs, not looking at her stiff-backed sister standing at their base. He wondered if his High Lady had noticed the disappearing servants yet.
***
Nesta shoved out of his grip the moment her feet hit the worn stones. Cassian let her, folding his wings and lingering by the rail, all of Velaris glittering below and beyond him.
She’d spent weeks here last year—during that terrible period after being turned Fae, begging Elain to demonstrate any sign of wanting to live. She’d barely slept for fear of Elain walking off this veranda, or leaning too far out of one of the countless windows, or simply throwing herself down those ten thousand stairs.
***
She wouldn’t have cared where she stayed, except for the convenience of the small, private library also on her level. Which had been the place where she’d discovered those smutty books, as Cassian called them. She’d devoured a few dozen of them during those weeks she’d first been here, desperate for any lifeline to keep her from falling apart, from bellowing at what had been done to her body, her life—to Elain. Elain, who would not eat, or speak, or do anything at all.
Elain, who had somehow become the adjusted one.
***
She had nowhere to go. Elain, mourn as she might for the life she would have had with Graysen, had found a place, a role here. Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens—she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. But those things had always come easily to her sister. Had always made Elain special.
Had made Nesta fight like hell to keep Elain safe at all costs.
***
It wasn’t until the sound faded completely that she took in the room before her, unchanged since she’d last been in it, the connecting door to Elain’s old suite now sealed shut.
***
Chapter 3
🌸
Mor took another bite from her pastry. “Lucien can’t be entirely trusted anymore.”
Cassian started. “What?”
“Even with Elain here, he’s become close with Jurian and Vassa. He’s voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend.”
***
My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.
***
Chapter 4
🌸
A brutish male face grinning as he anticipated the trophy that would be pulled forth—
She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t save Elain, sobbing on the floor. Couldn’t save herself. No one was coming to rescue her, and these males would do what they wanted, and her body was not her own, not human—not for much longer—
***
Chapter 6
🌸
“No healer can repair them?”
Her face tightened, and Nesta regretted her question. “It is extremely complex—all the connecting muscles and nerves and senses. Short of the High Lord of Dawn, I’m not certain anyone could handle it.” Thesan, Nesta recalled, was a master of healing—Feyre bore his power in her veins. Had offered to use it to heal Elain from her stupor after being turned High Fae.
Nesta blocked out the memory of that pale face, the empty brown eyes.
***
Chapter 9
🌸
Elain had been stolen. By Hybern. By the Cauldron, which had seen Nesta watching it and watched her in turn. Had noted her scrying with bones and stones and made her regret it.
She had done this. Brought this upon them. Touching her power, wielding it, had done this, and she would never forgive herself, never—
Elain would surely be tormented, ripped apart body and soul.
***
Chapter 10
🌸
“I don’t understand why you two can’t just …” He struggled for the right word.
“Get along? Be civil? Smile at each other?” Feyre’s laugh was hollow. “It’s always been that way.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. I mean, it was always that way with us, and our mother. She only had an interest in Nesta. She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.” Resentment and long-held pain laced every word. That a mother would do such a thing to her children … “But when we fell into poverty, when I started hunting, it got worse. Our mother was gone, and our father wasn’t exactly present. He wasn’t fully there. So it was me and Nesta, always at each other’s throats.” Feyre rubbed her face. “I’m too exhausted to go over every detail. It’s all just a tangled mess.”
***
Chapter 11
🌸
“I took dancing lessons as a girl.”
“Really?”
“We weren’t always poor. Until I was fourteen, my father was as rich as a king. They called him the Prince of Merchants.”
He gave her a tentative smile. “And you were his princess?”
Ice cracked through her. “No. Elain was his princess. Even Feyre was more his princess than I ever was.”
***
Chapter 14
🌸
“My other sister, Elain—we were forced into the Cauldron and turned High Fae.” Nesta swallowed again. “It … imparted some of itself to me.”
***
Chapter 15
🌸
At night, exhaustion weighed so heavily she could barely eat and bathe before tumbling into bed. Barely read a chapter of a book before her eyelids drooped. She’d found a smutty novel she’d already read and loved in one of the trunks Elain had packed, and had laid it on the desk.
***
Elain was in the private library.
Nesta knew it before she’d cleared the stairs, covered in dust from the library.
Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber.
Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves. Nesta knew she herself had looked like that at one point, even if Elain’s breasts had always been smaller.
She peered down at herself, bony and gangly. Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health.
Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.”
Someone had brought Elain here, since there was no way in hell she had climbed those ten thousand steps.
Nesta didn’t return her sister’s smile, but rather gestured to her body, the leathers, the dust. “I’ve been busy.”
“You look a little better than you did a few weeks ago.”
The last time she’d seen Elain—a week before she’d come to the House. She’d passed her sister in the bustling market square they called the Palace of Bone and Salt, and though Elain had halted, no doubt intending to speak to her, Nesta had kept walking. Hadn’t looked back before vanishing into the throng. Nesta didn’t wish to consider how poorly she’d looked then, if the picture she presented now was better.
“You’ve got good coloring, I mean,” Elain clarified, striding from the windows to cross the room. She stopped a few feet away. As if holding herself back from the embrace she might have given.
Like Nesta was some sort of disease-ridden leper.
How many times had they been in this room during those initial months? How many times had it been this way, only with their positions switched? Elain had been the ghost then, too thin, with her thoughts turned inward.
Somehow, Nesta had become the ghost.
Worse than a ghost. A wraith, whose rage and hunger were bottomless, eternal.
Elain had only needed time to adjust. But Nesta knew she herself needed more than that.
“Are you enjoying your time up here?”
Nesta met her sister’s warm brown eyes. When human, Elain had easily been the prettiest of the three of them, and when she’d been turned High Fae, that beauty had been amplified. Nesta couldn’t put her finger on what changes had been wrought beyond the pointed ears, but Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.
It was always that way between them: Elain, sweet and oblivious, and Nesta, the snarling wolf at her side, poised to shred anyone who threatened her.
Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mother’s gold-brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match.
Nesta had been twelve at the time. Elain barely eleven.
She’d absorbed every word of her mother’s scheming, plans for futures that had never come to pass.
We shall have to petition your father to go to the continent when the time is right, her mother had often said. There are no men here worthy of either of you. Feyre hadn’t even been considered at that point, a sullen, strange child whom her mother ignored. Human royalty rules there still—lords and dukes and princes—but their wealth is tapped out, many of their estates nearing ruin. Two beautiful ladies with a king’s fortune could go far.
I might marry a prince? Nesta had asked. Her mother had only smiled.
Nesta shook her head clear of the memories and said at last, “I don’t have any choice but to be here, so I don’t see how I could be enjoying myself.”
Elain wrung her slender fingers, nails kept trimmed short for her work in the gardens. “I know the circumstances for your coming here were awful, Nesta, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so miserable about it.”
“I sat by your side for weeks,” Nesta said flatly. “Weeks, while you wasted away, refusing food and drink. While you appeared to hope you’d just wither and die.”
Elain flinched. But Nesta couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “No one suggested you either shape up or be shipped back to the human lands.”
Elain, surprisingly, held her ground. “I wasn’t drinking myself into oblivion and—and doing those other things.”
“Fucking strangers?”
Elain flinched again, her face coloring.
Nesta snorted. “You’re living amongst beings who have none of our human primness, you know.” Elain squared her shoulders again, just as Nesta added, “It’s not like you and Graysen didn’t act on your feelings.”
It was a low blow, but Nesta didn’t care. She knew Elain had given her maidenhead to Graysen a month before they’d been turned Fae. Elain had been glowing the next morning.
Elain cocked her head. Didn’t dissolve into the crying mess she usually became when Graysen came up. Instead she said, “You’re angry with me.”
Fine, then. She could be direct, too. Nesta shot back, “For packing my things while Rhysand and Feyre told me I’m a worthless pile of shit? Yes.”
Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”
The words struck Nesta like a slap. They’d spoken of her, her behavior, her attitude. Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.
It was inevitable, Nesta supposed, stomach churning. She was the monster. Why shouldn’t the two of them band together and shove her out? Even if she’d foolishly believed that Elain had always seen every horrible part of her and decided to stick by her anyway.
“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”
Elain had chosen Feyre, chosen her perfect little world. Amren hadn’t been any different. Nesta’s spine stiffened. “There is nothing to explain.”
Elain held up her hands. “We did this because we love you.”
“Spare me the bullshit, please.”
Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness. “It’s the truth. We did this because we love you, and worry for you, and if Father were here—”
“Don’t ever mention him.” Nesta bared her teeth, but kept her voice low. “Never fucking mention him again.”
She forbade her leash to slip completely. But she felt it—the stirring of that terrible beast inside her. Felt its power surge, blazing yet cold. She lunged for it, shoving it down, down, down, but it was too late. Elain’s gasp confirmed that Nesta’s eyes had gone to silver fire, as Cassian had described it.
But Nesta smothered the fire in her darkness, until she was cold and empty and still once more.
Pain slowly washed over Elain’s face. And understanding. “Is that what this is all about? Father?”
Nesta pointed to the door, finger shaking with the effort of keeping that writhing power at bay. Each word from Elain’s mouth threatened to undo her restraint. “Get out.”
Silver lined Elain’s eyes, but her voice remained steady, sure. “There was nothing that could have been done to save him, Nesta.”
The words were kindling. Elain had accepted his death as inevitable. She hadn’t bothered to fight for him, as if he hadn’t been worth the effort, precisely as Nesta knew she herself wasn’t worth the effort.
This time, Nesta didn’t stop the power from shining in her eyes; she shook so violently she had to fist her hands. “You tell yourself there’s nothing that could have been done because it’s unbearable to think that you could have saved him, if you’d only deigned to show up a few minutes earlier.” The lie was bitter in her mouth.
It wasn’t Elain’s fault their father had died. No, that was entirely Nesta’s own fault. But if Elain was so determined to root out the good in her, then she’d show her sister how ugly she could be. Let a fraction of this agony rip into her.
This was why Elain had chosen Feyre. This.
Feyre had rescued Elain time and again. But Nesta had sat by, armed only with her viper’s tongue. Sat by while they starved. Sat by when Hybern stole them away and shoved them into the Cauldron. Sat by when Elain had been kidnapped. And when their father had been in Hybern’s grip, she had done nothing, nothing to save him, either. Fear had frozen her, blanketing her mind, and she’d let it do so, let it master her, so that by the time her father’s neck had snapped, it had been too late. And entirely her fault.
Why wouldn’t Elain choose Feyre?
Elain stiffened, but refused to balk from whatever she beheld in Nesta’s gaze. “You think I’m to blame for his death?” Challenge filled each word. Challenge—from Elain, of all people. “No one but the King of Hybern is to blame for that.” The quaver in her voice belied her firm words.
Nesta knew she’d hit her mark. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t continue. Enough. She had said enough.
That fast, the power in her receded, vanishing into smoke on the wind. Leaving only exhaustion weighing her bones, her breath. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.”
Even during their squabbles in the cottage, fighting over who got clothes or boots or ribbons, it had never been like this. Those fights had been petty, born of misery and discomfort. This was a different beast entirely, from a place as dark as the gloom at the base of the library.
Elain headed for the doors, purple dress sweeping behind her. “Cassian said he thought the training was helping,” she murmured, more to herself than to Nesta.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Nesta slammed the doors so hard they rattled.
Silence filled the room.
She didn’t twist toward the windows to see who might fly past with Elain, who’d be witness to the tears Elain would likely shed.
Nesta slid into one of the armchairs before the unlit fireplace and stared at nothing.
She didn’t stop the wolves when they gathered around her again, hateful, razor-sharp truths on their red tongues. She didn’t stop them as they began to rend her apart.
***
When Elain burst into the dining room of the House, Cassian and Rhys were shaking off the frigid air that had been howling through Windhaven.
Her brown eyes were bright with tears, but she kept her chin high.
“I want to go home,” she said, voice wobbling slightly.
***
Cassian cast the memory aside as Rhys surveyed Elain, his violet-blue eyes missing nothing. “What happened.”
When Rhys spoke like that, it was more of a command than a question.
Elain waved a hand in dismissal before flinging open the veranda doors and striding into the open air.
“Elain,” Rhys said as he and Cassian trailed her into the dying light.
Elain stood by the rail, the breeze caressing her hair. “She’s not getting any better. She’s not even trying.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stared toward the distant sea.
Rhys turned to him, his face grave. Feyre warned her.
Cassian swore softly. Nesta is making progress—I know she is. Something set her off. He added, because Rhys was still looking like cold death personified, It’ll take time. Maybe no more visits from her sisters, for the time being. At least not without her permission. He didn’t want to isolate Nesta. Not at all. If Elain wants to see her again, let me ask Nesta first.
***
Rhys held his stare, the inherent dominance in it like the force of a tidal wave. But Cassian weathered it. Let it wash past him. Then Rhys shook his head and said to Elain, “I’ll fly you home.”
Elain didn’t object when Rhys scooped her up and launched into the red-and-pink-stained sky.
When they were a speck of black and purple over the rooftops, Rhys sweeping along the gilded river as if giving Elain a scenic tour, then and only then did Cassian enter the House.
***
His heart thundered, his chest heaving as if he’d run a mile. “What did you say to Elain?”
She leaned forward to peer at him. Then rose to her feet, a pillar of steel and flame, her lips curling back from her teeth. “Of course you’d assume I’m the one at fault.” She prowled closer, her eyes burning with cold fire. “Always defending sweet, innocent Elain.”
He crossed his arms, letting her get as close to him as she wanted. Like hell would he yield one step to her. “I’ll remind you that you’ve been the chief defender of sweet, innocent Elain until recently.” He’d witnessed her go toe to toe with Fae capable of slaughtering her without giving it a thought, all for her sister.
***
Chapter 17
🌸
“What did Elain say to you?”
She couldn’t revisit that conversation, couldn’t talk about her father or his death or any of it. So she shut her heavy eyes. “Why don’t they sign up for training?”
***
Chapter 18
🌸
Azriel chuckled, shadows skittering. “Did you listen at all last night?”
“No.”
“At least you’re honest.” Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”
“Because of the shit with Elain?”
Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”
Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.”
“It’s about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there.”
“It’s bad, then.” Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?”
His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.
Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn’t push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up.
***
Chapter 19
🌸
Nesta said nothing, unable to speak with the churning in her stomach. Who would be here? Which of them would she have to face, to endure them judging her so-called progress? They’d probably all heard of her fight with Elain—gods, would Elain be present?
***
Rhys and Feyre sat on the sapphire couch before the window. Azriel leaned against the mantel. Amren had curled herself into an armchair, bundled in a gray fur coat, as if the nip in the air today were a blast of winter. No Elain, no Morrigan.
***
“But Briallyn is Made,” Amren said. Nesta’s mouth again went dry. “When Briallyn was Made, it likely removed from her the Dread Trove’s glamour, for lack of a better term. Recognized her as kin. Where she might have glanced over a mention of the items before and never thought twice, now it stuck. Or perhaps called to her, presented itself in a dream.”
All of them, all at once, looked at Nesta.
“You,” Amren said quietly, “are the same. So is Elain.”
***
Cassian shifted in his seat. “So we track down the Dread Trove—how?”
Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, “Using me.”
***
Chapter 20
🌸
Nesta’s head went silent as Elain’s words finished sounding in the room. Feyre had twisted in her seat, face white with alarm.
Nesta shot to her feet. “No.”
Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”
“The last time we involved ourselves with the Cauldron, it abducted you,” Nesta countered, fighting her shaking. She found the words, the weapons she sought. “I thought you didn’t have powers anymore.”
Elain pursed her lips. “I thought you didn’t, either.”
Nesta’s spine straightened. No one spoke, but their attention lingered on her like a film on her skin. “You will not go looking for it.”
Amren said coolly, “So you look for it, girl.”
Nesta turned to the small female. “I don’t know how to find anything.”
“Like calls to like,” Amren countered. “You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well, as Briallyn can. And because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.” A glance to Elain. “Either of you.”
Nesta swallowed. “I can’t.” But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety—
Amren said, “You tracked the Cauldron—”
“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.”
Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.”
“Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”
“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.”
Feyre said, “It is Elain’s choice, Nesta.”
Nesta whirled on her, ignoring the warning flicker of primal wrath in Rhys’s stare. “Keep out of this,” she hissed at her youngest sister. “I have no doubt you put these thoughts in her head, probably encouraging her to throw herself into harm’s way—”
Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.”
Nesta’s pulse pounded throughout her body. “Do you not remember the war? What we encountered? Do you not remember the Cauldron kidnapping you, bringing you into the heart of Hybern’s camp?”
“I do,” Elain said coldly. “And I remember Feyre rescuing me.”
Roaring erupted in Nesta’s head.
For a heartbeat, it appeared that Elain might say something to soften the words. But Nesta cut her off, seething at the pity about to be thrown her way. “Look who decided to grow claws after all,” she crooned. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”
Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.
Elain’s eyes brightened with pain. Something imploded in Nesta’s chest at that expression. She opened her mouth, as if it could somehow be undone. But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”
Nesta blinked, everything inside her hollowing out.
But Elain turned on her heel. “Find me when you wish to begin.” The doors shut behind her.
Every awful word Nesta had spoken hung in the air, echoing.
Feyre said to her, gratingly gentle, “It wasn’t an easy choice for me to ask Elain to endanger herself like this.”
Nesta twisted to Feyre. “Can’t you find the Trove?” She hated each cowardly word, hated the fear in her heart, hated that in merely asking, she’d exposed her preference for Elain.
***
Nesta said to Feyre, “Did you tell Elain?”
Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”
Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”
***
Rhys winked at her. Feyre rolled her eyes. But then she said to Nesta, “Elain will need time to dust off her powers to try to See the Trove. But you, Nesta … You could scry again.”
***
“What choice do I have?” Nesta asked.
If it was between her and Elain, there was no choice at all. She would always go first if it meant keeping Elain from harm. Even if she’d just hurt her sister more than she could stomach.
***
“How did he know?”
“I don’t know,” Feyre admitted, her hand again drifting to her stomach. “But I didn’t realize how much I wanted a boy until I knew I’d bear one.”
“Likely because having sisters was so horrible for you.”
Feyre sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”
Nesta shrugged. Feyre might say that, but the feeling was no doubt there. Everything that had just happened with Elain—
Feyre seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. “Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.”
“It was directed at me, not you.”
“I’ve been guilty of the same things, Nesta.” Sorrow dimmed Feyre’s eyes. “It was unfair for Elain to level that truth only at you.”
Nesta didn’t have an answer to that, didn’t know where to start. “Why not tell Elain about the baby’s sex first?”
“She discovered the pregnancy. I wanted you to know this part before anyone else.”
***
Chapter 21
🌸
“I hope so,” Cassian hedged. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Nesta putting herself in danger, but he understood her motivations entirely. If he’d had to pick between sending one of his brothers into danger or doing it himself, he would always—always—choose himself. Though he’d winced at every harsh word that had come out of Nesta’s mouth to Elain, he couldn’t fault the fear and love behind her decision. Could only admire that she had stepped up—if not for the good of the world, then to keep her sister safe.
***
“Nesta isn’t up for a scrying,” Cassian said. “We don’t even know what power she has left.”
But Elain had confirmed it for everyone: both sisters still possessed their Cauldron-gifted powers. Whether they were as powerful as before, he had no idea.
“You do know, though,” Azriel countered. “You’ve seen it—even beyond when it glows in her eyes.”
Cassian hadn’t told anyone about the step he’d found with the clear finger holes burned into it. He wondered if Azriel had somehow learned of them, the news brought to him on his shadows’ whispers. “She’s volatile right now. The last time she did a scrying, it ended badly. The Cauldron looked at her. And then took Elain.” He’d seen every horrific memory flash before Nesta’s eyes today. And though he understood that Elain had spoken true, claiming the trauma of that memory, Cassian knew firsthand the lingering horror and pain of a loved one stolen and hurt.
Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.”
Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.
***
Chapter 22
🌸
Seeing them spar had been overwhelming. Their beautiful forms, tattooed and scarred and carved with muscle, gleaming with sweat as they fought with a viciousness and intelligence she’d never seen … She’d been sweating herself when they’d finished, wondering what it’d be like to be between those two male bodies, letting them turn all that lethal attention on worshipping her.
Elain would faint to hear such thoughts. And to hear that Nesta had already had two males in her bed not once but twice, and had enjoyed every second of it. But the males Nesta had shared herself with hadn’t looked like Cassian and Azriel. Hadn’t been Cassian and Azriel.
***
Chapter 24
🌸
Nesta had only felt relief when the old beast had died. Elain, who’d been spared the cruelties of Grandmamma’s tutelage, had wept and dutifully laid flowers at her grave—one soon joined by their mother’s stone marker. Feyre had been too young to understand, but Nesta had never bothered to lay flowers for her grandmamma. Not when Nesta bore a scar near her left thumb from one of the woman’s nastier punishments. Nesta had only left flowers for her mother, whose grave she had visited more often than she cared to admit.
***
Nesta had told herself that day that Tomas would take her in, if necessary. Maybe even Elain, too. But his family had been hateful, with too many mouths to feed already. His father would have refused to feed her, without question. She’d been prepared to offer the only thing she had to barter to Tomas, if it would have kept Elain from starving. Would have sold her body on the street to anyone who’d pay her enough to feed her sister. Her body had meant nothing to her—nothing, she’d told herself as she’d felt her options closing in. Elain meant everything.
***
“I always forget how similar human ideas of propriety are to the Illyrians’.” Emerie took another bite. “Would you have wanted to see the world, if you could?”
“It was half a world, wasn’t it? With the wall in place.”
“Still better than nothing.”
Nesta chuckled. “You’re right.” She considered Emerie’s question. If her father had offered to bring them on one of his ships, to let them see strange and distant shores, would they have gone? Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further. Feyre had talked once about the glorious art in the continent’s museums and private estates. But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?
***
Chapter 25
🌸
Nesta around Gwyn was a wholly different creature than who she was with the court. They didn’t tease or laugh with each other, but an easiness lay between them that he’d never witnessed, even when Nesta was with Elain. She’d always been Elain’s guardian, or Feyre’s sister, or Cauldron-Made.
***
Chapter 27
🌸
“Bad things happened the last time. The Cauldron looked at me. And took Elain.” She couldn’t stop her body from locking up. “I can’t endure it, risk it. Not even for this.”
***
“Helion is a last resort,” Rhys said, sipping his wine. “Which we may come to in a matter of days if Nesta does not at least attempt a scrying.” The last words were directed toward Cassian. “I’d have Elain try her hand before we approach him, though.”
Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around, but the male remained in the human lands with Jurian and Vassa.
***
Cassian countered, “Nesta will do it, if only to keep Elain from putting herself at risk. But you have to understand that Nesta was deeply affected by what happened during the war—Elain was taken by the Cauldron after she scried. You can’t blame her for hesitating.”
Amren said, “We do not have the time to wait for Nesta to decide. I say we approach Elain tomorrow. Better to have both of them working on it.”
Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”
“But Nesta should?” Cassian growled.
Everyone stared at him.
He swallowed, offering an apologetic glance to Az, who shrugged it off.
Amren drained her wine and said to Cassian, “Nesta has a week. One more week to find the Trove with her own methods. Then we seek out other routes.” She threw a nod toward Azriel. “Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”
Cassian and Azriel looked to Rhys, who merely sipped from his own wine. Amren’s order held. As Rhys’s Second in this court, short of Rhys overruling her, her word was law.
Cassian glowered at Amren. “It’s not right to wield Elain as a threat to manipulate Nesta into scrying.”
“There are harsher ways to convince Nesta, boy.”
Cassian leaned back in his chair. “You’re a fool if you think threats will make her obey you.”
Everyone tensed again. Even Varian.
Amren’s lips spread in a sharp grin. “We are on the cusp of another war. We let the Cauldron slip from our hands in the last one and it nearly cost us everything.” Amren’s new Fae form was proof of that—she’d yielded her immortal, otherworldly self to remain in this body. No gray fire glowed in her eyes. She was mortal, in the way that High Fae were mortal. Varian’s fingers tangled in the blunt ends of her hair, as if to reassure himself that she was here, she’d remained with him. “We must head off this potential disaster before we lose the advantage. If we need to manipulate Nesta into scrying, even by using Elain against her, then we’ll do what is necessary.”
His stomach tightened. “I don’t like it.”
***
She’d failed at everything. But she could do this.
She’d failed her father, failed Feyre for years before that. Failed her mother, she supposed. And with Elain, she’d failed as well: first in letting her get taken by Hybern that night they’d been stolen from their beds; then by letting her go into that Cauldron. Then when the Cauldron had taken her into the heart of Hybern’s camp.
“You don’t have to like it,” Amren said. “You just have to shut up and do as you’re told.”
***
Chapter 29
🌸
Nesta said, “The Trove. And what happened the last time I scried.”
Feyre said, “We won’t allow any harm to come to Elain. Rhys warded her this morning, and we have eyes on her at all times.”
“Eyes can be blinded,” Nesta said.
“Not the ones under my command,” Azriel said with soft menace. Nesta met his stare, knowing he was the only one aside from Feyre who could truly understand her hesitation. He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain—he knew the risk. “We won’t make the same mistake twice.”
She believed him. “All right.” She scooped up the stones and bones. They were ice-cold against her fingers.
***
Chapter 31
🌸
Rhys sighed to the ceiling. “Shall we?”
Nesta glanced up the stairs past Feyre. Elain had again opted to remain in her room when Nesta was present, which was just fine. Absolutely, utterly fine. Elain could make her own choices. And had chosen to thoroughly shut the door on Nesta. Even as she fully embraced Feyre and her world. Nesta’s chest tightened, but she refused to think of it, acknowledge it. Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.
***
Chapter 32
🌸
What would Elain think, to see Nesta here with a friend? The thought bubbled up from nowhere. As if in opening her mind, it had rushed toward her. Would Elain be pleased, or would she feel the need to warn Gwyn about Nesta’s true self?
***
Nesta did so, focusing on the breaths and not Elain. I acknowledge this thought about my sister, and I am letting it go.
She was on her seventh breath when her sister appeared again. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.
Had Elain been right? Feyre had admitted she was guilty of it, too, but—Feyre hadn’t known Elain as Nesta did. Or, it hadn’t been that way before. Before Elain had chosen Feyre.
***
Chapter 39
🌸
“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”
“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort. “And I came up here because Feyre said I should. I need to kill a few hours before I’m to meet with her and Rhys. She thought I might enjoy seeing Nesta at work.”
***
Chapter 40
🌸
Amren shook her head, hair swaying. “Nothing is a fluke. The Cauldron’s power flows through Nesta, and could use her as a puppet without her knowledge. It wanted those weapons Made, and thus they were Made. It wanted Rhysand to have them and thus the blacksmith brought them to you. To you, Rhysand, not to Nesta. And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has—is here. Feyre is here. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own. Feyre alone doubles your strength. Nesta makes you unstoppable. Especially if she were to march into battle wearing the Mask. No enemy could stand against her. She’d slay Beron’s soldiers, then raise them from the dead and turn them on him.”
***
Chapter 42
🌸
“I hate this place,” he muttered, flushing. “Allergies.”
Nesta swallowed a laugh. “You don’t need to hide it from me. In the human realm, I used to get so itchy I had to take two baths a day to get rid of all the pollen.” Well, before they’d gone to the cottage. After that, Nesta had been lucky to bathe once a week, thanks to the hassle of heating and hauling so much water to the lone tub in a corner of their bedroom. Sometimes, she and Elain had even shared the same bathwater, drawing straws for who went in second.
Nesta’s throat constricted, and she surveyed the swaying cherry blossoms overhead. Elain would love this place. So many flowers, all in bloom, so much green—the light, vibrant green of new grass—so many birds singing and such warm, buttery sunshine. Nesta felt like a storm cloud standing amid it all. But Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her.
Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place.
And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.
***
She’d never forget that beast. How it had broken down the door of their cottage and terrified her to her bones. How all she’d been able to think of was shielding Elain while Feyre had grabbed that knife to face it. Face him.
***
She held his emerald stare, knowing silver flames flickered in her own. “I went into the Cauldron because of you,” she said softly, and could have sworn thunder grumbled in the distance. Cassian and Eris faded away into nothing. There was only Tamlin, only this beast, and what he had done to her and her family.
“Elain went into the Cauldron because of you,” Nesta went on. Her fingertips heated, and she knew if she looked down, she’d find silver embers flaring there. “I don’t care how much you apologize or try to atone for it or claim you didn’t know the King of Hybern would do such a thing or that you begged him not to do it. You colluded with him. Because you thought Feyre was your property.”
***
Chapter 43
🌸
“Valkyries?” Feyre asked from across the dining table in the river house, fork half-raised to her lips. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Cassian said, sipping from his wine at dinner that evening....
“We never heard of them in the human lands,” Elain said. She’d been as riveted as Feyre to hear Cassian tell of it: first of Nesta and the others’ interest, then of the brief history of the female fighters. “They must have been fearsome creatures.”
“Some were as lovely as you, Elain,” Rhys said from beside Feyre, “from the outside. But once they set foot into the arena of battle, they became as bloodthirsty as Amren.”
***
...Cassian added after a moment, “Nesta would have fit in well with them.”
“I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall,” Elain admitted. “She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two,” she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.
Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement. Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long.
Feyre at last took her hearty bite of food. “Nesta is a wolf who has been locked in a cage her whole life.”
“I know,” Cassian said. She was a wolf who had never learned how to be a wolf, thanks to that cage humans called propriety and society....
Elain leaned forward. “You only think you know—you haven’t seen her on the dance floor. That’s when Nesta truly lets the wolf roam free. When there’s music.”
“Really?” Nesta had told him once, when he’d dragged her out of a particular seedy tavern, that she’d been there for the music. He’d ignored her, thinking it an excuse.
“Yes,” Elain said. “She was trained in dance from a very young age. She loves it, and music. Not in the way I enjoy a waltz or gavotte, but in the way that performers make an art of it. Nesta could bring an entire ballroom to a halt when she danced with someone.”
***
“She wouldn’t have gone into much detail about it,” Elain said. “Nesta was only fourteen at the last ball we went to before—well, before we were poor …” Elain shook her head. “Another young heiress was at the ball, and she positively hated me. She was several years older, and I’d never done anything to provoke her hatred, but I think …”
“She was jealous of your beauty,” Amren said, an amused smile on her red lips.
Elain blushed. “Perhaps.”
It was definitely that. Even though Elain would have been barely thirteen at the time.
***
“Nesta spent a small fortune on her gown and jewels for that night. Our father was always too scared of her to say no, and that night … Well, she truly looked the part of the daughter of the Prince of Merchants. An amethyst silk gown with gold thread, diamonds and pearls at her neck and ears …” Elain sighed. Such wealth. Cassian had never realized what wealth they’d possessed and lost.
“The entire ball stopped when Nesta entered,” Elain said. “She made an entrance of it, perfectly cool and aloof, even at fourteen. She barely glanced the duke’s way. Because she’d learned about him as well. Knew he grew bored of anyone that chased him. And knew that the wealth on her that night dwarfed anything that heiress was wearing.”
Amren was grinning now. “Nesta tried to win a duke out of spite? At fourteen?”
Elain didn’t smile. “She lured him into asking her for a dance with a few well-placed looks across the ballroom. The same waltz that heiress wanted for herself, had boasted would be all she needed to secure his marriage bid. Nesta took that dance from her. And then took the duke from her, too. Nesta danced that night like she was one of you.”
“If you’ve seen Cassian’s dancing,” Rhys muttered, “that’s not saying much.”
Cassian flipped off his High Lord as Feyre and Az chuckled.
Elain continued, voice hushed with near-reverence, “The duke was vain, and Nesta played into that. The entire room came to a standstill. Their dancing was that good; she was that beautiful. And when it ended … I knew she was an artist then. The same way Feyre is. But what Feyre does with paint, that’s what Nesta did with music and dance. Our mother saw it when we were children, and honed it into a weapon. All so Nesta might one day marry a prince.”
Cassian froze. A prince—was that what Nesta wanted? His stomach clenched.
“What happened to the duke?” Azriel asked.
Elain grimaced. “He proposed marriage the next morning.”
Rhys choked on his wine. “She was fourteen.”
“I told you: Nesta is a very good dancer. But that was what my father said—she was too young. It was a graceful exit, since my father, despite his faults, knew Nesta well. He knew she had taunted that duke into making a marriage offer just to punish the heiress for her cruelty toward me. Nesta had no interest in him—knew she was far too young. Even if the duke seemed more interested in just … reserving her until she was old enough.” Elain shuddered with distaste. “But I think some part of Nesta believed she would indeed marry a prince one day. So the duke went home with no bride, and that heiress … Well, she was one of the people who delighted in our misfortunes.”
“I’d forgotten,” Feyre murmured. “About this, and about her dancing.”
“Nesta never spoke of it afterward,” Elain said. “I just observed.”
Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.
***
Elain nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “So I’m very pleased to hear of this Valkyrie business. I’m happy that Nesta finds interest in something again. And might channel all of … that into it.” That, Cassian knew, meant her rage, her fierce and unyielding loyalty to those she loved, her wolf’s instincts and ability to kill.
***
Chapter 44
🌸
“I walked away because you chose my sister.” Just as Elain had done. Amren had been her friend, her ally, and yet in the end, it hadn’t mattered one bit. She’d picked Feyre.
***
Chapter 46
🌸
She had been born wrong. Had been born with claws and fangs and had never been able to keep from using them, never been able to quell the part of her that roared at betrayal, that could hate and love more violently than anyone ever understood. Elain had been the only one who perhaps grasped it, but now her sister loathed her.
***
Chapter 49
🌸
A wave of words pushed themselves out of her. “I should have found a way to save us before then. Save Elain and Feyre when we were poor. But I was so angry, and I wanted him to try, to fight for us, but he didn’t, and I would have let us all starve to prove what a wretch he was. It consumed me so much that … that I let Feyre go into that forest and told myself I didn’t care, that she was half-wild, and it didn’t matter, and yet …” She let out a wrenching cry. “I close my eyes and I see her that day she went out to hunt the first time. I see Elain going into the Cauldron. I see her taken by it during the war. I see my father dead. And now I will see Feyre’s face when I told her that the baby would kill her.” She shook and shook, her tears burning hot down her cheeks.
***
Chapter 50
🌸
Cassian straightened before Rhys could even speak. “You’re not going to use her.”
Feyre glanced between them, and after a second, as if her mate had spoken into her mind, she demanded, “Really, Rhys?”
Rhys leaned back, and Nesta frowned, the only one of them apparently not aware of what this meant. Rhys said to her, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to. But Elain mentioned that you have particular skill on the dance floor. Skill that once won you the hand of a duke in a single waltz.”
***
Nesta crossed her arms, ignoring Cassian’s pointed glare, silently demanding that she dismiss this notion entirely. “You really think my dancing with Eris will solidify his loyalty?”
“I think Eris is our ally, and will expect to dance with a lady of this court at the ball no matter what. I won’t let Feyre within five feet of him, Mor might kill him, and Amren is more likely to scare him off than win him over, so you and Elain are the only options.”
“Elain doesn’t go near him,” Feyre said. “And you won’t let me near him?”
Rhys threw her a charming smile. “You know what I mean.”
***
Nesta shrugged, unable to find the words. She and Elain had rehung the door after Tamlin had broken it. Their father, his leg wrecked beyond repair and unable to bear weight, had watched them, offering unhelpful advice.
***
She nodded. They’d eaten here, some meals in silence, some with her and Elain trying to fill the quiet with their idle chatter, some with her and Feyre at each other’s throats. Like those last meals they’d had with her in this house.
***
Cassian ran a hand over the painted dresser, marveling. “She really did paint stars for herself before she knew Rhys was her mate. Before she knew he existed.” His fingers traced the twining vines of flowers on the second drawer. “Elain’s drawer.” They drifted lower, curling over a lick of flame. “And yours.”
***
She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”
***
She studied the calluses already building across her fingers and palms. “The debtors seemed gleeful when they came here—like they’d resented him all this time and were more than happy to take it out on his leg. I spent the entire time more terrified for what they’d do to me and Elain. Feyre … She tried to get them to stop. Stayed here with him while we hid in the bedroom.” She made herself meet Cassian’s gaze again. “I didn’t just fail Feyre by letting her go into the woods. There were plenty of other times.”
***
Chapter 55
🌸
Both sisters wore black. Both walked behind Rhys and Feyre, a silent indicator that they were a part of the royal family. Had mighty powers of their own. They’d planned it that way, wanting Eris to see for himself how valuable Nesta was. Cassian wondered if Elain and Nesta had broken their silence while waiting for their entrance. They hadn’t spoken to each other for months now.
Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.
***
Feyre and Rhys took their thrones, and Nesta and Elain came to stand at the foot of the dais, between him and Azriel. Cassian didn’t dare say a word to Nesta, or even glance at her, at the body on display—the body he’d tasted so many times now it was a miracle no imprint of his lips lay against her neck.
***
Feyre nodded as Rhys took the box and set it beside his throne. “Use it well.” She smiled softly at Eris. “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me unwell enough that I worry about what so much spinning would do to my stomach.” It was the truth. Feyre had bolted from dinner three nights ago to find the nearest toilet. Now she made a show of looking between her two sisters. Elain gave a passable impression of appearing interested. Nesta just looked bored. Like they hadn’t just given away the dagger she’d Made.
***
Feyre noted the direction of Nesta’s stare. “My oldest sister shall take my place.”
Nesta barely glanced to Eris, who pulled his assessing gaze from Elain to stare at the eldest Archeron sister with a mix of wariness and intent that set Cassian’s jaw grinding. Or it would have been grinding, if he hadn’t mastered himself in time to keep his face blank as Nesta began walking toward Eris.
***
By the time Nesta and Eris finished their first rotation through the dance floor, Cassian had the growing feeling that Elain had rather undersold her sister’s abilities.
***
He twirled her again, the waltz already coming to a close. He whispered in her ear, “They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you outshine her tonight.” His hand stroked down the bare skin of her back, and she arched slightly into the touch.
***
Chapter 57
🌸
“You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. Gone was the ill-suited black dress from the ball, replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist. She glowed with good health. Except …
Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room, since Nesta knew Feyre and Rhys had invited him, but for that look to be directed at her …
They hadn’t spoken of their argument in the few minutes they’d had together before the ball’s procession, and then she’d avoided Elain entirely until the event was over. She didn’t know what she’d say. How to make it right.
Nesta cleared her throat. “Cassian said it might be … good if I came.”
Elain’s eyes flickered. “Did Feyre pay you, like last year?”
“No.” Shame washed through her.
Elain sighed, glancing over Nesta’s shoulder to the open doorway across the entry. The party within, only for their small inner circle. “Please don’t upset Feyre. It’s her birthday, first of all. And in her state—”
“Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked.
Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, horror lurching through her.
And then Elain burst out laughing.
Howling, half-sobbing laughs that sent her bending over at the waist, gasping for breath. Nesta just stared, torn between questions and wanting to throw herself into the icy Sidra. “I— I’m so sorry—”
Elain held up a hand, wiping her eyes with the other. “You’ve never said such a thing to me!” She laughed again. “I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
Nesta shook her head slowly, not understanding. Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.
“I was just checking on dessert,” Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger’s stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.
***
And that was that. Nesta ignored the collective sense of relief that filled the room and pivoted, finding herself peering up at Lucien, who greeted her with a wary dip of his chin. Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get. Azriel remained in the doorway. “How’s the Spring Court?” Nesta asked. The fire crackled merrily to her right, and she let the sound ripple through and past her. Acknowledged the crack and what it did to her, and released it. Even as she concentrated on the male she’d addressed.
***
Nesta had been better tonight than last year. Another person entirely. She didn’t laugh freely like Mor and Feyre, or smile sweetly like Elain, but she spoke, and engaged, and sometimes smirked. She saw everything, heard everything. Even the fire, which she seemed to ignore. Pride filled his chest at that—and relief. It had only increased when he’d noticed that she’d cared enough about Az’s aloofness to go up to him to chat.
***
Cassian’s gifts were the usual odd medley: an ancient manuscript on warfare from Rhys, a bag of beef jerky from Azriel—I literally couldn’t think of anything you’d enjoy more, Az had said when Cassian had laughed—and a hideously ugly green sweater from Mor that made his skin look jaundiced. Amren had given him a travel set of spices—so you don’t have to suffer whenever you’re in Illyria—and Elain gave him a specially designed ceramic mug with a lid that he could travel with, bespelled against breaking, to keep tea warm for hours.
***
He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.
Cassian could feel Nesta watching him, but when he looked, her face was unreadable. No one had gotten her presents except for Feyre and Elain, who had together given her a year’s worth of book-buying credit to her favorite bookshop in the city. It was capped at around three hundred books, which they seemed to think would be more than she could read in a year. Five hundred books’ worth would have been a safer bet, he knew.
***
Chapter 58
🌸
She had a vague sense of Cassian and Mor and Azriel nearby, of Feyre and Rhys and Lucien, of Elain and Varian and Helion. Of Kallias and Viviane, also swollen with child and glowing with joy and strength. Nesta smiled in greeting and left them blinking, but she forgot them within a moment because the stars, the stars, the stars …
***
Chapter 61
🌸
A hand slid into Nesta’s, and she found Elain there, shaking and wide-eyed. Nesta squeezed her sister’s fingers. Together, they approached the other side of the bed.
And when Elain began praying to the Fae’s foreign gods, to their Mother, Nesta bowed her head, too.
***
“Go into her mind to take the pain away,” Madja said to Rhys, who blinked in confirmation, then cursed, as if scolding himself for not thinking of it sooner. Cassian looked across the bed, to where Elain was holding Feyre’s other hand, and Nesta held Elain’s.
***
But Death hovered nearby. Nesta felt it, saw it, a shadow thicker and more permanent than any of Azriel’s. Elain sobbed, squeezing Feyre’s hand, pleading with her to hold on, and Nesta stood in the midst of it, Death swirling around her, and there was nothing, nothing, nothing to be done as Feyre’s breathing thinned, as Madja began shouting at her to fight it—
***
Death lurked near Feyre and her mate, a beast waiting to pounce, to devour them both. Nesta pulled her hand free of Elain’s. Stepped back.
***
Chapter 76
🌸
The room was a tableau of frozen movement, of shocked and horrified faces twisted toward her, toward Feyre and all that blood. Nesta walked through it. Past Rhys’s screaming, straining body, his face the portrait of despair and terror and pain; past grave-faced Azriel; past Cassian, gritting his teeth as he held Rhys back. Past Amren, whose gray eyes were fixed on where Nesta had been, pure dread and something like awe in her face.
Past Mor and that too-small bundle in her arms, Elain at her side, frozen in her crying.
***
Chapter 77
🌸
But none of the others were present on a warm day a few weeks later, when Nesta joined Feyre and Elain for a walk outside the city. Even a glance at the sky revealed no sign of Cassian, who had been keeping Nesta up until dawn with his lovemaking and had become utterly obnoxious about calling her mate any chance he got, except at their continuing morning training with the priestesses.
***
Nesta had stared and stared at her portrait, hung between one of Feyre and one of Elain, and hadn’t realized she was crying until Feyre had held her tightly.
***
Her heart thundered, and she kept a step back as Feyre knelt before the grave marker, showing Nyx to the stone. “Your grandson, Father,” she whispered, voice thick. And then Feyre bowed her head, speaking too low for Nesta or Elain, standing at Nesta’s side, to hear.
After a few minutes, Feyre rose, letting her tears run, as holding the babe kept her hands occupied. Elain went forward, whispered a few things to their father’s grave, and then both sisters looked to Nesta, smiling tentatively.
***
She found Feyre and Elain waiting halfway down the hill, Nyx now dozing peacefully in Elain’s arms. Her sisters beamed, beckoning her to join.
And Nesta smiled back, her steps light as she hurried down the hill to meet them.
***
Chapter 80
#elain#elain archeron#pro elain archeron#elriel#pro elriel#elain x azriel#elain will always be loved by me 🥰
56 notes
·
View notes
Text
Breathe
Words: 5,466
POV: 3rd Person
Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!Reader [Platonic]
Warning(s): Language, Character Death, Extreme Gore, Description of Death, Angst with absolutely no comfort, Description of a corpse
Summary: A hunt gone wrong leaves the reader in a situation that often plagued hunters' nightmares. In his final moments, his mind goes to the people in his life he cared about the most, and he realized that he had one final call to make...
Request:
Hello! I hope you're having a good day :)
I was wondering if you could do TFW where Reader(gn, fem, masc, you choose) is on a hunt alone. (Idk what supernatural creature you can choose) Reader is caught off guard because there were more monsters than expected ana got hurt really bad. They manage to get away, but their wound is too severe to get to their car.
Luckily, they have their phone, and they call Dean's phone and say their goodbyes to them and stuff (yknow, Dean puts it on speaker so Sam and Castiel can hear and speak) I can imagine TFW tracks their phone and finds them, but it's too late.
Sorry if this is a bit specific! l'm just a sucker for angst, and love your writing. ♡♡
@abducted-cowz
A/N: Happy Sunday! I wrote this (with love) to make you guys suffer. I hope the level of angst is to your liking <3 - As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Let me know what you guys think!
~Much Love!
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
It was supposed to be a simple hunt. A get-in get-out kind of scenario, something (Y/N) had been through more times than he could count. The vampires had set up shop at the edge of a small Kansas town, about twenty miles from Witchita, in a farmhouse that had depleted with age. After his initial scope of the location, he had determined there were close to five vampires on the premises. He had enough confidence to know he could take them on easily. So, when night fell on the next night, he parked his truck a quarter mile up the dirt road and used the natural foliage to make his way to the farmhouse undetected. The situation was perfect, every hunter’s dream of an easily obtainable celebration at the nearby bar, almost as if it was too good to be true.
He needed to learn to trust his gut more often.
Double the number of vampires were present, well over what was initially inspected. (Y/N) didn’t take into account the presence of a cellar. He should have known better. The house was most likely built in the sixties or seventies when it was more than common to include a shelter to fend off natural disasters. Why it never crossed his mind that a house in the middle of a large, abandoned farmland would have that sort of accommodation, he wasn’t too sure. It had been a lapse of judgment. Perhaps he was too overzealous. Zeal had claimed the lives of young hunters more than any monster.
The fight was long and agonizing - as tedious would be too lighthearted of a word to describe it. Some were skilled, others were followers. It was easy to take out some, but a good amount knew how to fight, which made it even more challenging than it had already become. A part of him wanted to retreat and return to his motel room to call for backup, but the continuous wave of enemies made it nearly impossible. He didn’t have a moment to catch his breath, let alone leave safely. He had to fight on. It was the only way.
In the end, the corpses of the vampires lay scattered around the wooden and stone flooring in the house and cellar. Heads were strewn about, blood splattered on the once-magnificent wallpaper. (Y/N) stood at the top of the stairs that led to the cellar, his lips slightly parted as pants fell past them. His chest heaved, sweat trickling down his forehead and neck, coating the collar of his t-shirt. The way his heart hammered in his chest, he swore it would break out past his rips. His arms and legs felt like jelly.
The adrenaline rush that once plagued his mind began to falter, and the aches and pains surfaced. A groan rumbled in his chest as he took a moment to look down at himself. Much like the walls and floors, he was covered in vampire blood. If he had any injuries, it was hard to tell which blood spots were his. He looked back at the carnage at the bottom of the steps. The bodies needed to be disposed of, but (Y/N) could feel the strength drain from his body. He would not be able to carry a dozen bodies to the middle of the field. Not that night. He made a mental note to come back the next day.
After some time had passed, he was able to catch his breath enough to turn and make his way out of the house, careful as he stepped over his fallen enemies. The front screen door was slightly ajar from when he came in. The closer and the hinges were rusted, so it was no surprise that they couldn’t work with the force of his previous entry. He was surprised it hadn’t broken off at that point. They didn’t make things like they used to.
The summer air was crisp and warm, with high humidity that made (Y/N) feel disgusting. Despite that, it was the best air he could ask for. His nose was cleansed from the stench of death, and, for that, he was grateful. Any smell was better than the smell of death.
(Y/N) began the quarter-mile trek back to his truck. His lips were parted, his breathing slightly labored with each step he took. It felt as if his chest rattled like a pair of dice were being tossed around inside. Something was wrong, he knew that much, but he couldn’t assess himself until he had his medical supplies on his person. The risk of infection was high when out in the open like that, especially with the ticks that were undoubtedly lying somewhere in the grass that brushed against his ass, and the last thing he wanted was the contract Lyme disease.
Every ten paces or so, (Y/N) had to stop to catch his breath. It got increasingly difficult to dull the ache as if smoke harassed the soft, pink tissue. He knew he had to continue. Had to get to his car. Had to leave.
In the distance, the roof of his ‘91 Dodge Truck glimmered in the pale moonlight. A sense of relief washed over him, and his steps quickened. The weak smile he had was prominent on his lips, despite the pain that resonated through the muscles in his legs. A way out. His escape. A light at the end of the deep, dark tunnel.
The cold metal of the door handle caused a shiver to run down his spine. As he tried to open the door, the handle caught. Locked. A curse fell from his lips as he reached into his blood-soaked pant pocket and pulled out his car key. He fumbled with them, his grip weak and fingers shaky. Just as he was about to place the key into the door, they slipped out of his grip, hit the dirt ground, and settled under the truck, barely out of sight. He closed his eyes tightly and leaned his forehead against the glass of his window. More obscenities.
He had to be strategic. Every part of his body hurt. Which was the best way to get on the ground that would result in the least amount of pain? He was sure there was a way, but his brain wasn’t working as it should. Any critical thinking had gone out the window. The only option, at the moment, was the simplest.
Using whatever strength he had left, he held onto the door handle for support and lowered his right knee to the ground. His movements were slow like his entire body was covered in molasses. For a moment, all that appeared were slight aches in his thighs, and he had high hopes that he would be able to make it. However, as he reached the halfway point, a sharp, needle-like pain washed over his stomach, striking his entire nervous system.
(Y/N) let out a cry of pain as his body collapsed onto the ground, which sent even more agony through his limbs. He turned and landed on his ass, his back pressed against the truck’s chipped frame. In an instant, he could feel any energy he had vanish, immediately replaced by exhaustion. His eyelids were heavy, and the urge to sleep overpowered any other desire. He knew he couldn’t, though. The possibility of him having a concussion from the hunt was great, and he wouldn’t risk the damage it would do to him if he did slumber.
Then again, the injury he was sure to have under the blood-stained clothes was even more of a risk.
With great struggle, (Y/N) removed his flannel. As he moved, he took note that the pain came from his right side. He grunted as he lifted the side of his shirt, the blood acting as a glue to hold it in place against his chest as his hands came to rest at his side. That was when he saw it.
An eight-inch gash was present, starting from his side and ending right above his naval. It wasn’t a simple surface scratch, either. Layers of muscle and skin tissue were visible. If it had gone any deeper, (Y/N) was certain his organs would lay in his lap. Blood spilled like a waterfall out of the wound, slowly, but aggressively. Most of the blood he had lost was no doubt already soaked into his shirt. It was the biggest injury that he had gotten in his whole hunting career. It was one that he knew he couldn’t fix with the simple sewing kit in his first-aid bag, but one that needed to be medically attended. He didn’t have the willpower to stand up and drive himself, though, let alone get the keys that rested under the car, merely a foot from his hand. Regardless, the nearest hospital was over forty minutes away. An ambulance, even when a hospital was around the corner, could take over an hour to get to the location of an accident. He couldn’t imagine how long it would take to get to him, let alone the legal trouble he would be in when law enforcement discovered the house.
It was then that the realization struck him;
He was going to die.
He tried to convince himself that he was fine. That he could get up. He was just in a negative mindset. He would be fine.
In reality, any movement he tried to make only made his muscles tense and seize. He had to face the truth. He was going to die. But, damn, if he didn’t go down fighting.
It wasn’t obvious to him how long he had left, but he knew, just the same as anyone else, that he had to make his final moments last. So, with his last bit of might, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen was stained red but, thankfully, the device was intact. He opened it, went to his contacts, and clicked on the one at the very top.
Dean Winchester
He had met the Winchesters over ten years ago through Bobby Singer. Fate had decided that they would all meet at the Singer residence after their respective hunts. They were introduced, and it was as if they clicked instantly. He got along well with both brothers and connected with many of their friends throughout the years. He considered them family. Sam and Dean offered him a bed in the Men of Letters bunker, which he had turned down, as he had become too accustomed to motel hopping to accept.
God, he wished he would have.
At first, he opted to place the phone next to his ear, but a couple of seconds in that position proved too long as his side cried out. Instead, he placed the call on speaker and sat it in his lap. The ring was dull and echoed slightly through the trees. A part of him was nervous that no one would pick up, that it was too early. He was conflicted, though. Did he even want them to answer? If he knew anything about the Winchesters, they were naturals at taking the blame for any deaths around them, even if they did nothing to warrant fault. He didn’t want to add to that burden.
“Hey, (Y/N)!” Dean’s voice greeted him.
(Y/N)’s lips curled upward into a weak smile as he let out a rattled sigh.
“Hey, Dean,” he replied. It was the first time in a couple of hours that he truly heard his voice. He sounded faint, hoarse, weak. He wondered if he looked nearly half as bad as he sounded.
“Man, I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. What’s been going on?”
“Oh, you know,” he trailed and leaned his head back against the truck. “Same old, same old. What about you guys?”
“Well, we just got back from - hold on, Sam wants me to put the phone on speaker.”
Pause.
“Hey, (Y/N)!” Sam’s voice came through the speaker.
“Hey, Sammy,” (Y/N) felt his smile become weaker.
“So, anyway, as I was saying,” Dean continued. “We just got back from a week-long hunt in Baltimore. Nasty ghost business. The news articles about this guy seemed like it came right out of Law and Order. I was so happy to pump some rock salt into that son of a bitch.”
“Since when do you watch Law and Order?” He asked.
“Law and Order: SVU to be exact,” Sam said.
“All I’m going to say is Detective Olivia Benson can arrest me any day.” There was an obvious smirk on Dean’s face.
(Y/N) let out a chuckle, which instantly progressed into a coughing fit. His fist was balled up in front of his lips as he tried to will his lungs to have mercy in his final moments. What seemed like an eternity later, his lungs listened, and he pulled his hand back. His thumb, index finger, and part of his palm were covered in blood. He brought his hand back up to his face and wiped his lips. More blood.
“Shit,” (Y/N) mumbled.
“You okay?” Dean asked.
“Yeah,”
“You feeling sick?” Sam added.
(Y/N) hesitated. “Sort of.”
“That sucks, man. Have you gone on that vampire hunt yet?”
“Wait, what vampire hunt?” Dean inquired.
“The one near Wichita? I told you about it a couple of days ago.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did! You were watching The A-Team.”
“Oh yeah…I remember that. Hey, why do you get told about his hunts but not me?”
“Because, unlike you, I actually talk to him on an almost daily basis.”
Tears appeared in the corners of (Y/N)’s eyes, but he had little stamina to cry. He was going to miss this, the bickering. The brotherly back and forth between Sam and Dean. The late-night talks they would have over the phone. The week-long trips he would take to the bunker after recovering from a hunt. The prank wars. The diners. The bars. The terrible karaoke. The movie nights. The long hugs as they bid farewell. Oh, how he wished he could hug them one last time.
“(Y/N)?” Sam’s voice sounded more distant than before.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, I’m here.” He weakly cleared his throat and brought the phone closer to his ear, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach.
“Everything go okay with the hunt?”
“Well…going into it, I figured it would be about half a dozen vamps or so? Not much activity when I scouted. Turns out, there’s about a dozen or more.” He explained.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled.
“Do you want us to come down and help you? It won’t take us that long to get there. Maybe two hours or so.” Sam added.
(Y/N) shook his head. “No, no. I took care of them…but it seems like they took care of me, too.”
“What do you mean?” Dean asked, his voice low and on edge.
A lump appeared in his throat and threatened to cut off the next couple of words. He tried to push through it as he spoke.
“I’m not gonna make it.”
As soon as the words fell from his lips, shuffling could be heard on the other end of the line. No one said anything for a couple of seconds. The next person to speak was Dean.
“Listen, (Y/N), tell us where you are.” Dean’s voice was louder and more frantic, indicating that he had been taken off speaker. “We can come get you, patch you up, and you’ll be good as new, alright?”
“No, no, Dean-”
“Sam! Where are my keys!?”
“Dean-”
“You’re going to make it, okay, (Y/N)? Then, we can come back to the bunker and watch that stupid horror movie you’ve been begging us to watch.”
“Dean, I-”
That time, (Y/N) was interrupted by another coughing fit. Blood and spittle dribbled down his lips and chin. He could feel just how weak his lungs were, so it took some time for him to recover. Once the coughs died down, he was able to hear the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine over the phone. What a beautiful sound. He was going to miss it.
“Did you get ahold of Cas?” Dean mumbled.
“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel’s voice came through.
“Great! (Y/N), tell us where you are, come on, buddy.”
“Cas,” (Y/N) croaked. “It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?” His words were slow.
“(Y/N) you need to tell me where you are. I can come heal you.” Castiel’s voice was laced with seriousness and worry.
“No,” he said simply. “It’s too late.”
“It’s not too late!” Dean shouted.
“It is,”
“No, it’s not! You’re still talking to us, you’re still awake. Cas can come over and heal you.”
“Got it!” Sam exclaimed. “Make a left.”
“Guys, it feels like half of my blood is outside of my body. If I move, I think my stomach will fall out. I don’t want you to see me like this. You don’t deserve that.”
“(Y/N), please,” Castiel said. “I can help.”
(Y/N) huffed and would have smirked if he could. “You Winchesters with your stubborn attitude…” he took a few shaky breaths. “No matter what I say, you just never listen.”
“We never listen!?” Dean yelled.
“Dean-” Castiel began.
“No, Cas, this is bullshit. (Y/N), we are family, and family is supposed to be there for each other. They’re supposed to help each other when things get back. Why the Hell won’t you let us help you?”
“Because I’m already dead, Dean. I put this on myself. I-” he stopped to catch his breath. “I blindly went into the house without backup. This is on me. I’m meant to have-” breathe. “-a hunter’s death. To die fighting, and I can proudly say that I killed every last one of those slimy bastards.”
“(Y/N)-”
“Dean, let me finish. Please. I don’t want our last call to be remembered like this.”
Dean stayed silent. (Y/N) waited a moment. The corners of his vision had gone blurry, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. He didn’t have much time left.
“I love you guys, all of you. My life wouldn’t have been nearly as exciting as it was without you. Sam, I’m going to miss our little nerd talks. Miss seeing Dean’s face when we talk about Lord of the Rings. Dean-” his voice trailed as he felt his head lull to the side.
“(Y/N)! Hey, (Y/N), stay with us,” Sam said.
(Y/N) lifted his head. “Dean, I’m going to miss trying to out-drink you at the bar.”
Dean gave a sad, dry chuckle. “You never even got close.”
“And, Cas, God, I’m going to miss our late-night talks. I can’t even count on one hand the amount of times our calls lasted longer than four hours.”
“I do enjoy talking with you,” Castiel confirmed.
“(Y/N), please,” Sam begged.
“I love you all. I love you, Dean. I love you, Sam. I love you, Castiel.” (Y/N)’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I love you, (Y/N),” Dean answered.
“Love you, (Y/N),” Sam followed.
“I love you, too, (Y/N).” Castiel finished.
Their voices were quiet, filled with sadness and defeat. He hated that that was the last he would hear from them.
“Goodbye,” he breathed.
“No, (Y/N), please,” Sam tried to plead.
The call ended.
(Y/N) took one last look at the phone before he gave into gravity and let his arm drop to his side.
By then, his breathing had slowed substantially. His chest barely rose and fell with the efforts his lungs put in. And that rattle, the death rattle. He knew it all too well. Years of witnessing death firsthand made a man knowledgeable on the topic.
On the horizon, past the field and toward the distant treeline, the sun began to rise. Speckled layers of early morning sunlight coated his skin, but he felt no warmth. On the contrary, he felt cold. Slow. He didn’t know that a human’s body could get so cold. With it, though, there was numbness. No more pain, no more aches. Just peace.
He never knew what it would be like to die - it didn’t occur to him to ask Sam and Dean about their countless encounters with death - but if he knew it would be so calm and, dare he say, tranquil, he might not have spent so long fighting for his life as he had in the past. It was an experience unlike any other. Perhaps that wasn’t his true feelings on the subject. Perhaps it was because he knew that was his fate, that he had no chance. Acceptance. He was ready.
The last thing he saw before his vision faded to black was the sun, uncovered by the foliage, in its bright glory. It felt like an old friend who wanted to greet him one last time, and he appreciated the sentiment. The welcoming of a new dawn was short-lived. Once his vision faded, his eyelids closed, his muscles relaxed, his head lulled to the side;
And he died.
*~*
Dean didn’t drive nearly as fast as he had wanted to. The foolish part of him still had hope. Hope that they would find their friend unconscious, but alive. That (Y/N) had been exaggerating his wound. That he would be fine.
He has to be fine.
But the logical side of him, his brother, told him that he knew better. He had seen more than his fair share of friends die in his life, and it seemed to develop into a pattern. He met someone, promised himself he wouldn’t get close, got close, and then they died. An endless cycle. Wash, rinse, repeat.
And now, he was back on repeat.
It was nine in the morning by the time they spotted (Y/N)’s truck. Dean had to turn the car around, as they had passed it before. The treeline that sat on the edge of the road was thick, leaving visibility to be quite reduced. When they pulled onto the dirt path, they stopped a good twenty feet from the white pickup and sat there. None of them spoke. Instead, they sat in a heavy, dead, grief-filled silence, as if a fog had descended upon them. Time moved leisurely, at least from their perspective. In all actuality, it passed by them at the speed of light. By the time any of them moved into their seats, it was closer to ten.
They got out of the car and slowly made their way over to the truck. They walked steadily, as if on autopilot like their limbs were being held back by chains. They had to continue, for (Y/N)’s sake.
When they turned the corner of the front of the truck, they saw him. (Y/N)’s lifeless body lay against the side of the car, shoulders drooped, and mouth hung open. The gravel surrounding him was caked in uneven layers of dried blood, along with his shirt and jeans. Any color had drained from his skin. Bugs buzzed around the open gash still visible on his stomach, which had stopped bleeding at some point.
Sam choked back on a sob that tried to escape his throat, but he would not allow it. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned his back. He could feel the cry of pain threaten to claw its way out, threaten to break him down. He had to stay strong, though. He couldn’t possibly let Dean and Castiel deal with it all. (Y/N) was his friend, his brother, and he had to take responsibility for his body, as well. He couldn’t just let his brother and best friend handle it. That wouldn’t be fair to them. Wouldn’t be fair to (Y/N).
Dean stopped as soon as he saw his body. The visual of it made realization hit him like a truck. (Y/N) was dead. He was gone. All those times together watching movies, drinking at bars, or bickering with each other were a thing of the past, never to be repeated. The moments they shared would never get spread through a jovial reunion after retirement, nor would they get to grow old together. They would never get the opportunity to call each other ‘old bastard’ before they sat in their lawn chairs and talked for hours. Dean never even got the chance to teach him how to fish. The potential ‘what ifs’ turned into ‘what could have beens’, and the fact that he tricked himself into thinking it was possible made him feel like an idiot.
Castiel lagged when it came to turning the corner, for he knew what awaited on the other side. He had seen his fair share of death in regards to people he cared about, but he and (Y/N) had gotten rather close in the years they had known one another. He was the one who introduced Castiel to a larger variety of music, television shows, and films that Dean would have otherwise not done. He had opened his eyes to a world far beyond anything he could ever imagine. For that, Castiel would be forever grateful. When he saw (Y/N)’s body, he felt his chest ache. It wasn’t heartbreak, as Castiel knew he was unable to feel such emotion. Rather, he felt empty, as if a part of him had been ripped away and burned. One of his dearest friends had been taken. His family had been taken. True, he would get a chance to visit (Y/N) in Heaven, but it was not the same.
Castiel was the first one to move over to his body. The cut on his stomach made him realize that, perhaps, (Y/N) wasn’t lying. It was deep, ghastly. Most likely, the time between the call ending and his time of death was minimal. Minutes if not seconds. There was truly nothing Castiel could have done. Even if he had the grace of an archangel, there was not enough power to heal him. His body was too far gone.
With one look over at Sam and Dean, Castiel could see that any strength had vanished from their bodies. Their shoulders were slumped, and any light had left their eyes. He knew they would not be able to carry him, not while he was like that. He took the initiative and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s back and legs. It took little effort to lift him, despite the dead weight. Castiel was cautious when moving his body, knowing that the wound was still fresh. (Y/N)’s head shifted to the side, cheek pressed against his chest. Castiel walked over to Sam and Dean. Their eyes never left his body.
“I believe someone should take his car,” Castiel’s voice broke the silence that had hovered over them for hours. His voice was uncharacteristically soft and quiet. “I saw the keys under the driver’s side.”
Tears were flowing freely down Sam’s cheeks, his eyes red and burning. “I’ll-” he cleared his throat to steady his voice. “I’ll drive it.”
“No,” Dean’s broken speech interrupted. “Um…I’ll take him. Do you mind driving the truck, Cas?”
“I do not mind.” Castiel shook his head.
Dean nodded. Wordlessly, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the Impala. He held them out to Sam, who looked at his brother to silently confirm his actions. When nothing was said, Sam took the keys. Dean dropped his hand to his side as if the keys had been the only thing capable of keeping them up before he turned back to Castiel, arms held out.
Castiel began to carefully transfer (Y/N)’s body from his arms to Dean’s. It was almost ceremonial, and when Dean felt the heavy weight of the body in his arms, he held him close, as if he were made of glass, that he would shatter into a million pieces if Dean moved the wrong way.
But he was already broken.
They spoke nothing more before they dispersed. Castiel turned back to the truck to fetch the keys, Dean made his way to the Impala, and Sam followed. Sam opened the back passenger door and took a step back. Dean got in, his movements deliberate and guarded, the lifeless body still held tight to his chest. It took a moment for him to finally get settled in the backseat. Once he was, Sam shut the door and made his way over to the driver’s side.
Dean’s eyes never left (Y/N)’s face, determined to take in every last detail. He looked so peaceful, as if only in a deep sleep. There had been a handful of times Dean had carried (Y/N) to one of the many spare bedrooms after he fell asleep watching a movie, but he had never felt so heavy. Maybe it wasn’t him, but, rather, the weight Dean could feel on his heart. Dean held countless regrets. He wished he would have talked to him more. Wished he would have remembered being told about the hunt. He would have suggested that they stop to help on the way back from their previous hunt. If only he had listened better, maybe (Y/N) would still be alive.
If only…
Dean didn’t even notice when Sam started the car, backed out onto the dirt road, and began to make the silent journey back to the bunker. As Sam drove, he would periodically sneak a peak in the rearview mirror at his brother and best friend. Each time, he had to swallow the lump that had threatened to make an appearance, but he let the tears flow. When he wasn’t looking at them, his mind wandered to the day ahead. The preparation for a hunter’s funeral didn’t take that long, as they were used to the process by then, but it didn’t make it any less painful. Everything had to be perfect. It was what (Y/N) deserved, and they would make sure to give him the best send-off they could.
*~*
They gave themselves time to grieve - a day and some odd hours - while they collected the necessary materials for the funeral. While (Y/N)’s body lay in the spare bedroom he always claimed as his, they took turns alone with him. They shared memories, regrets, jokes, and emotions that would have otherwise been kept under lock and key. Then, when the pyre, just northwest of the bunker, was ready, they had Sam carry him out to his final resting place, giving them each an opportunity to hold him one last time.
With his body wrapped up tightly, he was placed on top of the pile of wood underneath the stars. Dean, Sam, and Castiel stood back and silently stared for a couple of minutes. As the late-night song of crickets came, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out three lighters. He handed Castiel and Sam each one before he returned to the spot next to his brother. In unison, they clicked their lighters to life and tossed them to the pyre, one after another.
It took a moment for the wood to catch, but, in an instant, the faint crackling from the burning wood roared to life, engulfing (Y/N)’s body in its warmth. It was poetic, to die a hunter. To die protecting others, even when they didn’t know. They would never get their names in history books or their own documentary. No recognition is to be found. Only stories spread through fellow hunters and close friends kept their memory alive. They were true heroes of their time. Martyrs for a cause unknown.
That night, Sam, Dean, and Castiel vowed to never let his story die. In every way they could, they would spread (Y/N)’s story to everyone who would listen. They would light fires with their words and watch the world burn if it meant everyone knew of the person he was. For as long as they lived, (Y/N) would never truly die.
“Please, don’t worry so much, because in the end none of us have very long on this Earth - life is fleeting. And if you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night, and when a shooting star streaks through the blackness turning night into day, make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. I know I did.”
~ Robin Williams
#Supernatural#SPN#supernatural#spn#Supernatural x Reader#supernatural x reader#SPN x Reader#spn x reader#Male!Reader#Dean Winchester#dean winchester#sam winchester#Sam Winchester#Castiel#castiel#angst#request#supernatural scribe#supernatural imagine
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
✶ DATING HEADCANONS ˎˊ˗
- pairing: cyrus of nara x nb!reader
- summery: dating cyrus headcanons <333
- warnings: fluff, dating headcanons, mention of torture, SLIGHT toxic cyrus because of what happened to him OH MY GOD HE DOESNT DESERVE THAT, blood, spoilers
- words: tbr
- belle speaks: HIII this was requested by an anon on my other account! anyways erm idk what to put here hi
- tags: @reminiscentreader @nqds @never-enough-novels @xo-zozo @evaswarner @sc11vb @sophiesonlinediary @starrynightsxo @f4iry-bell @his-littlefox @viivdle @aaron-warner @reyreadersblog @urbanflorals @imaseabear @lyrakanefanatic
♱ i feel like cyrus would be so touch-starved. especially ever since his mother stopped giving him attention because of what he did to his father, he practically forgot what it felt like to feel loved.
♱ whenever you told him you loved him, he thought that it was a joke. one of those “haha she's telling me that she loves me for pity lol”
♱ he’d try to push you away, thinking that you don’t actually love him. like snapping at you, ignoring you sometimes, but they all weren’t that bad since he was obviously hopelessly in love with you.
♱ but after you realized what he was doing, you showed him how much you do love him. and once he realized that you love him and you won’t leave him? OH, get ready.
♱ this man is CLINGY. like “no don’t walk away from me continue cuddling pls” and like make you stay in bed for HOURS.
♱ VERY protective but like not in the toxic way. he’s protective because he doesn’t want to lose you AND because he’s literally a king and that means that you’ll be a queen if you marry him so…
♱ gets you ANYTHING you want. that ring you saw? immediately got it. that beautiful necklace you were staring at? it's in your dresser. anything and everything you want immediately.
♱ forehead kisses. just forehead kisses. other than actual kisses on the lips, it's all forehead kisses.
♱ he’d definitely let you hang out in his blue room. the two of you could be on the couch, reading, working, etc etc. it just makes him happy seeing you in his happy place.
♱ whenever he gets tortured by iblees, you’re always there with him. you wish that it could stop and that he would stop hurting. (thankfully alizeh’s there) especially afterward. whenever he’s passed out, you make it your JOB to keep him safe and comfortable and he loves it.
♱ whenever he wakes up, he’s even more clingy than he was before. he’s not afraid to be clingy in front of you anymore after you showed him that you love all of him.
♱ will take you out to the garden. he’ll lay down with you and just lay there. either the two of you are talking about whatever or just lying down in silence. it’s peaceful nonetheless.
#⭑ belles drabbles#⭑ belle loves cyrus#cyrus of nara x you#cyrus of nara#cyrus#cyrus of nara x reader#cyrus of nara x fem!y/n#cyrus of nara x fem!reader#cyrus of nara x y/n#this woven kingdom#all this twisted glory#these infinite threads#cyrus of nara x nb!reader#cyrus of nara x nb!y/n#x reader#x y/n
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Earn It || Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: While Spencer was away on a case, you had no better idea than to send him spicy pictures of yourself as a way to encourage him to work harder to get home fast. You ignored his warnings and orders to stop and now that he was back home it was time to face the consequences of acting like a spoiled brat.
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn without plot, established relationship, dom!spencer, sexting, masturbation, bondage, dirty talk, cum eating, deprivation of touch used as punishment (if that makes sense? idk it's just porn)
English is not my first language
Word count: 3300
Notes: idk what this is, I have had this idea in my mind for a while now and I only wrote it because someone left me a nice message praising my spencer smut, so enjoy, I guess
You were buzzing with anticipation, counting down the minutes until Spencer got home. You knew you'd be in trouble —it was clear from the short messages he'd sent you—, but that was part of the fun. You had crossed the line this time. The messages you had sent him while he was stuck at work could only be described as torture. But you couldn't be held accountable for your actions, at least not completely. You missed him-his touch, his lips on yours, the sound of his voice calling your name-and you wanted to make sure he knew it.
Spencer had been away from home for too long, working a few states over to catch a killer who targeted young, blonde women. It was apparently a tough case so for the last few weeks you had to settle for talking to him on the phone late at night. Hearing his voice before bedtime was nice, comforting, but over time it stopped being enough. You missed having him by your side at night, feeling his warmth and the touch of his fingers on your skin. You missed his kisses, his soft lips caressing your body while you whispered his name into the darkness of the night....
It was clear that phone calls were no longer enough to satiate your need for him, so in a moment of impulsive arousal you decided to give him a little incentive to work harder to come home to you. You were simply showing him what he was missing.
The first picture you sent him was simple and tasteful, a conscious choice intended to lure him into your trap. It only showed the lower half of your face, your lips drawn into a sad pout. It also showed part of your chest which was covered by one of Spencer's shirts. It had the first few buttons undone, showing your collarbone and the mound of your breasts, but nothing more. You sent it with a simple 'I miss you', hoping he had his phone nearby to see it.
His reply came not long after, and you almost felt bad for what you were about to do when you read his innocent and oblivious 'I miss you too :(‘. You replied with another photo, this time much more revealing. The shirt was unbuttoned now, revealing the cute red lace bra that hugged your breasts. It was Spencer's favorite and you knew it was going to have the desired effect on him. 'I wish you were here...' you wrote before you sent it. And without waiting for a reply you sent him another picture, this time showing the full lingerie being, posing in a provocative way. Without hesitation you wrote 'to rip it off my body' and pressed send.
You knew your little plan had worked because Spencer didn't answer for quite a while. He had seen the messages, but he was probably too stunned and busy to reply to you. When he finally did, it was a warning. 'Behave.' was all he wrote back, but you ignored it. In the next picture you sent him you had removed your bra, your hard nipples framed perfectly in the picture. Two of your fingers were lost between your lips, the red lipstick slightly smudged at the corners. 'I wish they were your fingers' you typed and Spencer's reply was another warning. 'But I guess mine will have to do for now' you ignored him once again, sending him a video of you burying those same fingers inside you as you moaned his name.
Your provocative messages didn't stop until you came, but even though you knew Spencer had seen them, he didn't reply. Nor did he call you that night like he had been doing every day. He was silent for two whole days. Two long days in which you kept wondering if maybe you had taken things too far. It was torture waiting for some kind of sign from him that would bring you some relief, but when you read the message he sent you knew that had been his intention all along.
'I'm on my way home. I want you in bed wearing the red set by the time I get there.' was all he wrote and you knew he was angry. Spencer was going to make you pay for behaving so badly and you couldn't help but wonder what method he would use to teach you a lesson. Punishments were always creative with him. Spencer wasn't very keen on violence during intimacy, it reminded him too much of his job, you supposed. He was rough in bed when he was in the mood for it and never objected to giving you a spanking or two when you deserved it, but he didn't enjoy making you cry in pain or leaving severe marks on your skin.
Spencer was more of a soft, pleasure dom, which meant that most of the time he was more intense than aggressive. He loved the irony of using pleasure to create pain, often overstimulating you to the point that your body would scream for him to stop. His domination over you was more subtle, more psychological, so his punishments always had a hint of irony in them. The worst one —and at the same time, the best one– had been once you had come without his permission. His way of teaching you a lesson that time was forcing you to cum over and over again, attacking your abused pussy with his fingers, his tongue and a vibrator without giving you hardly any time to recover between orgasms.
You wondered if Spencer had something similar in mind, the very idea frightening and exciting you at the same time. Your clit throbbed between your legs, your panties ruined with your arousal before Spencer even got to lay a finger on you. That was the effect he had on you. All he had to do was send you a stupid message and your whole body would begin to tingle with anticipation, waiting for his command.
When you heard the sound of the apartment door opening you almost jumped out of bed with joy. There was nothing you wanted more than to run into your boyfriend's arms and shower him with kisses as you told him how much you had missed him. But you knew you couldn't —or, rather, shouldn't— do that. Spencer wanted you in bed, wearing his favorite lingerie, and that's exactly what you did. Even though it was a little late to play nice now, you didn't want to give him any more reason to prolong your punishment —whatever it was. So you settled on the bed, putting yourself in a suggestive pose and waited patiently for Spencer to enter the room.
He took his time and you knew he was doing it on purpose. Your punishment had begun the moment you decided to ignore his warnings and now you had no choice but to accept it. Listening to his footsteps walking around the apartment, knowing that he was only a couple of feet away without being able to do anything about it was a real torture, but you deserved it.
"I'm disappointed in you," was the first thing Spencer said when he finally entered the room. He had that hard look in his eyes that he always gave you when you disobeyed him - the one that told you it was in your best interests to listen to him. His pupils were widened, the beautiful hazel color almost completely taken over by the darkness of desire in his eyes. You shifted nervously on the bed, suddenly feeling small under his intense gaze. Spencer walked toward you and you felt like an animal trapped by the predator that wanted to eat it. There was nowhere to run.
"You've been a very bad girl," he clicked his tongue in disapproval, bringing his hands to his neck to loosen the knot of his tie. "Teasing me with those pictures while I was at work, ignoring my warnings, cuming without my permission." Spencer shook his head and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip. The tone in his voice —too calm for someone in his position— almost made you regret your little stunt. Almost. "If you want to act like a spoiled brat, I'll treat you like one."
Spencer ordered you to sit on the bed with your back against the headboard. You obeyed without question, knowing that this was not the best time to complain. You watched him remove his tie in one tug, twisting the soft fabric in his hands before approaching you. He was careful in tying your wrists to the headboard, his fingers barely grazing your skin as he made sure to limit your movements, leaving you completely at his mercy. It was torture to feel him so close and not be able to touch him. Not to mention how incredibly frustrating it was that his hands barely rested on you when it was strictly necessary, as if your skin was burning him. You hated it, but when you let out a whine of protest, Spencer gave you a look that let you know it was best to keep your mouth shut.
"You're going to stay there and keep your eyes on me at all times." He stated with a calmness in his voice that should have alarmed you. But instead of wondering what he was up to —and what that calm meant to you— your mind was distracted by the slow movement of his hands as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing himself to you. " Now you'll know how I felt when I saw your pictures and those videos of you pleasuring yourself while I was stuck at work, unable to do anything about it."
Spencer moved closer to you, leaning down to be at eye level with you. The air caught in your throat as you stared at him, fearing that your mere breath might somehow cause him to pull away from you again. His gaze was firm, intimidating, but hidden among all the desire and lust you could still make out a glimmer of the characteristic softness in his eyes. It was an interesting contrast, captivating. It reminded you that no matter how rough he might be at the moment, the sweet, loving, everyday Spencer was just a word away.
You could hardly believe he was touching you when he took your face in one of his hands. His warm, slender fingers pressed over your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. He used his grip to tilt your head up to make sure your eyes never left his at any time. He had you trapped between his hand and his eyes, frozen still as you anxiously awaited his next words.
"Now you'll be the helpless one. You'll be the one that has to sit back and watch as I pleasure myself, tied to the bed, unable to do anything to relieve the pressure between your legs."
After removing the last of his clothes, Spencer settled himself on the opposite side of the bed. He made sure you had the best view of him and his hard cock before he began to pleasure himself. Your eyes followed the movement of his hand as if you were being hypnotized. Up and down, up and down, his hand moved along his shaft while his mouth let out the sweetest moans you had ever heard. Every little gasp he let out went straight to your center, that throbbed desperate for attention. Spencer sounded desperate and you wondered if he hadn't relieved himself since you had sent him those pictures.
You fought your bonds without even realizing it, your body responding in its own accords to Spencer's stimulation. He didn't scold you for it, on the contrary he seemed to enjoy it. He increased the pace of his hand slightly, his eyes never leaving your figure. The way they roamed over your body —slowly moving down from your face to your neck, stopping at the curve of your breasts before trailing their way down your abdomen and to your legs— almost felt like his caresses. If you concentrated hard enough you could feel the ghost of his fingers following the path of his eyes. But it wasn't enough, not when you were trapped listening to Spencer's moans, watching his hand move up and down his cock as his tip leaked precum. Your mouth watered at the sight, yearning to feel the weight of his cock against your tongue. You could almost taste the salty treat on your tongue, your brain recreating it as best it could. It was criminal that he wouldn't let you touch him when he was so close to you.
"Like what you see?" Spencer mocked you as a pathetic whimper managed to escape your lips. "It's such a shame you were so bad 'cause right now you could be the one touching me... And I could be pleasuring you."
"Yes, please! I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Just please, I need it." you begged, momentarily excited by the mention of him pleasuring you. You were willing to do anything to end this torture.
But Spencer wouldn't budge. "Oh, I know you do, baby. I can see the wet spot in your panties from here. But I can't give it to you. Only good, obedient girls get what they want and you have been very, very bad."
He enjoyed every second of your torture, delighting in the whimpers you let out and the way you struggled against your bonds. Your body squirmed deliciously on the bed, protesting against the lack of attention. Spencer responded to your whimpers with moans, being more vocal than usual to prolong your torture. Every sound he let out increased the fire in your stomach along with your frustration. Your pussy tightened around nothing, desperate for attention. The pressure in your tummy was too much, almost unbearable. You needed relief, whatever would help you take the edge off.
You didn't even realize you were squeezing your legs together until it was too late. You were desperate and while the little friction your thighs provided as you squirmed was not enough, it was better than nothing. Your clit pulsed with every little movement, your juices trickling down your legs and making your job easier. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate on the subtle tingling between your legs to see if you could increase the pleasure that way somehow. The moan that fell from your lips was pathetic, a mixture of pleasure and frustration that alerted Spencer to your little trick just as you were getting somewhere.
You snapped your eyes open as you felt the impact of his hand against your calf. Spencer gave you a stern look, his expression blank as he forced your legs apart again. "You do that again and I won't let you cum tonight, am I clear?"
"Yes, sir!" you whimpered, feeling your hope renewing at the promise of a future orgasm. "I'm sorry! I'll be good, I promise."
It was real torture to have Spencer so close, naked and stroking his cock inches away without being able to touch it. His moans were getting louder and louder, his words dirtier and more condescending —praising your expression of desperation and mocking the way you twisted against your bonds. Your desperation increased along with the speed of his hands, which worked increasingly faster to bring him to the edge of pleasure. He was close, you could feel it, and as pathetic as it sounded, so were you. Your underwear was ruined, soaked with the juices of your arousal. Spencer hadn't touched you, but you were sure that a simple brush against your clit was all you needed to reach your climax.
"Was it worth it, baby?" He managed to say between gasps. "Was it worth it to disobey me? Sending all those pictures just to end up like this, tied to the bed, forced to watch me pleasure myself while you get nothing."
Oh Spencer was enjoying torturing you way too much. He wanted to break you, push you to your very limit and hear you beg for his forgiveness. He wanted you to earn your relief just as you had earned your punishment and he wasn't going to stop until you begged for mercy. In another circumstance you might have put up more of a fight, after all, it was always fun to riled him up. But you were far too desperate to feel his touch to play hard to get. You needed him, you'd been apart too long and you couldn't stand the distance a second longer.
"No, it wasn't! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. I should have listened to you. I won't do it again, I promise! I'll behave! Just, please... please." There was no way to hide the pathetic tone in your voice. You were so frustrated, so needy for attention, that you could almost feel the tears burning in your eyes. You were willing to cry if that's what it took to earn Spencer's forgiveness. You would do anything to feel his hands on you.
"Oh yeah? You'll behave?" He spoke as if he didn't believe you, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he increased the pace of his hand. "Will you stop acting like a spoiled brat and be my good, obedient little girl?"
"Yes! I'll be your good girl, I promise! I'll be so good for you, sir! Please."
Suddenly, Spencer stood up from his place on the bed, approaching you in a couple of steps. "Open up then." He commanded bringing the head of his dripping, reddened cock close to your lips. You didn't need him to tell you twice, tilting your face up as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, eagerly waiting to taste him.
"That's it, that's a good girl... swallow it, swallow all of me... good girl." Spencer moaned as he came in your mouth, his hand stroking himself until he shot the very last drop of cum on your tongue. The squeal of bliss you let out at the taste of his salty flavor was pathetic, but you were too far gone to care. You eagerly swallowed everything he gave you, devouring it as if it were the sweetest candy.
Spencer mumbled sweet praises as he came down from his high, caressing your head with his usual softness. It was a small action, but you missed his touch so much that it was enough to fill you with joy. You thought you were finally in the clear, that you had received your punishment so well that Spencer would show you mercy and finally let you touch him. But when he sat down across from you again and looked into your eyes, you noticed that the intimidating darkness was still present in them. You struggled against your bonds once more to see if he would take pity on you and untie you. But he answered you with a click of his tongue that stopped you immediately.
"You did such a good job for me, baby." Spencer's voice was barely a husky whisper. He brought one of his fingers up to your cheek, collecting the drops of his cum that hadn't made it into your mouth. You tried to lean into his touch, but he removed his hand quickly, bringing his finger to your lips. He didn't have to tell you what to do, you automatically opened your mouth and wrapped your tongue around his finger, tasting his relief.
"But your punishment isn't over yet. You earned your relief, but haven't earned my forgiveness yet. You still don't get to touch me. Now open those pretty legs for me. I'll give you what you want and we'll see how much you can take."
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x female reader#spencer reid#criminal minds
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
It's a Match! || 141 x reader
[ Chapter 5 ] || [ Chapter 7 ]
Pairing: Price x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader
Words: 1.4K~
cw: firing guns, i guess (but John's teaching you).
Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?
Chapter 6: John.
You crossed the entrance to the small pub, head held high, in your most honest attempt at feigning confidence.
After you had accepted, jokingly, to meet with this ‘Captain John’, only as an opportunity to roast the three men behind the account some more, Kyle had reached out to you, through John’s account, saying he also accepted and wanted to meet you today, Friday night, at 8 P.M.
You almost backed out.
Keyword, almost.
Because when you went to your groupchat to ask for support from them, your girlfriends encouraged you.
You almost set a Siri reminder to get better friends.
Either way, you have to admit that it feels… better to meet up John. Your heart is still a bit sore, the wound of heartbreak still struggling to swell closed…
Meeting with Simon or Kyle or Johnny would’ve meant rehashing it. You couldn’t risk getting attached to them after a night of casual sex. But there’s no expectations here… John is older than you, than them. This is just drinks, according to Kyle. He had insisted, in fact, that it be just drinks.
It felt more comforting to know you weren’t expected to go home with him at the end… Even though he’s handsome enough that you wouldn’t exactly refuse had your heart not been in its current state.
So, here you are. You keep his Tinder profile open on your phone, like it has been since you left the house, trying to memorize his features so that when you spot him, you recognize him instantly.
In a way, this feels like a blind date… And it’s strangely exciting.
You spot him from the door the moment your eyes scan the room. He’s at a table in the far corner, his back against the wall, taking up a bar stool. You stop by the bar before making your way over, getting yourself a drink.
You’re not sure if he’s spotted you, if he knows who you are. So you take the time to get a proper look at him that isn’t through a grainy picture on your phone.
He’s about as wide as he is tall and his forearms are covered in hair (“built like a bear”, check.). He’s got a tumbler of ambar liquid in front of him, you can infer it’s whiskey (“likes Whiskey”, check.). His beard is a bit thicker than in the pictures you were sent, and he looks knackered, his eyes surrounded by heavy dark circles.
He sits with his back straight, however his head hangs low and he keeps looking around through his eyebrows like he’s suspicious of everyone. His legs are spread, heels hooked on the footrest of the stool, the jeans he wears clinging tight to his strong thighs. His hands hang limply between them. He’s wearing a maroon button-up atop a white crewneck t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show a black watch on his left wrist.
In short, he’s handsome. And does not look his age.
Stopping in front of the table, you offer him a smile. “John?” You ask, as if you don’t already know it’s you.
He seems to finally notice you, and his harsh face softens with a smile that scrunches his nose.
“Hi. How are you?” He asks politely as he pulls back the stool on his right side for you. You take the seat, squirming a bit as you look for a good position.
“Can’t complain. You alright?” You return and you catch how he looks at you, up and down, his head hanging low, as he glances at you.
“What are you drinking?” He asks.
“Oh, just… a Sprite.” You answer as you keep glancing at him.
He goes quiet and nods, looking away for a moment, giving you every indication that he’s not interested in being here.
“I get it, you know.” You say after a beat of long, strenuous silence.
John’s blue eyes immediately flitter over to you, eyebrows raised in confusion.
“Get what?” He asks with a mix of confusion and disdain in him.
“Being forced to go out… Meet someone.” You explain as you sip your Sprite through the black straw the bartender gave you.
“Oh, really?” He retorts as he leans his left elbow on the round table and swivels to look over at you.
“Oh, yeah.” You say with a nod. “Recovering from a break-up.” You tell him. “My friends put me up to the whole… dating app-get laid thing. So, I get it. It’s… awkward.” You add.
“Hm.” He says with a nod and presses his lips together a bit, as if conceding to you.
“We don’t have to make this a whole thing, if you don’t want to.” You tell him and smile a bit. “I can leave, if you’d like. Or you can.” You offer, noticing how his eyes soften a little.
“No… it’s alright…” He tells you. His eyes slip away from you and he looks down at his lap, blinking a little. He seems… a bit lost in thought. He goes quiet again.
“Okay, then.” You say simply. “I just figured you needed a distraction, you know… Your lads were complaining about you being stressed…” You add, your eyes stuck on him, to try and spot his reaction.
He curls his fists closed and then uncurls them, running his clammy palms over his jeans for a moment. Then, he inhales sharply before slapping his hands on his thighs and turning to you swiftly.
“You ever shot a gun before?” He asks you, causing your brows to raise in surprise.
“No?” You answer, watching as he downs the rest of his whiskey and jumps down from his stool.
“C’mon. I’m teaching you.” He demands as he contours the table and helps you down, guiding you back out of the pub.
-
“Bend your arms about 10 degrees at the elbows.” John tells you from behind you, his big rough hands adjusting your shape with tender but determined touches.
John’s driven you to a firing club’s range just outside of London. You’ve been at this for an hour now and it’s… surprisingly fun.
You’ve yet to land a proper shot, your arms always shaking a little out of aim… But you’ve landed them in the target, which is more than you thought you were going to succeed.
“How the fuck do you handle this every day? This damn rifle is heavy, my arms hurt and we’ve only been practicing for an hour!” You tell him after firing another shot that did not land.
“Lots of practice, love.” He replies, his tone amused. He stepped up behind you, once more fixing your stance, giving little taps to your hip with one of his large hands to force you to stiffen.
John’s been trying not to snicker every time you fire. At first it was because you were flinching, but now it’s because your aim is that bad. But you don’t mind the mockery. He’s got a smile on his face, his smile lines and nose all crinkled.
“Go on, again.” He demands as he helps adjust you, his breath brushing against your ear, the warmth of his torso against your back, and his eyes above the rifle, to try and see if you’re in target. He makes some last second adjustments and then you fire.
This time it was a bull’s eye. “THERE WE GO!” You cheer for yourself and shimmy your shoulders a little while holding the rifle steady. This time, John doesn’t contain himself, and fully laughs. Deep and rich, right next to your ear, making you shiver a bit, your skin covered in goosebumps.
“Good job.” He praises you and gived you another little tap on your hip, this time, sort of catching the side of your ass. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise and you bite your lip before looking up at him.
“You’ve had enough yet?” He asks you with a cocked brow as you lower the rifle into a safe handle, pointing down and to the side.
“Depends.” You find yourself saying as he takes the rifle from you to return at the rental counter.
“On what, love?” He asks you, eyes locked on yours as you turn to face him fully. He seems to be in a much better mood.
“Me having enough of shooting…” You trail off. “Will that end the night? Are you going to drop me off at home?” You ask him.
His eyebrows raise for a bit, but then they lower and his eyes narrow as a ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Oh no, I’m taking you home, but not dropping you off. I’m spending the night with you.” He assures you.
Then, he walks off out to the armory counter, as if he hasn’t just said that.
taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur , @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago
#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic#cod modern warfare#cod fanfic#captain john price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#text story#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#john price x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
TikTok trends | Matt Sturniolo
Matt Sturniolo x reader
Summary: 4 times that Y/N and Matt made a couple's trend on tiktok.
Warning: None.
Requested?: Yes, by @paytonthereader
Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
PS.: I made a part 2!
༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
Just like Matt worked with YouTube making videos with his brothers, Y/N worked with TikTok. She created her account on the app in 2019, and from 2020, she lost her camera shyness slowly and started posting her own videos, creating content for her favorite niche: makeup and skincare.
When Matt moved to Los Angeles, the two met in an unexpected and cliché encounter in line at a bakery on a rainy morning. Their friendship grew as quickly as it began, and feelings were gradually cultivated. With both of them working on the Internet and being public figures, it was easy to understand each other and fit in their crazy schedules.
It didn't take much. The two quickly found themselves in a tangle of reciprocal feelings. Matt felt proud that he was brave enough to make the first move, and soon, the two were in a beautiful relationship that blossomed very quickly and lightly.
Because they both work with social networks, they decided not to keep their love a secret, and what surprised them most was how the fans supported them together, it was rare that they encountered comments from haters.
With that, in all of the Sturniolo Triplets' YouTube videos and Y/N's TikToks, there were thousands of people begging them to make more content together, being called "the power couple" by both fandoms.
That's why Y/N always found a way to convince Matt to do some couple trends on TikTok with her, and despite pretending he didn't like it, she knew how much he adored making mini videos with her, showing to the world how much he loved her.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
1.
Y/N fitted her phone on the phone holder attached to the right side of the front windowscreen of Matt's car - which was there precisely because she loved recording herself doing makeup there, being the passenger princess she was -, lowering the brightness of the screen so that the boy couldn't see the TikTok camera open.
She adjusted the position of the device so that it covered the two front seats, pressing the red button to start recording, smiling slightly to the camera before looking away.
Matt didn't notice her movements, too focused on the sight in front of him, driving slowly through the McDonald's drive thru line, waiting for their turn. His left hand held the steering wheel, while his right hand rested on Y/N's thigh, caressing her covered skin gently.
Y/N's calm playlist played softly through the speakers, creating a comfortable atmosphere for both of them.
The girl knew that she was going to make the order that day, knowing that Matt was feeling too anxious to talk to a stranger, so her plan would work.
"Do you already know what you will want, baby?" The girl asked. Her tone was low as she turned her upper body to the left, focusing her eyes on the brunette.
"Just some nuggets, baby. And Coke, please." He asked, looking at her quickly before returning his eyes to the cars in front of them, receiving a nod from the girl.
It didn't take long and soon it was their turn. Matt rolled down the window on the driver's side door, smiling kindly at the attendant before turning to his girlfriend, waiting for her to start the order.
Y/N leaned to her left, getting closer to Matt so the attendant could hear her clearly.
"Hi, good evening! Can I have a cheeseburger with fries and a Diet Coke, please?" She spoke her order, waiting for the attendant to select it before starting Matt's. "And my husband will just have a big portion of nuggets and a Coke, please."
Y/N tried to capture Matt's reaction without letting on that she was expecting something, watching him surreptitiously from the corner of her eye, pressing her lips into a thin line when she saw him smile big, lowering his face to hide the red color that took over his cheeks.
His hand - which was still on the girl's thigh - squeezed the flesh lightly, and Y/N could swear his fingers were shaking.
After receiving confirmation from the attendant and paying for them, Matt rolled up the window and gently accelerated to get back in line.
When the car in front stopped again, he finally turned to Y/N, a huge smile on his face as his eyes glistened with tears.
"I'm your husband?" He asked, his voice coming out weak from the emotions he felt, his cheeks burning with redness while he felt his heart accelerating.
"Not yet, but one day you will be." Y/N said in a low voice, smiling equally big. She brought her left hand to Matt's right, caressing the soft skin, holding herself back from pulling him into a hug and peppering him with kisses.
"I love you so much. So, so much." He muttered, moving closer and sealing his lips over Y/N's, closing his eyes and letting a happy sigh scape through his nose, a smile still on his mouth.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
2.
Y/N placed her phone on the kitchen counter next to the stove so that the front camera was facing her and taking in as much information from the room as possible.
The girl was cutting some vegetables while preparing lunch for herself and the boys, wiping her hands on the dishrag before clicking on the screen, starting the recording.
"Baby!" She called from where she was, smiling quickly to the camera before lifting her chin slightly so that her voice echoed better. "Come here, I need a favor."
The sound of her and Matt's shared bedroom door opening sounded before light footsteps approached. Soon, the boy's image appeared behind Y/N as he walked closer to her.
"Hi honey. What do you need?" He spoke back, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend's waist and resting his chin on Y/N's right shoulder, sealing the area with his lips softly before noticing the phone recording them. "What are you doing?" Matt asked, his brow furrowed as his eyes focused on the image of the two hugging each other that stared back at him.
"I'm just recording a recipe." She lied quickly, lightly biting her bottom lip to hold back her laughter. She really didn't know how to lie to him. "Baby, can you go to the market for me? I need tomatoes to make sauce." Y/N asked, releasing the knife she was holding in her right hand and bringing it to Matt's head still on her shoulder, stroking his hair lightly, receiving a happy sigh in response.
The boy let out a sound of agreement, nodding his head before lifting it up, kissing Y/N's shoulder and her cheek, squeezing her waist one last time before taking some steps back.
"That's it, baby?" He asked as he felt his pants pocket with his right hand, checking if he had his wallet and car keys.
Y/N agreed, picking up the knife again and going back to cutting the vegetables.
"Alright, if you remember anything else, just text me. I love you, bye." Matt asked, turning around and starting to walk towards the stairs.
"Okay, thanks!" Y/N thanked him, smiling small when she heard Matt's footsteps stop abruptly. She looked up at her phone slightly, seeing her boyfriend turn around with a confused expression.
"I love you, bye." He repeated, watching her closely.
"Bye, honey. Drive safe." She added, trying to hide her smile as she turned her attention back to the vegetables.
Matt approached her again, positioning himself behind her body and tilting his head to the side so he could see her profile, his blue eyes running over her features.
"I love you." He repeated it a third time, this time slowly, as if he were speaking to a child.
"Okay." Y/N persisted, keeping her eyes on the vegetables, taking deep breaths to keep from laughing.
"Did I do something?" Matt asked, his right hand lightly grabbing Y/N's right arm and making her release the knife, turning her body so that she was facing him. "I'm sorry." He asked, his eyes scanning his girlfriend's face as a weight took over his gaze; he felt guilty despite not knowing what he had done.
"What? No, you didn't do anything." The girl shook her head, intertwining their fingers and looking at him in false confusion.
"But... that's not how it works, baby. I say, "I love you", and you have to say "I love you" back." Matt insisted, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand what was happening. "Did something happen that I don't know about?"
A sound of laughter escaped Y/N's throat, she couldn't keep pretending when seeing the confusion in her boyfriend's eyes, her heart warmed with the way he was trying to apologize and fix something he didn't do and that, in fact, didn't even exist. Matt remained watching her, feeling even more lost than before.
"I'm sorry, It's just a prank, baby. It's for a TikTok." The girl explained, pointing to her phone that was still recording them.
Matt rolled his eyes, sighing in relief before a smile took over his face.
"You're still going to give me a heart attack." He muttered, shaking his head. "Let's do it again then. I love you, bye." Matt repeated, still holding his girlfriend, who laughed lightly at his reactions.
"I love you more, my love." She finally responded, reaching forward and quickly sealing their lips. "Now go buy my tomatoes."
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
3.
Y/N held her phone with her right hand, the screen showing the TikTok camera open, with the audio already selected, just waiting to be started.
She was standing in front of the closet doors in her shared room with Matt. The lights were low, forming a comfortable atmosphere.
Her left hand held her favorite red lipstick from Kylie Cosmetics, with the lid off and the contents showing.
Her right thumb clicked the red button to start recording, the audio echoing through the four walls.
"Stay with me"
She applied one more layer of lipstick to her bottom lip, smudging it a little on purpose.
A masculine hand - Matt's - appeared in the camera view, cupping Y/N's chin firmly and wiping away the smudged lipstick with his thumb gently, pulling her face up so she was looking at him.
"I don't want you to leave..."
Y/N turned her phone slightly so the camera caught the two of them, Matt appearing at her side with his face and neck smeared with lipstick marks.
His face was facing hers, his blue eyes traveling from her eyes to her painted lips, a smirk appearing on his cheeks.
Y/N looked up at him through her eyelashes, feeling her face take on a red color due to the intensity of his gaze, smiling shyly.
Matt pulling her face for a kiss was the last image captured on camera, before the TikTok ended.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
4.
"Baby?" Y/N called out loud, her eyes briefly flicking to her phone, which had the TikTok camera open, already recording herself.
She was sitting on the couch in the living room, the television on in the background as her favorite series played.
"Yes, baby?" Matt responded from their bedroom, leaving the room seconds later and approaching the living room, stopping near the couch as he looked at his girlfriend, waiting.
"Do we have orange?" She asked, turning her face towards him, smiling small when she saw a confused expression appear in his eyes.
"The fruit? Hm, I guess so. We bought it last time we went to the market." Matt replied, resting his hand on the back of the couch, leaning his hips on the armrest.
"I really feel like eating an orange right now." Y/N continued, closely watching her boyfriend's reaction.
"Oh, I'll get you one, hold on." Matt responded quickly, turning around and walking over to the fridge, opening the door and reaching for the fruit from the fruit and vegetable drawer.
Y/N looked at her phone camera wide-eyed, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she smiled big, a reddish hue taking over her cheeks.
Just under two minutes later, Matt returned with a small bowl in hand, and Y/N quickly recognized it as her favorite bowl that had bee designs on it.
"Here, my love." He handed her the ceramic. Y/N took it and looked inside, seeing her orange not only peeled but cut so that she could eat it slowly and without getting her hands dirty.
Y/N pouted as her eyes filled with tears.
"Thank you." Her voice was broken due to the amount of love she felt at that moment, looking up at her boyfriend.
"What is it?" Matt asked worriedly, sitting down next to her and pulling her close, laying her head on his right shoulder as he brought his head closer to hers, sealing his lips on her hair and exhaling lightly, smelling the soft smell of shampoo. "Why are you crying, baby?"
"I just love you so much."
"I love you more, silly."
༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋
~ taglist:
@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu
(If you want to be added to the taglist, comment here, please)
#x reader#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo#love#matt sturniolo x yn#matt sturniolo fic#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#matt x reader#matt au#matt fanfic#matt#matty#tiktoker#tiktok#tiktoker reader#youtuber#fluff#couple trends#tiktok trends#imagine#matt sturniolo imagine
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
⤷‧₊˚ nanami kento wants another bundle of joy.
┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female reader, female anatomy described, reader is black coded (with descriptors), established relationship (married), oral (f.receiving), pet names (baby), cute couple banter, profanity, missionary position, breeding kink, reader and kento have a daughter named yu (yes she's named after yu haibara), this was a one shot for nanami bday btw, wc: 2.6k, mdni
a repost from my old account, that sadly was a victim of tumblr's label crusade. also can be read on ao3.
You should have known the talk about another kid was coming. The way he would talk about Yu’s old baby stuff and the importance of hand-me-downs just in case you two would have another bundle of joy. Or the fact that he and your five-year-old daughter Yu would get lost in the department store, just for you to find them in the baby section. Nanami also was becoming very handsy towards you. Outside looking in, anyone would assume that it just was a loving husband showing his wife love. But Nanami was like a hormonal teenager that had just hit puberty. His kisses were deeper, which leads to a makeout session (cue your daughter clearing her throat when she enters the room). Gosh, you couldn’t forget the twinkle in Nanami’s eye as he and you attended a friend’s baby shower as you two watched them open gifts for their child.
Here you were, stumbling and sharing an intense kiss as you entered the home you shared. Hands grasping for each other as you shared kisses that caused your lips to be swollen and for the once lip gloss you were wearing to now be smudged across your lips. You pulled away, breathless and shocked. “Another kid?” You questioned. You just wanted assurance that this is what the blonde-haired man wanted.
“Another kid.” He repeated to you as one of his hands cupped your face while the other was placed on your belly as if it already was a child growing inside of you.
Even if you two weren’t trying for a kid at the moment, you still knew that the pink sundress you wore to the baby shower—hugged your body perfectly was something to always gain your husband’s attention. During the time at the baby shower, Nanami always made it his goal to touch you. From his hand taking comfort on your thighs as you were sitting and socializing to grabbing your hand as you move around your friend’s backyard where the baby shower was set up at. You adored that Nanami couldn’t get enough of your body. He cherished every part of you from the imperfections that you felt insecure about to the striking beauty that had him staring at you with a goofy grin when you weren’t looking.
You stared up at him searching for any problems in his eyes. Searching for anything that would cause you yourself to back out, but you didn’t find anything. He truly wanted another kid. He wanted your daughter to have a sibling.
His lips begin to kiss your jawline, the kisses went from soft to excited. “Please let me fuck a baby in you [Y/N],” Nanami mumbled against your golden skin.
“Okay.” was the only thing that escaped your mouth before Nanami threw you over his shoulder to take you to your bedroom. A giggle bounced from the back of your throat at each step he took. You never saw the man so serious about something other than work, but here he was on the mission to make sure he get you pregnant.
When your back felt the fluffiness of your shared bed, it was a wonderful sight to see your husband standing above you. His fingers combed through his hair as he tugged off the pastel pink polo shirt he was wearing. Fingertips tracing down his toned chest as you watched intensely. His chest was toned as could be as if he was sculpted by a Greek god himself. His hands finally traveled down to the waistband of the pants he wore before he’s unbuttoning them. You could see the band to his grey Calvin Klein briefs and the tent in his crotch area. Your skin felt hot feeling Nanami grab a hold of your ankle to drag you closer to the edge of the bed. He brought your ankle up to his mouth, peppering the inside of it with soft kisses. The scent of you lingered up his nostrils and he could only bask in the familiar scent he has smelt for years now.
“You said you were going to fuck a baby in me, what are you waiting for? You asked with innocence dripping off your tongue. You glanced up at your lust-filled husband through your eyelash while letting your pearly whites graze at your plump lower lip.
Nanami only let a hum pass by his lips before he’s stepping closer in between your legs after dropping the one he once was kissing upon. His hands danced up the sundress you wore. The heat of the moment only turned you on more causing dampness in the panties you were wearing. The silence from Nanami scared you. Not in a fearful type of way, but you knew that when he didn’t say many words during intercourse, he would be focused on one thing. That thing is to make sure you feel good from head to toe.
His fingers grasped at the thin fabric of your panties before he’s slowly taking them down your thighs. He soon discarded you of the sundress you were wearing. The crisp air and Nanami’s touch caused goosebumps to adorn your skin quickly. The look he gave you caused your heart to quicken. When he saw your bare body, he always looked at you as if he was falling in love all over again. The gaze was a complete panty soaker for you, it caused you to want him, even more, when you guys made love.
“It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” You said as your hand reached out to grab a hold of your husband. You lightly brushed against his abs just so you could get a feel of him similar to what he was doing. But he soon pushes your hand away before kneeling in between your thighs.
His firm grasp upon your thighs before tugging you closer to his face caused a soft gasp to come out of you. He tugged your dress up so that it was around your waist. Your lower half was completely exposed as your heart was thumping against your chest waiting for the next move Nanami was going to make. The growing anticipation caused you to shiver under Nanam’s touch before feeling his soft kitten licks upon your folds.
You relaxed under his touch with each soaked lick upon your puffy lips. Your head fell back into the fluffiness of your bed as Nanami was in between your thighs. The pornographic sound of him in between your plush thighs. Each delicate suck on your clit and any rough moan Nanami let out while eating you out pushed you further on the edge. Your teeth nibbled at your lower lip holding back a moan before you once felt Nanami tug you closer to his handsome face. Your thighs vibrated when you felt the flat of his tongue traced along the entrance of your pussy. “Gosh, Nanami.” You sighed happily at the way he was in between your thighs.
As if you cooing his name was the green light, you let out a sudden gasp when you felt his fingers push themselves inside you. The wet squelching noise of him gliding his fingers inward and outward at a beautiful pace instantly caused you to moan. Your back arched off the bed before you felt Nanami’s free hand push back down before he dove right back in between your thighs. As his slim digits curled inside you, his tongue brushes against your clit in a teasing manner. His brown eyes glanced at your fucked out expression while your fingers grasped at the sheets below your naked body. His nose rubs at your soft skin with each flick of his tongue. Your orgasm was nearing and the way his tongue was moving was only pushing you further from being a cumming mess.
With Nanami’s slender fingers inside you, while his tongue flickered at your tongue, you could feel the wetness below you that stained your sheets. Your orgasm was screaming to come out as you attempted to run away from Nanami’s explicit touch. He only pulled you back and pinned you down to continue what he was doing (uninterrupted this time).Your slick coating his middle and index finger with each curl inside of you. As soon as you met his brown eyes, the fierce feeling in the pit of your stomach burst. Your head fell back in complete bliss as you sob for Nanami.
You were seeing stars with each delicate whimper that you let out. Your fingers intertwined in Nanami’s blonde hair while your hips bucked through the passionate orgasm you were experiencing. Nanami’s mouth still lapped up every droplet of your wetness as if he was a starving man. The pad of his thumb rubbed comforting circles on your thighs—it was a kind gesture to help soothe the electrifying feeling of your orgasm being pushed upon you so soon. He removed his mouth from your pussy with a pop. The addicting taste of you on his tongue while his lips dragged hunger-filled kisses on the inside your thighs before he’s standing up fully.
If you looked closely you could point out that his bulge indicating how hard he was grew. You quickly gained your composure as you backed yourself further on the bed, your legs quivering with each movement. But you still ached for more. You could hear Nanami tugging off the remaining clothes that were blocking you from seeing his naked body that you’ve seen so many times.
When the time came for you and Nanami to finally intertwine with each other, you felt so many emotions hit you at once. The feeling of love with the way he caressed your thighs with soothing circles as he lined himself up to your entrance. You felt hopeful that after this you would have the satisfaction to carry yet another bundle of joy that you were so proud of to be raised with such a wonderful man. Your nails dug into his forearm as your lips gasped apart with each shove of Nanam’s hips. The intense feeling of his cock stretching you out bit by bit only caused you to choke up a whimper.
Nanami stared down at you with worry in his eyes. His brown-colored eyes look into yours before he’s crashing his lips upon your gasping ones, “I got you, baby, just relax.” He mumbles against your lips. “I always got you.”
His easeful tone and even more comforting words caused your body to relax. Soon your body relaxed and felt like you were on cloud night. The astonishing feeling of Nanami’s hips bucking forward caused your eyes to lolly in the back of your head. Breaking apart from the kiss to moan out his name like a sweet tune playing on a Sunday morning. Once Nanami heard his name fall off your tongue, it was as if a light switch was turned on. His hips pushed forward quicker. His hands quickly spread your thighs apart even further just so the tip of his cock could hit that spot that caused your pedicured toes to curl.
“Fuck—you feel so good,” Nanami uttered through breathy groans. Slow and sensual strokes were always the start of Nanami making you feel good before he turned into a madman that drove you insane.
He took the enjoyment of having you whine out for more like a desperate cat in heat and soon giving you just that until you’re begging for him to let you cum under his strong body. His lips dragged kisses upon your neck as you felt his thrusts become quicker. The sound of the bed's wooden headboard was attempting to overpower the pornographic sound of skin slapping against each other. Your eyes fluttered open to glance up to see Nanami hovering over you. The beautiful sight of seeing the way his teeth chafed upon his lower lip holding back a moan and his cheeks stained red due to the pleasurable sensation of the way your cunt wrapped around him. He was so handsome in a state like this.
Nanami’s hand reached above to grasp at the headboard, not particularly stopping it from knocking against the wall—but to help himself move at a rhythmic pace. He felt your legs snake around his waist completely trapping in the trace of being balls deep inside of you. It was as if you sense that he was about to cum. His body felt hot instantly as beads of sweat decorated his forehead. The salty droplets caused some of his blond hair to stamp upon his forehead. His hand grasped the headboard as he only stuttered out sweet nothings and praise about you.
Something along the lines of, you look so beautiful y/n or you’ll look so gorgeous pregnant with his child. You couldn’t tell due to your constant moaning. The sensational feeling of your orgasm slowly tugging you further and further towards the light. Your legs locked around Nanami’s waist so tightly that you were sure he could feel the heel of your foot tap at his bottom with each thrust. As your orgasm came upon you, the one hand that was holding upon the headboard intertwined with yours completely entrapping you upon his thrusts through your orgasm.
“Kento!” You snarled out his name. Fingernails digging into his skin wanting to feel his body some more even though you two were around practically insufferable with each other.
“Shit—I’m so close sweetheart. Just hold on a lil longer.” Nanami breathed out as he was nearly going insane with the way your pussy quivered around him.
It didn’t long before Nanami was releasing himself with a quickness. Whiny moans and stuttered words were the only things you could hear from your husband. Your fingers intertwined with each other’s as you could feel Nanami’s cum inside you, a feeling you’ve felt many times before even when you weren’t trying for a baby. Your mouth gaped open before Nanami enclosed the breathy moans that you let out with a passionate kiss. The taste of him imprinted your tongue as you brought him closer basking in the moment of feeling him inside of you. The warm feeling of his cum being inside you caused you to moan in the kiss as you felt yourself flutter around his cock. Both of you cumming at the same time, making it a perfect opportunity to relish the perfect moment you two shared.
When the both of you were tugging out the temporary feeling of your sweet ecstasy, Nanami plopped down next to you. Your legs felt numb, you felt stuffed and you could feel the love bites Nanami placed upon your shoulder. Your eyes barely were open as you lay on your back. Completely dazed and possibly still dickmatized from the feeling of Nanami being inside of you. Nanami’s cum inside of you as you hoped you two did got the job done to give Yu another sibling. You could feel Nanami's head in the crook of your neck, his lips kissing at the small trail of bite marks he left on your body which caused you to close your eyes in complete bliss.
“Hopefully, the first time was it.” You would mumble and could hear Nanami chuckle.
“If you remember, with Yu it took the fourth time and it was at my job Christmas party,” Nanami answered, gaining a groan from you.
“Seriously?” You questioned.
“Seriously. I remember because I had to cover your mouth with my hand to muffle your moans.” Nanami pointed out as his fingers were tracing little shapes on your naked skin.
You didn’t recall Nanami fucking you four times to conceive Yu. Perhaps it was due to him fucking you senseless a few minutes ago that caused your brain to go fuzzy.
“Three more times to go,” Nanami smirked as he once again kissed your skin.
#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento smut#jjk x reader#jjk smut#anime smut#anime x reader#jjk x black reader#black reader#female reader#anime x black reader#⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈
950 notes
·
View notes
Text
『♡』 Brittle is Devotion
♡ featuring: ex-husband!toji x f!reader
♡ summary: it's been a while since you've seen your ex-husband, and on a drunken night, buried feelings emerge. wc: 12.2k+ (bruhhh)
♡ cw/tw: mentions of violence/blood, angst/comfort, rekindled feelings, rough sex, missionary, prone bone, full-nelson, overstimulation, cervix fucking, creampie, m/f receiving, throat fucking, sadism/masochism, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, praise/degredation kink, dumbification, edging, breeding kink, feral toji mmm, pet names (angel, sweetie, baby)
notes: good morning!! hope everyone is having a lovely day, i am so so so so sorry i haven't posted in so long i didnt abandon the account!! i've just been getting it together before the semester starts, and i didnt expect for it to be this long :(( im very tired but ill try to get some stuff out in the next couple of weeks, most likely long fics too. ty so much, and srry for any spelling mistakes. art by ilameys_ on ig! <;3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!
Picking up the pieces after Toji is rough. The divorce was bad enough, and you currently have an aching pain stilling in your chest that makes it hard to take the shallowest breaths. It hammers in the tight confines of your ribcage, and as you sob into your pillow the only relief you desire is sleep, so that you may have temporary solace from the grief wrecking your brain. Your new apartment feels entirely too shallow. There’s no crumby television to use because you were too broke to afford the higher-end appliances, or that creaking mattress you both squeezed into until you could thrift a reasonable headboard. You missed the 60s style tiles painted a horrific green in your kitchen, and the shower that ran out of hot water every other day. It was terrible, downright unlivable for most, but you had each other.
It hurts more because you love him. So much. Unbearably, to the point where you screamed at the top of your lungs until your throat scratched through angry hot tears, begging him to care for a moment, to give you a reason to stay. Countless times, threatening to walk out if he didn’t endeavor to change. But he never believed you. He thought you’d never leave, because all you had was him.
And it was true, for years it was. Toji was your dream man; funny and thoughtful. It wasn’t conventional kindness, but it was his. Money didn’t matter—even as you enjoyed a frozen meal on the floor of your empty apartment in the first couple months of moving in with him, you had a smile on your face. Even when your friends and family begged you not to marry him, because they couldn’t stand the sight of him and his arrogant, sometimes aggressive candor, you went on with it anyway. You knew who he really was at heart.
He was your first everything, you felt if he left, you’d melt to nothing and become a shell of who you once were, because Toji had become an extension of you. You waited for him to get home, had dinner, and slept through the outside commotion of cars and bar fights; his securing arm locked around you, hand cradling your head and legs intertwined. There was no one like him.
He knew that and got greedy.
To you, the change was fast, but it’d been spreading like a nasty mold for years. You’d sunk so deep you hadn’t noticed the drought until you reached the bottom. He taught you love, then pulled away; separated himself with additional shifts and pathetic excuses. In turn you punished yourself, showered him with heavier instances of love and endearment, and convinced yourself you needed to try harder. If the sex wasn’t daily, you gave him more. If he didn’t like the food, you learned how to be a better chef. If the house wasn’t clean, you scrubbed top to bottom. Wringing a tired towel, dry of sacrifice. Chasing after him until the soles of your feet blistered. Still, not a smidge of praise or approval came to fruition. When he did—which was rare—those peppered spaces ignited a lasting burn in your heart, keeping withering fire alive.
Soon, those fleeting kisses and distant pauses weren’t enough, and he didn’t care enough to change. You’d plead and cry at his feet, and he’d scoff and walk past you.
“We’ll talk about it later”, he’d say more often than not. You didn’t have the confidence to leave, and he consumed himself with whatever underground work he participated in, while you decayed in a declining marriage.
A grimace on his face, laid back on the couch and looking at you expectingly, as if you would drop to your knees and service him in a heartbeat—but you did exactly that. And you were tired, utterly tired of pulling the emotional and mental leaden baggage on your own. It was heavy, and you were crushing yourself underneath it. You still loved him with every inch of your being, and you’d do it all for him, but it couldn’t be just you anymore. He came home one fateful night to you sitting at the dining table, spotlighted under the stark glass pendant lamp in your dark apartment, dejection that foreshadowed the unfortunate end.
“Do you love me?” He gazed at your solemn face and scratched his head.
“Mhm.”
“Will you change?”
“No.”
That’s what you needed to hear. The next week, while he was at work, you gathered your clothes and measly possessions to leave. You sobbed the entire way through, shaking with uncertainty and fear of the unknown—unsure about a future without him. As you slid the dissolution of your marriage on the counter, the sudden reality made you unable to control your knees as you dropped to the floor, and tears spilled down your cheeks and freckled the papers. Luckily, Shoko was there to comfort you and help pack your things. The corners of that confinement spared a gentle, loving memory, and vitriol was left in its wake. Turning back to its hollowness for the last time, you imagined Toji, plopping onto the couch as he’d usually do to watch some late-night television show or going to bed. Like you weren’t there.
Maybe you never mattered in the first place.
It’s been a year since, and things are looking up for you. An opportunity surfaced in a field you were interested in applying for, and you miraculously got the job. Moving over a city helped you adjust to your new life—that, and a bottle of dark burning liquor. No matter how much you mindlessly typed at your computer or partied with coworkers, you couldn’t stomach the pit gorging through you, a hole that surfaced everything you’d been burying.
You’re not prepared to face the forlorn mock of your bleached walls today. As you pry your eyes open, the flickering shimmers through your sheer curtain cast across unattended sheets, soothed by stuffed animals strung along the comforter. You reach for something that isn’t there in your groggy state—a gentle reminder that your morning would be just as empty as yesterday.
Today isn’t any other; it’s what would’ve been your five-year anniversary. One year, of new beginnings and new friends. A year of solitude.
You don’t bother slinking out of bed. The accumulation of tasks awaiting you is more daunting than the actual execution. In an attempt to regain control of your life, you established a healthy routine. It entails waking up at early hours to exercise and work on projects and meal prep, and ending your night early with extra exercise and skincare. It was amazing at first and quelled your sadness. What they didn’t inform you of, was the spectacle; the appearance and perception of perfection, and not the struggles or gradual burnout of maintaining that lifestyle. When the distraction died down, and work and social activities became a congealed, monstrous chore, you quickly resented those limp salads and vomit-inducing runs.
You expel a loaded sigh and pull the covers over.
The vibration of the phone buzzing on your stomach peels your eyes awake. You allow it to pass, but it rings again. From a frustrated exhale, your languid hands muster the strength to flip to its notification; Shoko’s calling.
“Hello?” you mutter, fatigue caught in your throat.
“Fuck, you sound like hell!” she replies. The repetitive clack of office keyboards and analog phones being slammed by stressed out coworkers distorts the background. Thank God I used my paid time off.
“I love you too, Shoko.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that…you ok?” It’s much sweeter. Shoko has always been a supportive friend, perhaps bordering on too supportive. You cherish her motherly concern, and rather vulgar honesty.
“Mm, I’ll manage.”
“I can come over after work.” You flip onto your back, soaking in the mild sunlight.
“S’alright, I’m sure you’re busy, and I might sleep in. Wallow in sorrow for a few hours.” Shoko drawls a dramatic groan and creaks back in her chair.
“Nothing good comes out of feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the club or somethin’.”
“‘N how’s that gonna help?”
“Better than whining at home. Wear something sexy, look pretty and get laid. That’s how I get over shit.”
“Mm, right. I don’t know if that’s gonna work” you giggle, toying with one of the ears on your stuffed bunny.
“Oh yeah, forgot you’re the born-again Virgin Mary now. You know… if you want to get over ‘him’, you have to take the first step.” You can envision her air quotations. She treats his name as forbidden speech, and regularly refers to it in conversation as “he who shall not be named.”
“Ugh, mother Shoko’s speaking.”
“Listen, it may or may not work. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it is all I’m saying.”
“Yea? Well, if he has a tiny dick, I’m blaming you.”
“Nothing wrong with shellfish.”
The last curl falls in place, and you follow it up with copious amounts of hairspray. Fanning your bathroom after a drawn out coughing fit, you get a good look at your figure in the mirror. The backless lacy black dress you’re wearing hugs you in all the right places and guides the detail sitting tight under your butt. It’s undoubtedly revealing, coupled with strappy heels and a dark cat eye.
You walk past your vanity and pause at the messy jewelry box, riddled with remnants of Toji’s adoration. Sparkling varieties of heavy necklaces and rings and precious diamonds; ninety percent of your jewels were because of him. You’d asked if he stole the items he gifted you, and he’d come up with an elaborate sarcastic story about a jewelry heist he carried out, and how appreciative you should be. Buried underneath rested your engagement ring, a sparkling cut that crowded your entire finger. You couldn’t bring yourself to pawn it, opting to occasionally revel in its beauty before shoving it in a far corner with your feelings.
Shoko wasn’t lying about how sexy you’d feel dolled up, and it shows in your confidence as you modeled around your bedroom, striking poses to no one. Your plushies weren’t very appreciative of the full-blown fashion show, but you hadn’t felt like this for a long while. Maybe it was about time you entered the dating scene.
The entrance to Infinity appears as a run-down tacky club from an outdated era, and it’s easy to miss the multicolored flashes dotting the black tinted glass on each side. A few steps past the black and white checkered vestibule, and you get to experience the scale of a roaring, clashing club. It’s not half as lively on the outside; sweat dripping under twinkling lights of multicolor, bodies colliding and moving to the melodic sway of erratic music vibrating through the floor, freely drowning and expelling their insecurities, deepest struggles. It’s both welcoming and hopeless.
A woman balances her shot glass as she gyrates against a stranger while another stumbles off the dance floor in a drunken stupor. The heat and screams are overstimulating, circulating around you. You consider withdrawing, especially since you held some reservations about partying solo. However, this is what you need, to get comfortable with doing things by yourself.
So you down shots, two, three, burning of different varieties that heighten your body temperature and nerve. You throw back a mix of dark and white liquor, a dangerous combo that dizzies your vision and runs up an unfathomable tab you can't afford. The strangers accompanying you at the counter encourage you. No rational thoughts, let alone decision making, register in your alcohol-sodden mind. Like strings being fielded by a puppeteer, your legs move on their own to the dance floor.
It’s hot. The blurring iridescence bends to produce shapes that make your fuzzy brain giggle for some odd reason. You’re moving in slow motion, and the world’s continuing at max speed. You don’t care either way. You’re light on your feet, and the music goads you to dance. Spinning, hands tangled between your locks traveling down the curve of your thighs, hearing the lyrics inside and out as if no one is watching.
You dance with women and men alike, anyone willing to help you overlook your heartache. It’s floaty, an airiness that spills sober thoughts from cotton mouth and makes every touch electrifying. It’s in your legs and arms, your restless feet and fingers. You laugh hysterically, incomprehensibly, and switch to sadness in a heartbeat. These aimless bodies, just as lost as you, drinking to your despair. Was it worth the abyss tomorrow held, or the agonizing headache as a result?
After those dances, mainly flailing efforts at rhythm, your head is barreling. You’re suffering from a heavy case of vertigo at the slightest turn, and your stomach’s riddled with knots. It hits you like a car crash, and you strive to stabilize yourself as bile fills your throat, cringing when you reluctantly swallow. A disorienting slurry of words and faces ask you things you cannot hear or see, and it suddenly becomes too real.
In few sparse moments, your life plays before you in stop motion. From heaving over the toilet while a lady with long nails held your hair back, to knocking the drink out of someone’s hand on your way out. Now you’re walking on one heel and holding the other. You might’ve popped a nail if not for security holding the door open. They attempt to flag you, but you reply with a curt slurred “‘M fine.”
You push your knees together, sitting on the corner of a curb. This isn’t how you expected the night to end. It’s pitch black beside street lamps, and awfully quiet in contrast to inside. Shivers ripple through you despite the persistent warmth pooling in your ears. You lean on a street lamp in the calm cold as people leave, probably running to participate in intimate affairs with their acquaintances. The gentle hand on a waist or shoulder forms a subconscious smile; young, passionate love blooming on a random night.
And you burst into tears.
Ugly tears streaming down your face in blobs that don’t stop no matter how much you wipe them, followed by deep sniffles. They smear across your phone while you search for a taxi app, and your cloudy eyes deceive you.
You jolt when a hand brushes against your arm and turn to meet the foggy face of a man with stubble. You wipe your wet cheeks and lean further from him.
“Hey baby, you alright?” The pet-name makes you shudder. You definitely don’t know him, and at this point there’s no one outside.
“Wh’re you?” you garble.
“Kusakabe. Where ya off to?”
“Waitin’ for uh frien’” Your eyelids waver, failing to stay alert under the frightening stare burning holes through your skull.
“A friend, huh…you gotta man?” he asks, stepping closer to you. You back away to the side of the light.
“Go away.” You’re definitive, but he laughs as if it were the ridiculous request of a child.
“I like that dress. You look hot.” His hand drags along the strap of your dress, but you nudge his hand.
“Mm’get off me. N’don’ need your help.” He scoffs with offense, and as you go to leave, he grabs your wrist firm.
“Relax. Tryna go home with someone tonight?” You’re trembling, tugging with as much force as you can muster in your punch-drunk state, but he doesn’t budge.
“L’ve me alone”
“Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll call a cab-”
Whack! Your wrist goes limp, and the crunch and crack of flesh hitting concrete echoes. You sluggishly pan to him, knocked out cold beyond the spotlight. The influence takes you, however, and you nearly find yourself joining him on the sidewalk. Before you can fall, a broad, rough hand supports your lower back. Their deep gritty tone is inches away from you.
“C’mon, sweetheart.”
You rise from an unusually sweet slumber. The light shines through your eyelids, unavoidable even when you maneuver the velvety warm blanket for shade. Your eyeballs shift across thin skin being prodded by intrusive sun, and as they crack open, you catch a glimpse of the glass coffee table in front of you, arranged with perfection resembling a furniture showroom. You smile to yourself half-asleep, wondering when you bought such an expensive item, and how an abundance of sunlight made its way through your average window. You’re drifting off anew.
Then, you shoot up.
You start to really take in the surroundings, and when you do, a pit drops in your stomach. An ultra-wide flat screen television faces you, decorated with plants on either side. Craning your neck, the long windows of this penthouse line the adjacent wall up to the ceiling, which hangs a glass geometric chandelier. This isn’t your bedroom, nor your apartment.
Instantly you switch to sitting, and recoil just as fast. Pain envelops the wrinkles of your brain, and you wince from abrupt tension. You palm the bridge of your nose.
“Fuck” you whisper. Last night replays in your head through staccato bursts, though you couldn’t remember the minutes before you passed out. Embarrassment creeps onto your ears at the freak show you performed hours ago. You’d made a fool of yourself, puked and tripped like a sloppy drunk college girl. You can’t be more ashamed, and to top it off, you’re in the house of a stranger you possibly slept with. You look down from the smooth sectional sofa, and notice your heels arranged neatly beneath you with your phone and bag. At the very least, the man you engaged with seems to be accommodating.
You scurry to put your heels on, and hopefully sneak out in silence before you face further humiliation. Something about this blanket smells familiar; musk and oakmoss and man, grazing across your nose like the aroma in an intimate embrace, the earthy dew of calm before a storm, a trace only you can understand.
“Finally up?”
It’s that gravelly smoky voice you lived in for five years, and some before that. The voice you fell asleep to, mumbling nonsense in your ear through boorish snores. The voice you fell in love with, easily saying “I do” when you wedded at the courthouse. The voice you resent, saying nothing at all when you cried.
You look behind you, and there he is, walking down the staircase. He’s wearing boxers, settled under the tufts of hair running down his belly button. His rugged muscles peek out from the untied black robe dangling to his strong calves. His hair grew out a bit since you’ve last seen him, shaggy bedhead running across his eyes and covering his ears.
He smirks the same, though, sweet and soft for such a dour man, like nothing ever happened, approaching you while you sneer at the cruel joke bestowed upon you.
“Toji.” You haven’t said it in forever. It’s abashing how quickly your regularly tense shoulders relax in his proximity.
“How ya feelin’? Hope the couch was comfortable enough, figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in my bed” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched his sturdy back.
“It was fine.”
There's an awkward quiet afterwards. The air’s thick, glass straining under pressure, threatening to give way at the smallest disturbance.
Toji clears his throat. “So, um...you need somethin’? Water?”
“No” you bark, folding your arms across your chest. You can’t look at him, not without feeling enraged. You’re the afterthought, the chaser, rushing after a man who wouldn’t dare look twice. “How’d you even know I was there?”
“Coincidence” he replies, and you scoff. He couldn’t get away with lying to you; playing games with moves you’ve lost to countless times.
“Like hell it was a coincidence. I’m in a completely different city now, what were you doing there?” You have to physically bite back the words begging to spill from your mouth as his head wanders in thought, possibly concocting another fabrication.
“Had business”
“Oh, I’m supposed to believe the man who hates keeping a job had ‘business’. Okay.” You don’t acknowledge the extravagance of the apartment he must be paying for monthly. That, or a chain of illegal activities—whatever assumption suited your irritation in the moment.
“Well, ya wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said, anyway” he chides. You’re a shaken bottle ready to explode, and his nonchalant demeanor only eggs you on. Toji’s perpetually dismissive, looking down on you like a pitiful puppy.
“Because you’re always full of shit” you snap. He exerts a loaded sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he had any right to be tired of the situation.
“’M not lyin’.”
“Right.” You observe your surroundings more. It’s too opulent, pricey vases you wouldn’t expect from the ex-husband that once thought hanging jackets in the doorway was “decoration.” Definitely not fit for a single guy. You’re separated, and you know it's not your responsibility to keep tabs on his sex life, but that caviling thought won’t stop taunting you. How could he get over it so soon?
“If you were just gonna bring me back to your fuck pad, I should’ve slept on the curb. Who knows how many girls you’ve had here.”
He gets eye-level, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together like a drained salaryman, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? You can’t be serious. Like you never do anything wrong, like everything that’s happened until now is somehow my fault and you did nothing, nothing, to contribute to the bullshit. Stop acting like a fucking victim.”
“Little lady, you got shitfaced, and some guy was tryna take your drunk ass home. You’re lucky you went home with me instead.”
“I could’ve handled it; I don’t need you for anything-”
“You could barely keep your eyes op-”
“I would’ve handled it! Just like I handle everything else. Alone. Every time. It gets done, I’m not incompetent, Toji!”
You could hear a pin drop in the stillness. Those forested eyes are gazing into your soul. It’s said and done, and you’ve got it off your chest, yet it hurts like a freshly sliced gash. The arguing doesn’t change, married or not. It sucks when you shout, uncontrollable like a blazing fire, only to be snubbed out by his calm, condescending tone.
“...I know.”
You can’t take it, it’s stifling being near him. Wounds loosely covered by band aids seem to peel at his presence, and you’re stuck at his mercy again. You can’t give him the satisfaction of crying in addition to the drunk, poor decisions you made, hardening your expression as you fumble for your phone.
“Take me home” you demand. Toji stands with an exaggerated stretch on both arms, painfully slow. Before you can hurl your phone at him from the dramatics, he looks down on you with that intoxicating gaze.
“Are ya hungry?”
You furrow your brows, and hastily put on the other shoe. Turning on your heels, you go to leave, and are immediately stopped by Toji's calloused hand holding your wrist. You don’t watch, but his palm is gentle. You could smoothly slip out and exit his apartment, forget this engagement and continue a peaceful, isolated life. You’d move on eventually—perhaps to bigger, happier jobs and romances.
Despite that hopeful outcome, you remain.
“I don’t wanna eat. If you don’t take me home, I'll call a cab.”
“I’ll take ya home, just...look, I know you’re hungry, and I’m down to eat at a diner down the block. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll pay for it.” Toji isn’t known for being docile, but with his curved posture almost leaning into you and dejection in his eyes, you swear he’s searching for pity.
“I said I’m not-,” The untimely arrival of your dinning, rumbling stomach cuts off any excuse. A corner of his mouth upturns, and your face contorts to scorned pride.
“...Fine. Let’s make it quick.”
“Great. Can’t have ya walkin’ around like that, though.” He pans to your chest. You haven’t thought to give your outfit a glance, but when you do, your eyes grow wide. The entirety of your conversation with Toji, your chest was spilling out the dress, and now part of your areolas is exposed. You cover up the top, but he stares with an x-ray's invasiveness. You reprimand him, swatting his chest;
“Pervert!”
There was an added benefit to being around Toji; the way people cleared a path for him and treated him with frightened kindness, afraid that pissing off the physically intimidating man would land them a one-way ticket to the nearest hospital.
They weren’t exactly wrong, and you have a satisfied pep in your step as people scoot aside. He strides in front of you to get the door, and you mutter a small “thank you.”
Sweet fluffy pancakes and charred grills mingle with faint notes of bleach. At least he knew better than to take you to a fancy establishment, especially since you were wearing a baggy t-shirt from him, and basketball shorts you had to tie around the waistband. His massive slides had you flopping across the dining aisle as you got to your booth. He’s not particularly dressed either, wearing matching shorts and a compression top.
It’s hard not to perceive the way women ogle him, drooling at the way his biceps flex when he raises the menu, and his chiseled jaw tensing while he ponders the food options. It was a notable problem when you were married. They’d glare at you, shower him with compliments in front of you, and you’d shrink yourself. Occasionally the waiter would pretend you don’t exist as she swayed her hips at every little thing Toji said. If they want him, they can have him. It’s not your business, right? It’s no different with this waiter, twirling the curl of her hair as Toji reiterates his order, shifting from one leg to the other to highlight her curves.
Not my business. You're nauseous.
Not my business. Your fists clench underneath the table.
Your head’s swimming in thoughts, uncertainty crashing down like a wave upon your increasingly loud intrusions. You drown within yourself, until you’re pulled out by a thumb travelling up your hand, and other fingers clasping around it.
“Watcha wanna order, angel?” You regain composure, and when you blink, Toji is waiting for you. The waiter side-eyes you and the joining of your hands.
“You lost? Take her order” he spat.
The food's steaming hot and fresh, and you salivate at the plate in front of you. Toji snatches your bacon before you can, and you begrudgingly watch as he breaks the strips into two pieces, the way you like it. He winks, and you groan. You coat your strawberry pancakes with maple syrup, trespassing territory around the scrambled eggs and bacon, and he laughs across from you.
“What’s funny?”
“Never stopped drowning your breakfast in syrup” he ribs. You pout and swirl your bacon, “It makes it taste better.”
Soon, food in your belly aided your dialogue, and the old banter returned; an easygoing flow, similar to a lifelong friend you hadn’t spoken to in decades. You giggle between bites and gossip about mutual rumors.
"What you been doin’ since..." Toji trails off, falling short of “divorce”—a word he never wants to say.
"Shoko recommended me to her boss, so I'm working uptown now. Pay's okay, nothing to write home about."
"S'good. Livin comfortable?"
"As comfortable as I can be"
"Real humble. Guessin’ it's better than before" he jokes, though you sense a displace in his bearing at the nervous grin he flashes. You reach onto to his side and grab one of the grapes off his plate. You pop one in your mouth, "So, what drug ring got you that house?"
"The cartel. Good vacation time, too" he jests.
"Nice. at least it's not that shitty garbage gig you had for a while."
"It did pay well."
"Yeah? Couldn't get rid of the rotten milk and vomit smell for weeks after. Remember I made you shower at Geto’s apartment?"
“Heh, yeah, he was fuckin’ pissed” he laughs, stealing a piece of sugary bacon from the syrup pool. "I'm a CEO, run a company downtown."
"Ooo, look at you. Can't be little if it did this much for you" you say as you gesture at the empty dishes on the table. Restaurants were a luxury in your household.
"I guess. I had a vision, and some people believed in me”, he pokes at the leftover blueberries, “I finally made it happen, that counts for something, right?"
You pick another off his plate, smile stretching, "You're a natural born leader. People will follow you regardless, even if it's not the right choice."
His eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's the first good thing you said about me today."
"Don't get used to it."
You wait for Toji to retrieve his car after walking back to his apartment. You’re awestruck in many ways; he paid for the whole meal with a black card and showed undying manners. He bowed to your requests. You’re smarter than this, though. This is his opportunity to get on your good side, and he’s showing the best version of himself. However, it fills your heart with want—like the initial dating phase, those butterfly stricken, heart-numbing, sappy gestures that made you melt.
He wraps around the car to open your door, and you plant yourself in the sleek beige interior. Your eyes flick to the veins in his forearm straining as he steers, his deadpan focused expression and the composed R&B music low in the background. It starts to drizzle, and raindrops plink the car roof.
You feel complete; And that alone is a dreadful reality.
The scar on his lip twists to a smile, “Did’ya like the food?”
You turn your nose up, “it was satisfactory.” He snickers, and navigates to the street your apartment is on. “Shit, I gotta give you your clothes back.”
“Forget it, bring it when you get the chance.” Chance. He expected to see you again. You hang your head as he approaches the complex. You didn’t want today to end, but this is it. You’ll leave this car and go your separate ways. This is how it should be.
You place an earnest hand on his shoulder and cast a smile. The corners quiver and your first syllable wobbles, but you finally speak, “I’m proud of you, Toji. I mean it. You’re going to do great things, and I’m always rooting for you.”
He swallows stiff, and suddenly he’s sickly pale. Something within you is pleased at that reaction; if he wants redemption, he should beg and drop to his knees and crawl for forgiveness, he should lock himself up for your eyes only and cut off everyone else in his life. You’re walking away a second time, rightfully so, but you struggle to decipher what you want in this moment. He palms your hand, staring at you, “I’m all for praise, but tell me when we meet again”
“Toji, there can’t be a next- “
“Give me your phone.”
“Huh?” His urgency throws you off guard, “Don’t think, just give me your phone.” It’s impossible to kill the complicated slurry that is your mind, and a new bundle of thoughts emerges from his request, but for a heartbeat, you allow yourself to wander. Pitter patter and muted music, heated seats, the cologne radiating from Toji—all that exists.
You moved on instinct, and now your phone is in Toji’s hands. He's adding his contact information. He hands it back to you, fingers brushing against your soft skin.
“I won’t text or call you. ’S there whenever you need me. Move at your own pace and call me when you’re ready.” With that, you exit his car. No hug or gratitude, skipping goodbyes as you rush out the car. It’s bittersweet when he pulls off, and you’re left with the ghost of him.
The familiar click of your convoluted keys in the apartment door could bring you to tears. You’ve officially reverted to your mundane, boring lifestyle. The walls look duller today.
You curiously click on his contact, and giggle at the name he assigned himself:
dumbass ex
tick, tock, tick, tock
The blue light beaming through your office computer is an eyesore, but you have little say in the matter. There's an upcoming deadline for these reports, you can’t waste precious skill complaining about circumstances out of your control. It’s tiresome, and you rove to the cobweb missing a string in the corner of the room, or the single drop of water roaming outside those wide sterile windows. The balls of your feet carry your flats as you absentmindedly push a pen against your lip.
Your concentration has been out of commission since meeting Toji. He kept his word and hadn’t called you whatsoever. A month passed, and still nothing. Be glad, you told yourself, get your goals back on track. Your exercises get vicious, from jogging to a full sprint, hoping that those buckets of sweat will shed off the extra weight of Toji’s abidance. The fruit bowl on your break offends you with mocking displays of strawberries and grapes. You’ve pondered deleting the contact entirely to repel enticement, but you can’t do it. It’s painfully clear that you miss him.
He’s horrible, callous and selfish. Of course, Toji had a way of showing up at your lowest to fill your head with empty promises and gestures of affection, that charming grin shooting daggers at your weakness. In his gaze, you’re defenseless, and in his arms, you’re exposed.
Albeit late, a pestering thought carves into you, unfortunate and disgraceful to the healing you strive to accomplish; message Toji.
A set of wheels rolls above the carpet, and you see Shoko, lifeless arms hanging beyond the armrests. The bags under her eyes signify stress from finalizing late papers.
“Unnghhhh, (Y/N), I can’t do it” she laments, drooping her head to the side. You pat the top of her hair, “I believe in you.”
“What are you working on?” She quirks a brow, and you stare at the screen with her. You’ve typed an entire page of straight gibberish. “I’m getting distracted too...”
“Let’s quit and tell her to shove it.”
“You know I can’t do that” you fuss as you backspace the document. “Mm, me neither. What’s got you zoned out?”
“Nothing in particular.” You’re afraid to tell Shoko of your rendezvous, she might become volcanic and fire magma at the sound of any “-oji”.
“I know it’s not nothing. New boyfriend, hm?”
“S-something like that” you chuckle. She shapes an ‘O’ with her mouth, and wheels closer. Her bangs touch your eyebrows, and she rests her chin on her hand. Her usual dead eyes have a malicious twinkle in them.
“What’s he like? Is he tall or short?” she gasps, “did you meet him at the club? I told you it was a good idea; I really am the best advisor.”
You sigh, “It’s no one new.”
“Ooo, an old flame. Spicy. What’s his name?” You turn slowly, a nervous bite on your lips. She studies your face, and slowly hers drops.
“Do not fucking say it.”
“Shokoooo” you whine, searching for sympathy from her. Instead of that, your body is shaken violently as she whisper-yells, “Are you kidding? Get a grip! What’s gotten into you, you were fine!”
“But I wasn’t. It sucks, I feel lonely all the time.”
“You felt lonelier with him than without him!”
“I know, but...” You ball your lips in with furrowed brows, and she holds her breath.
“I wanna go see him” you squeak. Instantly, she squishes your cheeks with both hands to hold you in place.
“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”
At home, you pace back and forth in front of the phone resting on your bed. Toji’s contact is open, and nausea is brewing in your stomach. You’re giddy and ill, working up the courage to press “call”. You really should be practicing Shoko’s advice, but you’ve long surpassed common sense. You leave and come back, spying on it from a distance. Eventually, you forgo the theatrics and grab the phone to hit the messenger app.
Three dots vanish and resurface. You can’t get it right:
'Hey stranger I got custody of ur clothes rn'
'Hey haha I missed u can I come over?'
'Yo what’s up? Still have ur clothes do u want them?'
'I’m coming to give u ur stinky clothes'
This shouldn’t be complicated, and you don’t usually perform the process of elimination for simple responses, but it’s Toji. You’re scrambling and overanalyzing, reiterating your choice of slang only to delete it all over again. You settle for a simple message. “Hey Toji, I wanted to return your clothes. Let me know when you’re available. Thanks”
Once you hit send, you run a marathon around your bedroom, tippy tapping to expel your anticipation. The churning grows as seconds pass, and so does your doubt. You tiptoe to the phone as if a displaced floorboard would activate the alarm. You’re about to tap the screen, and then your ringtone plays.
Oh god.
You take a deep breath and swipe right on the faceless profile picture labeled “dumbass ex”.
“…Hello?”
“Hey, angel.” You avoid a dull pound in your chest at the memorable pet name. “So, um-“
“I wanna see you. I’m available now, and I’ll be home by the time you get here” he states, direct and confident. His conviction validates yours, you bend to his direction.
“Okay then. I’ll start getting ready.”
“I’ll send a cab to your address. See you soon.” When he hangs up, you dive into the pile of plushies. Squeezing them for emotional support, kicking your feet in the air as you scream into your ruffled pillows like a girl’s first crush. You have a long night ahead of you.
You access Toji’s building. He must’ve notified them you were coming, as the doors were open upon arrival, and a bellhop was sent to guide you to his floor. You’re standing outside of it, clothes and a bottle of champagne in hand. Your stretchy maxi dress clings to your figure, complimenting the juicy shade of lip gloss you’re wearing—the shade he loved most on you during your marriage. You ring the bell, and it doesn’t take long before he opens the door. The scene you’re exposed to swells heat between your legs.
Toji has nothing but a towel shimmied low on his hips, v-line adorned with veins and biceps corded with muscle. He’s trimmed his hair since your last encounter, and it’s dripping wet along with the rest of his soaked body. You’ve interrupted his shower apparently, but he didn’t hesitate to rush to the door, water cascading from the raven veil, sluicing down his sculpted chest. He had to have done this on purpose, but you weren’t complaining at this point; he looked damn good doing it. You can’t disengage from the beads branching amid his pecs and through his happy trail. God, you wish you were water personified right no-
“You’re staring, dollface” he teases with a smirk. Your eyes snap to his, and you remember to breathe. You clumsily hold up the liquid peace offering, “Brought a little something.”
“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get dressed.” You nod, and he marches upstairs. You don’t need comfortability; you need to be in and out of here before you do something you’ll regret.
But...is that cedarwood and vanilla? The interior gives off romantic energy at night, attractive dim lighting throughout and dull flickering pops of his fireplace in the living room. You find the source of that heavenly scent sitting on his kitchen island, and awkwardly place the bottle down. You don’t know what to do with yourself, more so you don’t know what to say. It’s hard to recite a script when things aren’t going according to plan. Did you want to apologize, or force him to apologize? Maybe you should’ve cursed him out, rehashed his asshole behavior from the past until he drowned in guilt. You want to kiss and slap him, cry in his arms until your voice gives out and disappear all at once.
There’s a beautiful clear vase in the center, crammed with your favorite flowers, and your fingers dance across the petals. “You like ‘em?” he asks stepping into the kitchen. His hair’s still saturated, but he’s sporting grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top. “They’re very pretty.”
“They’re for you.”
You switch between his playful expression and the burst of colors, “You don’t have to do that.” The bouquet evokes recollections of heated arguments—anytime he’d angered you to tears, and you slammed that bedroom door in his face, you always woke up to similar flowers on the floor. They were cheap, but it meant more than money; because despite the fights and disagreements, it let you know that he’d love you regardless.
“I wanted to. As thanks for bringing my clothes.” He’s pacing towards you, and you’re bound to the floor like melting wax. His gaze is captivating, and you’re entranced by the verdurous ardor that won’t deter from you.
“Thank you”, you say as he looms above you and inspects the scripture on the pale bottle. His large thumb blocks the intricate lettering he’s trying to read, “I should be thanking you. Didn’t think you’d ever message me.”
You can feel the body heat radiating off him, the airy words as he mouths the contents. His eyebrows furrow to follow his focus, while you lose yours.
“I-I should probably get going-” Without delay, Toji blocks your side with an iron grip on the island, trapping you in the confines of his broad wingspan.
“Leaving so soon? You got plans tonight?” Saying and doing are completely different stories, and from the way your feet haven’t moved, you aren’t in a rush to go anywhere.
“Not really, but I worked today and I’m kinda tired-”
“Then what better way to unwind than with a bottle? I can’t drink this by myself, might as well keep me company” he suggests, persuasion to a greater extent when your lower back hits the bar. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, right?
“I guess I can stay for a few minutes.” Toji flashes a victorious toothy grin and retrieves cups from the sink cupboard. He gives you a rounded glass, and his muscles flex below candlelight as he maneuvers the cork at an angle.
“Let’s crack this open” he says, popping the cap off and pouring a substantial amount of golden fizz into both cups.
Toji raises his glass, “A toast.”
You tilt your head but raise yours as well. “To what?”
“Us.”
Us is a funny thing—with enough effort, it becomes you and I just as quickly as it formed. You don’t know if you’re willing to accept the responsibility of eternity. The devastation of commitment could damage you forever. There’s no us, but there’s you and him. So, you clink your glass, “To us,” and his eyes never leave yours as he takes a swig. It lasts a lifetime among longing breaths and unsaid words.
He brings the champagne to the living room, “I’ll turn on a movie. You know that cheesy romcom shit you used to watch? They made a sequel.” You fall flat on containing your excitement. He grabs the remote and lays back with his thighs spread apart.
Toji pats the couch, “Come sit. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You hardly believe that, but you remove your heels and relax upon overstuffed cushions. You opt to sit farther on the couch, and there’s an annoyed twitch on his lip at your display of boundaries. Nevertheless, he starts the movie.
Toji’s not particularly sneaky. He announces multiple bathroom breaks, returning to a spot on the couch that’s inconspicuous, but inching closer to you. The intent becomes clear when the ghost of his shoulder knocks against you, spreading his thighs wider to brush against the softness huddled into your snug figure. You’re half paying attention to the cliché performance, and half observing Toji. It’s hard not to smile when he behaves like a disobedient dog obligated to sit.
It’s cute that he arced himself to be eye-level with you. His tank rode up to expose his lower abdomen, and he adjusts himself in his sweats, jaw occasionally clenching. It could be the drink talking, perhaps you’ve had too many.
The movie ends, and you exhale a sigh of relief. “I forgot how corny this shit is.”
Toji shrugs, “I didn’t think it was too bad.”
“No way, you actually liked it?” you gasp. He huffs out his nose, smiling, “People change.”
“I’m shocked” you quip. Dusk creeps into a descending sunset, and you steal a glance at your phone screen. Bright as day, a notification from Shoko emerges. “NO TOJI >:("
You’re stumped thinking of a reply, one that doesn’t compromise your less-than-ideal situation, when Toji puts his hand over the screen. “Hope I’m not gettin’ ya in trouble.”
“Like you care.” He chuckles and slides it to the far side of the couch. “You’re right. Let’s watch another.”
This next movie's decent; a flat racing plot with excessive sequels. He unleashes an exaggerated yawn, extending his triceps to land behind your head. You quirk a brow at him, and he plays innocent. “You look cold” he says. You don’t care as much as you pretend. His pads trace the shell of your burning ear down to the lobe, to fine hair at the end of your neck. His rough hand massages the back of your head, and you lull to his chest. Be it the champagne or his actions, it’s too hot for comfort. Clamping your thighs shut spurs the intensity. His other hand languidly tests the limits of your skin, gossamer touches from your knee to your thigh. It's asking, and when you don’t object, he invites the entire palm to your knee, rubbing delicately. He brings it to your upper thigh, and retreats to the outside, getting dangerously close to your rear. The worst part is it’s not that bad. It’s intimate. Warm.
Loving.
It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re tearing up, but Toji recognizes that hushed sniffle. Airy and choked, quiet as to not be a burden. He circles a hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He tilts your chin to his gaze, soft and deceptively gentle when he asks.
“What’s wrong pretty, hm?” You say nothing through the constrains in your throat, streaking the tears that fall faster than you can wipe them. This man alone can reduce you to mush with a wave of his hand. He bares your rawest state and sculpts you back together with such purity, such devotion, that you’d plead for him to sink his clay sodden fingers into your nothing, and make you everything.
“Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”
You say just above a whisper, “You’re selfish, you know that?”
“Mhm, I know” he nods, grazing his thumb across your lip.
“This isn’t healthy for us; we can’t heal like this.” He angles your head with his half lidded gaze, polishing your damp undereyes.
“I don’t need healing. I need you.”
You find passage in his hair, and surrender to temptation.
You test with a smooch. Then another. Then a series of tender, sugary kisses are pushed upon his pliant lips, and he responds in kind. You curl your fingers through his tresses as you explore the contours of his lips for what feels like the first time. Toji isn’t known for patience, but the sensation of his mildly dry lips getting smoother from your supple kisses gives him the will to savor this moment. You push and pull from each other, indulging in the messy smacks and caresses. You stop amid shared breaths to skim and nudge his yearning lips, diving into more hungry kisses. Toji abruptly lifts you over him, and you deepen its bruising passion.
You lick his bottom lip, and he groans, parting his mouth to allow your entry. You traverse the pink mass, interlacing in a wet feverish exchange. Your mind is numb, and the heartbeat in your core strikes stronger when your tongues intertwine. Toji hikes your dress up and slinks his massive hands over the plush fat of your rear. He earns a muffled moan from you as he kneads and gropes, and you feel his smirk against your lips. He grips your ass and starts to grind your hips on the bulge in his pants, a silent beg for any amount of friction. You wind with his movements, consuming him, and you hear a whimper get lost in the back of his throat.
You drag your teeth along his neck. You lick and suck in a few spots and decide to draw harshly on a responsive patch of skin while circling the fat of your pussy over his sensitive cock, taut in his boxers. His breath hitches, and he slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby please.” It’s rare to witness him begging like this, and you’re drinking it in. You lick up his Adam’s apple and pepper his jaw with kisses. “You like it?”
“Need more.” You bite his bottom lip for what seems like an exchange, but break away once he leans in. “Mm, be patient Toji.”
Your hands traverse the rugged muscle under his tank top. He aids in taking it off, and you rake over his breathless torso. You kiss along his pecs and lick the groove of his abs, delighting in the parts you missed during your separation. Toji has a tinge of red soaking his chest and ears, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing cock when you bat your eyes as you slope to the floor. You slip a finger under his waistband, playfully running over its span, and snapping it from a peak. He hisses. You palm his erection, and he grinds into it.
“Wait” he husks. He reaches for a pillow and shuffles it under your knees. “Oh, thank you” you say, but it doesn’t look like he hears you in the chaos of tugging his sweatpants down to expose his boxers. The anticipation’s killing you, so you free his dick from its confinement.
You can’t forget the mouthwatering size. His girth meets his length with equal satisfaction. The base is tan, fading to a rosy tip and a faint curve. You committed his veins to memory, small ones embossing the sides and a prominent one meandering to his tip.
You maintain eye contact with him, hand steady on the base as you deliver taunting little licks to his frenulum. You precisely ring around his urethra and trace the veins, pulsating from the flick of your wrist. Toji hisses shaky curses and bucks, beefy thighs stiffening when you roll a flat strip to his leaking head and pump the base of his cock. He didn’t want to push you, but his whole body twitched in desire. “Your mouth” he groans. You react a coy ‘huh?’, tapping the head on your tongue and slathering it in saliva with cutesy doe eyes. He’s homed in on the strings of saliva connecting him to your tongue.
An undertone of desperation in his gravelly voice, “Whole thing. In your mouth,” he expends another shaky breath, “please.”
He bites his lip and stifles a moan, watching you engulf the cockhead in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks while the underside of your tongue holds firm, and cautiously accommodate his size. It’s too big for comfort and it stretches the capacity of your plump spit-covered lips, but you work through the daunting pressure poking your reflex. You gradually relax, periodically gagging from an unprepared increase, and he twitches at your tightening throat. Your nose finally touches the hilt, flooded in his musk, and you start to suck. You bob leisurely, adjusting to the sense, and he subtly squirms in your touch.
Toji crinkles his brows when you release a pleasant pop on his tip, purely to observe his eyes rolling back when you wreck him in a noisy suction. Noise was no longer a factor—sounds of spit and dry retching overpowered the volume of the movie regardless. He holds your hair away from you to get a better view of your face, smothered with tears and mascara, drool ceaseless down your chin. “F-fuck, you’re so good, so, so good to me” he groans.
Your tongue swirls around him as you’re bobbing, and you accompany it with a tender massage to his balls. You cup and fondle them, using the lubrication from your spit to glide your fingers across. He sighs and grabs a handful of your hair. “Need to come. Keep that pretty throat open for me, yeah?”
He rapidly shoves you down to the hilt, and you wince before he continues at a relentless pace. You anchor his thigh for stability, and he throws his head back, fucking your throat raw. There's a sheen of sweat where his bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans the closer he gets. Rambling about nonsense, yes’s and curses as he stiffens. He treats your mouth like a flesh light, evident by the throat bulge disappearing and reappearing. You happily accept the searing jaw, swaying your ass from thrumming in your saturated panties damp to your inner thighs.
You can tell he’s about to climax because he goes completely quiet minus the panting, open mouthed with his head back. You resume massaging his balls, and he shoves you to the base, “C-coming” he moans. You grab onto him, and a squeak dies in your throat when he paints it white. He shakes, groans for each spurt coating your mouth, pumping the last of his semen as you swallow.
Toji shudders when he pulls out, and his panting returns to a soft huff. You expected him to be spent, or at least sit in the aftershocks for a while until he calmed down. But he tightens the grip on your hair and forces you to look up. “Show me” he husks. You stick your tongue out, proof you swallowed every bit. “Now c’mere”, he guides you into a filthy French kiss, devouring you with much more dominance than before. It’s as though your nearness restored him. You can hardly stand your feeble knees and sopping core, but Toji takes care of it for you. With unnatural vigor, he lifts you over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs. “Ah, Toji, maybe you should take a sec-”
He swats your butt harsh, and you yelp from the sting. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. You’ve been so mouthy, a damn tease, too. You’re gonna regret it.”
You’re ferried into the rather plain bedroom lined with dim hues, and a wide ceiling length mirror opposite the bed. He tosses you on the dark gray bedding and climbs over you. Your heart’s racing with thrill. Toji yanks the dress over your head, uncovering the sheer white lacey bra, similar to your underwear.
He stares like you’re a piece of meat, feasting on your flawlessness not yet smothered in hickeys and bruises, your nipples at attention under the fabric. “It’s all for me, huh?” he whispers, lust rolling off his tongue. You nod, because it’s always been for him, whether he was here or not. He buries himself in your cleavage and hums in satisfaction. His touch sends goosebumps to your skin and keeps your back arched when he drags a pad along your spine. Then your bra unclasps, and he removes it carefully, as if he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by unwrapping his gift too early. He gawks at them for an embarrassingly long pause, enough to make your cheeks hot, and you chide, “Stop staring.”
“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.” Toji submerges the bud, whirling around it while he roughly squeezes both breasts. He molds the dough of your breasts with strong palms, nips and tugs your nipple before soothing it with fierce tongue kisses. Consistent teeth grazing hikes your sensitivity before he trades it for sucking. When he switches to the other, he pinches the maltreated peak, eliciting a whimper. You merely bind your thighs and embrace the disarray being caused on your spit-soaked nipples. The cold air your abused tits receive as he withdrawals from suckling is nullified by the hickeys he leaves. You quiver from constellations of splotchy purplish red, delicious pain tingling throughout your torso. “Not so much, I have to go back to work soon” you moan, not very convincing.
“Even better; everyone’ll know who fucks you” Toji winks, and your heart skips. He dumps a nice vibrant bruise on your sternum, and advances to the dainty hem. He parts your thighs with ease, throwing them on his shoulder. Then he develops a haughty smirk.
You’re monitoring his face, until he presses a pad against your aching clit, and the subsequent juices overflowing from a huge wet patch. He plays with the spiderweb of slick between his digits, “Mm. Y’still my girl.” You blush as he sucks on them and licks his lips afterwards. Hooking under the panties, he pulls them taut, projecting the swell of your pudgy vulva in tightening lace. It sinks past your outer lips and cages your clit—you want to writhe from friction, but it makes it worse. He ghosts against you and kisses the print, and you want to scream. “Tell me what you want, or I won’t do it.”
“P-please...” you whine. You lock eyes, and you can hardly manage a word in the foreground of his intensity. How can he expect you to form coherent sentences when he sees through you like this? He gives a disappointed tut and puppeteers the strings, shifting them back and forth upon your neglected vulva. You cry out, and he cinches it together, isolating the part that pulses incessantly. He has an evil grin on his face, the bastard. “Details, baby.”
“Toji...please t-touch me alre-eady so I can come, m’sorry I won’t tease you again!” you promise, willing to do whatever it takes to reduce your sentence.
“And what else?”
“Your mouth on m-my pussy...please lick it.” You’re humiliated at the request that tumbles from your bottommost desires, but he’s satisfied. He’s never been one to shy away from dirty talk.
“Good girl.” Toji slithers your panties off, and you sigh from a loss of pressure just as his bangs tickle your pubic area. He interlocks your hands, a breath from eating you.
“You don’t look at me, I’ll stop. Think you can do that f’me?”
“Mhm!”
He hums in agreement and submerses into you. Toji’s a messy eater, especially when he’s desperate. He ovals the outer lips and precisely stirs your clit, and your stomach turns in knots from simple motions. He frames it and carefully winds around his capable tongue, really focusing on the spots that make your back curve; really focusing on your entry, as he teasingly digs in.
Toji cajoles a groan from his nose caressing your bud, then laps a level tongue over your wetness, truly tasting you. It isn’t long before his teasing farce began to crumble, and he obliged his ravenous appetite. He eats you starving, insatiable as he absorbs your twitching cunt and perfumed essence spilling down his chin. You clasp your hands, desire building in a trembling quake, but he doesn’t falter. He slurps your inner lips, and finally delivers proper care to your neglected clit. He hums a low vibration when he sucks, his pursed lips moving from a steady tongue to full on slobbering like some savage animal.
You appreciate the support his steady hands give your shaky ones. “Toji, hahhh coming” you whine, a familiar sensation flipping in your core. He lets his words fan onto you, “You know better” he husks. Your hips are bucking frantically, and so you whine, “Please, can I come sir, please please please please!”
“Hmm, I don’t know, you were ready to disobey me just now.” He says that, however the look in his eye is unrelated; it craves you, the want to make you squeal repeatedly until you’re on the verge of collapse. “’M can’t take it anymore, please let me come!” You urge your hips to his mouth, and meld into his warmth.
“Come on my face, pretty girl” he groans, just as hankering as you. He laps at your clit, and you sooner fall apart underneath him. Your whimpered plea forms an innocent sob as you spasm from overstimulation. Toji just doesn’t stop. His head careens against you, tasting everything your body has to offer. You’re suddenly regretting how badly you wanted to come.
“Toji- I-it’s too much” you protest, but it receives no response. Your release dribbles down his chin and he persists, ultimately unbinding when you lose a hold on his hands from the tremors. He diverges your lips and admires the way your mess clenches around air.
“Heh, you’re shaking. Cute.” He rubs the back of your legs, reassuring you in spite of his previous cruelty. You make a sad attempt at wiggling away, but he grabs you firm.
No running. Be good and hold your legs back.” He folds your legs to your shoulders, and you mewl, reluctantly wrapping your hands around them. ‘No’ isn’t a valid response at present.
Toji’s thumbs spread your wrinkling opening, and you feel a draft on its expanse before he spits directly into your hole. You jerk, startled, and he shushes you. He slathers his thick digits in your glistening strip, and smoothly sinks one inside. “Pussy so slippery for me. Miss this...miss you” he sighs, starting to pump. He prepares you for the main course, scrapes your walls and curls his finger to hit a spot you can’t reach. The nasty squelching sounds you echo from a mere finger casts heat on your cheeks, and he seems to enjoy your responsiveness as he adds another finger to the commotion. He twines a ‘come hither’ motion that makes your back arch from every delightful swipe against your velvety walls. Then his pink muscle undulates along your swollen bud, and you dissolve to a puddle. Your hips stutter, and surge after surge of torturous pleasure strikes you with no end in sight.
“Toji, f-fuck wait- hng s’feels too good” you whimper, and he gruffs a chuckle. He expands his fingers with precision, then chooses to slide a thumb in your butthole. The combination of both hands intruding your being, coiling into your soul jams your head with intoxicating dizziness and fictitious futures. Static pools in your stomach and circulates like the goading flickers of a raging inferno. He contacts your g-spot, and you moan, “Ah- can I, I’m close”
“I know, I know. Let go for me,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like when he’s face-deep. Your eyes are screwed shut, white noise before you crash and shatter around his fingers. Fortunately, you’re deaf to your own lewd wailing, clutching for dear life through contractions. It gushes past his wrist. Tears reside in your lashes, croaked sob from the slap he gives your puffy pussy. “That’s it, baby, there we go.”
Toji shows mercy and slips out. You’re still registering sultry bliss, untangling your limbs to lay slack. Empathy isn’t forever, though, because he forces your butt rearwards as he hops off the bed. Precum seeps from his tip, sheeting his shaft and heavy brimming sack. He propels your thighs to your chest, and your expression switches to fear for a second at the angry red tip sitting at your entrance. It's as if it grew since the blowjob, and you’re sure you’ll die if he stuffs that monster inside you.
He slides up and down the entrance, seizing the sore bud, “Mmm, pretty thing making a mess all over my cock.”
“Just go slow, okay?” you meek.
“Of course, ‘m not tryna kill you.” Toji doesn’t disrupt the yearning gaze between you, giving your entry several threatening caresses. He groans from the sensation of your puffy lips snuggling his length. Then he plunges the bulbous tip, encased in your passion. He’s unhurried for the most part, besides the instants he stops himself from ramming into you, cock begging to feel the fervor. He’s plugging you to capacity, and you’re only halfway in. Soreness whirrs in your walls being outstretched beyond belief, yet you’re milking what remains, dragging the rest of him in. His breath hitches, a spiderweb of veins pulses in your tight embrace and he rocks his hips further. “Look at the way you’re gripping me. Fuck” he shudders. His tip presses on your cervix, and you feel the weight of his balls on your rear.
Toji drives into you nice and slow. In this position you feel each vast stroke massaging your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. There’s almost a gloss film on his eyes as he indulges in the sweet addiction swamping his thoughts with unfiltered lust. “When you left it hurt real bad, y’know? I even cried.” You’re a bit stunned at his spur of honesty, but it’s short-lived as his thrusts get wilder and brutal. Your mouth hangs open, drool shameless out your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. You throb frenetically, chest heaving from the way his sack smacks against your ass and the creamy translucent ring forming at the base of his cock. His swinging strokes graze your g-spot and you sob, but he doesn’t check for your mitigation, encompassing your numb clit in the heat of his mean smacks.
“Heh, dunno if you remember, but you left a pair of panties when you moved”, Toji regresses to the tip and bottoms out repeatedly, “I’ve jerked off in them so many times, imagining you backing up this juicy pussy on my dick.” You’re hysterical, flushed from head to toe and struggling to take breaths. Toji has you locked slamming into your cervix. It coaxes a mix of pleasure and pain burning through you, and your toes curl. “You love me?” he asks. It’s unfair to ask you now, scatter-brained and drooling like a stupefied slut. But you nod, and he plasters a cocky grin. “Good. ‘S long as I have that, I’m okay.”
The unexpected flood of your orgasm quakes you, unable to warn Toji, or even ask for permission. How disappointed he’d be in you, as your juices sluice and soak, fluttering where you come undone. It’s a trail of fire, and it hurts to come. His hips sputter and he mutters a string of curses, flicking your nub faster to heighten the intensity of the earlier mess. You paw at his chest, back arched and fresh tears clustering in the haze. “Please, please!” you babble to an unresponsive Toji, stuck in a feral trance.
Toji pulls out, palpitating at the precipice of his own climax. You take this opportunity to flip on your stomach and creep to a farther part of the bed. He’s in no rush. You can’t go far like that, a net of arousal at the apex of your thighs. He climbs onto the bed and grapples your hips, thighs capturing yours. He curves your back and slips into your gummy walls anew. You grip him like a vice notwithstanding the complaints. You hate to say it, but Toji’s length bullying its way to your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. He snares your hair and holds the underside of your chin. “Hah- c’mon baby, you can take a little more”, he groans at a savage pace, “be a good girl.” Your ass ripples against the brawny man, hoarse voice in your ear, scrotum pummeling the overworked bundle of nerves. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets. All you should do is let him use you, that’s all you need to do, right?
Toji pans your head to the mirror, “Look how good you’re taking me, angel. You’re doing well.” His honeyed praises make you throb, attended by the bestial snap of his hips. “See that?”, he references your release slugging both legs, air heavy with sweat, “you’re such a f-fucking slut, what man could satisfy you besides me?” You sniffle and muster a pathetic babble, and he laughs. “You’re my perfect slut, though, fuck- ‘nd I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again.” There’s a tinge of regret swimming in the sea that is Toji’s confidence, and you feel it. It’s a subtle confession; please don’t go.
Then he stops. Toji lets go, and you’re impulsively manhandled in front of him while he’s behind you. He lays back, and in doing so, ferries your knees to the sides of your face and hooks his hands to the rear of your head. You’re unveiled in the reflection of the mirror, a panel that bounces back the thin sheen of sweat on your bodies, your disheveled hair and makeup, wrinkled sheets, and the sticky lacings attaching you to Toji. You want to shy from the humiliating sight. “Don’t hide your face” he coos. You glimpse a portion of his face in the mirror, a glint in his eye, “I like this view more.”
He bends his knees and pounds your chubby cunt with reckless abandon. He’s fucking your cervix, heedless grunts and panting groans as you swallow him up. Toji sputters, throbbing along your abused body and reverberating vicious staggering plap’s that could be heard on the lowest floor. You can’t breathe, let alone think, and the asphyxiation goes straight to your pussy. “O-oh fuck, heh, feel s’good. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Shit- have a mini me crawling around. Y-you'd like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Wanna carry my baby?” The headboard thuds against the wall, and in your fog, you call out for him, chanting his name like a mantra. The emotion is overwhelming, you claw at his bicep as shockwaves burst and fizzle out on your skin. “You’re dripping down my balls, sweetie, you close again?” Tougher, nastier strikes allure your orgasm, and you bleat a scream as a stream of liquid surges from you that drenches the sheets and Toji’s shaft. It’s a blinding white light, and you go limp through the violent spasms.
“Ohhh shit, that’s it baby, take everything I give you” he rasps. Toji shoulders your dead weight with ease, going silent, then plummeting you to the hilt. His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy pumps before he comes. He spurts thick, hot globs that paint and crowd your walls with greed. You milk him dry as he bucks. It overflows to trickling down his length, and his muscles quiver as he comes down from his high. His staggering pants reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted limbs.
Toji drives out and turns you around. You’re edging unconsciousness, sporadic jolts and innocent sobs carrying in your scratched throat. “I know. Breathe, baby.” He brings you flush with his chest, and you absorb his gentle puffs, the methodical beat of his heart. “You okay?” You’re unresponsive, gathering yourself in an incomplete collage of thoughts. You want to talk but it dissipates on your tongue. He rubs your back and kisses your forehead.
Then it’s muted; solely the dwindling rate at which your heart races, and the tender smooches Toji dots on your face as you cuddle. When you open your eyes, the sheets are changed, and you’re cleaned. Clearly some time has passed. You sit, and Toji comes out the bathroom, running water in the background. “How ya feelin’?”
You wince at the blunt thrum in your vulva, “Okay. How long was I out?”
“Like half an hour. Up for a bath?” You don’t have the energy to move your body. Toji scoops you bridal style and leads you to the bathroom. You found it amusing how considerate he was after wrecking your brain.
Toji spoons a generous quantity of Epson salt into the corner jet tub. He helps you in and joins once you’re stable. It’s a lavish proportion, but you decide to be next to him. Your head situates on your forearms over the tub rim while Toji sloshes water onto your back. The steam and serene jets below ship you to a luxury vacation on a tropical island, its quality comparable to spas with extensive dollar signs. You study each other.
“I’ll let you get whatever you need from your place.” You knit your brows, “For what?”
“You live with me.” You simper at his audacity.
“So, you’re the decision maker now?”
“For this, yes. Can’t risk you runnin’ off again.”
“It’s your fault I left.” He pauses, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know. I’m sorry.”
A piece of you becomes whole at his acknowledgement. There are no petty jabs to be had where lingering truths wade in the mist. “Never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”
“It’s overdue. I was a dick, and I should’ve never treated you like that. Was tryna sort out my shit, but I didn’t have to take it out on ya.”
The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry...but not sorry enough to let me go?”
“No. You need nobody but me.”
You chortle, and he cracks a smirk. “Arrogant asshole.”
“I love you, too.”
#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu toji#toji fushiguro#toji smut#toji x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader#toji fushigro x reader#jjk
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
"Revenge"
Rapper!Onyakopon x Rapper!Reader
Cw : Modern!AU , Smut, Bestfriends w/ benifits atp, love making to fucking, pictures, Onyakopon being vulnerable and crying, unprotected sex (yall don't be like onyakopon wrap it up), i lowkey ended outta no where.
Summary : Onyakopon, Y/n's bestfriend get cheated on and Y/n swoops in to the rescue to save him from public humiliation or something like that.
(I didn't proof read & I'm still pretty new to writing and it's short)
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
Onyakopon's head jerked backward in frustration, and he flung his phone aside, his left hand instinctively rising to cover his face as he fought back tears. "Fuck is wrong now?" You asked picking up his phone, you knew him and his ex had broken up you didn't anticipate the depth of his pain. Unlocking his phone you look down at the video on Instagram of his Ex and one of Onya's opp's kissing as she licked and kissed on his neck before lowering her head down and making the male in the video gasp before it ended. "Oh shit.." You looked up at noticing he wasn't doing as well as you'd thought, sitting next to him giving him a side hug trying to comfort your bestfriend.
Almost instantly he'd return the hug back hiding his face in your chest starting to silently cry. You only noticed because you felt the tears through your tight crop top, feeling bad you hold him by the back of his head giving soft kisses. "it's gonna be okay.." you'd whisper as he held you tighter making you feel even worse, you've never seen him this upset before. "Hey, how about we uhm.." She'd think for a second as he brought his head up to look at her for a moment. "Re-Create a better version of that video with me." He'd mumble head still in-between her chest looking up at her. His eyes were low and red from the weed he had been smoking earlier mixed with his tears.
"Please mama?" He'd add noticing you were hesitating. You nodded your head sighing giving in as you stared back down at him with a soft smile. "How bout we post it on my account and then you add it on your story?" you'd ask and he just nodded snuggling into you shirt more. "alri, gimme your chain and clean up your face u look sad asl.." you add as he got up taking off his chain giving it to you before walking into the bathroom. "We should do it in the studio.." He'd call out from the bathroom while washing his face before drying it with a towel.
Onyakopon had a home studio so you both stood beside the recording booth door as the dim LED slights set the tone, while an unreleased song by you both played in the background. You both started recorder singing along to the song as you titled the camera up enough to see you grinding on him before bringing your head back and placing a kiss on his neck and then on his lips. Onyakopon couldn't help but feel it in his pants, dick twitching at the contact as his brought his tattooed hand to your neck brining you in for another kiss this time deeper. Forgetting the mission at mind you end the video beginning to kiss him back turning your body as he held you close to him pulling away to kiss your check. "You're so pretty yk that right mama?"
"Fuckk—! right there daddy.." You'd moan as your bestfriend slowly thrusted his hips into you fucking your slowly leaving sloppy wet kisses down your neck. "Mama? You like that?" He'd asked pulling away looking down at you. Crop top pulled up to expose your chest and your pretty short skirt pulled up to your waist as your pretty feet rested on his shoulders. His chain still on your neck, almost nutting at just the sight of you he picked up your phone from the side opening the camera at he took a picture. "Mama, you look a pretty look." He'd smile before tossing the phone back to the side flipping you over. Pushing your back into an arch he'd slowly start giving you deep and slow thrusts hitting your g-spot making your weak as tears started to fill your eyes.
"Daddy.. Yk you could fuck me harder.. Stop being so gentle with me." You moan playfully knowing you'd get a reaction, and you sure fucking did. Putting one leg up on the couch in the studio, he started ramming into you holding you closer by your neck as soon as he noticed you tried running. "Mamas, how you gon tell me— to go faster—fuck... and then try and run away from it?" He'd ask between huffs as he pulled you closer so you were now agasint his chest. "Try running again and I'ma stop."
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
(help im so tired i was just brain dumping)
#onyankopon smut#smut#aot onyankopon#onyankopon x black y/n#onyankopon x reader#onyankapon#black reader#aot x black reader#aot#aot x reader#anime#y/n#aot x y/n#aot x female reader#aot x you#black y/n#x y/n
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Pent Up
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Summary: Spencer tries to comfort the newest team member through their nightmares, but the scene he walks in on is as far from a nightmare as you can get. It's practically a wet dream.
Warnings: Day 29 of Kinktober - masturbation, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, commands, slight BDSM themes, penetrative sex, reader is desperately horny, allusions to cheating/STDs, fingering, etc.
A/N: So close to the end now! Here's another kinktober original. You can find the rest of the months' works on AO3 under my account name (reiderwriter)! If you enjoy it, please leave a comment or reblog! It means a lot.
If you were to be asked what the worst part of a break-up was, you'd probably answer the months of sexual frustration afterwards.
It'd been weeks since you'd been able to itch that particular scratch, and you didn't know how much more you could take it. Having unceremoniously dumped your boyfriend three months prior (cheating bastard as he was), you'd found yourself swamped with work and unable to enjoy any two-person sexual pursuits.
Truth be told, you'd never really quite gotten the hang of pleasuring yourself either. Sure, you knew what you liked in bed, but your fingers weren't long enough to reach where your boyfriends had, and you grew easily tired of rubbing as the lonely hours of the night stretched out.
But with four months of pent-up frustration, you really were on the edge of losing it.
And it was all because of Doctor Spencer Reid.
Your boyfriend had gone around telling everyone who would listen that he was the reason you'd broken up anyway. He had said that he just felt too insecure in a relationship where you were off doing who knows what with your fellow FBI agent in various motels around the country. He left out that his insecurities seemed to disappear when he found himself in bed with one of his gym mates. Or his own coworker. Or his brother's girlfriend. Or one of the numerous other women you'd eventually traced back to him.
Needless to say, you'd wiped your hands of him and immediately ran to your OBGYN to make sure he didn't leave behind anything that lingered. And then you'd sat down and thought about the accusations.
Spencer.
He was attractive, smart, pretty funny at times, and weirdly cute at others. Your ex-boyfriend accusing you of sleeping with him was genuinely the first time that you'd thought about him in that way, though.
But now it was all you could think about. You woke up in the morning with the vague idea of his lips on your chest, tongue twisting and teasing your nipples slowly. You sat through the drive to work absent mindedly, wondering how long he'd last in bed. Meetings were the worse, where you stared at him blatantly and openly as he rambled through whatever new information he was giving out that day, wondering exactly what he'd taste like.
And then you took yourself home to your lonely apartment and tried to recreate those thoughts in your head as you rubbed yourself to release. It was a daily routine you were, for all intents and purposes, horrified by. Not that shame stopped you, though.
It was mid-week, and you'd spent the last three days stuck in a motel room after work, as you helped with your most recent case at the BAU. Three days of being in very close quarters with Spencer, who coincidentally happened to share a wall with you.
You'd tried your best to hold off and not touch yourself with so many of your coworkers around, but a little bit couldn't hurt, and with the clock on your bedside table reading somewhere between three and four am, it was a chance you were willing to take.
The sounds that Spencer could hear through the walls were so quiet at first that he almost missed them. If it wasn't the dead of night and if there had been other noises outside as well, he might have thought nothing of it and gone back to his book.
But the little gasps and moans sounded painful and worried him. Every new member of the team had nightmares at some point or the other, and he hadn't heard you mention them yet. Standing up from his chair, he placed his book face down on the small table and walked to the wall separating your rooms.
Putting his ear to the wall, he could hear everything much clearer. Your laboured breaths, the small moans, the sound of the sheets being tossed this way and that. It sounded bad. Pulling a jacket on, he stepped out of his room and knocked on your door.
You were only growing more frustrated with each flick of your wrist, head filled with images of Spencer over you, whispering in your ear as he stretched you out, or with his head between your legs as you grasped his hair, not willing to let him go.
You were so close to your release that you didn't even register the calls from the other side of the door. You didn't hear Spencer trying the door handle either after hearing a particularly loud groan from inside.
It's not until he's opening the door and calling out to you that you realise that you've been caught.
“Y/N, you need to wake up. You're having a n- oh my god.”
“Spencer!” Throwing the bed sheets back over your naked body, you scramble up the bed as he stops in his tracks, the door having swung closed behind him.
“You didn't lock your door.” He said, trying to maintain eye contact but failing dramatically as his eyes fell. First to your chest, then lower to where your fingers still sat between your thighs under the covers.
“I didn't think anyone was going to walk in.”
“Evidently. I wasn't supposed to see that.”
“No one is supposed to see that, Spencer,” you sighed, letting your head flop down against your pillow again as your hands came up to your face in embarrassment.
“I'm sure your boyfriend would disagree.”
“What boyfriend, Spencer?” You looked him in the eye again then, surprised to see that he'd relaxed slightly. He was a few steps further into the room, hands resting casually in a crossed position against his chest as he leaned against the wall.
“I'm sorry, I didn't realise-”
“That I got cheated on? Don't sweat it, I wasn't exactly broadcasting it at the office.” The corners of his lips turned down in a frown as his eyebrows knitted slightly together.
“If you…if you ever need to talk, I'm Bere. You know, good listener.” You're not sure what it is that makes you say it, bit the words are out of your mouth before you have the common sense to stop them.
“I don't need to talk, Spencer, I need to get railed.” In some sort of divine punishment, your tongue ties as soon as the final word leaves your lips, leaving you sat wondering why the hell you would say that.
Silence fills the room as you sit waiting for a reply until you look up to find Spencer trying his hardest to control his expressions. He can't hide the flush creeping up his neck, though, or the stiffness in his movements.
“It seems you were doing fine by yourself.” You let yourself relax slightly into the conversation as he lets his gaze fall further and further down your body.
“It’s not the same. It’s not the same as when someone else is doing it, is what I mean.”
“Well, how were you doing it? Maybe there’s something else you can be doing to help?”
Gently, he lowers himself to the edge of your bed, slowly running a hand up the sheets as you stare at him, eager to see where he takes this new line of movement.
You hold on to them still, keeping yourself covered, until his eyes meet yours once again.
“Show me.” The demand is simple, but you find yourself utterly compelled. The sheets gently fall away as you suddenly sit bare in front of the man, legs spread wide as you anticipate his next move.
“I said show me. You need to touch yourself.” Your mouth dropped open in protest but you can see already that he's not listening, eyes entirely focused on your pussy.
You decide against protesting, and with a deep breath you let your hand fall back down between your legs, taking its place on your clit and beginning the slow strokes from earlier.
His gaze is curious, looking like he would on any other tough case as you bite your lip to avoid moaning out.
“Your touch is pretty light, put some more pressure on your clit.” Your body is suddenly obedient and listens to him more than it listens to your conscience and suddenly you’re gasping and moaning again as your wrist works up and down.
“You have two hands, right? Try touching your breasts as well. Your nipples look a little neglected right now.” You listen again, and you’re surprised at how right he is.
You’re sure that with just his instructions, you’d shortly find yourself reaching a climax almost as satisfying as any you’d had with your ex, and he hadn’t even touched you.
You're so lost in your own pleasure, that you don't notice that he's palming himself through his own pants until you hear him hiss through his teeth.
“Spencer, you can deal with that here, too.” For a second, you assume him to bolt, the expression on his face betraying his discomfort at being caught. But he doesn't.
Instead, you watch him unzip his pants and pull out his hot, thick cock, staring slack jawed as your hands keep working over your own body.
“Fuck you’re so big.” You gasp as your eyes train themselves on the small drops of precum glistening on the tip of hs cock as he finally relieves some of the tension in his body.
Watching him distracts you from your own climax, suddenly curious about every noise he makes, every look on his face, the need rolling off of him.
“Why did you stop?”
You don’t bother answering his question, not even looking up from his cock as he stops stroking himself, wondering if he’d messed this delicate situation up by pulling his cock out.
“Please let me sit on it.” You whimper out, surprising even yourself with your whines.
“Are you sure?”
“Spencer, I’ve not had a dick inside me in months. Hell, I’ve not had one that size inside me ever. I want you to fuck me, please.”
He doesn’t need anymore convincing, suddenly pushing you back down and pushing his pants down further again.
“You can’t sit on it, but I will satiate your curiosity.” He pushes in suddenly, and you’re suddenly gasping at the stretch of it.
This is it. This is what you’ve been unable to do for yourself. This is what his hand feels like on you, how his cock feels pulsing inside of you. You’re discovering all these new sensations and suddenly you’re thoughts are empty.
Having both started yourself off, you feel like it takes only a few minutes of his very hot and intense thrusting, for the both of you to come undone.
He lets you cum on his cock, then quickly pulls himself off and rolls away to spend himself in your sheets.
You both sit there panting for a second, side by side, neither of you saying a word as you come down from your highs.
That is until you can stand the silence no longer and have to blurt it out.
“He thought I was cheating on him with you.”
“What? Who did?”
“My ex. He said he was only cheating back because he was sure you were fucking me while we were on cases.”
“... That might be my fault.” Your gaze snaps to him quickly, confused as he stares at you sheepishly.
“I think Morgan’s exact words to me were ‘stop staring at the newbie like she’s the porn magazine you found in the woods as a kid’ and they were swiftly followed by, ‘Morgan, Reid, meet my boyfriend.’”
He looks guilty, but you just laugh.
“You’re only as guilty as I am. I’m sure if you'd have caught any other member of the team in this situation…”
“Please don’t put that thought into my head.”
“All I’m saying is that Rossi definitely wouldn’t have let you stay or told you he needed rail-”
He cuts you off by pressing a kiss to your lips.
“That’s enough conversation for you, too.”
He pulls the sheets up and over the two of you again, and you’re content at the way his hands caress your skin as you do anything but rest up.
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid smut#mgg#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x you#criminal minds kinktober#spencer reid kinktober#kinktober 23
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
arcane characters and their toxic traits in a relationship?
Arcane characters and their toxic traits
a/n: it is almost 5 am so i haven't proofread it yet ;; hope you'll enjoy it regardless
VI
Tries to take on all the burden and suffering on her shoulders. She never wants you to get hurt or to bother you so she'd rather suffer in silence. This greatly affects your communication as she may get distant whenever she's dealing with some problems, which in turn may make you think that you did something wrong and that she's ignoring you. This simply comes from a traumatic past where Vi always had to take accountability and sacrifice herself for others. She will work on it once she sees the way it affects your relationship though. She just doesn't want to be a burden.
JINX
Very insecure when it comes to your love and loyalty towards her. Jinx is so used to thinking that everyone will eventually abandon her and you're the one person she really cannot lose. Because of this, she will often come off as overprotective and possessive. You will need to make your boundaries clear and reassure her often. Because she's so scared of losing you, sometimes she will go to drastic ends in order to make sure you're still happy with her and don't want to break up. Can also be very impulsive and has trouble sticking to the plans you two made.
CAITLYN
Can come off as insensitive when it comes to finances. Of course, she understands that many people aren't quite as well-off and Caitlyn genuinely cares for everyone but sometimes she doesn't quite understand how affluent she is. She might overwhelm you with expensive gifts, luxurious trips or over the top galas. She won't understand if you're ever hesitant when buying something or why you always make sure to see what's on sale at the market. It will take some time getting used to and you'll have to explain to Caitlyn the differences between your upbringings. Caitlyn isn't a judgemental partner, she just likes to spoil you, though she will tone it down if she notices you getting uncomfortable.
EKKO
Very stubborn when it comes to asking for or receiving help. He will push you away and hide his wounds or problems from you. Ekko is just so used to handling things on his own that he hates the idea of letting you bear his burden. He needs a long talk with you where you'll show him your support and help him realize the importance of confiding in one another. Ekko doesn't realize that it isn't a one-sided thing, meaning that if he helps you out when you need it, you'd do the same for him. Sure, he has the Firelights, many of them who are his friends but he rarely felt comfortable enough to confide in anyone. It's easy to forget that he is just a boy, trying to shoulder the weight of the world, and that he doesn't have to do it all alone.
SEVIKA
Surprisingly inexperienced when it comes to romantic relationships. Sevika rarely gets attached to someone, beyond the sexual sense. For her, lovers are people she sleeps with to release the tension and frustration that builds up during her shift. She never truly had a partner, someone to whom she can show her soft side, someone who will cherish her beyond her body and money. Because of this, she often struggles with showing love towards her partner in a non-sexual way or a way that doesn't include physical touch. Words. That is the biggest problem for Sevika; expressing her appreciation and adoration through kind declarations is something that will take a while for her to learn.
SILCO
Silco is often too focused on his cause towards Zaun and forgets his other priorities besides that one. This causes him to overwork and come off as cold towards anyone he deems a threat to his goal. Because of this, he may ignore his partner whenever he's stressed out and deep into work. He's also rarely home, and since he isn't a fan of PDA, it can be hard to deal with the feeling of missing him so much. He tries to make it up to you with gifts but you'll need to explain to him that such luxurious things cannot replace his touch and company.
VANDER
Similar to Vi (where do you think she got that trait from?), Vander is so used to shouldering everything on his own. He wants to assure for you to live a comfortable and fulfilled life, even at the cost of his own happiness. He works tirelessly to keep the Last Drop and the Lanes afloat and seldom shares the workload with you. You can see how the stress wears him down but he will deny it until he completely bursts under pressure. Vander doesn't understand how much it hurts to see him like this, but some kind words and gentle touches can help when coaxing him into leaning on you too.
VIKTOR
Workaholic who never takes care of himself. So burdened down with the little time that he has left, Viktor doesn't plan to waste any of it by doing trivial stuff such as eating or resting. As loving as he is, Viktor can be an insanely stubborn partner. You'll probably have to hoist him over your shoulder and lock the door to his office in order to take him away from work for a couple of hours. He doesn't realize just how detrimental the negligence when it comes to taking care of himself is to his health. You need to explain to him that he won't get anywhere by working himself to the grave and you'll probably have to beg him to let you take care of him.
JAYCE
As smart as he is when it comes to his field of work, Jayce can be quite dense and heedless of other people's feelings. If you're the type of person who doesn't know how to talk about their problems or struggles with communication, there will be some issues in your relationship with Jayce. He's the type of person who asks you what's wrong and, once you give him a half-assed 'Nothing, I'm fine.', he goes all 'okay :D', pats your back and wanders off. You need to be direct and blunt with him because hints and exaggerated sighs simply won't do the trick.
MEL
Mel is an incredibly intelligent woman who knows how to get what she wants. This means that she can be quite manipulative at times, I mean you have to be if you want to succeed in politics. She'd never act that way with you on purpose, of course not, but it may happen unintentionally. She is also another workaholic who may appear too cold with her feelings but this is simply because she's hesitant to bring her walls and defenses down. It'll take a lot of time and patience to see her vulnerable side.
GRAYSON
Grayson is sort of a combination between Viktor and Vander; works too much and is too selfless for her own good. Grayson takes her job very seriously, safety of the citizens is of the utmost importance to her. This leads to her neglecting her own well-being and health. Lots of caffeine and many long nights in the office are spent by Piltover's Sheriff and, the older she gets, the more it wears down on her. It's hard to ignore the bags under her eyes or the tiredness in her voice as she drags herself into your shared home late at night.
AMBESSA
Quite cold and guarded, someone who doesn't appreciate or understand feelings like mercy or kindness. She believes that every single person is inherently selfish and wants something from her. This is why she doubts your good nature so much in the beginning. It has been a long time since Ambessa let herself get involved romantically with someone so she has a lot of re-learning to do. This may come with a cost of your feelings being hurt from time to time, especially if you're a sensitive and kind-hearted person. As much as Ambessa loves you and tries to show that, it isn't easy to sweep years of experience under the rug. You'll need to be strong while she gets used to upholding a romantic relationship.
CASSANDRA
Cold and regal, oftentimes comes off as strict. Cassandra only wants the best for you but sometimes she just doesn't know how to say it. So instead she might go behind your back in order to ensure your safety and happiness. This often backfires, especially because of your opposing opinions. You feel as if she's treating you like a child while Cassandra simply thinks that she's looking out for you. Is also insanely stubborn, it'll take time for her to learn to look at things from your perspective.
#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane headcanons#sevika x reader#grayson x reader#viktor x reader#vi x reader#caitlyn x reader#jinx x reader#ekko x reader#silco x reader#vander x reader#ambessa medarda#jayce talis#mel medarda
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Heartless Pt. 3
Mafia Boss! Miguel O’hara x fem!reader
You and Miguel are married to each other…and it wasn’t because of love.
are we…lowkey…getting somewhere?
The flight wasn't as grueling as you thought it would've been, it was an eight-hour nonstop flight and you were lucky you went at night. You stared blankly out of the window, blinking at the stars. You didn't even realize that you were drifting away softly, your lashes fluttered and drooped and then everything went black, the soft hum of the jet reverberating in your ears as you slipped to sleep, sleeping for a dreamless night with your head in the literal clouds.
Miguel was quite literally nocturnal. He could never sleep at night, even if he wanted to and even if he tried. He pulled out his laptop and started working, going over some cooked-up books that his crooked accountant had given him. Maybe he was paranoid by triple-checking everything, he had gone through your background check multiple times and it still didn't feel enough, he still didn't feel like it was accurate to the character you were playing for him. Like a facade. Miguel was absorbed in his work, he didn't realize a few hours passed already. He still wasn't tired, and he wanted to avoid sleeping deeply for as long as he could- he couldn't be in a position where his bad dreams could get at him again. He frowned at the startling thought and downed the last of his Merlot. Your soft breathing made him break away for a moment, his head shifted to look at you and you were sound asleep. Your head rested to the side of you away from him and your hair was covering your face. Miguel hesitantly reached his hand to stroke away the strands that were blocking out your features, maybe he just wanted to check if you weren't awake, or maybe he just wanted to gawk at you without the consequence of your smart mouth or belittling stare- either way, he couldn't stop his fingers from brushing the hair away from your face. You breathed deeply and mumbled something incoherent that Miguel couldn't comprehend, Miguel felt you shift in your seat. He immediately retracted his hand, brows knitting together as he studied what you looked like in your natural form, when you weren't pretending to be someone else.
Again. He thought you looked nice. Miguel grunted softly at his ceaseless gaping, he was being ridiculous, staring at an attractive woman as if he'd never seen one before. He won't succumb to something as juvenile as this, his pressures lie elsewhere and he won't let his confusion around you cloud his thoughts to things that matter more. If he was being completely honest with himself, he needed some sort of vacation- he had grown tired of being on edge back home, looking over his shoulder, making sure to preserve what was his. How was he supposed to become more powerful and spread his influence if he was still looking after what he already had? It was startling for him to be in control of so many things at once, but as always, he pushed it down. There were still a few hours before you landed and Miguel didn't want to be engrossed by work anymore, he wasn't paying attention to it. He decided to pull out a book he still hadn't finished reading, he hadn't had time to indulge in such normal trivial things as reading. There were moments when you stirred and twisted in your sleep, surely you weren't comfortable in heels and a tight little dress but Miguel didn't want to meddle with you further. He's done more than enough.
-
“Hey.“
A soft gentle voice made your eyes scrunch.
“Hey, wake up. We're here.” The voice urged again.
Your lashes fluttered when you finally realized that it was Miguel. And that it was also Miguel who was had his hand on your face. You jolted awake, Miguel was next to you but it felt like he was so far away, you didn't realize how little it took for him to extend an arm and brush his fingers against you. The moonlight beamed through the pane, your groggy vision turning into a beautiful portrait of Miguel, illuminating every single feature of him, his brown hair turning honey as the Italian moon hit him perfectly. You shook your head and raised yourself on your seat, still not understanding how you could fall asleep in something so heinously uncomfortable, and even then you still resumed being graceful as always, you wouldn't let that appearance shatter, especially in front of Miguel. His presence itself didnt bother you but what went on in his head did.
Speaking of, Miguel's mind was whirring away but it drew to a blank
There was one thing he wanted to say though; 'Is this what we're doing? Just not talking to each other?’ Well. He preferred that to that polite small talk, you both kept on upholding, the thought made his skin crawl.
-
The drive to the complex was silent as per usual, but this time it was Miguel who was driving and you were in the front seat. His cars were expensive, his Audi RS Q8 wasn't an exception, it was a sinful amplification of the word money. You settled into the passenger seat, trying not to inspect every single inch of his car like a lost tourist, awing at the model but you contained it, your face expresser something akin to that of being unimpressed and uninterested, when in fact you were the complete opposite. The fact that you had to act this way just to not give Miguel the satisfaction wasn't difficult but inconvenient. You wanted to be yourself, but you didn't want to seem weak in front of him, you won't let that happen. Ever.
You breathed out, your fingers smoothing against the seatbelt, reminding you of the way he so easily trapped you in the plane, that hand keeping you in place. You couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched you like that, well, anyone who even touched you at all in the last few months. Your eyes couldn't help but glance over at him, sneaky eyes trailing over him, almost thickening the distance and tension between you- he was right here, but a million miles away. Miguel's hand slid over the wheel seamlessly, but you noticed his knuckles turning white as he gripped onto it. His jaw ticked as he let out a short frustrated breath, his gaze nothing more than penetrating as he glared at the window, completely unamused- his autopilot mood.
If only he wasn't blinded by rage and other primitive and frankly boring emotions- it was so predictable that it didn't phase you. You pursed your lips and stared outside the window, pensive and aloof as the night clouded your peripheral. the bleak darkness you were gazing at, seemed to reflect Miguel's mood more than anything and you didn't know how to confront this deep tension between you that was certainly getting thicker and thicker. Then your mouth ran before you could check it.
"You'll break it.”You said flatly, brimming with confidence by the way you squared your shoulders, surprised by your own voice thrumming out of your throat.
Miguel's head shifted to regard you. Oh wow, the church mouse finally roars. The fact that you're saying something at all, let alone something in a knowing tone made him halt in his tracks. You seemed so sure of yourself like you knew exactly what he could do. Like you had any idea who he was. Aw, honey. You didn't know anything. You needed to stop pretending like you did
"Hm?” Miguel mumbled impatiently, waiting for you to elaborate on your not-so-graceful statement.
“Don't grip so hard on the wheel. You'll break it.” You replied as if you were bored out of your mind, Miguel despised it entirely. His eyes turned into mere slits when they found his knuckles turning a pale white against the wheel, his veins turning thunderous and borderline pulsating with resigned anger he was used to but now since you pointed it out, he was becoming more aware of his actions than he was happy with. Miguel mostly kept to himself, but primitive emotions such as anger or frustration, creeped out of him slowly and etched at his features like a lingering poison.
"Hm. I see the only time you open your mouth is to critique me.” He replied with a soft snarl.
“I'm not criticizing you. I just don't want this ludicrously expensive car to break under your thumb.”
“I can afford another 10 of these.” Miguel's words ran off his tongue so smoothly you realized the point he was proving: he was extremely wealthy, he didn't need to care about things. It's something that you shouldn't forget. Miguel doesn't conserve material things, why should he? You shouldn't expect him to want to take care of his possessions, though you didn't realize how careless he actually was with it. you wouldn't have guessed a man as arrogant and careful as him within his work and his business to be so callous with his money, but then again- the money spent on a new car is a mere droplet within a river of riches. It left a bitter taste in your mouth. You shot him a glare and that's when he muttered flatly, “Don't ever question that again, we clear?”
"Hm. And also, I have a brain and a mouth. When I don't want to talk I won't talk, I don't need to fill the silence with empty words, if I want to talk or call you out on something I will. Just because I don't entertain petty or better yet polite conversation doesn't mean I'm a wallflower or taker of shit, we clear?”
Miguel's face was set in an uncrackable scowl, his jaw ticked as you talked to him in such a patronizing way, it may have been deserved or it may have been a clear indication of your intentions- but either way, he didn't like the way you were talking.
“Careful.”
“We may be married but I will not answer to yo-“
He cut you off sternly with his hand reaching out and gripping your cheeks to close your mouth, it was a warning, the way he stared at you proved that, his hand proved harsher. “I said careful.” You let out a frustrated breath, struggling with your hands on his to pry his iron-like fingers off of your cheeks and chin. Miguel felt you struggle in your seat, hissing and thrashing but he remained unaffected, so completely normal about it all as he kept driving. He released his grip on you and you breathed out deeply, flashing him a look of surprise and hatred. He had a tendency to make people this way and he revelled in it. “Smart mouth...All bark, no bite….it can only get you so far. Remember that the next time you wanna try and lay into me Cariño.”
-
You remained embittered with Miguel when you got to the beachside apartment complex, you slammed the car door shut harshly, seemingly acting like him for not caring for his little playthings. If he didn’t care, why should you? He could tell by that look on your face you wouldn't be all polite and graceful after what he did. You didn't help him with the bags, you didn't care. The doorman let you in, informing you that the complex would be all yours for the week as he gave you the key. Miguel trudged behind you, carrying the bags up the stairs like they were feathers. You slammed the door in his face but he knee stopped it from closing fully, he knew that you were trying to prove a point and it was dancing on his nerves.
“I’m taking a shower and going to bed. Don’t even think about interrupting me for anything.” You spat out lowly, irritation causing your brows to knit together slightly. Miguel just grunted in response, dropping the bags on the floor gracelessly.
He hadn’t been to this beach house in a while, although it was thoroughly cleaned, it still felt lived in from when he was a kid living here with his family. Miguel didn’t know how to feel about the fond and somewhat nostalgic thought. Then his eyes flicked to the glass cabinet in the corner of the living room. He stepped closer and found the thoroughly familiar photos of him and Gabriel, playing. Careless as ever. He scoffed slightly with a little smile touching at his lips. It was a lot easier back then.
Now he has to deal with a pissed off wife, with a pretty mouth.
You explored the hallway first, walking down and vaguely peeping into every room, but you reached the master bedroom by the end of the hallway. You opened the door and found a beautiful room with a marble layout and wooden details, the balcony you stepped into was slightly protruding, looking out into the grassy planes, sandy beaches and palm trees. Something out of novel. The iron bars were covered in ivy and vines, shrubs and bushes of plenty alonside even more greenery. The moon shone onto the waves hauntingly, creating a halo onto the Earth.
It really was beautiful.
You shifted your head, raising an eyebrow at how big the white bed was, but you didn’t read into it. It’ll be just like it was at home- you and Miguel in seperate rooms, like always. Your heels clicked to the en suite and Jesus Christ, it was huge. Your eyes gleamed from corner to corner of the room, and then you reached the sink and immediately rolled your eyes.
Of course the best room in the building had to be Miguel’s.
There was a tiny frame sitting at the corner of his sink. It was of him holding Gabriel as a newborn, your vision turned sharp as you inspected the photo. Well. Miguel definitely had his boyish charm back then, a shame he doesn’t have it now. His smile would always remain a mystery to you. You settled the frame down and instead you eyed the copous bottles of cologne he had. Each more expensive than the last, as always.
Instead of just gawking around like a fool, you turned the shower on and immediately started stripping of this dress and heels you’ve been subjected too, you grabbed a fresh white towel and threw it to hand over the glass sliding door. You slipped in the shower, letting the warm water travel down every aching sore muscles, you hadn’t been this relieved in a long time.
Miguel, on the other hand, poured himself another incredibly strong scotch, he really needed to absolve himself of…something. He raked an exhausted hand over his face, he grabbed the whole bottle alongside the glass and trudged to his room begrudgingly, hoping to be rid of this night.
You wanted to keep the shower as brief as possible just so you could slip into bed sooner. Fuck. You didn’t bring your bag in here with you. Your shampoo was in it. Shit. You had to make do with what was around you, well, lucky for you, you only had Miguel’s shampoo around. With a defeated sigh, you had to go for it. As if this could get any worse.
You opened up the bottle and raised it to your nose, it smelled…dark? Cederwood. Coffee? Maybe a little bit of vanilla. That was just picking it apart, as a whole it the scent of it was just so… Miguel. Extra thickening? Interesting. Without caring, you squirted some into your palm and lathered it together with your hands, quickly soaking your hair and rubbing it softly into your scalp.
The bubbles surrounding you made the aroma that much more…intense.
Miguel heard the sound of the shower coming from his room, he wanted to grit his teeth until they shattered and fell into his hands. A frission of irritation thrummed at his temple. He swung open his bedroom door hurriedly with the might of one hand and exclaimed, “I swear to God if you’re in here I’m gonna-“
His feet stopped in their tracks. His mind went blank at what he was seeing. He was surprised he didn’t drop his damn scotch.
You going through his wardrobe in a tiny towel, legs dripping and glowing, hair wet and messy, glaring at him with a certain blank apprehension. Almost like a deer in headlights, but what could Miguel say? He was looking at you the exact same way.
-
taglist (giggles) : @deputy-videogamer @aisyakirmann @idolautism @residentialcryptid @bunnyrose01 @hqllcheers @minalovesyoubabes @amelialysm @moonvoidpng @ahano @hanberkkk @lavenderslemonade @mynameiswilliamblake @gejo333 @leahnicole1219 @iite-cool @zaunsin @kkchgee @yujyujj @hazelnutbitch @hiraya1802 @leo-lvr @sh4nn @watyousayin @siidmm @ciwywt-com @death-moth-art @ihateuguys @enmuhusben (sometimes i hate this fkn app it literally doensn’t let me tag other ppl why)
#spiderman 2099#miguel ohara#miguel o’hara angst#miguel o’hara smut#atsv miguel#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara fluff#miguel o’hara x reader#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Baby please (negative, be positive)
Let me break our hearts for a bit. I think we’ve all seen the other side of this where Nanami is… very excited for the process of children, if you catch my drift lol but what about the other side? What about when there’s a large amount of negative tests followed by fertility issues, and the partner feels every single overwhelming emotion about their body and their struggle?
Note: If you have struggled or are struggling with fertility, this may not be for you. I have other fluffier/cute/positive posts and so many great accounts have amazing stories, so take care of yourself and maybe read those instead. I’ll immediately follow this up with a cuter post <3 If you know anyone who may be struggling, be the help they may need and start by simply listening. I am aware from experiences with close family and friends that fertility issues do not always have a happy ending, but this fictional story will end as a hopeful one. If you decide to read this, thank you. If not, I’ll see you on the next post babes 🖤
Warnings and tags: nanami kento x fem!reader, fertility issues, sad, angst, comforting nanami, hopeful and happy ending
~3.0k words
You lay in bed in a fetal position in the darkness of your home. You curled your body as much as you could as you let the tears fall. You were tired of the loud sobbing and your body and throat could not handle another sob. But the tears did not stop. You felt a wet spot underneath your head and you shift your head forward to avoid the cold spot. When you finally think that the tears are running out, you hear Nanami’s car pulling into the driveway. You drag the bed throw to cover yourself and wipe the new tears. You weren’t scared of Nanami’s reaction, he had held and taken care of you after the past tests, but you were scared of any underlying disappointment.
“God, I’m trying. I’m trying, I’m trying,” you let out one last sob before Nanami enters the house.
You hear the key enter the lock and you quickly wipe your tears and cover most of your face with the blanket. You hear his every movement and you can almost see exactly what he’s doing as he moves around the house.
It was not uncommon for Nanami to come home to a dark house. He knew you were a napper and he actually enjoyed waking you up after making dinner. Something about your sleepy eyes while eating dinner and sighing after each delicious bite made his heart flutter. One of the smaller things you did that he absolutely adored. He turns on the hallway light and peeks into the bedroom to see you in bed in the dark. The house feels colder than usual so Nanami turns on the heater and heads into the room to put a thicker blanket on you. He rubs and kisses your hair before heading out and closing the bedroom door enough to only leave a sliver opened.
Nanami grabs extra clothes from the laundry room to change before heading to the kitchen to start dinner.
As Nanami quickly glances into the trash after throwing out veggie scraps, he notices the familiar blue box and the tips of two sticks peeking out. He feels his heart stop for a second, but reaches for a napkin before digging into the can to move the box to read it. Another pregnancy test. Nanami reaches for the test sticks and immediately sees one single line on the first and one bold ‘Not Pregnant’ on the second. His heart rate speeds up and he immediately wants to run to you but he’s reminded of your devastation the last time you got a negative. He had never seen you so upset and had to convince you to let him call your manager as your emergency contact to let them know you would be out for the next couple days. Nanami puts the sticks back and covers the tests and box with the napkin and vegetable scraps. He turns off the stove and washes his hands before heading back to the room.
Without the hallway light on, you could not tell if the door was fully opened or closed. You didn’t care either way, you just wanted to be in the dark and not face Nanami yet. You moved the blankets over your head again to return to your safe space. You begin to take slow deep breaths, slow inhale, slow exhale. Slow inhale, slow exhale. Slow inhale, slow exhale. It is not the quietest breathing exercise so you cannot hear Nanami slowly open the door and walk into the room. He sees the familiar sight, a bundle shaped like you with the blankets moving to the sound of your breathing. He softly puts a knee on the bed before crawling over to you. The movement on the bed stopped your breathing completely and you hoped, no -- you prayed, that you didn’t forget to cover the tests.
“My love,” Nanami says just above a whisper before softly wrapping himself around you, while making sure he does not burst your bubble within the safety of your blanket. He feels your body shudder once his arms are completely wrapped around you and gives you a moment to calm down. Once he feels your breathing even out again, he taps on the blanket and asks if he could come in. You loosen the grasp on the blanket and he slips underneath to hug you from behind.
You thought you had finally run out of tears, but feeling Nanami’s arms around you and his scent so close for the first time that evening, you felt them gather again. Thank the heavens that it was dark and he was not facing you because you felt your face contort in a terribly painful way followed by the loudest sobs to have ever left your body. Nanami pulls you in unbelievably close, as close as he would when your anxiety left you shaking and desperate. You start writhing in what feels like emotional agony and he pushes his entire body weight to your back, pinning you down. It was something he had learned to do after years of being together. You would jokingly call Nanami your human weighted blanket but you were thankful that he could detect when you needed to feel him.
“Two years, Ken, two fucking years,” you let out between sobs, “why can’t I do it, Ken? Why can’t I--” Your words cut short.
“Shh shh, no no no, baby, please. Not you, I’m sorry, please don’t think that. We can do it, there’s more we can do,” Nanami rubs your arms and kisses your neck and shoulders, “Please, I promise there’s more. It’s ok, it’ll be ok. We’ll be ok.”
Nanami wasn’t sure what he was saying, and to be honest, he knew he would say anything that could help you. But what would? He didn’t know what exactly to say after so many negatives. On the other hand, you weren’t exactly sure what you wanted to hear after so many negatives.
Time flew by underneath that blanket. Nanami had eventually moved the blanket down to let you breathe cool air after a layer of sweat covered you. He ran his fingers through your hair to try to cool you down and shushed and hummed against your skin while he still held you. You could feel your back and his front wet with both of your sweat and the spot underneath your head drenched with a much larger spot of your tears.
You don’t know what time it is and you don’t even have the energy to tilt your head up to look at the clock. All you know is that you have finally stopped sobbing and there really was nothing left inside you.
Nanami moves the hair from the nape of your neck and plants the softest kiss. “Let’s take a break.”
You turn in his arms, eyes wide and thinking, a break? From this… from us?
He could see the gears turning and panic in your eyes before hugging you again from your side and saying, “No no, baby not that break. Never. Never never, I promise. I mean from the tests. Let’s stop buying and taking any tests. Let’s toss any extra ones around the house, too.”
Your heart knew that Nanami adored you and would not leave you, but your foggy brain that was convincing you that you were not enough left you thinking he would leave. The thought lasted a second, but the panic was unbearable.
You shift to face Nanami and tightly hug him. So tight. He felt as if you were hugging him in fear of him running away. He knew of "men" that would leave their partners after fertility issues and he detested every single one of those disgusting beings that dared take space as a bag of bones roaming the earth. He could never leave you, especially for something nobody had any control of. He loved you, adored you, and with or without certain possibilities, he wanted to be there with you.
Nanami planned to see your crows feet and smile lines deepen. He wanted to retire as soon as you both could and travel to see everything together. He wanted to look at your joined hands and notice the sun spots and new wrinkles. He wanted to see your entire face wrinkle and your steps become slower. He wanted to dance with you in the middle of the kitchen and feel your heartbeat match his. He wanted it all and he needed to remind you, even if it wasn’t with words at that exact moment. Nanami hugs you back like he had before in response to your own bone-crunching embrace.
You feel defeated, but loved by the man that said ‘I do’ to you and promised everything for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, and in sickness and in health. You finally nod to his request.
———
You wake up early that morning with the driest throat and what feels like the world’s puffiest eyes. You look at the clock: 4:52am. Nanami is beside you, but you see he fell asleep in a sitting position against his pillows with his laptop on his lap. You feel a small towel beside your head and reach up to feel a folded cold towel. Nanami would always put a cold towel over your eyes if you fell asleep crying. The cold towel didn’t happen often, but it seemed like he always knew what to do even if he didn’t have the words to help at that moment. Your clothes had been changed to a large shirt that you had stolen from Nanami when you lived separately, but he let you keep.
You sit up to remove the laptop from his lap and gently lean him down to bed. As he’s shifting his body, the touch pad is slightly moved and his laptop is turned back on. You turn your head to avoid your sensitive eyes looking at the bright light and turn down the brightness. You look at the screen to decide if you should just close the laptop or shut it down. The tabs… the tabs surprise you and your heart breaks the more tabs you read.
How to deal with fertility issues
How to help sad wife
How to distract sad partner
What is egg retrieval surgery
Adoption process
Recommended income for adoption
Malaysian vacation homes for rent
Best time to vacation in Malaysia
Along with the searches, Nanami had a note opened with notes from every single tab.
The man sleeping next to you… loves you. You would do anything for him and he would scour the world and pick up brick by brick for an answer to any of your problems. You lean down to kiss his temple, “I love you, Kento. So fucking much.”
———
Seven months later, you get curious and tell Nanami to bring a test after work. He's hesitant and asks if it’s a good idea. After several months in therapy and extra doctor visits, you feel like you can handle any result. A negative would be like facing your biggest fear and you needed to overcome it.
Nanami rereads your texts the whole afternoon, and again when he’s at the pharmacy looking for the tests, and again when he’s in line to pay. He only hands you the small box after a big hug and deep kiss, and suggests you take it after dinner in fear of you not eating after seeing the result.
After a distracted dinner, you take the tests and leave them on the bathroom counter. You walk out the restroom and sit on the bed with Nanami. He wanted to be inside the restroom with you but despite being married and knowing each other’s secrets, that was one line you just could not cross. Your husband had no other option than to wait outside the door.
Nanami turns his whole body to you and reviews the exercises your therapist had given you both to work through the next result. You intently listen and follow his lead until the timer finally goes off. You both look at each other, scared for the next event but relieved to finally hear the beeping. You stand first and hold out your hand for Nanami.
You cover the test from afar as you close the gap and tell Nanami to count to three. One… two… three. You quickly move your hand to see the two tests.
You stare and stare, and Nanami’s eyes have never gone wider. You can see him looking back and forth frantically, waiting for your reaction. You screech, not yell or scream, a straight screech that could compare to the latest dinosaur feature film. Your hands cover half your face and sobs immediately break through. Nanami hugs you and picks you up from the floor.
“Ok ok ok, doctor, umm, we need to go to a doctor, ok? That's what he told us to do.” you nod frantically, still sobbing, and wrap your arms around your husband.
———
The doctor is happy to see you in his office for a different reason this time. He confirms the result with another test at the office and for the first time in a long while, the nurses lead you and Nanami to a room with a big ultrasound machine.
Nanami tightly holds your hand as the cold clear cream is spread on your tummy. There is no visible difference that you or Nanami could see but you were both very fucking nervous despite the home and doctor’s results. The doctor takes a second to spread the cream and look around. After what seems like an eternity, the doctor confirms that you are over halfway on your first trimester and points to the smallest blob on the screen.
Nanami’s legs give out and literally falls to the chair pulled for guests. His breath is heavy. He trusted the tests before, he really did believe those positives, but hearing it from the doctor's mouth in that room, seeing what was on the screen and where he knew you were in the best hands — his relief was unmatched. He had never felt such relief, happiness and an overwhelming sadness for what you had to go through.
He covers his mouth with one hand while he lets his tears fall for the first time in front of you since your wedding. His other hand still tightly holds your hand and he moves his forehead to touch the side of your stomach, where he knows the product of your love and effort will slowly start to make its home.
You lay on the chair with your arm folded on your face, crying loudly with the same relief and joy when Nanami stands back up and carefully moves your arm down to kiss your face. He starts at your temple and moves to your cheekbone, then nose, then eye, then forehead, other eye, lips, cheek, and temple again. He holds your head close to his chest and you wrap your remaining arm around him. After so many visits to this clinic, so many negatives and so many tears of sadness, you were finally able to cry for a completely different feeling.
You both lean to see the screen, the barely visible blob making you laugh but you lie your head back down and let yourself imagine a scene of a mini you and Nanami.
———
30 weeks, one 20 hour birth and an emergency C-section later, Kento holds your tiny girl. She had been rushed to the NICU shortly after the birth and you and Nanami were left scared in the OR. One of the nurses tells you that she is alright and they need to check her more since she was a preemie.
You wake up from a nap later that evening in your recovery room and see a shirtless Nanami holding your baby by the room window. He'd become so intrigued by the skin-to-skin contact benefits with a baby and promised himself he’d do anything for a closer bond with her.
Without him knowing you were awake and listening, you hear him tell the small bundle that is a sleeping baby girl, “b/n, you are so loved. We’re going to love you forever. I'm going to adore you for as long as I can and more.” He gently brushed her hair and continued, “I have so much to teach you, to show you. I love you, I'll give you everything, I promise." He lifted her and leaned down to kiss and stroke her cheeks, "my girl, my sweet girls — I'll do anything for you and mommy, I swear.”
You lean back smiling. Your body aches and the pain is incomparable to anything you’ve felt before, but you are happy. Whether it was in that hospital room as a new unit of three, or in your own living room relaxing with your husband alone, you would be happy.
Nanami turns around and sees you awake. He flashes the biggest smile and walks over to the bed with your sleeping newborn. “I love you, y/n.”
“Forever.”
#jjk nanami kento#jjk nanami#nanami kento#nanami#nanami x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jujutsu kaisen nanami kento#jujutsu nanami#kento nanami#kento nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#jjk nanami kento x reader#jjk nanami x reader#jjk reader#nanami kento x fem!reader#nanami kento x y/n#nanami kento x you#nanami kento angst#nanami kento happy ending#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk angst
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
BTS fic recs
I wanted to do this a while ago, but felt like I hadn't read enough, until I checked my likes and got a shock to the face lol. I wanted to give some recommendations of some fics (and a series) that I quite enjoyed reading, plus leave a small review because I feel like it's very underrated to comment on what you like something (people, comment more, I swear it makes a writer feel so much better than a like). There's the occasional spoiler in the reviews, so I recommend you read it carefully or just skip the comment ^^.
Dawning by @wintaerbaer JJK
summary: He’s never invited into your world during these late night sessions. You always push him away or ignore him. This is new.
warnings: heavy depictions of depression and panic attacks, a brief line where taehyung worries oc is s**cidal.
I really loved this fic. For a moment I thought it was some kind of two shot or something, but it only has this one part. Still, I felt the author captured the emotions very well. It felt so realistic that even I was worried when Y/N disappeared lol.
Bottle up old love by @wintaerbaer KTH
summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.
warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming.
This fic made me remember why I love the exes to lovers trope. I loved seeing Jungkook as a tattoo artist, it's like, I don't know, so him, anyway, I loved it. I just found this account yesterday in the wee hours of the morning and I'm already loving it <3.
Cat-astrophe & Cat-enaries by @dumpywrites MYG
Summary: Your pet cat keeps going to your neighbor’s apartment and it’s a problem.
I fell in love with this Yoongi like you have no idea. When I just read the first part I was so eager to keep reading, seriously, I loved it, it deserves so much love.
Two Days by @dumpywrites JJK
Summary: He just wants you to give him two days. He'll take you on a few dates and you'll decided if you actually like him? Or not?
I live for Jungkook being simp of the reader, I feel it's so real lol. This fic made me feel so warm inside, it was too cute to read. It's kind of like my comfort fic.
S'more than friends by @borathae MYG
Warnings: subby!Yoongi, switchy!Reader, consumption of beer, so much awkward tension, jealousy, sex in a tent, mutual masturbation, handjob, fingering, making out aye, Yoongi loves her boobs and she loves his butt it’s a win-win, sex while other people are sleeping, public sex, she has a thing for his hands (but what’s new lmao), fluffy post-orgasm talks because I’m soft.
I read it a while ago now, but I remember when I did I felt so soft. This Yoongi is just too cute.
Please don't go by @httpjungkookcom JJK
Summary | Jungkook’s never kept anything from you, ever. Not even the time where he tripped and accidentally kicked your dog, or when he fucked the most popular girl in high school and couldn’t make himself cum (poor guy was embarrassed for weeks), or when he accidentally rubbed all of his acceptance letters in your face without realizing. To put it short, Jungkook is an open book to you. So when he suddenly disappears, there’s a lot to question. Even more to question when he finally gets back and won’t tell you anything, going as far to avoid you. You’re on a mission to figure it out, even if it kills you.
Index | Jungkook is so smart, but so stupid at the same time. Jungkook is not sly in the slightest. Kind of angst, fighting, arguing, bickering, etc. Criminal activity, it’s a Spider-Man fic. Injuries and mention of blood. College setting and age, reader and Kook share the same major. Some cute fluffy moments in between all of the action. Aunt Yoon is essentially Aunt May in the Marvel story line.
Spiderkook, is more needed to read this fic? It was the first one I read about this au and I was WONDERED. God, you can't imagine how much I loved it. I thought it was so cute the way Jk approached reader being in his suit….
Accidental roommates by @jjkeverlast JJK
summary: moving apartments is stressful and difficult enough as it is. all the planning and packing and multiple moments of rearranging furniture; all you crave is peace.
yet it seemed like peace was far within reach as the owner of the apartment had left out one tiny crucial detail from the ad — a ripped tattooed adonis, coupled, with a tiny baby daughter will come as your roommate.
warnings: second hand embarrassment | jungkook's abs | annoying antics | suppressed feelings | both of them are stubborn and petty (it's gets tiring lmfao) | mentions of past relationships | a lot of time stamps | sexual tension | ft. namjoon 👀 | !constant change of perspective between reader and jungkook.
I have a tremendous weakness with dilf, no matter who it is, I just love them. I think this was the first one I read by Jungkook. It was so fun and easy to read that the 14.7k words flew by for me.
Silk & Stones by @taegularities KTH
Summary: “Taehyung was a writer… he was a writer indeed.” Kim Taehyung knows his way around words – they cast a spell on your heart and mind, leave you gasping dangerously fast. Until the mystery behind his persona unveils and his touch, along with his words, becomes a vivid memory.
warnings: writer + violinist tae 🥺 who’s a gentleman in the 19th century, brief mention of injuries/a mental institution, misunderstandings, heartbreak, secrets, grief, much poetry (and my attempt at writing a poem, pls spot), much disgoosting fluff, flirting and lots of sexual tension; explicit sexual content: 2 sex(y) scenes, fingering on a boat, choking, teasing, begging, praising, soft dom!tae, big dick!tae, tiddie fondling/sucking, some manhandling, dirty talk, they’re just so cute :((, oral (f. and m. receiving), some masturbation, oc is into neck kisses, some biting, fingering, hair pulling, asking for permission :(, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (it’s the 19th century...), aftercare; there’s quite some angst ok; lmk if i forgot smth !!
This was a work of art for me. I felt so immersed in the story, so confused by the time changes and everything surrounding Taehyung, but I loved it, one of the best stories I've read of Taehyung since I joined tumblr.
17 going on 27 by @hansolmates JJK
summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken.
genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england.
I love adaptations, especially ones that add their own touch, and the writer did it so well. She made me hate Jungkook, and then love him, and then hate him again, in the end I ended up resenting him, I wanted reader to stay with Jin lol, but I still loved it. Definitely my favorite part was having Jimin as a best friend, I loved watching him take on Jungkook in the car. We all need a friend like him.
Hot Bot by @httpjeon JJK/PJM/KTH/JHS
JJK: You order a sex robot online after getting a coupon for half off. however, there’s something strange about yours.
PJM: Fear is primal and causes one to make stupid decisions.
KTH: Your parents have a gift for you, however, there’s been a mistake.
JHS: As a product tester, you have one of the most sought after temporary positions in Hot Bot Inc.
This is a series that has smut, I think the name gives it away. It's rather sad that the writer is on hiatus, but he left the gems of his works open to the public. The series is pretty good, I fell in love with Jungkook (and Yoongi kskjdsksjds). Highly recommended.
The proposal by @hansolmates JJK
summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse.
genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always.
I was looking for an adaptation of this movie for so long that when I found this one I almost cried with emotion. I LOVED the movie and the concept it had, and I was so happy to read this fic that captures that very romcom essence that the movie has. I loved it.
Marshmallows and report cards by @untaemedqueen KTH
Warnings: Impreg Kink, Marking, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Birthday Sex, Spitting, Begging, Praise, Fellatio, Face Fucking, Big Dick!Tae, Multiple Orgasms, Unprotected Sex, Possessive!Tae, Cock Warming, Creampie.
I already confessed, this kind of fics get to me. I remember reading it and melting with the ending. I read it a long time ago, so I can't give a longer opinion, but I do remember that I loved it and came out internally squealing after I finished it.
Orange tulips by @kainks JJK
Summary: You’d remember Jungkook with every life you lived. Only he’d never remember you, never recall how your fates were written in the stars since the beginning of time.
Genre: Angst. Fluff. Light Smut.
The anxiety and helplessness I felt reading this fic are on another level. This scarred me, I read it once and I was never the same person again. It was wonderful, I felt so many things and I was so nervous during the whole reading that I almost didn't even realize when it was over. It is a very enjoyable fic.
What if I love you too much? by @taleasnewastime
Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.
Warnings: Single mum, small fights, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), safe penetrative sex, reader thinks Jungkook is cheating/playing the field, angst, but also fluff, child gets injured (though not seriously), talks of cuts and a small amount of blood.
This fic left me feeling bad, it even made me question some future decisions regarding my relationship with my future partner and the necessary communication that must be had in a relationship from the beginning, especially if there is a child in the middle. It was something I really enjoyed reading, and even though I had my internal dilemmas with Jungkook, the drabbles in the story helped me a lot to let go of my grudge (I swear I have nothing personal with him sksjkajskajsj).
#bts x reader#bts x you#bts fanfic#fanfic#bts imagine#bts x fem!reader#bts x y/n#fiction#bts x oc#taehyung x reader#taehyung fluff#taehyung#taehyung smut#taehyung x y/n#taehyung x you#taehyung x oc#jungkook smut#jungkook fic#jungkook imagines#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x you#jungkook x reader#jungkook x oc#jimin x female reader#jimin x reader#jimin x you#jimin x y/n#jimin x oc#hoseok x reader
689 notes
·
View notes
Text
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ rapid eye movement
summary: you meet ellie in a dream
cw: reader mentions she is an english lit major if u don't like it imagine she said it was the major of your choice, flirty friendship but no dating yet (repost from old account)
BEFORE YOU READ!!!:
WHY BOYCOTT TLOU PALESTINE LINKS DAILY CLICK
"Before you speak don't move 'cause i don't wanna wakeup"
The bright light was making it hard to keep your eyes open, not a single cloud in sight. It was a beautiful place, there was no denying that. Spring had always been your favorite season: leafy trees, blooming flowers, green grass and sunny days. If spring was a place, this would be it.
You decided to explore it, feeling the soft breeze on your skin. There was a big meadow, with a beautiful forest next to it. The bushy green trees complimenting the flowery field. There was something about this place that was so peaceful. Like you were the only person in the world and everything worked for you, rather than against you.
It would be a shame to leave so soon, so you take a seat in between the flowers and take everything in. How could a place so beautiful exist?
Your tranquil state is quickly interrupted by the sound of the grass and dirt being step on. You turn your head to see who the culprit is: a freckley auburnette with big green eyes and, for lack of a better adjective, an angelic face. You were prepared to snap at whoever had taken the sweet blissful state away from you, but after seeing her there was no way.
She doesn't say a word. She sits next to you. You'd usually not even consider just letting a random stranger make their way to you and sit next to you but this felt different. Saying that you had never met this girl before was an understatement, yet it felt like seeing an old friend.
Her presence was warm and pleasant, you felt safe.
"If you are interrupting my moment shouldn't i at least know your name?" you ask her with a playful grin.
"Fair enough. I'm Ellie." She chuckles.
You tell her your name and she nods in acknowledgement.
"We haven't met, have we?" you inquire.
"Not that I'm aware, but it-"
"It feels like it," you complete her sentence before she can, earning a smile from her.
"Well, l've never seen you around here. Think I'd remember a pretty face like yours," she says will a smirk on her face. You scoff in response, finding her antics amusing.
"It's my first time here," you explain.
"Hmm, when you'd get here?"
"What?" You ask with a puzzled face. And suddenly you realize you can't remember how long you'd been here, let alone how you got here.
Before she can even answer your question you wake up by the obnoxious sound of your alarm.
7:00 a.m.
The dream was uneventful, to say the least, but there's something about it that makes you think about it over and over again throughout the day. It was one of those dreams that bring you unexplainable comfort, like a tender embrace, like feeling like a kid again, like feeling some sense of home in there.
And, well, of course there was Ellie. You kept trying to think if you'd seen her before. Her face plagued your thoughts the most. You'd never seen anyone like her, you'd never met anyone like her.
Something about her made you feel like you could spend hours and hours with her and still crave her company. It was ridiculous, you'd spend time how long with her? Fifteen minutes? And yet, you'd never felt that way with anyone before.
Alas, it was a dream. Just a dream. She was just a beautiful entity your psyche had created. Maybe your brain knew it's what you craved and was cruel enough to give it to you in the dream realm, only to get it taken away.
You realized it was useless to dwell on your dreams, so you ended up putting the thought of Ellie aside and continuing your day.
That was, until nighttime.
The warm ambience surrounded you once again and before you could take it all in, you heard that raspy voice that had been echoing in your mind all day.
"You left yesterday," she said.
"Had to go to school." You giggle at her frowny face. She rolled her eyes at you.
"Yeah, well, I didn't get to ask anything about you." And damn her flirty tone because it made you weak in the knees.
"What do you wanna know?"
"Just tell me about you." She shrugged.
"Well, I'm 21, I'm in college, I like cats, reading, animals in general, l like the color green and...I'm pretty boring, don't have much more to tell you.” You chuckle.
"I like green too."
"Really? That's your take on what i said?" You laugh.
"What was I supposed to say?" She protests with a laugh.
"Whatever," you roll your eyes at her now. "What about you?"
"Well, I'm 22, I'm also in college, I like space, science, comics," she tells you, not really sure what else to add on to the list.
"Space?"
"Yeah, like, planets and stars and Nasa and shit."
"Nice, is that your major?" you inquire further.
"Yeah, astrophysics.."
"Just how smart are you?" You ask. Frankly, surprised by the girl.
"Shut up." She laughs. "What about you?"
"English Lit." You explain.
"Suits you."
"Is that good?"
"Yeah, it's good." She responds with that cocky smile that you have grown to love in a couple minutes.
She had a sort of charm you hadn't really seen elsewhere. It was quite boyish and youthful. She had you a little mesmerized. It was quite stupid, considering you barely knew her, but it was true.
"Do you-" and before she could finish her question, you were once again sucked out of your dream.
You groan in annoyance. Annoyed from being woken up, but mostly by the cold morning air reminding you once again that she wasn't real.
Your brain was creative, you'd give it that. Astrophysics is something you didn't even know you could come up with.
You do the whole thing again. Get up, brush your teeth, go to school, try to pay attention to school even when you all could think of were Ellie's freckles and her peachy lips and her pretty dark lashes and the way she had a bun this time, rather than the half-up half-down hairstyle she had last time. Also, about the fact that she was going to ask you something. What was she going to ask you? You could only hope you'd be blessed tonight once more and be able to dream of her.
And so as the sun came down you prepared yourself to go to sleep.
"Please let me dream of her," you thought to yourself. Pleading your subconscious mind.
You don't know when you finally fell asleep, but you were once again in the forest you had began to grow fond of.
"You have a tendency of leaving mid conversation."
There she was.
You turned to face her, "I don't really control it, you know?" You laugh.
"Yeah yeah, whatever."
"What were you going to ask me yesterday?" You ask as you softly kick her foot with yours, an affectionate gesture.
She looks down at your feet, pleased by it. Did the smirk ever leave her face or was it permanently there?
"I was asking if you have a boyfriend."
"Boyfriend? Ew no."
She laughs at your frowned eyebrows and your disgusted face.
"So you like girls?"
"Why? Are you gonna ask me out?"
You'd later cringe at your own question once awake. How on earth was she supposed to take you out?
"Maybe." She said nonchalantly.
"Right. Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Not to worry, all yours."
"You are kind of cocky, do you know that?"
"Oh, come on, you like it."
"Do I, now?" You ask with an incredulous chortle.
"I mean, you do get nervous every time, so l'd say so." She shrugged.
You could immediately feel your cheeks heating up. How could a girl make you lose your composure so easily.
"You are so annoying," you said, to which she just laughed.
-
Night became favorite time of the day from then on. All you did was repeat the cycle everyday: wakeup irritated, hope your day passed as quick as possible (not without reminiscing of your dream all day long), and go to sleep in hopes of dreaming of her again. And again.
And again. Which, to your surprise, you did. Every single night you dreamt of her.
Somehow your dreams went from feeling like minutes with Ellie, to feeling like a hours. In which you talked about everything.
She was the most fascinating person you'd ever encountered. She was smart as hell, funny, kind and of course, had that little cockiness that never really left her side. Which -she was right- you did really like.
Your dreams had always been quite vivid, but you had never appreciated it until now. You were able to really examine her face, hear her voice clearly, see the detail on her tattoo. You'd feel her hand against yours when you walked around the place, or her hair on your fingers as you raked them through her hair when she'd lied on your lap. Nonetheless, it was always accompanied by that soft and warm glow that came with the dream. You could only imagine how much more you’d cherish it all in real life.
And that was the problem. You were completely and absolutely enamored by a girl in a dream. A girl that didn't even exist. But how could you go on with your life knowing you'd never find anyone like her, knowing the perfect girl for you was nowhere to be found?
Life started seeming unappealing to you. Taking class, hanging out with friends, going out. None of it made sense. All you could think of all day long was the night. Every single hour you spend awake seemed like one more hour of you and Ellie being apart. It was eating you alive and you were allowing it.
As dusk arrived you went straight to bed and let yourself fall into a deep slumber.
Your favorite girl was there, waiting for you. You went to hug her. Ellie hugged you back, allowing herself to relax into your arms.
"Missed you," you whispered.
"You say that everyday," she chuckled.
"I miss you everyday," you giggled in response.
She took your hand and the two of you began your stroll. Admiring the trees, the lustrous pond, the flowers. It never got old.
Today you were telling Ellie about school. You mentioned how you'd lost interest lately, not really bothering enough to commit to your studies as you used to.
"Why's that?" She asked.
"I don't know. I don't really care about much lately. Not school, not my friends, not reading." It mildly concerned Ellie, but she didn't say anything.
"You must care about something," she said as she nudged your shoulder.
"I care about being here with you." You shrugged.
"Yeah, but, something else." She insisted.
You shook your head. You didn't want to lie to Ellie. She was the one person you could talk to. And the truth was that she was the only thing to seem worthy of your attention as of late. "I just wanna be here with you all the time."
"It doesn't work like that, doll," she cooed as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
You felt a tear trail down your cheek, one that Ellie was quick to gently wipe off with her thumb.
She held you for the rest of your time together.
The next morning you slowly opened your eyes, trying to adjust to the change in lightening. You didn't feel vexed like every other day.
You had a tight knot on your chest that you couldn't explain. A fast-growing affliction that wasn't usually there.
After that night, you never dreamed of Ellie again.
-
It had been three months since you had last seen her. The first few weeks were pure agony.
There was a lot of crying and screaming involved. You were confused and angry and miserable. There was no way to fix it and you didn't even know what you were feeling.
There was no one you could talk to either. What were you supposed to say? That you fell for someone in a dream and now you couldn't deal with the fact that your brain wouldn't let you dream of her anymore?
You kept going to sleep every night hopeful of seeing her again, but it was completely useless. You eventually gave up, realizing it wasn't going to happen.
You were forced to resume your life. You focused yourself on studying, hanging out with your friends, going back to your beloved books. Everything was starting to go back to normal. And yet, there was not a single day where you didn't think of her.
You were headed to your favorite café. Wanting to get some studying done and leaving your apartment for a little bit. As you finally arrived, you settled on your favorite table, put your headphones on and got to work.
Truthfully, your table was a mess. Your computer open, books everywhere and sticky notes all over the place. But it helped you get the work done and that's what mattered most.
After a couple hours you decided to pack everything up and make your way back home, sleep finally sneaking its way up to you.
As you were walking out the door you heard steps hot on your trail.
"Hey, you left this."
Your turned around to see who the familiar voice belonged to. She was handing you a notebook, one you must've missed in the midst of your mess.
As you moved your eyes up to thank the kind stranger, you were met with those two piercing eyes that hadn't been able to leave your mind. The short haired girl with auburn hair, freckles and button nose was standing right in front of you, in the flesh.
It was Ellie.
-
a/n: hi this is a repost from my old account :) i’ll repost part 2 in a couple days and while i write part 3. hopefully it doesn’t flop massively
taglist @fleshunger @elsbunny222 @whore4abby
#works 𝜗ϱ#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie tlou#ellie the last of us#ellie x reader#ellie x fem reader#ellie x you#ellie fluff#ellie williams fluff#ellie x y/n#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x y/n#wlw#lesbian#ellie williams fanfic
569 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
joyfullymysticalstudentpost-blog
Sin título
shades1221
#gchild
gertewenungar
Gert Ewen Ungar
purenonsens
GWIAZDOLOT
cookierungenrefluid
A Kingdom of Baked Goods